la douleur exquise

the most honourable lady elinor ptolemy of starhold formerly: echo Grief loves the hollow; all it wants is to hear its own echo. Hisham Matar

[iapetxs]

cracking | elinor & isiah

[elinor-ptolemy]

iapetxs:

      Poor thing. Iapetus observed her silently with vague detachment, as one would watch another person’s crying child. It was a sad sight, truly, but he had children enough that he only sighed and touched his palm to the back of her head; her sleep-tousled curls tickled his palm, soft. “Do not entreat the gods, my child,” he murmured lowly, gazing at the water and seeing gold. Gold, gold, gold. “The gods are cruel, capricious creatures who would not lift a finger to save a life.” He breathed in; the crack deepened, the throne splintering before his eyes. 

                       “They are dead and we killed them.” 

His words brought a terrible calm to her mind, and still tears fell silver-bright and cold down her cheeks.  Dark eyes peered from behind her hands, and she watched the moon throw light into the sea have the ink-black waters throw it back again.  She spoke, and her voice was even and soft and lost.  “Then there is nothing to hope for.”

Her eyes lost the rest of their light as her words echoed across the white sand, her momentary vitality slipping away before this revelation.  All that held her upright was the weak grip of her hands in the king’s tunic, an intimate touch that would have shamed her had she been in her right mind, and his own warm hands.  (Was this a father’s care?  Had she ever been given such a thing?)  She rested her cheek against his chest, eyes unseeing and half-lidded.  “There is no rest, no reprieve.  We are lost, and no one will seek us, and that’s all there is now.”  She hardly felt awake, and if she woke in her bed the next morning, she would imagine this had all been a dream.

[iapetxs]

cracking | elinor & isiah

[elinor-ptolemy]

iapetxs:

      “… Aye.” His eyes focused in to take in the sight of the girl, the dark smudges under her eyes and the tangle of her silver-gold hair. She didn’t see his cracked throne, the vision that had long since driven him past the point of distraction. It wasn’t what was plaguing her dreams, sending her from her bed in the middle of the chilly night; it was something else that was making her unwind and fall apart. Perhaps it was nothing and she was simply, as she said, going mad. It wouldn’t be surprising, given that every time he saw the quiet little thing, there seemed to be another touch of hopelessness lurking under her pale face. 

      The throne reappeared in his mind, golden and destroyed and unrelenting. Leave, leave, leave. His mind was no longer his own, plagued by images he could not ignore. Hardly the first time, but he’d hoped long ago would be the last—

 out!

      Iapetus clenched his jaw, turning away from the girl and back to the water. Wordlessly, he drew her closer and tucked the edge of his cloak around her shoulders. Tiny thing, trembling like a leaf. “I think we both may be.”

Sobs shook her shoulders, though no sound escaped her lips.  She felt hollow and lifeless as the wild, dead reeds that grew where the river met the shore, lost to winter’s bite.  The king drawing her closer made her curl into herself with a hand covering her eyes, shame written in every curve of her body, every aching breath.  She felt the warmth of his body close to hers and longed for her not-mother, for a time and a place where she could have accepted kindness without question, or touch without fear.  “Oh gods, that I might sleep and not live this half-life anymore...”  She murmured brokenly, her words quiet and desperate as a prayer.

[iapetxs]

cracking | elinor & isiah

[elinor-ptolemy]

iapetxs:

      She lied. 

      Iapetus did not mind, sparing a glance to her tear-stained, moon-pale cheeks. The wetness on them glimmered in the moonlight and he extended a hand to her, calm when he otherwise would have been harsh. She saw something, just as he saw something; she saw, she saw, she saw——–

       The throne truly was a magnificent thing, even as it glimmered like death-glossy eyes in his mind. No real shine to it, just a glaze of—lack. A lack of something. What had given it its crack, he wondered? Had it been the swing of a hammer? Had royal brain and bone scattered over the golden expanse of it and gotten caught in its splintered surface? Had blood splattered until it grew sticky and cold? 

           Who’d sat in it? Who’d broken it? 

                                                              … Had they broken it? 

                                                                                                           —Did he care?

      “What do you see?” he repeated without heat, wrapping a wide palm around the slightness of her arm. His touch was careful, warm in the night’s chill, but his eyes were a thousand miles away. He stared straight through her at the vision in his mind, haunting in a way he couldn’t touch. 

The king extended his hand to her, and she could no more resist his touch than the sea could resist the pull of the moon.  There were some things buried too deep in her marrow to ever dig out, and obedience without question was the strongest of them.  And so she let him draw her nearer, shuddering at the warmth in his touch as if she’d never felt warmth in her life.  She swallowed, unshed tears aching in her throat, and shook her head.  Her voice, when it at last came, was a broken sob that only he could hear.  “I see that I am mad.  I am lost and I am mad.”  How else could she explain the dreams of silence and seeking?  How else could she explain that she had left her house to find a face in the river, a face she recognized but could also not remember?  What was this, if not madness?

[merverb]

Visit Original Link

[iapetxs]

cracking | elinor & isiah

[elinor-ptolemy]

iapetxs:

ἐξαίσιος (exaisios) beyond what is ordained or fated | for inspiration, listen here A vision of grandness crumbled; a taste that something is cracking. Both Isiah and Elinor feel it, albeit in different ways. Isiah cannot get the image of a golden, cracked throne from his mind, while Elinor sees something else… An echo of a memory from a life so similar to her own, yet so different… The pair run into each other and, sensing each are experiencing something similar, are stuck with each other’s company, if only for a moment.

@elinor-ptolemy

      Iapetus stared out at the sea, unseeing. He’d been dragged from his bed by the persistent itch of intrusive thoughts that were not his own, images of splintered gold haunting his mind every time he closed his eyes. It had lingered and lingered and lingered, stealing the peace from his mind and the weariness from his bones. He’d pulled himself from his wife’s sleeping embrace because of it, sliding into his boots and fastening his cloak as the vision took him walking. 

      The soft brush of footsteps in the sand drew his attention, hand falling to the hilt of his sword even though some instinct told him that it was unnecessary. And it truly was; he could scarcely imagine a less threatening figure than Lady Ptolemy in the moonlight, pale and wide-eyed as a doe. 

                             It was those eyes that drew his attention. The distance in them.

      With a sigh, he half-turned back to the rolling black waves. His whole mortal life, they had given him comfort. Now, they failed to soothe his mind. Just the way everything else did, just as no food, no wine, not even the touch of his wife’s lips had been able to pull the image from his mind. And something told him that he wasn’t the only one seeing things, if the girl’s gaze was as faraway as it seemed. 

      “Do you see it too, lass?” he asked, voice soft as he watched the water lap at the shore. In his mind, the throne lingered. Glorious, lavish, useless.

There was something missing, something lost.

Elinor felt its absence in every breath, sought its shape in every shadow.  She had been so long without healthy sleep that her body and mind were taking turns failing her, and tonight seemed to be a fatal combination of the two.  Her maid and her near-brother were gone, leaving her to stare at the near-empty bottle and its milk-white potion within, which promised violent, aching dreams and a sore heart in the morning.  She did not drink of it, choosing exhaustion over that opiate nightmare.  Her mind turned and twisted as she sat in her little room and focused on that thing she had lost, hours passing before she finally stood and began to walk through the empty house, trying to remember what she’d lost.  And once she had searched the house, her feet had carried her unbidden into the streets to begin her search anew.

The moon lit her path, pulling her toward the sound of running water.  The river...something...something caught in her heart at the sound and sight of it, pain and pleasure all at once.   Her breath caught, and she reached to bring a shaking hand to the water’s surface, the cool touch bringing light to a part of her mind that felt long dormant.  A light, or perhaps a shadow...but either way, it was awakened, and just like the rest of her, could not sleep.  There!  It was there, somewhere just out of reach beneath the water!  Somewhere further down the shore!

Her feet were light and graceful over the cobblestones and bridges, her eyes desperate and anguished as she kept them on the river.  It was there, in the river...she’d lost it to the river, somewhere deep below.  What was it?  What had the water taken from her?

The path ended as the river was released into the sea, and Elinor hardly felt the change of stone to sand beneath her slippered feet.  The darkness and the light of the moon stole the gold of her hair and the pink of her cheeks and made her a wilted figure of grey and silver, haggard with lack of sleep.  She clutched her shawl tighter around her and swayed on her feet as she watched the river become the sea and wondered just how mad she had become.

But then, a voice.  Her eyes slowly tracked to the imposing figure of the Balor king, though she hardly saw him at all in the odd half-consciousness she lived in.  “I see...”  A face, in the river.  A face, that she’d...  She swallowed, shuddering and shutting her eyes as tears fell down her silver cheeks.  “I see n-nothing.”  Her voice was so faint that it could have been the whisper of the grass on the dunes, or the wind rushing over the sand.

[elinor-ptolemy]

ashlynnpemberley:

Her first thought was not of pity. Unsurprisingly, it was one of relief. Those days she’d spent with Elinor wasting ours had given her the impression that Perla and whomever her adviser was, were up to no GOOD. She would’ve gone to her own mother about it, had even brought it up to Asa; but with all of the excitement happening, swirling around their heads and making everything a paranoid, confusing mess, Ashlynn hated to see that Elinor was the one to suffer for it. It wasn’t right … wasn’t fair. And now, she was left with nothing. Only a breath away from certain ruin, but alone in a city that was falling apart. “Oh, Elinor,” she sighed, hands dropping by her sides as the annoyance faded away. “No, I — I hadn’t heard.” 

Ashlynn hesitated a step closer. She’d comforted Halle once, surely she could do it again. “What is that you need? knights? servants? Take mine, I have no need of any. A place of rest? Highcrest is open whenever you need it. I’ll write to my mother at once. She can make any arrangements.” How would it feel? To wake and realize that everyone she thought she could trust had betrayed her in the worst of ways? ( but didn’t she know? hadn’t she held asa when he told her of antony? ) “Just tell me whatever you need, and it will be done.” And we will find this adviser, take back your treasures. “You needn’t be alone. Asa and I, we are still here.”

Elinor slowly shook her head, trying to push past the ache behind her eyes.  “I could not take from you, or your Lady Mother.  I...I could not live with myself if I increased the burdens upon you all, now.”  But had she not just done that very thing, in telling Ashlynn her pathetic, shameful woes?  Highcrest had only just regained its crown, there were the lines of succession and marriages to arrange, all the trappings of royalty.  What could the trivial happenings of a cousin’s life matter, when compared with such things?  Elinor’s eyes rose, slow and dull as they met her cousin’s.  “I realize that even now, I might have made a mistake in telling you, when...when little can be done to remedy it.”  A breath deflated her, and she shut her eyes against the weak sunlight.  “I...”  I missed you.  I have been so alone.  I need help.  I need my family.  The words all died on her tongue, trapped behind her teeth and her sense of propriety.  She shook her head, choosing silence over even more shameful confessions.

Her hands laced together at her waist, her posture easily becoming submissive and delicate.  She could not meet Ashlynn’s gaze, too afraid to see her cousin’s reaction.  “I think it best that I return to Starhold.”

[elinor-ptolemy]

thejealoussister:

Maeve looked down at the cup in her hand – such fine, delicate work, she was afraid it would break with the simple use. She didn’t blame Lady Elinor for asking, but it brought up a tightness in her chest that she had to overcome quickly. She opened her mouth to reply, in time to see the young woman react as if she expected a painful strike. Maeve frowned, confused and at a loss for what to do. Good gods, who had hurt this soft-hearted girl?

“What was… hm, nevermind, it’s okay. Really.” She reassured, setting her cup down and kneeling beside Elinor’s armchair. “My mother succumbed to the illness. I don’t mind that you asked; her suffering is over, it’s all that matters.” In a way, her mother’s death had brought their family freedom at last. “Has someone hurt you, Lady Elinor?”

Her response was automatic, a shake of her head and a lowering of her eyes.  “I am well, I thank you.”  The words didn’t feel like her own, but her mouth was so used to the shape that she was barely aware that she’d said them aloud.  But now that they’d been said, she relaxed just enough that she could allow herself to speak in a kind, gentle tone.  Her gaze did not rise from the cup in her hands, or the tea that had sloshed over the side when she’d flinched.  “But I am sorry for the loss of your mother.  I pray she is at peace, and that you are, as well.”

She took a deep breath, trying to show some semblance of decorum during such an important first meeting.  Finally, her eyes rose to meet Maeve’s again, and she gave a polite smile, her mouth easily remembering the shape of a polite, obedient expression.  “May I ask how old you are, Miss Blythe?”

[elinor-ptolemy]

haydenbattaglia:

He frowned. What was she apologizing for, his loss or her weeping over it? Hayden didn’t want her to apologize for her tears, to muffle them or feel ashamed of them. She had nothing to be ashamed of, least of all with him. He wished she knew that. He wished she trusted him - even when he was afraid he’d never be able to trust her in return. “Don’t be,” he said, voice gentle despite the bluntness of his words, his thumb brushing carefully at the corners of her eye.

When Elinor spoke, the sound was whisper-soft, hardly more than an echo of the long-forgotten strength Hayden knew she had once been capable of. Where had that girl gone? He pulled back his hands but did not step away; instead he perched on the arm of her chair, his bearing deliberately casual. But he was close enough to comfort her again, if need be, and that was what mattered.

“Yeah, he was broken out,” Hayden said again, a little surprised that it apparently mattered so much to her. He’d been so wrapped up in his own grief that he’d never stopped to think she might carry some of her own. He was such a bloody idiot. “I didn’t know you, uh” - even cared was too blunt, maybe - “were close to him.”

She shook and flinched under Hayden’s tender hands, the kind touches shocking her poor heart and prompting even more exhausted tears to fall down her pale cheeks.  Her eyes shut, gold lashes made dark and wet as a shaking hand dashed them away.  How she continued to shame herself, to drag herself so low before someone she cared about so deeply.

The chair creaked under Hayden’s weight, and Elinor fought to hold herself straight and still and proper, despite how she gently shook from the exertion.  (When had she last slept more than an hour’s time?  She could not remember.)  Her eyes stayed downcast, focused on her hands as they folded themselves across her lap.  Tears dropped onto the sleeves of her nightgown, but she could not stop them; it seemed her body was simply weeping from exhaustion, for her voice held no grief.  “He was kind to me.  A kind man, and a good one.  I promised...”  She swallowed, a lump in her throat.  “I visited him when he was imprisoned, to thank him for his kindness to me when the wildlings held us in the throne room.  I promised to p-pray for him.”  Her voice had faded to nearly nothing, and she shut her eyes again, seeking control and quiet as she had been taught.

[elinor-ptolemy]

haydenbattaglia:

He raised his head in surprise, trying to blink away any remnant of tears. The brightness of the fire; it had to be because of the brightness of the fire. Elinor sounded more like the little girl he had once upon a time known than since she had come to the Keep, kind and compassionate instead of formal and distant. “So am I, Ellie,” Hayden replied, voice slightly strangled. The affectionate pet name just slipped out without thinking. “So am I.” Rocking back on his heels, he quickly wiped a hand across his eyes. Then he stood and turned back to her.

Fucking hell, he’d made her cry. He was at her side within moments, hands instinctively reaching out to brush his thumbs across her cheeks and wipe her tears away. “Hey. Hey, don’t cry,” he said gently. “It’s alright. I’m gonna be fine. You… you get used to loss, after time. I’m gonna be just fine.” Even if it still continued to ache. Hayden thought of Zion, thought of his own role in his father’s second death.

If she knew, if she knew of his guilt, would she still feel sorry for him then? He doubted it.

Yeah. It didn’t stop aching. Hayden took a deep breath, forced a reassuring smile. “Besides, Hamish and his ma are still out there somewhere. They were broken out by someone.” Rumors indicated it had been done by a certain recently arrived sea captain and her crew - but he hadn’t investigated too closely. Better not to. You never knew when someone might try to use that information. “So you just be concerned with yourself, yeah? No need to worry about me.”

She was slow to react to his kind touch, her eyes blinking sluggishly, her body still and torn between flinching back and leaning closer.  “I’m...I’m sorry.”  She said automatically, tears still falling, her eyes shutting as he gently caught her tears on his fingertips.  Her exhausted mind took in his words slowly, hearing his pain and suffering and having no defense against it.  Her tears fell faster, and her brows pulled together in a pained expression as she sniffled quietly and trusted him to hold her up.

But her eyes opened at the smile in his voice, confusion written on her face at the truth he shared.  “What?”  Her voice was so faint and hesitant, it was nearly a whisper in her empty tomb of a chamber.  “They...but...you mean...P-Prince Hamish escaped?”  Her heart bombarded itself with remembered words and the last, painful moments she’d spent in the prince’s company.  Did he truly still live?

[elinor-ptolemy]

hamish-vitello:

She startled at his touch. Of course. Who would wish to be touched by such a wretch as he? But as he instinctively pulled back his hand, she surprised him once again by wrapping both of her hands around his. His eyes were wide as he met hers. A few of her fingertips came to rest against his wrist; he wondered if she could feel his quickened pulse, the rapid beat of his heart fluttering with panic and something else.

He would hate it, usually, would detest having someone else know how truly vulnerable he was. (How scared.) Yet somehow, as her thumb traced itself across his knuckles in an oddly soothing gesture, he found he did not mind too much.

Hamish inhaled sharply, his breathing still too ragged. It hurt. Gods, he hurt. And she was kind and sweet and good… and that made it ache all the more. “What is loyalty worth when it is to an unjust cause? What is loyalty worth when it is always one-sided? What is” - he swallowed, though his voice was remarkably even - “loyalty worth when it only made King Zion consider me with contempt? Do not be sorry, Lady Ptolemy. My life was irredeemable from the very beginning.”

He closed his eyes. Just for a few moments. Just to rest. Some part of him was already kneeling before the headsman’s block, bracing himself for that last fatal blow. “Your tears mean more to me than you can ever know,” Hamish finally said softly. “But you needn’t force yourself to provide me comfort. Such a precious gift is wasted on a man whose own father could not bring himself to love him.”

And then he did nearly weep, not because of the admission that Zion must have never loved him - he had known, he had always known, how could he not? - but because Lady Ptolemy had assumed that he was worthy of it. He made himself smile instead. “I am glad you came. However, I only wish one thing of you. I just- I wondered… did you receive the book?”

Instead of answering his questions, which seemed largely rhetorical anyway, Elinor did him a greater honour; she listened, where she felt that no one had in a very long time.  She watched his face change with a thousand emotions, her tears still falling and catching in the torchlight as she sat with him.  When his eyes shut, and such horrible truths fell from his lips, her face twisted as if from a physical blow, feeling his pain as her own as she leaned over their joined hands.  Curse that man, who should have so many children and so little love in his heart!

But Prince Hamish shocked her, his voice becoming kind and smiling as he asked after that long-ago favour he had promised her.  His kindness made a quiet sob shake through her shoulders, and for a moment she was too overcome to speak.  She bent forward, hiding her face by setting her forehead to their joined hands, sniffling quietly and trying to get herself into some semblance of order.  It took some doing, but a few long, deep breaths later, she sat up and nodded tearily.  “I...I did.  I shall treasure it, and treat it as treasure of my House.”  One hand broke from his to swipe at the tear tracks that glistened on her face.  “I...I brought you...I brought you things that I had hoped would ease your time here.”  She shrank from that harsh truth, her hand returning to tangle around his, still wet from her tears.  “If you would permit me to give them to you, Your Highness?”

[elinor-ptolemy]

darius-of-vitello:

Hands immediately went out as though asking for forgiveness; palms up, fingers outstretched. “There is no need to hurt your throat, I promise I’m not here to hurt you.” He was startles by how loud she screamed. Surprised by her fear. Darius didn’t think himself to be a very scary guy, and so he was confused as to how he got in a situation where someone thought he was. “I am just looking for my brother… have you seen him?” His voice was surprisingly gentle as his eyes searched hers. “Hayden? Do you know him?”

Her hands still shook as she held tight to the blankets.  “It is his home you stand in.”  She said in a small, scared voice, eyes still massive in her pale face.  “And in my chambers that you have entered without permission or invitation, so I implore you, if you are truly kin of my kin, that you leave now.”  She didn’t know where the words came from, when she had been so quiet in recent weeks.

[elinor-ptolemy]

darius-of-vitello:

“Hayden!” Darius called out, swinging his arms back and forth as he meandered around the place. He tilted his head back and forth, back and forth, laughing all the while. Perhaps his brother was out, playing big brother to all those children out there. He didn’t blame him, if he hadn’t had so much fun at the pub he probably would be too. 

That didn’t stop him from looking though. He missed his brothers companionship. He had been traveling for quite some time now, and being in the house all alone was quite.. bothersome. And Darius hated being bothered. 

That changed quite abruptly though, when he found behind a closed door a female. At least, he assumed she was. All he could really make out was the blonde hair peeking out from beneath the blanket. “Hello?” Something about her… it was a little diminished, and he wedged half of himself into the room and no more, scared he would startle her. “Are you awake?”

@elinor-ptolemy          

The night had passed much the same as always.  Elinor had taken a small meal with Maeve, and then read and embroidered and kept to herself until the time came that she must pretend to sleep again.  She was still forced to take the milk of the poppy if she sought any kind of deep sleep, but as of late, she had been able to at least achieve a light doze without it.  In the weeks since the Keep had burned and she had come to live with Hayden, Elinor had been improving in the smallest of ways, her attempts at sleep being only one of many.  She had not exactly found her appetite again, but with Maeve’s help, she had begun taking regular meals again, enough that she was regaining the weight she had lost during the darker days of her...fit of nerves.

But this night was no different than the others, in that she still only dozed for a few minutes at a time, her mind snatching at sweet oblivion before being disappointed by wakefulness yet again.  In between the odd moment of sleep, Elinor heard something like a dream, someone calling for Hayden in a sing-song voice and laughing as if the normalcy of the world had not ended weeks ago.  It was a comfort, to dream of happiness, even if it was not her own.

...except for the moment when her door opened, and a male voice that was not Hayden’s spoke.

She sat up with a gasp of fear, clutching the blankets to her chest as the heavy fall of her hair snaked and fell around her.  “G-Get out!”  She said, her voice shrill and broken with fear.  “Or I shall scream!!”  Her heart pounded in her chest and in her temples, a wild energy she had not felt for so, so long forcing life back into her body.  Life, and fear, and the instinct to fight.

[elinor-ptolemy]

haydenbattaglia:

Holding back a flinch, Hayden abruptly got back to his feet. He’d hoped to avoid that subject. “Damn, it’s freezing here,” he muttered. He went over to the empty hearth and grabbed some flint, began stacking logs of wood, some tinder, as he studiously avoided looking at her. There was a lump in his throat. Talk about embarrassing.

Taking a knife from his boot while he spoke, he struggled to keep his tone neutral: “The executions took place a couple of days ago.” Hadn’t she known? Perhaps he ought to be bitter that Elinor had been so sheltered as to miss it entirely. He couldn’t find it in himself to be bitter, though. Not at her. He was just glad. “They killed Antony,” Hayden said, and told himself his eyes were watering - only a little - because of the brightness of the sparks as he struck the flint against his knife.

It was instinctual, the way she flinched at the sudden motion, the noise of his chair scraping the flagstones.  Elinor watched him with wide, sad eyes, the man that had once been her childhood companion trying to hide his grief.  She heard the drag of steel over flint, and the business-like admission that the former king had gone to the gods.

She didn’t realize she was crying until the tears fell on her folded hands.  “I’m so sorry, Hayden.”  Her voice quiet and exhausted, as her heart twisted with the loss of an entirely unknown branch of her family.  A side she would never know, now.  (The pretty little daughter she had met, in the arms of a loving father.  The sweet smile and voice full of delicious secrets about love.  The kind voice that had offered to seek the stars with her.  The mother of those two princes, who must have loved her two strong boys.)  She had known of the Vitello’s atrocities, real or imagined, only by hearsay...but it was those brief glimpses that she would remember instead.

Elinor’s tears kept coming, for all that she could hardly raise her head to look at her companion.  “That you should lose so much of your family, and so violently...I am so sorry.”

[elinor-ptolemy]

thejealoussister:

She gave one last look towards the curtains, a bit uncertain, but she didn’t want to begin the day disobeying an order. Maybe Lady Elinor would feel better after some tea. Maeve was actually relieved that the other had little experience in choosing her servants, as it probably meant she wouldn’t complain much. Working with nobles could be extremely bothersome and she didn’t know if she could keep her tongue in check.

After another sip of tea, she nodded. “Very well. I’ve never worked properly as a maid, but I’m the oldest of three sisters and had to help my mother, especially for the past few moons when she fell sick.” The hand that wasn’t holding the cup twitched nervously and she hid it behind her back; talking about her mother was still difficult sometimes. “I can cook, clean, sew… all the skills they say a woman must know to marry, but I admit I’d much rather use that for my work than for a husband.”

She felt no thirst, so Elinor simply held the cup in small hands and listened to the woman speak.  Her dark brows drew together in quiet concern at the mention of Miss Blythe’s mother, and her voice was soft when she spoke.  “Those are all quite acceptable, but...I am sorry for your mother’s illness.”  She had been raised by a woman who was not her own mother, but she still sometimes tasted that word on her lips when she spoke to Lady Pemberley.  (Cousin, only cousin.)  Her eyes lowered to hide that sudden, unwelcome burst of loss and loneliness, before she met Miss Blythe’s gaze again, and tried to feel nothing at all.  “Is she still with you?”

But then Elinor flinched as if from a blow, the tea falling from its cup to gather on the saucer it rested upon.  Her shoulder rose on one side as if to protect her ear, and her palms pressed to hide against the teacup.  “I am so very sorry.”  She said quickly and with sincere remorse, shakily forcing her shoulder down when she realized what she’d done.  “That was greatly insensitive, please forgive me.”

[elinor-ptolemy]

ashlynnpemberley:

Frustration ebbed at what little patience she now possessed, tired as she was in her own right. Ashlynn turned her eyes to her cousin’s and waited, allowing a few moments to pass before she sighed. The flinch hadn’t escaped her notice. “Speak,” she urged, attempting softness when her tone tried to sharpen. “I will listen to whatever you have to say.” Perhaps Elinor was uncomfortable being frank with her. If so, then Ashlynn would gladly steer her towards a more welcoming ear. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Elinor.” 

A nod, and Elinor broke her gaze to tiredly watch the light move over the ground so she could not see Ashlynn’s reaction..  “I...am without most of my household servants that accompanied me south.  My maid and knights were apprehended during the attack by wildlings, along with the gold and heirlooms they had attempted to steal while I was...i-in the throne room.”  She swallowed thickly, wanting to forget every moment in that day.

A little shake of her head, and she returned to herself, but the shadow of it was obvious on her face.  “Perla was branded as a thief, with the brand on...o-on her cheek.  The knights lost a hand each.”  Her stomach soured at the thought of the familiar, trusted faces defiled and turned by greed.  She thought of Perla, who had raised her into what she was, who now had a T burned into her cheek that would keep her from honourable work for the rest of her life.  And the worst betrayal...  “My advisor, too.  He has fled, and with several treasures of my House.  I am...”  She took a deep breath, and her voice became faint and tired.  “I am alone.  And I am ill.  And I am greedy to come to you, when your sufferings and tribulations are tenfold, compared to mine.”  Her eyes tracked up the bow in her cousin’s hand, until she met Ashlynn’s gaze.  “...but I am certain none of this is news to you, Lady Cousin.”

[elinor-ptolemy]

hamish-vitello:

The strangled noise emanating from her told him enough. Yes, they would execute him. Perhaps, he thought dully, that would be a blessing. Perhaps he had earned it. If complicity was a sin then Hamish was certainly the worst kind of sinner: someone who had not engaged in evil himself and yet had done nothing to stop it but watch. So he would die as he had lived. Unloved, alone, and with no greater point to it.

It would be a public affair, presumably. Nicely symbolic, of course. The spectators might even laugh at the stupid cripple needing to be helped up the steps to the scaffold and to his death. But after that they would forget him, for even in death he would inevitably fade into insignificance when compared to Antony.

Gods, Antony. Antony and Alycia. Hamish used to secretly long for their humiliation, used to wish on them just a mere fraction of the shame he had suffered at their hands. But he had not wanted this, had never wanted this. They, at least, deserved to live. Hamish thought of little Peyton and Antoinette, thought of Antony’s bright smile and the trust shining from his eyes as he asked Hamish to be Antoinette’s godfather. Bile rose in his throat, along with the odd urge to weep - not for himself, no, but for those children who would soon become orphans.

(He could not even contemplate the death of his own mother.)

Yet his eyes remained dry. Lady Ptolemy wept in his place, perhaps. Wept for him, though he neither understood why nor deserved it. He was grateful nonetheless; she needn’t have come. “There is nothing to forgive,” Hamish said, and some of the numbness in his chest receded. If she hadn’t brought him the news, who then? Mayhaps he would not even have known until he was dragged from his cell to the sound of excited jeers. No, he was not upset with her. He was… grateful, and his heart ached to see her weep over it when she had only done him a kindness.

Taking a deep breath, Hamish pressed his hands against the cell’s floor once more and pushed. His gulps of air echoed through the cell. He took a limping step forward. Another. His jaw was clenched so tightly together to keep from crying out that it hurt - a mere inconvenience in comparison to the agony burning through his twisted shin, his shattered knee, his gnarled calf. Just a few steps more. A few more, a few…

Hamish fell against the bars. “Lady Ptolemy,” he rasped. As his legs buckled, he sank to one knee but managed to keep his other leg, the bad one, from crashing against the ground as well. His vision went black, just for a second; a hiss of pain escaped through his teeth. Even after he had blinked several times, spots continued to dance before his eyes. Had any of his healers been here, they would have been aghast, would have muttered frightfully about crippling his leg even further.

No matter. He would die soon regardless. Tightly curling one hand around the bars to keep himself upright, he reached out with the other and gently, very gently, clasped her hand in his. “My lady. Don’t weep. It’s- it’s alright.” As he looked up at her, he attempted a smile - even though he suspected it came across as more of a grimace.  “Mine has been an existence that is nothing but crippled and broken anyway. It’s alright. It’s…” He swallowed thickly. His eyes burned, yet the tears still did not come. “Don’t weep for me, please. It’s alright.”

Her hand fell away from her eyes at the sound of his standing, her skin smelling of rust from the iron bars.  She watched the shadows shift as the sounds of his movements came close to the weak light from the torch.  Shuffling, painful steps echoed in the darkness, and she grew frantic at the thought of the prince doing himself further hurt trying to move closer to her.  (Why?  Why was he coming closer?)  But then he was in the light, and she gasped when he fell against the bars and crumpled part-way to the floor.  She followed him to the ground, kneeling by the bars and watching him with parted lips and fearful eyes as the small bounty she had brought with her sat unused in the box beside her.

Their hands touched, and she started a bit, eyes wide and wet.  It had been so long since someone had touched her in kindness, instead of clinical diagnosis.  It made her tears fall even faster.  She did not hesitate, then, to wrap both of her hands around his one, pale fingers wrapped around his wrist and pressed to his palm, all in comfort, an anchor to something better than the truth.  And what was more, she listened, heard the hatred in his voice, all of his bitterness and the lost years he’d been forced to live.  Her tears did not stop, and she decided to mourn this man, who was going to be put to death for loving his brother too much.  “Your Highness, you were not always as you are now.  You were a child, loved by your family, and you were a young man, and a loyal one.  You are loyal stll, and that is why...”  Her words choked off into a sound of quiet pain, and her thumb swept over his knuckles in a little nervous habit more than an attempt at comfort.  “I am so sorry, Your Highness.  That you should have had such pain, and have even more now.  I will weep for you, because that is all I can give you.”  And while she was still horribly embarrassed by her tears, it was not just about exhaustion anymore, but for the prince, to give him something to show he was not abandoned.  Distant kin or not, he had been kind to her.  He deserved her tears, and a thousand other things more worthy than those.

[elinor-ptolemy]

thejealoussister:

“Right away, milady.” Maeve bowed her head and then moved towards the small table. Aiding a young lady should be much easier than taking care of her sick mother or even her sisters, considering she’d had more responsibilities in the house as the older of the three. She made the tea with steady hands, adding a spoonful of sugar on both cups and a bit of tea on the one meant for Elinor – such a fine set of clean porcelain, more expensive than anything she’d ever had.

“Yes, I am, it’s a beautiful day outside.” She wondered if the girl had even bothered to look outside the window that day; the pale complexion told her no. “I could open the curtains some more, if you’re feeling cold.” She set the teacup next to Elinor and then took the other one, humming as she sipped the rich tea. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me, milady? I come from a small village, I’m not quite familiar with how the court handles their staff.”

The ever-present pain in Elinor’s head throbbed at the mere mention of the bright sun outside the heavy drapes.  The young noblewoman’s brows drew together at the dull pain, but she shook her head and focused on her folded hands so that Miss Blythe might not see her discomfort.  “No, no, I...I am well.  I thank you for the concern.”  Her eyes darted back up as she heard the delicate china be set down beside her.  Pale hands took the cup in her palm and held it there in that same elegant posture as before, but she could not summon an appetite or thirst.  Best to focus on the matters at hand, anyway.

Elinor looked shyly away, fingers glancing over the edges of her teacup.  “I am not either, in truth.  My former maid was a companion of my entire life, or...from the time that my lord father thought it best that I begin a formal education.  I had no exposure to the process of meeting or accepting Perla, but...I could perhaps start by asking you of your skills, Miss Blythe?”  She asked hesitantly, unused to being in a position of power over someone, despite her noble birth.  (What is a noble amongst other nobles, after all?  She had never been around anyone who was not her equal, Hayden aside, but he was her kin and hardly counted.)