Edmund Varmont

prince of the varmont empire

[forgottencormac]

Unsent Letter

Your Imperial Highnesses, Imperial Princes & Cousins, Arthur and Edmund,

It has come to my attention that your sister Her Imperial Highness the Imperial Princess Guinevere has been betrothed to your couin, Prince Eoin. Not wishing that any of my esteemed cousins should feel left out in this time of wedded bliss, I wished to offer the hands of any of my sisters as best pleases you.

I must recommend to you the best, the most beautiful, most graceful, most worthy, most kind, most radiant, most gracious, most warm, most astute, most amiable, most delightful, most perceptive, most charming, most extraordinary of my sisters -- and, indeed, of all women -- Aine of Calleary, of late, Lady Lorcan. There is no flower fairer, nor face more lovely, not a countenance more serene. There is no one whose companionship brings better solace or whose warmth, greater joy. The man who weds Aine will, indeed, be the luckiest of all men.

As you cannot both wed her, you may recall I have two other sisters, as well.

Your doting cousin,

ꉓꉻᖇᙏልር, Ꮭꉻᖇᕲ ꉓልᏝᏝᙓልᖇᖻ

[sorrrowfull]

[forgottenedmund]

The Hanging | Edmund & Saoirse

Everyone in Lorcan had been made to bear witness to the hanging of the traitors who had made attempts to raid the palace. The Emperor himself had made his way there to preside over them and while he was pleased to make such an example, it was clear to all who knew him that he was angry that so many had been allowed to escape.

Even now, there were men searching the countryside for any trace of them -- unaware that they were being hidden beneath the very mountain Roderick now stood upon.

While Edmund's opinions had often differed from his father's, in this he felt that his father was justified. These men were angry and, while perhaps they were rightfully so, they had turned to violence. What had been their intentions once the gates had been breached? Would have they stopped if they had had his father's head? What would have happened to his mother? His siblings? His cousins? What would they have done if they had had their own way?

Still, it was clear that those here at Lorcan did not feel the same. Some of these men had live here their entire lives and had been known to them. While he may have conceded that this punishment fit their crimes, he could sympathize, too, with those who might have been against it.

He had not spoken to Rose since the attempted attack, but he knew that she would not have agreed that these men deserved to die for it.

After the hangings had commenced and Roderick had dismissed the crowds, Edmund made to find Saoirse amongst them. He had seen her earlier in the day, clearly distressed, where she stood by Lady Lorcan's side, ever watchful over her young charge who had been made, as his father's heir, to witness the entire event.

To his credit, the boy hadn't flinched or cried or waived while the thing was done and even Edmund felt sorry for him -- having to grow up well before his time.

His mother had ushered him out, quickly, afterwards which gave Edmund a moment to speak with Saorise alone.

He knew that she didn't especially like or trust him, but he meant to change that. She was important to the Malconaires and, therefore, he was important to him. And while Edmund would admit that, perhaps, today was not the best of days to foster a friendship with her, it was few and far between when he had the chance to speak to her alone and he was not going to waste it.

Besides, for Rose's sake, he meant to ensure that she was fine.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, when he approached her. "Did you know any of them? The men who died?"

[forgottensaoirse]

It's my fault, she thought, gaze tilting ever skyward. It's all my fault.

Saoirse had foreseen this. Oh, in truth, she'd not then known what she'd seen, but it'd been this. She knew that now. Saoirse's dreams were often portents, and in them, she'd stood every night at the brink of a precipice, the jagged cliffside crumbling at her feet as she stumbled backwards. A tide of people pressed at her back, and she was pressed ever forward, clinging to passing roots and rocks and trees to stem the flow as, everywhere around her, Astairans she knew by face, if not always by name, took one long look at her, sad yet accusing, and then leapt to their dooms even as she pleaded for them not to do it.

They were most of them from the Citadel, or there on that day, at least, she realized, now. Every single one of them killed in the riots -- or here. The Guardians had tried to warn her...and she had done nothing, or at least nothing which had worked. But she'd been warned, and that made this all her fault. She deserved to stand, now, at the foot of the gallows and gaze up into each tormented face. She must remember them. She must never allow it to happen again: for their sakes. She owed it to them.

But, selfishly, her heart ached for another cause, as well. Peadar had been brave, for all the world to see, holding his mother's hand, but when they'd begun the hangings in earnest, Saoirse had placed one hand upon her charge's little shoulder. She'd felt him flinch as his people went to their terrible doom. Such a little child! Had he not been through enough, already? She had no doubt this sight would haunt him for the rest of his days. Did Rodrick know no mercy? Must a child's peace of mind pay for his injured pride?

Saoirse had wanted to take that little boy in her arms and hold him, but she couldnot not. Not before all these people. It would make him appear weak. She took some comfort from the knowledge that his mother was, doubtlessly, attending to that very office even now, finally behind closed doors. But Saoirse could not help trembling herself for fear and for fury at it. There was not a soul in this world who deserved less to be put through this. At least the Emperor had not insisted on Clea's presence, Saoirse thought, but it came as small comfort just now -- for Peadar still had, and Clea, at least, would likely not have remembered. peadar, though: Peadar would.

Hearing a voice at her shoulder, Saoirse started, whirling around to face the intruder...and finding herself coming in great shock, face to face with a Varmont. For a moment her expression turned hard, but another moment and she commanded it, steeling herself as she glanced quickly over his shoulder, willing away the tears in her eyes as much as she could and swallowing back upon the tell-tale quaver she knew, already, was choking her voice. Now, she must be calm.

Is this how you were raised? she wished to bite out. Staring down freedom fighters as your father broke them before you, one by one? But she bit that back, too.

"My prince," she mumbled, curtsying, her voice a touch less sturdy than she would have liked, and then remembered herself. That wasn't correct. "Your Imperial Highness. Forgive me...Your Highness startled me."

She stood rigid before him, knew her eyes to be glass, felt her limbs to be stiff as she pulled her shawl closer about her as if to stifle a phantom breeze which her flesh knew not, but which chilled her very bones all the same. Blood of his blood, she thought, mistrustfully, but it was not Roderick she saw in his dark curls or the sweep of his brows, no. It was his mother, the so-called witch-woman of Kolchis. That was a comforting thought, little as she thought of Roderick's queen, for anything seemed better than Roderick, himself, just now. Yet his father was there, too, she saw after a moment, present in his bones: chin and cheeks, and Saoirse looked pointedly away, again, this time towards her feet.

"I did know them, Your Highness," she admitted. "Not well, for the most part...some I did not know their names till I heard them read off today, but...I did know them. I've always known them." She looked up at him, again. "And some of them, Your Highness, I did know well. I knew them, I know their sisters and their mothers and their sweethearts and their fathers. I know all their kin. Some...some, I knew very well."

She did not say that they did not deserve such a doom; she did not say that their loved ones did not deserve this pain, but she did not need to. It was there in the rigidity of her stance, speaking to him, and the too-glassy look of her eyes which no amount of steel could seem to blink away. She ought to look only at his boots and grovel. She knew it. But she could not. She stood upright, and she looked him boldly in the eye.

His eyes were a distinct blue-hazel, she saw, which appeared almost green, and she remembered strangely then what Rosie had said of their bright quality when he laughed -- the only description she'd ever heard of them -- but his eyes did not laugh, just now. They were serious, somber even, and she frowned surprise. Oh, she'd not anticipated him to be laughing, but she also had not expected an expression of almost...compassion, and she found that just as strange, in this moment, as she might have found laughter. It was somehow out of place, she thought. He was a Varmont. And this was a moment of Varmont triumph.

Saoirse's gaze flickered suddenly to the dais where Roderick, lately, had stood, before returning to his boy. Why was he speaking to her? Yet, it would have been like Rosie to wish to ensure that she was well, given what today represented: this was the fate which also awaited her own brother, were he ever to be captured, and Rosie knew that all too well. Had she dispatched her own Varmont champion to her? Saoirse wished, if that were so, that she had not. Rosie might have found his presence comforting, but Saoirse most certainly did not. It did not occur to her that he might have come with a wish to comfort her of his own initiative.

"Did...Did Ros--That is, did Lady Roisin of Malconaire ask you to see to me? Your Highness need not have bothered, I assure you. I am quite alright." She shrugged. "I am always alright."

[forgottenedmund]

Edmund did not answer her at once. The rigidity of her posture, the way she held herself together by force of will alone, struck him more deeply than any accusation might have. When he did speak, his voice was quieter than it had been moments before. “I am sorry,” he said simply. Not as a formality, not as something expected of him, but because he found that he meant it. “I did not know them as you did. Hearing you speak of their sisters, their mothers… it puts weight to what was done today.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I will not pretend that I believe my father acted without cause, but ... "

A pause. Those men may have lost their lives, but they were not the only ones who suffered for their crimes, were they?

" .... as you say, there are households that will wake tomorrow and find themselves altered forever,” His jaw tightened, “That is not a thing one can simply dismiss, even when one believes the sentence was just.”

At the mention of Rose's name, his expression softened despite himself, an unguarded thing that flickered across his features before he could stop it. “No,” he said gently. “Lady Roisin did not ask me to come to you.” After a moment, he added, more honestly than he had intended, “But she was… part of why I did. I know you are close. And a friend of hers matters to me.” He did not elaborate further, though the admission lingered between them.

His attention shifted then, away from the gallows and back toward the path Lady Lorcan had taken with her son. “He conducted himself well today,” Edmund said. "Better than some men have done." There was no false praise in his words. “My father values strength of bearing above many things. He will have noticed. How old is he?” He asked.

[forgottenronan]

OOC | Ronan & Edmund

hi! ronan hates edmund! and wants him dead! is there anything he can do? no! he hates him! me: *sob*

honestly he'd say its not personal, but it isssss he frankly wants all the roderick!varmonts to suffer horribly and dieeee bc he thinks that'd be justice for all the suffering astaira has gone through when, in fact...it'd just be more suffering...but ronan isn't in his most rational place, as we all know and he wants revenge and he'll wreak it on anyone he can in an effort to assuage his own pain so -- that's fun!!!!!! edmund is really just having hit after hit w the frost boys huh lkajsdflkjsdjf

im thinking that ronan maybe ~does know that its the raven banner that was at the battle of m, but he does noT talk abt that!!!!!! it was baDDDDD AND im thinking he probs doesn't know edmund ~is the raven prince or anything but if cillian comes in and is like HEY WHICH BANNERS ronan could tell him and then ~he could identify him as edmund

honestly, cillian's instinct won't be to go to ronan bc he knows how messed up ronan is and he doesn't wanna trigger him frankly but yeah! in that cillian, himself, is being triggered, he's def not feeling esp rational and it might come to that who knows!! anyway, if/when everyone eventually unveils edmund as the architect of the battle of m, ronan will hate him even ~more than he currently does and will probs be like TIME TO OBSESSIVELY PLAN AN ASSASSINATION!!!!! im realizing so...yikeS

fortunately for edmund, roderick is v used to these things and has all sorts of precautions but still its fun </3

[forgottenedmund]

edmund: it sure is great to be a varmont!

Okay, I love that Ronan does remember whose banners were there at the Battle of Malconaire and that he ultimately might be the one to spill the beans about it to everyone?? (Especially if/when he hears about the Varmont princes hanging out at Malconaire INCLUDING the one with the raven banners??!?!)

I'm also realizing that Edmund probably thinks that they all already know about his involvement in the battle?? (not everyone is as schooled in the Varmont heraldry as Edmund thinks they are, I guess) And like, he does feel awful about it because he does know that it resulted in the loss of their dad's life, but that was before they knew each other and I think he (very wrongly) sorta thinks that they all know that he would never that happen to Malconaire again and it "wasn't personal, it was just business"

(All that being said, I do think that the more that he gets to know them, the more this moment in his life is a huge source of conflict of emotions for him -- because on one hand, I think it really served to put him on the map and earned him a badge of respect from his father, his mother, his uncle, his brothers, his men -- and himself!!! -- and proved to them all what he was capable of and he does like this feeling -- especially after having suffered a lot of humiliating losses in tournaments, etc when going up against Arthur!! But he's also starting to see first-hand the consequences of that battle and what it has done to the people who live there and how, even 2 years later, how things are not the same. Not to mention that Cassimir and Valentina are in charge????? I know none of this is going to help his case at ALL with Ronan, but anyway!)

It's gonna be v interesting what happens with Edmund and the Malconaires (especially Rosies) once all of this comes out!! IDK if Ronan and Edmund will have much chance to interact just yet though?? -- unless you think Ronan comes out of hiding just to try to scare the Varmont princes away or something alsdjfladsj (I doubt that Edmund would know who he ~actually is~ or that he's a wanted man) Or if you think they'd interact in another way?? Open to anything!

[forgottenronan]

edmund thought they all knew!!! ommmgggg that internal conflict re: pride vs horror in the battle of m!!!!!! lkajsdkfljsdf honestly that is soooooooo delicious!!! aklsdjfklsjdkfljsd kfjsdkalf; sdkfj kls;dfKLAJSDFKLJ lkajsdfkljds but anyway, we ~do now know how that info all came out, and ronan is not involved (outside being like 'time for an assassination!) so ill just go ahead and *maurice moss voice* 'move on' to that...

bc!!!!! i think cillian probs ~has talked abt all of this now since the ice ball, etc, and so now ronan knows that the dude who sacked malconaire is still haunting the site of his triumph (in ronan's eyes this is defff a gloating move!) and (in ronan's eyes, again) creeping on one of the precious daughters of the man he killed so like!!!!!! we maay have found our first assassination target laksjdfkljsdf esp bc malconaire is soooo close and like????? these are largely peasants ~from malconaore like!!! who knows the terrain etc better than they!!!

so like idk exactly what it'd be (probs fodder for resistance comments in future!) but i think ronan will be looking to make some kinda trap for edmund next time he comes to malconaire so they can kill him akljsfkjsdf cillian: 'could we pls just let him explain to rosie first? i reaaaaally want her to know what happened its an important lesson for her!' ronan: 'oh, you know he's def coming to malconaire in x time span? perfect!' cillian: 'did you not just hear me????' aka edmund's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day incoming ig lkajsdfkljdsjf

not unlike w cassandra, i think this may create some internal strife in the resistance, so idk if it'll come off at all? tho ronan's pr gung-ho so he might try smth even if its just him ~alone idk!! but yeah, like, for example, i ~do think saoirse, at least, will defffff be WILDLY against this bc like????? if edmund turned up murdered in malconaire, you KNOW roderick would NOT wait to find out what happened, first, to just execute justice against the murders, he would want vengeance!!! he would come down like a hammer on malconaire and wipe it from the map!!!!!!!! lakjsdfkljsdf (also edmund would posthumously be declared his heir and one true prince etc etc etc arthur and guin: ...ok...we miss him too...but you ~do realize he really cant inherit atp right?)

but ronan is not at his most reasonable atm!!!! and he's got a place and a time and all that's left is the trap! and, unlike cassandra, he does see edmund as just...fully evil in his own right, and frankly wants vengeance against him, so he really has no moral problem whatsoever w killing him ngl!!! lkajsdklfjsdf cillian will have mixed feelings bc ngl part of him ~does want edmund dead now that he knows he was the general at the battle of m, but also he honestly was kinda touched by/v much respects how edmund handled the whole confession thing???? plus also saoirse will def be pointing out roderick's reaction and obv cillian ~doesn't want ~that!!!

now, i do think if he tries this in rosie's presence (that would def be an accident he def doesn't want rosie having to witness this or anything but given the plan revolves around edmund going to meet up w rosie it could def still happen), she obv would def tryna diffuse the situation!!!! she will be in a lot of personal turmoil given what edmund tells her etc (if he's gotten a chance yet ~to tell her) ofc but i guarantee she doesn't want him violently murdered right in front of her by her not!brother, either!!! (rosie: there's been too much violence and killing already!) and she ~is one of the og malconaire ladies so ronan does ultimately recognize her authority and, frankly more importantly, he loves her like she's his own littlest sister but he does also believe she's being used/manipulated etc so yeah!! it might de-escalate it some degree but idk how itd all go, but yeah idk that she'd even get the chance to be involved frankly that's only if the timing has ~really gotten botched somehow or whatever (which could happen --- rosie might be delayed by valentina being like 'you gotta do some extra chores etc or whatever -- but yeah itd def be a fluke kinda thing) yknow?

so yeah, it might happen that the timing on this is botched so completely that ronan never ends up seeing edmund at all, or that he's talked down (either by edmund or someone else), or that he decides ~not to go through w it, or yeah!! idk that i want him to capture edmund (or if he does, he probs peacefully releases him before anyone at the palace ever realizes hes gone kinda thing?) given we've got that happening w cassandra later on (bc he might later regret ~not having killed edmund, if he ~chooses not to, after roderick's gone on his tear re: the malconaires etc)...he might ultimately just...walk up to him and be like 'yo, leave these girls alone man' if he's already been talked down, perhaps to the point where edmund may not even realize he had ever been in any danger from him??? idk!! i feel like we could go a lot of places w this, if we like any of it? idk, whatcha think?

[forgottenedmund]

sorry that this response is SO LATE but anywhere here we are after Edmund/Rosie has fallen apart! However, I DO really like the idea of Ronan wanting to assassinate Edmund??? Like between knowing that it was him who led the battle of Malconaire AND how he ~manipulated~ his way into Rosie's heart and then broke it, I feel like Ronan WOULD be pretty upset towards him???

(also not Cillian lowkey being impressed by how Edmund handled the whole confession thing laksjflsajdflj idk but I love that sm <3 .... also Edmund having anyone being proud of him outside of his uncles? wild!!! jkjk ;D)

anyway, I do like the idea of him planning something but then actually getting talked down by someone (either in front of Edmund or not idk?!) here are some possible contenders for that, including the peeps you suggested!

I love the idea of Rosie talking him down and Edmund witnessing how she's legit saving his life, despite everything that could be a real turning point for Edmund, honestly, even if it doesn't change anything about their relationship

I also think the idea that Cillian does it could also be interesting and ngl Edmund would NOT know what to think about that (but he would be glad he didn't send Cillian to prisons when he had the chance!) but then he would probably also learn that Cillian and Lord Ormond are the same person which could be interesting? Especially since he would now owe him his life, Edmund wouldn't want to turn him in, but he would also know that he's working with the resistance and NOT who he says he is, so that could also end Cillian being Lord Ormond (or at least as frequently?? plus he would have to trust that Edmund wouldn't ever give him away!) so idk if we'd wanna take that path or not yet???

Ciara could also be interesting because it would be the first time she's really faced with resistance vs family like Ronan either kills Edmund OR Edmund now knows about both Ronan and her involvement in it, but again idk if we wanna go there just yet?

I will tell you that Kale would be very much on Ronan's side in all of this lmao (Kale: kill the boy!) if he knows about the plot

But I think even Bright would be rational enough to know that killing Edmund would bring up more problems than it will solve, short term, but I do think that she would be more game for like using him as a bargaining chip or something

Saoirse or Percy could also be interesting, too, and I feel like their stance would be similar aka non/violent and less risky haha??

Anyway, lmk what you think!!

[forgottenedmund]

ooc | Edmund & Odile

edmund is really not gonna be a fan of either odile or emile ngl!!! odile's arrival is pretty ill timed for her to get on Edmund's good side, since Edmund is currently Going Through It.

he and rosie just sorta did the lfr version of breaking up (and it seems pretty final since rosie found out that edmund was the one who led the battle against malconaire that y'know just killed her dad and burned her village so #awkward)

anyway, he's very upset and very emo atm and isn't sure what his next move is, but he's either gonna just try to become a serious advocate for Astaira in attempt to atone for his sins OR just go hardcore for the varmont race for the throne and I'm not sure where he will land (although my money is honestly on the later option but we will see!)

either way .... he won't be a fan of odile, because if the first option, she's a part of his varmont family which is complicated if he's trying to advocate for astaira, and if the second, then she's a potential threat and that needs to be addressed haha!

I do think, in normal circumstances, Edmund would just be naturally suspicious of them and them timing and would definitely be looking into them and trying to find whatever proof that could be found to verify their identity!

[forgottenmarian]

Motherly || Edmund & Marian

When Marian had picked this specific corner of the Citadel grounds to set up her rose garden, it had been due to the specific amount of sunlight the area received throughout the day. The small green house had been constructed in time for her to begin cultivating her plants within the first year of their occupation of Astaira, meaning this was the first year she'd had a proper garden to tend to throughout the warmer months.

Though spring was when many people had thoughts of flower blooms, in the autumn many of her flowers were still filling the garden with color. This late afternoon found Marian pruning a few of the bushes for the upcoming cold that was said to be descending on them in the upcoming weeks. Her gardening was a solitary activity-- besides the guards that patrolled the grounds, Marian insisted she be left alone. At times Cassandra had been known to accompany her, though she never had the patience to stay by her mother's side for long.

The sounds of hooves on stone caused Marian to glance up, seeing a rider approaching the nearby stables. The proximity to the stables was something she had realized after the fact, was quite convenient in seeing the comings and goings at the Citadel without appearing too obvious.

It was Edmund who was returning this afternoon and Marian could only assume it was from a common destination for all the imperial princes: Malconaire. Marian returned her gardening tools to the small greenhouse along with her gardening smock, before she made her way to the path that lead towards the Citadel itself.

"Edmund," Marian greeted her step son with a small incline of her head as she came upon him, not by accident, on the path. She knew he was clever enough to realize this was most likely not a coincidence, but Marian did not particularly care about that fact.

"I will be glad to have company walking back up to the castle," Marian informed him with a kind smile. Despite him being grown now, Marian did often imagine Edmund as the little boy with a mop of curly hair and dark eyes who could have hardly known much affection with Amira for a mother. It pained her, in a way, that he would have to fail for Arthur to ultimately become who he was destined to be-- their father's heir.

"Have you had an exceptionally interesting day?" Marian inquired. "I should like to hear all about it, interesting or not."

[forgottenedmund]

Edmund reined in beside her and dismounted with practiced ease, smoothing a hand over his horse’s neck before passing the reins off. “It has been productive, at least. I spent the better part of the morning buried in maps, dispatches, trade routes, and border reports.” A brief pause followed. “Not thrilling, perhaps, but useful.”

There had always been a part of Edmund that had longed for the kind of motherly affection he had seen Marian bestow so freely upon her children" something that had never existed between himself and Amira. Once, he had mistaken such tenderness for weakness. Now he understood it as a strength of its own, and one he privately envied. Today, that absence weighed on him more heavily than usual.

However kindly Marian had treated him in the past, he knew better than to trust her. He would never confide in her what had transpired between himself and Roisin Malconaire: how whatever fragile understanding they had once shared now seemed fractured beyond repair. Coupled with the conversation he had endured with Amira that morning, cataloguing his many supposed shortcomings, Edmund felt hollowed out by it all. Worthless, if he were honest. And beneath that, anger simmered: hot, restless, and carefully leashed.

He would not allow Marian to see it. But neither did he miss the opportunity to remind himself (if only briefly) of his own superiority. After a beat, he shifted the subject with deliberate casualness. “Have you happened to see Arthur?” he asked, as though the thought had only just occurred to him. “Or Sebastian? I’ve managed to miss them entirely since morning, which is either a minor miracle or a sign they’re up to something.” His tone was light, even amused, and he let out a soft laugh, though he knew very well that neither of his half-brothers had been half so occupied as he had been today.

His gaze drifted toward the garden. “You’ve done well here,” he added, voice easing as he took in the riot of late color. “The roses look remarkably stubborn -- holding their ground despite the season.” The corner of his mouth curved faintly. “I admire that. There’s something reassuring about things that refuse to wilt simply because they’re expected to.”

[forgottenaoife]

Family History || Edmund + Aoife

Aoife was not particularly found of dinner parties, but even moreso when half her family had been sent away by their stepmother, leaving only Rosie and herself, along with their step siblings, to entertain the guests from the Imperial household.

Rosie had been midway through a story that had Prince Edmund laughing and Aoife smiling when, abruptly, Valentina insisted her younger sister some assist with something in the dinning room. Rosie insisted she would return to finish her tale, but that meant it was up to Aoife to entertain the prince in her absence.

The pair had sat in a bit of an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes-- Aoife assumed Rosie had told Edmund that Aoife, herself, was not particularly great conversationalist-- but the silence was somehow worse than talking. Glancing around the room, Aoife's eyes landed on her father's portrait, still hanging above to fireplace to watch over them all.

"My Father's given name was Macdara," Aoife gestured to the picture as she spoke, "but everyone called him Bran. It means 'raven.' He had a pet one when he was a boy. Though, not so much a pet, I suppose, as one that lived here, at Malconaire, and would bring my father trinkets in exchange for treats," Aoife paused, observing the prince for a moment before continuing.

"There haven't been many ravens here since my father's death. They're gone, just like all the flowers my mother planted around the house. Though," Aoife paused again, a thought occurring. "Someone leaves things for us, my sisters and I, from time to time... little trinkets or food. Perhaps its from one of them," Aoife concluded. The idea was preposterous-- it would take a whole flock of ravens to bring some of the packages that had been left on their doorstep.

"I only say all this because that is what is on your banner, isn't it?" Aoife inquired of Edmund. "A raven. Like my father's."

[forgottenedmund]

For a moment, Edmund said nothing at all. Rosie’s laughter still seemed to linger in the room, like warmth after a fire has burned low, and he found himself reluctant to let it go. It was always thus with her: she drew light out of him without effort, without demand. When she was gone, the quiet pressed in more firmly than before. He did not begrudge Aoife her silence; if anything, he respected it and he was content to sit with her in silence, until Rose returned.

But when Aoife spoke of her father, something in Edmund tightened. He did not need to look at the portrait to see Macdara Malconaire as he had last seen him: on the field, beneath banners snapping in the wind. Edmund had given the orders. Edmund had ridden beneath the raven flags. The knowledge flared, sharp and unwanted, and he pushed it down with the practiced ease of someone long accustomed to compartmentalizing guilt. Aoife could not know. None of them must ever know.

“Bran,” Edmund echoed lightly, allowing a small, almost wry smile to touch his mouth. “A fine name. Ravens are clever creatures ... stubborn, too. Was your father as such?" He regretted the question as soon as it was asked. Learning more about Bran Malconaire would not be easy for him. He knew that the Malconaire girls had lost a most beloved father and that was enough in itself to cause him pain. He did not need to hear his daughter speak lovingly upon on his admirable qualities.

At her mention of his banner, he inclined his head. “It is,” he admitted. “A raven, yes. My father, my brothers, and even my uncle all bear birds of one sort or another." A beat. "It spares one the trouble of standing out too much.” He winked at her, but the truth of it sat uneasily with him. He knew if the sigils were more varied, than they all would have remembered. If she remembered the banners from the battle, she gave no sign of it, and Edmund was grateful.

The notion of the secret gifts caught his attention more readily, and he seized upon it with relief. “Secret offerings, left without a name?” His brows lifted with genuine interest. “That sounds far more intriguing than heraldry. I should think one of you must have an admirer or two among the local folk.” He allowed himself a faint smile. Anonymous gifts were not Arthur’s way, nor his own. Sebastian’s face flickered, unbidden, through his mind…though he dismissed it just as quickly. The Malconaires, he knew, inspired devotion wherever they went.

“Do you have any suspects?” he asked, his voice mild, almost idle. His thoughts strayed to Rosie and to whether there might already be someone else who watched her with that same quiet reverence he felt himself slipping into. “It seems a shame not to know whom one ought to thank… " Or to keep an eye on, he thought.

[freshlybrewedrp]

FOUR WORD SENTENCE DIALOGUE STARTERS!

ADJUST AS NEEDED!

- “You shouldn’t be here.” - “We need to talk.” - “That wasn’t the plan.” - “This changes it all.” - “I can explain everything.” - “Don’t lie to me.” - “I can’t do it.” - “You promised you wouldn’t.” - “How did you know?” - “This isn’t over yet.” - “This place feels wrong.” - “Are you hiding something?” - “What did you do?” - “It was an accident.” - “You shouldn’t have come.” - “Tell me the truth.” - “I never stopped looking.” - “You look different tonight.” - “I didn’t expect you.” - “This was your idea.” - “You heard that too?” - “This changes the deal.” - “Will this change things?” - “Don’t make me ask.” - “I warned you already.” - “I thought you left.” - “Did you really know?” - “I recognize that symbol.” - “This place is cursed.” - “I broke the rules.” - “You never answered me.” - “You’re bleeding, sit down.” - “I made a promise.”

[forgottenedmund]

➵ edmund 𝄪 brigit 𝄪 cassandra 𝄪 sebastian 𝄪 cassimir 𝄪 percy 𝄪 alaric 𝄪 ciara 𝄪 kale 𝄪 finn 𝄪 aine 𝄪 garbhan 𝄪

[forgottenedmund]

Breaking Fast | Edmund & Godfrey

Spring was here and this morning Edmund had been grateful both for the sunlight and the warmth it provided. For the last few months, he and his uncle had risen before the crack of dawn to practice swordfighting, jousting, archery, and anything else that Godfrey felt could use some improvement. It had been cold and dark and brutal, but Edmund has risen to the challenge and now, he felt as though the seasons had rewarded him for his work. Now finished for the day, he and his uncle were enjoying their breakfast.

Edmund felt good after the exercise. He allowed his uncle to push him harder than anyone else, for he was truly the one person who he wasn't afraid to fail in front of. The measure of a man does not change if he falls, Edmund. What matters is what he does next. If he finds a way to stand again, he will be even stronger.

He was learning how to use his strengths to work for him -- not against him. His uncle was stronger and his blows could still knock Edmund to the ground -- but Edmund was faster and if he could anticipate his uncle's next move, he could stand his ground. He'd managed to beat him this afternoon, once, and while he felt proud for this accomplishment, he knew not to let it go to his head. He'd studied under his uncle for months now and had come to learn his style.

It would not always be his uncle who he would be fighting.

Despite this, he couldn't help but he couldn't resist the temptation to tease Godfrey about it, "You're getting older, uncle," He smirked, "It's a sad day for a man when he is beaten by the Raven Prince."

Edmund was not ignorant of his reputation. He'd heard what they'd used to say about him when they thought no one was listening. The Raven Prince had never won a tournament. He'd never even been close. The only times he'd ever advanced was when his opponents were woefully underqualified. Edmund suspected that they'd only won a spot in the tourney at all so that he might not loose every opponent he faced.

[forgottengodfrey]

Chuckling at his nephew's jibe, Godfrey nonetheless shook his head. "That is where you are wrong, Edmund," said he, placing a hand upon the younger man's shoulder. "I could not be prouder than to be defeated by so doughty a warrior as the Raven Prince. Though," he added, with a small laugh and the slightest wince. "My ribs may resent it, yet."

Breakfast smelled heavenly, the aromas of hot bread and fried toast wafting towards them with heady effervescence and setting Godfrey's stomach to groaning. With another laugh, he speared a stack of pancakes for his plate, and some sausages and fruits as well, before passing each serving to his nephew.

This was a fairly informal arrangement, sporting not so much as a single servant that the two might speak freely amongst themselves, and there was a palpable relief in that prospect. Godfrey was a careful man, weighing each word, a habit which had allowed him to live this long, but even he grew weary of such cares and, though he never fully relaxed in the palace, well aware that even the walls had ears, these rooms he had inspected, himself. Unlike most of the others they'd inhabited in their time, the palace of Stafford had not been purpose-built for spying, it seemed.

"Do not make the mistake, Edmund, of thinking it is merely my growing decripitude," he added with a teasing smirk. "That has brought you here. Your technique is everyday improving. I may perhaps in truth be past my peak as a warrior, but you will surpass even my former self well before you hit yours. I am sure of this. But," he added, gleefully slathering his toast with a healthy supply of butter, grinning towards his nephew. "Now I must quiz you on other subjects, and there, I'm afraid, you will find me just as sharp as I've ever been."

Spearing his eggs upon his fork, he looked to his nephew, serious now. "The executions. Tell me of the folk, there. What was their attitude as they watched? What was the mood?"

Godfrey, himself, had not been required and, thus, he had not attended, nor had Amira. He had tried to argue to Roderick that Edmund ought not to be there, as the issue was 'beneath the notice of so lofty a figure,' an argument which generally held sway with Roderick, but upon this point, he would not be moved in this case. Rumor that the raven banners had been spotted fighting on the Astairan side in the riots had made their way back to Roderick, and he had wished to crush such perfidious lies once and for all.

Still, Godfrey had not wished it to appear that the Calainon faction was in support of these things, and had put it about that the Emperor had required his sons' presence. This had the unfortune downside of showing Arthur and Sebastian also to have been victims of their father's ferocity, true, but it was far less of a loss than to allow anyone to believe that Edmund had endorsed the killings, and still helpful in crafting Roderick's image as a tyrant, even amongst his family. And Arthur, particularly, could always be relied upon to do something foolish which Godfrey might easily exploit.

"Your Astairan friends, Edmund -- what have they to say about the whole affair?"

[forgottenedmund]

Edmund did not answer at once. He took a moment to set his knife aside, fingers resting against the edge of the table as though he needed the grounding. The warmth of the room, the ease of breakfast, felt almost obscene when set against the memory of Lorcan’s walls and the bodies that had hung there. “Quiet,” he said finally. “That was the thing that struck me most. No shouting. No jeers. No prayers spoken aloud, even. Just… a heaviness. As though the whole fortress were holding its breath.” He glanced up at his uncle, measuring his words. “They did not cheer the executions, but neither did they riot again. They understood what my father meant to say: even if they did not agree with it.”

He had seen hangings before; that was not new. Edmund had never pretended otherwise. But this time had been different, and he did not know how to explain why without sounding weak. “It was not like watching criminals punished,” he continued more quietly. “It felt like watching Astaira lose something it would not easily regain. The people there… they grieved. Not only for the dead, but for what those deaths meant.” He paused, jaw tightening. “My father believes the severity will deter rebellion. I fear it may do the opposite. The punishment will be remembered long after the riot itself is forgotten.”

Edmund shifted in his chair, discomfort flickering across his expression. “I did not see the riots myself,” he admitted, “but I have heard enough. From the guards, from the servants, from whispers meant to die in corridors.” His mouth thinned. “The people were angry, yes: but I have been told it was the soldiers who escalated it. A shove, a blow, panic… and then blood."

For a moment, Edmund stared down at his untouched food. Then he spoke again, slower now, the sharpness gone from his voice. “Roisin Malconaire has said nothing to me since.” He drew a breath, steady but strained. “She learned that it was I who led the campaign against Malconaire during the conquest.” His eyes lifted to Godfrey’s, dark and unflinching. A pause. “She hates me.”

The words landed heavily, and Edmund did not attempt to soften them. “And I cannot fault her for it,” he added. “If I were in her place, I do not know that I would ever forgive me either.” His fingers curled slightly, betraying more emotion than his face allowed. “If it had not been for me, perhaps her father would yet live. I tell myself that I was following orders, that I was doing what was required of me, but the dead do not care for such distinctions.”

He leaned back at last, exhaling through his nose. “I do not regret serving the Empire,” Edmund said carefully. “But I am beginning to understand the cost of it in a way I did not before ... "

[forgottenedmund]

Who is Better Than a Varmont? | Edmund & Rian

“Have you had a moment to congratulate my fair sister upon her engagement?” Edmund asked, his was tone easy and conversational as though it had really only been just a question. Still, he watched Rian Stafford’s face with the same interest one gives a chessboard: looking for any signs of weakness.

If Edmund had had his way, Rian would have drifted into obscurity the moment the conquest ended. The man had served his purpose. But his father had insisted on elevating Rian into temporary stewardship at Lorcan, and now Edmund was forced to endure him. A tedious consequence. Rian Stafford had always possessed far grander ambitions than his talents justified, and a grating tendency to imagine himself indispensable. Edmund might have forgiven the opportunism, but he had no patience for ambition coupled with delusion. And Rian’s delusion was beginning to center itself, with increasing frequency, upon Edmund’s sisters.

That alone made him worth watching.

Edmund had noticed it long before this morning: the way Rian’s attention lingered a moment too long on Guinevere, the faint tightening of his expression when her betrothal to Eoin was announced: the flicker of something like wounded pride. 

Had he truly entertained the notion? The thought amused Edmund. That Rian Stafford (the man who had lost his crown to a young girl!) might have imagined himself worthy of Roderick’s favorite daughter?

“I know my father considered every possible match,” Edmund continued, his tone as smooth and pleasant. “But I doubt he ever troubled himself overlong with certain options. Who could be better for her than her own kin? Than a Varmont?”

His smile was polite; his eyes anything but. He wanted Rian to feel the sting: to understand precisely how absurd his quiet hopes had been, how far beyond his reach Guinevere had always remained. Rian had failed, and Edmund saw no reason to allow him the comfort of forgetting it.

[forgottenedmund]

You Have Been Warned | Edmund & Aria

"If my mother is inviting you to tea, you'd watch best watch out."

Edmund have overheard his mother this morning send her lady out with the invitation. He knew, too, that she was not to be the only guest, but he thought he'd let her discover that upon arrival. He knew that his mother was planning this particular gathering for no other reason than to stir up trouble for Arthur by inviting his two romantic rivals to come see her.

And while Edmund was often on board with any plan that involved a headache for his brother, this particular plot did not sit entirely well with hem. He knew that Arthur would not be the only one who would be uncomfortable with this arrangement. Edmund didn't like the idea that Aria and Eithne would be caught in the crossfire.

Not exactly enough to try to dissuade Aria completely from going but ... he hoped she knew that she ought to be on her guard.

"I'm sure you have heard the rumors and, allow me to inform you, that they are all true. Including, of course, the one where she turns herself into a bat in the middle of the night and stalks people about the halls. Or is it a cat? I can never keep up with what people are saying, when they think no on is listening."

While he was teasing, of course, he knew that he had led her to a dangerous topic of conversation. He might make such comments in jest, but she could not follow him in it without risking someone hearing it. Roderick had cut out the tongues of those who had fueled the rumors of Amira Varmont to be a witch.

"She might not be a witch, my mother," He said to steer the conversation away, "but she is exceptionally perceptive. You will want to guard your secrets well while in her company."

[forgottenarias]

Aria was tucked up in her window seat overlooking the gardens where she was most often found in the mornings. Every now and then a guard would pass and Aria would look up from her book, brow furrowed, until said guard has passed.

When she'd heard footsteps once again in the hall she looked up, expecting to see yet another guard but found Edmund Varmont instead.

Aria had no desire to do so but she shut her book, rose, and sank into a curtsey before the prince. Declared a bastard as she now was, she supposed she must at least make a attempt at behaving properly in the presence of the imperial family. It only extended so far, however, and she immediately returned to her window seat, face set in a bit of a frown as Edmund told her of his mother.

She had received the invitation from the Queen Amira to come for tea and it had been quite puzzling to her, but Aria did not wish for Edmund to know this.

"I do not put stock in rumors. They are most often untrue. There have been many rumors regarding my family over the years and yet all, in the end, have been found to be false," she informed him coldly.

"Which is why I am sure you are simply teasing me. Perhaps you might cease and instead enlighten me as to why your mother has extended me such an invitation? We share no common interest and I am now simply a baseborn daughter of a dead king... or so the rumors say," Aria raised her eyebrows at the phrase.

"So what does she want with me?"

[forgottenedmund]

Edmund leaned one shoulder against the carved frame of the window and regarded her for a long moment: not with Arthur’s intensity, nor Sebastian’s caution, but with that blend of amusement and analytic sharpness that was uniquely his. Aria’s coldness did not bother him; if anything, he appreciated it. Most court women melted into simpering flattery before he even opened his mouth. Aria, instead, defended every inch of her dignity like a shield. It made conversation with her far more interesting.

“My mother has extended her gracious invitation because she is…bored.” He allowed himself a crooked, conspiratorial smile. “And when my mother is bored, she likes to amuse herself by observing people squirm. You, however, are not prone to squirming. I suspect this interests her more than you realize.”

In truth, Edmund knew precisely why Amira wanted Aria at her tea table. She wanted to measure her…to see how deeply Arthur’s interest ran, to see whether Aria might become either a threat to her own ambitions or a tool for them. And he hated that Aria’s stability would be tested in such a way, but he could not say that aloud. Nor did he warn her that Eithne Malconaire would also be present, seated like a chess piece in Amira’s game. Mother does not care if she wounds the wrong people so long as she draws blood from the right ones.

Edmund watched Aria’s expression carefully. “My mother wants to see how formidable you are.” A beat. “And I will tell you the truth, since you have asked for it plainly: she assumes that every woman Arthur looks at twice must be gathered up and inspected like some rare animal brought in from the hunt.” He gave a small shrug. “I do not endorse the habit. But disregarding it would be to your disadvantage.” A beat, "Or you may find your tea has been poisoned in the morning." He winked. "My mother hates to be ignored."

He pushed off the window and stood straighter, his tone growing gently pragmatic. “What she wants with you, Aria, is exactly what she wants with everyone: to know where you stand, what you fear, what you desire, and whether she can use you: or whether you are better left untouched. So it is in your best interest to be on your guard."

[forgottenedmund]

Royal Hospitality | Edmund & Eithne

Neither the storm nor the ball (which had continued into the early hours of the morning), had meant that Edmund had a reprise from his lessons with his uncle. As a result, he was up and awake before most of the palace and as soon as he had finished with his own breakfast, he instructed her servant to make certain that the Malconaire ladies had freshly baked sweet and savory pies in addition to the warm breads and cheese that was to be served to the rest of the guests.

An hour later, he went to visit them, himself. They had been placed in a large bedroom which had enough space for the four of them and they had a formal sitting and dining room attached. If it had not been for the servants scrambling to prepare rooms for all of the guests, they would have been given more space. However, it had been arranged that they would all four be able to stay together ... and that their quarters were in a separate wing from where their step-family spent the night.

It was Eithne who answered the door when he arrived and, given the silence, he figured that he was still too early and that her sisters were asleep.

The second thing he noticed was that their dining table was crowed with food -- more than he had asked for. He couldn't help but smirk when he realized that he had not been the only Varmont who wanted to make sure that they were well fed. In addition to the pies, there were apples, oranges, raspberry tarts, roasted chicken, and even fresh flowers from the hot house.

"Which of my brothers has been here?" Edmund smirked, grabbing an apply for himself.

[forgotteneithne]

It felt as if she was living two years in the past, waking up in the palace. It was further reinforced when she awoke and found someone had been in their rooms and set out clothing for the sisters to wear. Eithne stared at the gown that had been left out for her. She hadn't seen it in years-- she'd left it behind when she'd hurried from the castle as the Varmont armies had advanced. Part of her wondered if this was Eilia's doing, The thought of that made her smile.

"Goodness..." Eithne let out a bit of a gasp when she emerged into their dining area after she had changed. The table was positively covered in dishes-- enough to feed all four of the sisters for half a week! Eithne wasn't quite sure what to make of it all.

The knock at the door startled her and she immediately wondered what else the servants could possibly be bringing in for them to dine upon. She had made up her mind to send whatever was being brought to them away-- it was more than enough-- but what Eithne did not expect was to see an Imperial Prince standing outside the door, a look on his face not so different that when he appeared without warning at the kitchen door at Malconaire.

"Your Highness," Eithne sank into a deep curtsey as he passed her into the room. She quickly shut the door behind him, not wanting anyone to see that one of the Prince's had decided to visit the Malconaire sisters specifically.

"I'm not sure exactly who has been here," Eithne confessed. She noted the flowers. Between the bouquet of roses-- obviously for Rosie-- and the pale pink camellias she knew must have come from Arthur (he'd brother her similar flowers on multiple occasions after he'd found out they were her favorite), was a tiny bud vase containing a single morning glory blossom. Thought had been put into these decisions. Special attention was being made for them.

Eithne turned, looking at the prince who was seated so casually in this place. She'd been so exhausted by the end of the evening, she hadn't bothered to think much about where they were staying in the castle and who was not staying with them. Part of her sudden worried Cassimir might come barging into the rooms at any moment.

"I'm engaged to Cassimir," she blurted out suddenly.

Eithne had fully intended on keeping her promise to Cassimir, to not say anything to anyone beyond her sisters about the engagement until he'd broken the news to his mother. She hadn't even broken the news to her sisters yet, not wanting to ruin the evening for them. She wasn't sure what made her admit it to Edmund Varmont, of all people, before anyone else.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me-- please," she took a couple quick steps towards Edmund. "Please don't say anything. My sisters..." she looked towards the door behind which they all soundly slept. She turned her gaze back to the prince.

"I haven't told them yet."

[forgottenedmund]

"Hmm, I'd say all of them," He replied, taking a bit out of his apple.

Like Eithne, he could easily guess who had sent the flowers ... and who they were for. "Apologize to Lady Brigit, won't you? My father dearly wanted another son but ... " He winked, "It wasn't for lack of trying that he didn't have a fourth."

He didn't say it, but he suspected it was probably for the best that there wasn't a fourth prince for Brigit. He'd have a hard time of it, given that she hadn't exactly demonstrated the same friendliness towards any of them that her sisters had.

He was grinning still, noting how it seemed very likely that all three of them had separately ordered the Malconaires a feast, when Eithne blurted out to him that she was engaged.

To Cassimir Malconaire.

Edmund knew better than to ask why -- although he would have admitted that that was his first thought. He understood her situation. And he understood that if she wanted to keep Malconaire, this was the only way for her to do it.

"I'm so sorry."

He also wasn't stupid enough to think that, if she would give it time, that Arthur was a viable option. He knew that his father would never allow it and ... what's more, as much as Arthur seemed to care about Eithne, even Edmund had started to suspect that his heart would draw him in a different direction.

So, all of this, it seemed, left poor Eithne with only Cassimir.

"I understand why you haven't told them. Lady Roisin will be furious with you," And although he said it half-teasingly, he knew that the news would crush her. He doubted either of the others would be especially keen on it either.

"I suppose there's no way around it?" If Edmund could find another solution, he would offer it to her, but if she was determined to remain at Malconaire -- and clearly she was, given who she was about to marry -- he did not think his father would allow her to have it any other way.

"I promise it won't be me who tells them," His voice sincere, "-- Besides, the news would certainly ruin the rest of the day."

[forgotteneithne]

"You have nothing to apologize for; it is not your fault," Eithne replied a bit too quickly. Perhaps it was his fault, in a way. It was certainly because of his father that she now had this future set out for her.

"I do not believe there is if I am to do what I believe is best to Malconaire," Eithne replied, taking a step towards the table before stopping. She was so used to being in her kitchen, to have dough to need, vegetables to chop, tea to brew but here it had all been done. She found she did not know what to do with her hands. So, she pulled out her chair, sitting down at the table across from Edmund. Eithne supposed she must begin to remember what it is to be a lady after the past few years.

"I suppose if there is anyone who might think if another option it will be my sisters but..." Eithne looked down at her hands. "You're exactly right... I couldn't bring myself to ruin the night for them, or today. I... oh," Eithne looked back up, a thought suddenly occurring to her.

"You will not tell Ar-- Prince Arthur, will you? I would very much appreciate if I were able to tell him myself."

Eithne stared at the dishes of food that had been brought for them and found she had no appetite for it. She turned her gaze back to Edmund, wondering if she were an utter fool to even think of asking her next question to him.

"I hope I am not overstepping as I ask this question..." Eithne said, pausing to figure out how to best speak in hypotheticals .

"Is there... I know inheritance through a male line is a.. a..." Eithne paused again. "It is something our Emperor decrees is best for the future of the empire."

She knew she must tread lightly.

"... is that something that, perhaps, might be reconsidered by future rulers?" Eithne finally concluded.

"Would you restore me my birthright?" were the words Eithne wished to ask, but knew that was a step too far.

[forgottenedmund]

Edmund set the half-eaten apple down, the humor easing from his expression as Eithne’s questions grew heavier. Too heavy, really, for this quiet morning. He watched her sit. My father took her place, and now she must apologize for wanting a piece of it back. It struck him in a way he did not like, a sharp little thorn beneath the ribs.

When she asked whether he would tell Arthur, he shook his head at once. "As much as it pains me to deny myself delivering any news to Arthur that would upset him ... " A beat, the smirk fading from his face, “I would not do that to you,” he said, and he meant it.

If Eithne Malconaire was to have Cassimir Malconaire as a husband, she had enough troubles ahead of her. She did not to explain herself to Arthur before she was ready for it. He wondered what her feelings for his brother were? It was clear she had some affection for him, but was it love? Edmund did know enough of her to notice any signs, but he wondered if her heart was breaking over the absolute loss of him.

(He couldn't quite fathom that anyone would be so devastated at the thought of loosing his irritating, reckless, and unbearably arrogant brother as a life partner, but he supposed - if he was being completely truthful with himself - Arthur did have some redeeming qualities, if you really wanted to look for them ... )

Her next question made Edmund still completely, all the sharp edges of his mind tightening into focus. She spoke around the truth, but he heard every unsaid word. He looked at her across the table: the daughter of a ruling house, trained from birth to take stewardship of thousands; a woman far too intelligent to pretend she did not understand the empire’s laws; and yet too careful, to demand what should have been her's. He admired her for her tact. He secretly hated the circumstances that forced her to use it.

“You are not overstepping,” he said quietly, folding his hands before him. “You are asking a fair question.” His voice remained measured, but inwardly he was wading through dangerous territory. If anyone but Eithne had asked him this ... if Amira or Roderick or even Arthur had tried to pull him into a conversation about succession, Edmund would have laughed, deflected, or lied. But Eithne was not maneuvering for power. She was trying to salvage her home. Of course she is thinking of alternatives to Cassimir. Anyone would, if they wanted their life back instead of a half-life under my father’s thumb.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing with thought rather than judgment. “I cannot speak for every future ruler,” he began slowly. “But empires change with the temperament of the one who inherits them. And I will say this much: there are members of my family who believe that women have as much right to rule as men.” He watched her reaction with careful interest. Would I restore her birthright? He was too honest with himself to flinch from the truth. Yes.

He did not think that such a thing would make up for the fact that he, himself, had led the attack upon Malconaire in the first place, but it would have been something he could do to right the wrongs done against them.

However, he felt less and less everyday that he would be the one to succeed his father. Still, he had a suspicion that Guinevere and Sebastian, both, would do what they could to restore it to her, should they sit upon their father's throne. Even Arthur, if he stopped asking himself "what would father do?" after Roderick was gone would at least do what needed to be done to restore the inheritance laws to Malconaire, even if no where else.

Malconaire had offered them all a sense of peace. He knew that they would all like to see some of it restored, if Cassimir and Valentina did not manage to damage it all beyond repair before that time ...

He lowered his voice, the sincerity unmistakable. “If someone capable -- someone fair, were to rule one day, they might see the wisdom in restoring, at least some, of what was taken. They might see that strength is not found only in the sons of conquerors, but in the daughters of those who built kingdoms before them.” A pause, heavy with everything he could not (and would not) say aloud.

“Hypothetically, of course.”

[forgottenedmund]

amira pt 1 (bc i couldn't decide): “ who do you fight for? ”

[ flashback: 13 years ago ]

“Tell me: who do you fight for?” His mother asked.

“I fight for…our house,” he said slowly, measuring each word. "I fight for House Varmont."

Amira’s lips curved, though it was no smile. “Do you? Or do you fight for your father’s approval? For scraps of affection tossed to you when he remembers you exist?” Her voice sharpened, cutting into him. “That is not fighting. That is begging.”

He flinched, but before he could protest, she leaned closer, her hand sliding up to his cheek. Her touch was warm, almost tender, but her words burned.

“You fight for me, Edmund. For the throne that is your birthright. For House Calanion, not for House Varmont. It is divided against itself and you must remember which side you are on. You must fight for the crown that others would steal from your head the moment you look away. And fight for it you must ... because if you do not, your brothers will win it. And then they shall stand over you, and all you will ever be is their shadow and at their mercy. Never forget, Edmund, your destiny is not to serve. It is to rule.”

Edmund swallowed hard, his chest tight. He nodded, slowly, “Yes, Mother,” he whispered. “I will fight for us.”

Finally, his mother smiled, "That,” she said softly, “is the only answer worth giving.”

[forgottenedmund]

arthur: “ why did you help me? ”

[ flashback: I figure this takes place sometime before the Astairan conquest. Perhaps the country right before? I don't remember which one that was but anyway! ]

“Your northern skirmish cost us forty men,” the emperor said, his voice low but cutting. “And for what? A strip of worthless forest?”

Arthur stood straight despite the weight of his father’s glare. “The ground holds strategic value—”

“Strategic value?” Roderick’s voice rose, a whip-crack across the chamber. “There is no fortification there, no settlement to control. You risked lives for nothing but your own vanity.”

Several lords shifted in their seats, no one daring to meet Roderick's gaze.

Edmund, seated to Roderick’s right, glanced at the map on the table. “With respect, Father,” he said, “Arthur’s maneuver forced the rebels to retreat south into terrain less favorable for them.”

Roderick’s eyes cut to him. “Less favorable?”

“The forest’s loss will press them toward the river crossings. Narrow ground,” Edmund explained, tapping a point on the map. “Perfect for the ambush you’ve been planning for spring. Arthur gave you that advantage without further stretching the legions. A calculated move.”

There was a beat of silence. Roderick’s frown softened -- not much, but enough to stop the blade from falling. “Hmph. Perhaps. Still reckless.”

Arthur said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

Edmund leaned back in his chair, voice smooth. “Recklessness, when it works, is called boldness. And it seems to me boldness is a trait you value, when it wins.”

A murmur ran around the table. Roderick studied his younger son for a moment longer. Edmund held his father's gaze, noting the tension that hung in the air between them. Had his father been impressed or offended by his comment? Did he find displeasure in Edmund defending Arthur's mistakes, or did he see something in liked in Edmund's actions?

Edmund found his breath held in his chest, but didn't dare look away.

A moment later, his father turned away with a dismissive wave. “Very well. We move forward with the spring campaign."

The council moved on, but when Edmund’s gaze flicked to Arthur, he caught his brother’s barely-there nod of thanks. Edmund returned it with a faint, knowing smirk before looking back to the maps as if nothing at all had happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why did you help me?” Arthur asked later, when the room had cleared." You didn't have to do that."

Edmund tilted his head. “Do what?”

“You know exactly what. When Father was—” He broke off, grimacing. “You made it sound like my skirmish in the north was a calculated maneuver instead of a blunder.”

“Call it what you like,” Edmund said, shrugging, his voice dry. “I wasn’t about to let him flay you alive in front of the entire war council.”

“Why? You’ve never had trouble letting me take the fall before.”

Edmund replied dismissively, as if the answer didn’t matter. “Because you’re my brother. And Father doesn’t get to decide that means nothing.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The sounds distant sounds of the castle filled the quiet between them.

Arthur smirked. “You’re still rubbish with a sword.”

“And you’re hopeless with a pen,” Edmund replied smoothly.

They shared a brief, knowing grin that was gone almost as soon as it appeared, as if either of them were afraid to admit it had been there at all.

Arthur was the first to rise, “Well, next time you need someone to save you from a duel, I’ll return the favor.”

“I’ll do my best to avoid it,” Edmund said, but there was the faintest warmth in his tone.

As they walked back toward the keep, side by side, it occurred to both of them (though neither would say it aloud) that for all Roderick’s games, there were still some lines that hadn’t yet been crossed.

[forgottenedmund]

valentina: “ you were going to leave without saying goodbye? ”

Edmund Varmont adjusted his riding gloves, his black cloak swirling about him like spilled ink as he strode toward the waiting horses. He was halfway into the saddle when a voice called after him.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Valentina Malconaire beckoned. “And here I thought you were our guest for the evening. Are you leaving without saying goodbye?”

Edmund reined in, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m afraid duty calls, Lady Malconaire. I have many letters to answer, and borders to monitor."

Valentina descended the steps, her gown whispering over the wet stone. “Surely a prince of your ... influence can spare another hour. Sonya would be so disappointed to miss the chance to speak with you again. She’s been quite taken with your conversation.”

“I do seem to have that effect,” Edmund said lightly, though his eyes didn’t soften. "Although, she isn't the only one of your charges whose company I enjoy."

Valentina’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Ah. Lady Roisin, I presume?”

“You have a talent for guessing, my lady.”

Valentina did her best to hide her displeasure, but it was plastered across her face plain enough. “A prince must think of his future,” Valentina said smoothly, stepping closer to his stirrup. “Sonya is a fine match, Your Highness. Well-born, accomplished, loyal ... and, unlike my step-daughters, royal blood -- ”

Edmund cut her off. " - I do tend to prefer choosing my own friends, Lady Malconaire.” He had lost patience with her.

Her tone cooled. “Lady Roisin is… spirited. But she is a child in many ways.”

“And yet she is more of a woman than most who've had twice her age. Perhaps what you mean, my lady, is that Roisin hasn't yet learned the art of being petty, cruel, and dull. In which case, I hope she remains a "child" forever."

For a moment they simply regarded each other: Valentina’s calculating gaze measuring his, Edmund’s wry amusement daring her to press further. Finally, Valentina stepped back, folding her hands. “Very well. I won’t keep you from your… urgent appointment.”

“Your understanding is as gracious as your hospitality, as always."

[forgottenedmund]

What can completely break your muse?

There are a couple of things that would break him (why choose!), but these are definitely the standouts:

Being outplayed publicly: he defines himself by his wit and ability to manipulate the board. It's what he has over his brothers and he takes a lot of pride in it! If someone was to expose a scheme of his (especially in a way that made him look foolish or powerless in front of his father/his family/the court, etc), it would be devastating!

Loosing Rose: We are in the middle of this this playing out and, let me tell you, it is rocking our boy's world! He's got a real connection with her and that's been hard with him to find with too many people in his life. It's one thing to have her angry with him, but the prospect of genuinely loosing her affection and trust are here to wreck him!

Being forced into his father's mold: Edmund has spent a lot of time trying not to be his dad, even while competing for his approval. If he was ever forced into committing an atrocity on his father's behalf and then he realized he'd crossed the exact moral line he swore he wouldn't, it would destroy his self-image. He would also hate being the sort of man that can be manipulated. Honestly, he is dealing a little bit with this over the whole Battle of Malconaire thing, but the only thing holding him together on this is that he would never have done that now -- knowing what he does.

Loosing to Arthur in his "Area of Expertise": If Arthur ever beat him in a contest of wit or strategy, lbr Edmund would need to go home and rethink his life ;D (Honestly, this is the least harmful to him of all of these since he has so many one-ups on Arthur in this area, however, it wouldn't be fun for him!! Plus, deep down he does love that idiot and would be lowkey proud of him too in a v weird way)

Being Betrayed By Someone he Underestimates: Edmund thrives on reading people and assuming he can predict their actions ... if someone he dismissed as harmless and/or stupid (like Cormac!) managed to blindside him, it would shake his faith in his own instincts.

[forgottenedmund]

50. Writer's preference: roderick/edmund -- "Your legions. Are they in readiness?"

The imperial war room smelled faintly of parchment and the smoke from the great hearth. A massive map stretched across the central table, its surface crisscrossed with markers denoting armies, trade routes, and territories won.

Roderick Varmont stood at the head of it -- his gaze moved over the map focusing, searching for any weakness. Edmund entered, his boots clicking softly on the marble. He bowed just enough to be proper, but not an inch more.

“Father,” he said smoothly.

Without looking up, Roderick asked, “Are your legions in readiness?”

Edmund smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “Of course. They could march at dawn if you gave the order.”

Roderick’s eyes flicked to him then: sharp, appraising. “And yet your brother tells me otherwise. He claims your supply lines are overextended, that you lack enough horses to support a full campaign.”

Edmund gave a soft, almost incredulous laugh. “Arthur would tell you the moon is made of gold if it meant winning your favor.”

“That’s not an answer,” Roderick said, his tone still calm but weighted like stone.

Edmund stepped forward, resting his hands lightly on the table’s edge. “My supply lines are secure, my cavalry well-mounted, and my men ready. Arthur’s… concerns are misplaced. Or perhaps deliberately exaggerated.”

Roderick regarded him in silence for a moment, then tapped a marker on the map—an outlying border province, recently taken. “This is your prize. Keep it strong, or I’ll give it to one of your brother's.”

The words were neither threat nor promise; they were simple fact, and Edmund knew better than to mistake them for anything else.

“Understood,” he said, inclining his head.

Roderick moved a pawn-like marker closer to the heart of the Empire. “And remember, son… victories fade quickly in my memory. Only the next one matters.”

Edmund left the room with the faint chill of his father’s voice still clinging to him, the reminder that in the Empire, even sons were pieces on the board.