OOC | Britta & Roran
Honestly, Britta will probs just lump Roran in w Rob and therefore just be like ‘ewwwww’ and, given what happens to her, I doubt they ever get a chance to work it out hahaha
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@brigittemortain
OOC | Britta & Roran
Honestly, Britta will probs just lump Roran in w Rob and therefore just be like ‘ewwwww’ and, given what happens to her, I doubt they ever get a chance to work it out hahaha
petyr alainon + britta mortain “I think we should just be friends.”
Petyr nodded.
He knew that Britta didn’t love him. He’d once thought that, after they were married, that she may grow to love him in time. Regardless, he was sure that they could find some kind of happiness together. He had thought that she may have thought the same.
He thought that she might like to marry him, too.
Of course, he knew Britta Mortain well enough to well that she’d rather not marry anyone at all, but she must marry. So why not him?
He didn’t ask her. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “If you are certain, I will break our engagement. I — “ The words went unsaid. He realized only then, as she was lost to him, how much he had always cared for her. “You deserve to happy, Britta,” He said, softly. “I hope you will be.”
I LOVE YOU - Rob & Britta
Britta groaned. This declaration wasn’t exactly a shock, but it was a surprise. That being said, it was also probably the boldest move Rob had ever made, Britta reflected. Brave, and foolish. Raising her chin arrogantly, she did her best to look down at him - though he was two inches taller than she - and arched an imperious brow (much like the one her mother might have produced at such a moment). She was rankling, her fists tight at her sides.
“You mustn’t say such things!” declared Britta. Although she quite liked the idea of being admired, of being desirable, ensnaring Rob wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. To her, he’d never been much more than a nuisance (though she reflected that he was often amusing to mock). “I am promised to another.”
Of course, she knew that Rob was in a jealous state and had decided to ignore her betrothal, altogether. Still, this was one of the few instances in which Britta found herself grateful to be able to call herself someone’s bride-to-be (though she’d much rather be an adventuress, far from here, if given her druthers).
“Anyway,” she added, with an indignant sniff. “I don’t believe you. You don’t love me,” she added, sinking onto a bench in the garden and cocking her head at him. “Not really. I should have Petyr toss you out on your ear for your insolence!”
Sulking, she glanced pointedly away from him. As a girl, she’d often pictured some gallant dramatically declaring his love to her, despite her attachments elsewhere. The real thing wasn’t nearly as charming as she’d imagined and the fact that it was Rob of all people filled her with revulsion. Was this really her life? Was this to be her fate? Trapped here by a loveless marriage, pinioned in by a boy who’d obsessed over his fantasy version of her for much too long? Not for the first time, Britta reflected that she hated her life.
“You should go,” she said coldly. “I’m in no mood for this.”
OOC | Britta & Adam
Britta undoubtedly knows Adam!! She’s the youngest Mortain, so she lives at the castle, but she loooves to take off and leave whenever she can, so I feel like she def lurks about the castle a good bit and rides around etc and yeah. Hahaha! She’d def know him and I’m sure she’d chat with him a good bit and I can see them potentially being friends?
katherine + period dresses
What Ever Happened? | Britta & Margery
“Well, I hope you are quite pleased with yourself!” Margery said to her daughter as soon as she had dismissed her ladies-in-waiting, “Ever since you were a little girl, I’ve been trying to get you a decent match, but you’ve thrown them all away with your appalling behavior. Do you think a man wants a wife who tears through the countryside like some savage?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
She stepped closer to Britta then, her eye going over her daughter’s appearance. “Wear the green one instead,” She commanded, “We mustn’t have Petyr Alainon changing his mind about you. Who then will you have as a husband? I’ll have half a mind to give you to Robion Barret, for Everard will not have you.”
Margery knew that Britta despised Robion Barret. So did everyone, including Margery, but even she might suffer him as a son-in-law to punish her daughter for her behavior.
"Go on!" She snapped, "You don’t have much time before the guests arrive and I won’t have Lord Alainon standing there gawking without his wife to be. It is your impending marriage we are celebrating, after all.”
Britta bristled. It seemed the perpetual response to her mother’s approach. Even when she was a girl and things had been, by her own estimation, far closer to ideal, Britta and Margery never seemed to see eye to eye. Secretly, she had often wished that Margery might someday come to see things her way - a notion she had abandoned by now, seeking contentment in the fact that she didn’t understand the things that flitted through her mother’s mind. What a terror that would be!
“I don’t pretend to know what men want, Mama dear,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her ladies were hastily tearing a muddied dress off her and bringing forth the Mortain-blue dress Britta had indicated, only to be stopped mid-step by Lady Mortain’s directions. “I am, afterall, but an innocent maiden.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at Margery. “I imagine it’s been dreadful for you. What craft, pray tell, possibly persuaded our poor gallant, at last?” she responded, sardonic. “Tell me, did Lord Alainon happen to sneeze when you asked him to wed me and you took it for an affirmation?”
She rolled her eyes pointedly. “I think the blue rather suits me,” she retorted. “Besides, he isn’t really marrying me, is he? He’s marrying House Mortain.” If Loys failed to produce an heir (no matter how beautiful or fertile the Beaumont girl may prove, this seemed more an inevitability than a possibility), House Mortain would die out and it would fall to Britta’s descendants to rule. House Alainon would become Wardens and that would be Britta’s sole contribution to history - a distant, half-forgotten ancestress to connect the two ancient names. “Oughtn’t I to dress the part?” she tilted her head, smiling insincerely out of annoyance. Though, she realized with a soft sigh, in either green or blue, she’d still be wearing Alainon colors, as well. At least, in blue, she didn’t pass for a Barret.
She gave her mother a pointed stare at the mention of Rob. It was the one thing they could generally agree upon - and that made it a favorite threat, as well, it seemed. “That would thrill you, wouldn’t it? Imagine your little Barret grandchildren ruling the South, all raising in Rob’s...peerless image.” She had meant it to be a jab, instead the idea simply proved saddening. The South didn’t deserve that. She changed tactics. “I could be anything - even as sweet and gracious as you, mother - and no doubt my Lord Alainon would still take me. Afterall, even you have yourself a man.” She tilted her head. “You needn’t worry yourself.”
The ladies were pulling out the green, despite Britta’s protests.
“What a noble gawker he’d make. No doubt he’d do it most creditably,” she added, lips twisting into a soft frown. She felt sorry for Petyr, in a way. He couldn’t possibly know what he was bringing upon himself in marrying a woman like Britta - especially with a mother and brother such as hers. Still, now wasn’t the moment for these considerations. “I expect he best get used to it: if he means to wed me, he best know I’ll arrive late for those few social functions I in fact manage to attend. Besides, dear Mama, shouldn’t you prefer it, this way? Were he to marry me, what on earth would you do without me?” Celebrate her freedom, no doubt, Britta reflected.
Britta: Did you enjoy your meal, Mom? You drank it fast enough.
Margery: Not as much as you enjoyed yours. You want your belt to buckle, not your chair.
One Day | Rob & Britta
Britta ran her fingers over the frail leaves of plants absently, her tread disturbing the pea gravel with insistent crunches. The courtyard was peaceful and quiet, brids tittering curiously up in the trees. Winter did not touch the South as it did the higher parts of the country and it did not come till later, when eventually it arrived. Yet her reverie was disturbed by the heavy march of purposeful feet.
Britta’s brows arched at the sound of his opening sally. “Undoubtedly,” she replied, when she heard his furious query regarding her mother’s mental health. Her expression soured slightly when she heard the name of her intended. She found herself caught, abruptly. A part of her railed against Petyr because she’d been instructed to want him, but it was equally unsettling to find herself allied with anything Rob had to say.
She found herself staring at him baldly as he finished speaking. “Well, that was a pretty speech,” she mocked. “I do certainly hope you’ve brought this to my mother’s attention?” she added, sweetly, as she internally pictured what her mother’s reaction might be with no small amount of glee.
"Children?" Britta tutted condescendingly, attempting to conceal the smirk that brightened the edge of her mouth. "Why, what makes you think I’m not barren?" Her tone was half playful, but she felt it was the only retort he deserved for his inane ramblings. While she didn’t mean to be forced into wedding any man alive, Petyr certainly hadn’t deserved that. Her inane comment was as important as Rob’s. "Anyway, I hardly think we can blame poor old Alymar on him," she pointed out. "Poor man hardly deserved what he got and he certainly didn’t earn it." She watched Rob for a moment before taking a few steps ahead and plucking a pear from the tree. She lobbed one at him (half hoping he wouldn’t catch it before it struck him) and picked another for herself.
"You’re in a mood," she said, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. "I thought I was the one who was meant to raging one moment and fainting away the next. Isn’t that what brides do?" her eyes glinted and she took a bite out of the fruit. "Well, if you’ve really come for that kind of talk," she added, drawly. "Perhaps you’d like to advise me on what kind of dress I should wear! Oh, or we could match one of these flowers to the exact shade of my husband-to-be’s eyes."
Rolling her own orbs, she gave him a sour expression. “Would you be happier if I were to wed Ned? Oh! Or perhaps you’d link me to the Duke of Fain. I hear he’s quite handsome and we mustn’t forget his wealth. That is, afterall, the most important quality a man can possess, if my mother is to be believed. What do you think, Rob?” she added, arching a brow. “How would you have me choose a man?” She wondered what on earth even Rob could possibly invent to recommend himself above all other men.
"Don’t believe I won’t,” He shot back. He knew she was teasing him, but he was all seriousness. He would speak to her mother about this. Although not just yet. Not until she would see him as worthy of her daughter’s hand. Petyr Alainon may be the most appropriate choice of the southerns, but once he was a dragonrider, he knew that even Margery Mortain would see reason.
"I’m sure she will see things my way when I do," He added. He could not tell Britta the reasons why, of course, but he had always had such confidence in himself that this comment would not seem suspicious, not even when the egg hatched for him. "I can be very convincing. I hope you have not settled on a future with him, for it will not be."
He rolled his eyes, “I doubt that very much.” He had no way of knowing of course, and neither did she, really, but he had envisioned that she would give him many sons one day. Britta being barren went against everything he hoped for the future and he would not entertain such an idea. However, if she was barren, they could always go to Dezód for a son.
He laughed, “He was a poor fighter. It was a surprise that he lived to be as old as he did. Wits will only get you so far … especially in the south. You would not like to breed sons like him.” You want Barret sons, he almost said.
Rob’s hand went to his forehead after she hit him with the pear. He turned back towards her, his eyes flashing a moment in anger. “You would do well to never do that again.” He threatened.
"I am here, because I am looking out for your future: something you seem content to wave aside." She was not taking this seriously. “You laugh and make ridiculous suggestions, when you should take a moment to consider the sort of husband you truly desire. The sort of husband you deserve.” He was close to her now and he reached out to stroke her hair.
At his quick retort, Britta arched her brows. “I’d like to see that,” said Britta, tilting her head as she pictured the look of furious incredulity on her mothers features. “My mother has no idea what’s in store for her,” she commented wryly. She could hardly picture Rob and Margery ever having a civil conversation and she was certain the horrific results of such an encounter would buoy her for weeks. If they were lucky, Rob would get himself banished and what a jovial wedding present that would be!
“My champion,” drawled the girl, rolling her eyes. Britta was not, in fact, surprised by his declaration but she couldn’t resist needling him further. “Whatever do you plan to tell her that will sway her mind? You know, I’ve been at her for weeks to no result.” Clapping her hands together as if in an epiphany, Britta turned to him. “I’ve an idea! Say to my mother that she’d be much better served in wedding me to a third son without any chance of inheritance, than to the only other lord of significance in the region. If that doesn’t inspire her to change, nothing will.” She tilted her head softly. “And here is settled all my hopes upon rhyming my children’s names with Alainon. Do you truly mean I must give up that dream?”
Britta scowled fiercely. “Your confidence in my fertility is truly inspiring. I’ll be sure to congratulate you if Petyr gives me children.” She turned away from him, rolling her eyes again, before turning back in surprise. “Why do you misuse poor Petyr so? This is no more his fault than mine - granted, he had a small say in the matter which I did not but…He was one of the only people to be kind to you when we were children. Doesn’t that mean something to you?” Apparently, she gathered, it did not. She’d have to remember that kindness to Rob clearly had no perks whatsoever.
She arched her brows, turning back to him, bristling. “How can you gainsay Petyr, who fought when called upon, and insult Alymar with the same breath when you’ve done no more than he?” Britta had always loved Harrion and Alymar for saying what they felt, but in truth she’d hardly known them. It wasn’t loyalty that goaded her so much as the injustice of it. She’d never had much taste for hypocrisy. “And what of Harrion? It was said that hardly ever had a finer swordsman graced the South, yet he is gone, too. And what of his brother? What of mine? Yet ‘men,’ such as you and Loys still walk this world. There is no justice and no kindness and no sense. All we can be sure of is blind chance, Rob. Don’t speak ill of the dead.”
Satisfaction gleamed in her eyes as he rubbed his brow. “Never do what?” She inquired. “Attempt to feed you? Give you something?” She smiled maliciously as she bit into her own pear.
Britta swatted away his hand, backing up. “How dare you!” she exclaimed. “I am not yours to touch! I am the daughter of your liege lord, the sister of the next, and betrothed to another. You will not touch me.” Fury blazed in Britta’s eyes, but she tossed her hair and exhaled. It wasn’t the informality of it - a trait she generally liked. The presumption was offensive but not so much to provoke her to anger. It was the note of self-satisfaction, as if he’d somehow earned intimacy outside of her permission - as if her will and opinion didn’t matter. Since her father’s untimely death, everyone seemed to view her that way, as if his death had stripped her of humanity and made her nothing but a pretty prize to be won.
“As for my future, it is mine and no trifle of yours.” Words she’d said a thousand times to her mother - she suspected her breath was just as much wasted here as it had been there. She turned quickly away from him, arms crossed in defiance - useless defiance. She wanted to laugh when she thought of what he’d said. The implication that she deserved and desired Rob. If it came to that, she’d choose Petyr without a second thought. She’d even wed Alexandir Godiva before Rob, even if it meant the risk of making Margery the proudest mother in Aragoth. But still, she had no choice of her own and it rankled her. She raised her chin arrogantly and flicked brown orbs again towards Rob. “I deserve the husband I desire and I do not see him here!”
OOC | Britta & Adam
Britta undoubtedly knows Adam!! She's the youngest Mortain, so she lives at the castle, but she loooves to take off and leave whenever she can, so I feel like she def lurks about the castle a good bit and rides around etc and yeah. Hahaha! She'd def know him and I'm sure she'd chat with him a good bit and I can see them potentially being friends?
Immortality belongs to the dead, so bury me with my crown. (x)
And My Love is Your's, but Your Love's Not Mine | Petyr & Britta
He nodded, “There were more slaves than masters to rule over them. But despite their numbers, they never had much of a chance of rebellion on their own. They were ill-treated and uneducated … and they were afraid. Not only for themselves, but for their families. They were not afraid to punish an innocent for the crimes of their fathers or brothers.”
The Southern Islanders knew how to keep their slaves from doing anything out of turn. And their punishments had been brutal and inhumane. Petry could still hear the shrieks of children who were beaten within an inch of their lives for a misstep their parents had taken. Wars were won with logic, not emotion, but that had not made those days where he sat and listened to the suffering and did nothing, pass any easier. Even the knowledge that he would not, in the end, save any lives if he ran to their aid did would not still his mind or settle the sickness in his stomach. Even now, when he thought on it, the memories returned as vividly as if he was seeing them for the first time. He felt the heat of the southern air and the roughness of the terrain beneath his feet.
There were some masters who did not wish to damage their property, but for the most part, slaves were plentiful enough that they were viewed as easily replaced things.
When she asked about her cousin, he could only shake his head, “If he had been, he — ” His voice trailed, but she knew. If that had been what had happened to Harrion, he would have been a slave for seventeen years and even Petyr knew that he would not have lasted that long. He was a fighter and he would have died as one. He would not have stood for his freedom being taken from him. “I’m sorry.” He said after a pause.
He could tell that, despite having her mother and step-brother, she felt alone. Everyone else she had ever loved had died, but that, at least, was something he could sympathize with. He had a good friend in Lysander Stafford, but he was not one to stay in one place for long and his traveling friend aside, Petyr was alone in the world, too.
But now, they would have each other, and that seemed a comfort.
He managed a slight smile when she asked him what he wanted. “I have no intention of being your mother’s creature. Or anyone’s. This marriage was her idea, but I think it might be one of her better one’s.” He paused, then, considering what he wanted: truly wanted for his future. There had always been his house words that guided everything that he did: Loyalty and Honor. He clung to them: the only link he had to the family that had been lost to him hours after his birth.
"I know this arrangement isn’t ideal," He said slowly, "But we were friends once … and I think we can make this work. And that’s what I want for my future: a family.” He wanted to have children of his own: he wanted them to have the childhood he never had. He wanted the halls of his home to be brightened by those who would share it with him. ”And I don’t want a perfect life,” He added, sincerely. He knew that Britta would not be anyone but herself: she was still wild and uncontrollable, but he wouldn’t want her to be anything else.
"And you? What do you want?"
A shadow fell over Britta's face as he spoke of the plight of the slaves. She could see written in his face how the memories troubled him and she glanced towards the ground. "I am glad, indeed, that that evil practice is at an end - especially as so many of our own people were forced into such a horrifying fate." There had been little - short of this invasion - that could be done about it, however, and she was glad that, at last, the deed was done. "It was a brave thing you did," she said, honestly. "And a noble one." She rolled her eyes, smiling softly. Even without their proper lord - a Mortain lord - to lead them, men like Petyr had boldly taken up their arms and rushed into a conflict with a warrior people to defend their home. Britta only wished she could have done something to help, herself. Still, she admired those who had done what they could and Petyr certainly could not be excepted from that rank. "Though, I'm sure my dear brother - or my mother, in his name, at any rate - already gave you all the thanks of House Mortain." No doubt, she herself was considered a measure of that gratitude.
As he spoke of Harrion, she regarded him gravely. "I know," she said, quietly as he broke off. In truth, she'd always known what his fate must have been, but it had not prevented her from holding out some small shred of hope. "I can't say I'm surprised, really," she began. "Harry would never have accepted slavery. Even if they did manage to overcome him, they'd have to kill him, for he would never have submitted." Our swords are sharp, thought Britta, exhaling softly. He had been a Mortain, just as she was, and he had not been forged with a knee that easily bent. "And he did dearly love to fight..." She liked to think she, herself, would fight to the death rather than submit, as well, but it was the kind of thing no one really could know until the moment arrived and, in truth, she hoped it never came. (It seemed an unlikely circumstance, now, in any case.)
Britta's brown eyes found his urgently when he said he would not serve as her mother's lackey and, softly, she smiled at him. She was glad of that, at least. "Good," Britta tilted her head. "My mother has lackeys, enough. She has no need of your lands, as well." Britta felt a jolt of surprise as he avowed this to be one of her mother's better ideas and for a moment that surprise showed before she remembered herself and hastily covered it with a coquettish smile. "Why, my Lord Alainon, are you flirting with me?" she teased. Her brown eyes glittered but some uncertainty lurked there, too. Yet, she jocular tone died on her lips as he continued.
Britta looked intently at him. He had honest eyes - always had - and he'd always had what Britta thought was a puzzlingly sharp understanding of people. For herself, she had always struggled to see outside herself and comprehend what others might be experiencing, but Petyr had been quick to compassion and that made him someone very easy to cotton to - even for someone as self-involved as Britta. Sometimes, she had often thought, he seemed to have known her better than she had known herself. "Friends, yes. I quite fancied you when we were children, you know," she stated, bemused. The irony did not escape her that as they'd grown, their paths had diverged had those feelings had faded...Not to mention she wasn't altogether he'd like the person she was, today, anyway. Now, in truth, Britta seemed to lend her attentions to heart breakers and the sort of men who wouldn't take romance seriously. That was a far safer route: meaningless flirtations.
Her brows knit. It was the cynic in her, but she wondered what kind of parents they'd make - neither of them knew much of how a family ought to act. Both of them had been cheated out of their fathers - Petyr before he had even the benefit of the man's memory - and the one parent they did have between them (Margery), Britta regarded as a rather negative example. Their brothers were even worse (both making sad ironies of their respective family mottoes). Besides, Britta couldn't imagine a world where she was ready to be a mother. Even her desire for adventure aside, Britta wasn't so blind to her own failings as to imagine she'd excel at such an office and, when she did have children, she wanted them to have the best of everything - including the best of her.
"Good thing, too," she added, arching a brow, when he said he didn't want a perfect life. "I don't think those exist anywhere in Aragoth, and you're certainly not in for one if you mean to keep me in your life, at all." Britta grinned, shrugging softly. She knew that much was true, at least. Her mother never hesitated to remind her and, regardless, she was never going to be the perfect lady or the perfect wife and she took a certain odd pride in the fact.
"I want..." Britta's chocolate orbs fell away from his face. No one ever asked her what she wanted. Her mother didn't wish to know, her brother was too busy counting keys, and no one else seemed to care (including Rob, who claimed to be in love with her). She felt foolish. He'd said the right things, and reasonable things, the things a girl like Britta was supposed to want, but all Britta could think was how she wanted to run along the shore and scream to the top of her lungs, if she felt like it; to climb the highest mountains the North sported; see the great wide forests of the East and the vast plains of the West. She wanted to sail the open seas and discover lands no one had ever before seen...and most of all she wanted to soar, high above all her cares, looking down on the small world below her, just as Ameria Moysaunt had once done. But there were no more dragons and she would never be a Rider. She would have no grand adventures, would never lead armies or see the world. She would die as she had lived: here and without ever leaving a mark on anything for anyone to remember her by.
But in truth, the realities of such adventures weren't what she wanted, either, and beyond these fancies, she'd never dared to ponder what she might desire. It was a sad truth that, when it came right down to it, Britta didn't truly know what she wanted out of her own life and, deep down, that void scared of her. When she looked into her heart all she saw were conflicting impulses and raw, senseless emotion. What did it matter what she wanted, anyway? It was never going to happen. She needed to content herself with the moment and not think outside it. That was all she had.
"I want to climb this hill," she said, abruptly, turning to look at him. Somehow, she'd never made it to the top, where the water found its source and went plummeting from far above the little cave they currently inhabited. Her smile was a half-hearted curl of the lips. "I'm going to climb this hill," she added, with greater certainty, turning and ducking under the curtain of water and back out to where that might be possible. "Are you coming?"
Love, hate. Such a fine line.
ooc | Margery & Britta
margerymortain:
So, I think that Margery does ~kinda love her daughter?? But it’s def in a “I love you as much as anyone like me can love anyone” kinda deal, which really isn’t much tbh like what is love ??? Margery isn’t sure?? Also, I think she was kinda upset that she didn’t give her husband a son and resented that Britta wasn’t a boy, but also resented that she acted like one ??? I think she totally expected to have this perfect daughter, idk she really thought that Britta would turn out just like Lynessa basically. I also think she hated that she was daddy’s little girl b/c I feel like Margery was able to kinda manipulate her dad and I think she was also kinda displaced by Britta who was now the most important thing in her dad’s life and nO. And I kinda think that that might have started her ~affection for Loys. Like he started as a pawn in a much smaller game ahaha and then Harrion ran off and his bro died and she’s like oMG I could actually get the south, myself, there’s only a few peeps that have to be knocked off to get it.
ANYWAY, ofc all of Britta’s failings are totally NOT Margery’s fault. She blames everything on the Moysaunts honestly and is like “thank the gods they are all dead” like on the daily.
I definitely think that Margery views britta as a huge disappointment and isn’t afraid to tell her so #bestmomaward. And it probably sucks even more b/c she dotes on Loys like always and she can’t always be bothered by Britta and I think that was kinda the way it was since Britta was a child and Margery wonders why Britta is the way she is ??
Margery: Loys is literally my favorite b/c he does everything I say …
I think that Margery, despite Britta’s flaws, had great hopes for her marrying well and yeah def wanted her to get with Alexandir and literally anyone who ever came down south, but now she’s just grateful that Petyr will take her tbh. And she’s like “gods why do i even try with you. Your brother scored a Beaumont … why couldn’t you get an arrington or a godiva??”
I CRY bc I feel like Britta ~is at least a v passionate person, yknow? She never learned reserve or discipline (lol wut even) so she's like exactly the opposite. And it's sad bc she wants to love unreservedly and be loved so in return (except not by rob ew get away for reasons that make sense or by anyone her mom throws at her for reasons that make less sense) and like ideally she'd love to have a loving, tight bond with her mom but lol nope and so she feels that rejections v deeply and responds by lashing out in anger and any little thing is fair game bc she doesn't know how to deal with emotions really so she just wants to make Margery feel the way she made Britta feel in any given moment and I feel like that backfires miserably bc Margery doesn't really care as deeply as Britta does so instead she just seems to get mad/disappointed and that just makes Britta feel worse so then she acts out again and basically it's a vicious cycle??????
Ughhhh, resenting Britta for not being a boy tho lakdsjfkljsdkalfjas it's actually perfect tbh esp given by her disposition and hahaha yeahhh she was NEVER gonna be a Lynessa I feel like the Mortains are all v passionate and even kinda ~wild ppl (or possibly I'm just thinking of James bc obv they have certain similarities of character <33333) and she's got that in spades but none of the discipline that's usually drilled into them from birth, if they wanna survive, so she's just kind of this mass of conflicting impulses and ?????? And then, at one end, I'm sure she knows on some level that her mother wanted a boy (do you think Margery would come out and say it? Though either way, I think she may have some sense of it esp bc of her treatment of Loys) And she felt shunted off from her mom and I think it was just in her nature as well as wanting to be with her dad and bros, yknow?
HAHAHAHA I love that the subtext of this is legit, "Who knew! Loys might turn out to actually be useful afterall?!!???!!!!??" ladjfkljdskaf I actually love that Britta actually engendered the thing she most resents WHAT A BRITTA MOVE Also, I guarantee she has NO. CLUE. Ughhh, and the irony that she probs learned subconsciously how to get her dad to do what she wanted by watching her mom and I just #facepalm She'd hate that so much tbh hahahaha I feel like she's that one kid who's always bursting out the door going, "IM NOTHING LIKE YOU MOM" basically
I feel like Britta is v used to being told this and she just rolls her eyes and says something cutting and storms out and yeah it's beautiful hahaha and then she can't figure out why she's NOT her mom's fav and????????? OMG but she gets SUPER mad and defensive about the Moysaunts, I think. Like, that's def still a v sore subject, but I think usually she's so upset she just gets up and leaves without any comeback and basically Margery wins the argument by default and that also makes her mad so??????
HAHAHAHAHA happy Petyr's willing to take her I CRY <33333 And Britta's like rolling her eyes and in other news she's like, "I could've gotten an Arrington or a Godiva...if I'd wanted one" and everyone's like?????? Bc that def isn't true since she's not related to Fontaine in any way and also Alexandir was pr clear he didn't want her sooo????????
she will try to run to the ends of the world. let her go. it will take her years of feeling the earth beneath her feet, dark water lashing her face, blood under her fingernails, to realise that nothing is chasing her and that you have not followed. she will return and kiss you, triumphant, exultant, restless and her lips will feel like a thousand little knives pressing into your skin. and the knowledge that she will not stay she cannot stay not even for you.
on loving a wild girl |
M.C.
(via
vespairs
)
And My Love is Your's, but Your Love's Not Mine | Petyr & Britta
He was happy to see her receive him this way. She was bright and happy, as she was in his fondest childhood memories of her. Britta always spoke her mind and if she had been opposed to this marriage, Petyr was certain that she would have said so, straight out. He knew that he might not be what she had hoped for, but people in their position should never have especially high hopes where it concerned who they might marry.
Choosing a husband was not a luxury a wealthy and noble young woman could boast of.
"They are worse, if you can believe it," He said and although he gave her a smile, his mind drifted back to them. "Most of my experiences were on the battlefields," He explained, recalling the smell of death under the unforgiving southern sun. He had watched men die everyday and had taken more lives than he could remember. He knew that most of them were cruel, evil men who tortured, raped, and killed men, women, and children in their fits of anger, but not all of them were so. Even the southern islands could produce good men. And either way, it never got easier watching the life leave their eyes, "but I’m not sure that I would have cared to visit there before it belonged to Aragoth."
He knew she wanted to know everything. Hadn’t they always talked about traveling and seeing the entire world when they were young? But he would rather not dwell on that place or the things he had seen and had had to do there.
"It’s hot there," He said, "The air is dry and humid and full of spices. It is all sand and heat and … " Blood. But he did not say as much.
He was happier when she changed the subject. “I am,” He said, grinning. “Home has been a comfort.” That did not mean that the transition had been easy, still it was better this time than it had before, for now it was over and done. He had been home now and again during the war and each time, all he could think about were the men who were still fighting and how he ought to be there with them.
He was still getting used to the routine of being Lord and Master of Alainon, but he was happy for the distractions. He knew it would take time, but he hoped that he would never see another war as long as he lived and he prayed his children would only know peaceful times.
"How are you?" He asked, after a pause. It was more than just a courtesy. He wanted to know. He also meant so much more than what he said: he wanted to know how she was, but also how she had been all these years since he had last seen her.
But most importantly, he wanted to know how she felt about the future: how she felt about becoming Brigette Alainon.
"Worse!" gasped Britta, earnestly, taking a step closer as if it would somehow allow her to more readily immerse herself in the information he meant to impart. His smile was pleasant, just as it had always been, the sort that suffused the face and would bring forth, unbidden, corresponding expressions on all those around him. Forgetting to hate him, Britta did not fight the expression on her own face.
Britta's eyes fastened to him in resumed earnestness, as soon as he began to speak of the Southern Isles, completely absorbed in the world his words painted in her mind. She'd seen sketches of it - especially when she chanced to overhear a war council which mostly consisted of Margery and Alexandir Godiva butting heads - but most everyone seemed to think Britta was far too delicate a flower to think about a desert - a consideration which irritated her as she failed to consider that this delicacy may have arisen more from an aversion to the topic than to, as they professed, a concern for her ears.
The Southern Isles had always fascinated Britta. Like the Dragon Riders, their women were permitted to take up arms, to join the men in their longships and sail wherever the bold waters chose to carry them. Britta, as a child, had often dreamt of someday becoming a Dragon Rider, of soaring over the waters upon the back of her great dragon - but after the Purge, she had half-envied her enemies' freedom.
Oh, she knew the horrors they could inflict well enough and certainly felt that Aragoth was in the right in that war but, still, she often wished things were different for her. And, besides, she could at least respect their foes. If the South bred survivors, the Southern isles must have bred gods. They took the brunt of storms, breaking on the isles before they reached the mainland. They lived in a desert and pillaged the surviving southerners with relative immunity for decades - centuries, even. They had their wrongs, too, but at least Britta could understand them - unlike the Northmen, but that was another story, altogethe).
Britta nodded softly when he mentioned he wouldn't have wanted to visit, before the conquest. She couldn't doubt it. Countless generations of Mortain blood had been spilt upon these shores in battles with the Southern Isles - including the blood of the Mortain bannermen. House Alainon had always been amongst that number and Britta was sure she didn't care to count the number of their ancestors who had fallen facing the fearsome foes he'd fought.
"Were there very many slaves, there?" she inquired, somewhat fretfully, feeling it was a an indictment of her own House that any slaves had been taken, at all. Yet, the blame could not be placed solely at Loys' feet. The Islanders had always been an issue. "I don't suppose...Harrion..." It was a silly thing to ask and she wasn't altogether sure it would even be a good thing, were Harrion ever to turn up again (more chaos was not something, it seemed to her, the South needed), but he was family notwithstanding, and sometimes it was lonely to be one of two Mortains left in this world.
"I'm glad of it," she responded, when he said home had been a comfort. Still, it seemed to her there was something he wasn't saying. She'd grown up enough, at least, not to pester him for it, however, so she lapsed into a pause before saying, "It's been very nice having the men back. The South was stripped of them...saving Loys." She decided not to comment on what she plainly viewed as his cowardice. Of course, the excuse that he was needed in Swystone to rule was made, but Britta remembered that her uncle had always ridden out on his campaigns, as had all his ancestors before him. Loys was the anomaly in this.
"Oh, I'm..." she made a dismissive gesture and turned to inspect the wall of stone alongside her. Britta ran a slender finger absently along the rock by her side, fidgeting just as she'd always done. It had come to the moment of discomfort and she bit her lip, pointedly not looking at him as she tried to think of a way around this. Perhaps he didn't want this, either. Or perhaps he did...Britta turned to him abruptly. There was only one way to find out. "Petyr, do you want to marry me and be my mother's creature? You needn't do so, if you don't wish it. You could always...run away," she added, lamely. Her mother wasn't known for responding well to snubs. She clapped her hands together and turned to look at him with a strange sort of smile, now. "I promise I wouldn't be the least bit offended. In fact, I think I'd treasure the memory of my mother's face when she heard the news to my dying day. So," she resumed. "What do you want for your future?"