who: @ofgoldengrove when and where: the verdant concord, the lady of the arbor seeks out the second son of goldengrove; or the lord of standfast, as he is now called. context: a much needed catch up featuring some interesting decisions.
her knee had been slightly bouncing as she waited, unable to touch any of the food which she had intended to be grazing upon to try and quell the nerves; no, they felt as though they were eating her alive for the decision she was making. one of complete quiet and secrecy, that had not been dsicussed with anyone; though she knew there would be consequences in her personal life, she knew it were her right. blood was blood, and kin was kin; no man should be expected to help secure a child that threatened his own, and so she would no longer ask that of him.
that did not mean she did not intend on removing rosie from the picture, as was her right as her legal guardian - she knew when something was too big of a risk.
the servants had just finished replenishing the brass incense burner when lucrezia rose from her divan, soft silks trailing behind her, and waved her hand with a soft firmness that brooked no argument, and yet still reached out to her oldest with a sense of affection and reassurance. "bırakın bizi, lütfen," she said — leave us, please — her tone still gentle, but final. she did not raise her voice, she never needed to - but it was understood that she expected complete privacy in this moment. the hush that followed was one of obedience as much as understanding, rather than anything of suspicion; perhaps a look of curiosity, rather than anything else.
the servants offered short bows and curtsies before slipping out like drifting smoke, and only when the door shut behind the last of them did she turn fully toward him.
"mathis," she said, as though the name itself warmed her mouth; she crossed the room in three unhurried strides, her slippered feet whispering against the floor tiles. she kissed both his cheeks in turn, her hands resting briefly on the breadth of his shoulders. "canım dostum." my dear friend. her gaze flicked over him then — the beard he’d grown thicker since the last she saw him, the sun still caught in his skin like it always had, the way he held himself, as though the weight of standfast had settled in his bones. her fingers lingered for a moment more before she let them drop.
"you look the same," she said, though it wasn’t quite true. he looked older, yes, and yet familiar in a way that tugged something within her chest. nostalgia always had the ability to have it's way with her. she turned slightly, gesturing to the cushions arranged beneath the arched window, the smell of fig and amber still hanging in the air from the oil lamps. "we can stay here, if you like. or we can walk, if that would settle your nerves. i know you never did like sitting still when i had something to say." her smile was wry, touched with affection, though a faint crease formed between her brows. it was strange, in truth — how quickly the presence of him brought her back to herself. the self that was not redwyne or mistress of ships or daughter of arlo, but simply lucrezia. the girl who had stolen honey-drenched pastries from the kitchens with him and read letters aloud in the candlelight when they were both meant to be asleep.
once, foolishly, she had imagined it all leading somewhere else — the easy laughter, the shared language, the secret glances when court grew too loud and they needed only to look at one another to feel understood. she had believed, in the way that young girls did, that one day she might be his wife. but this? this was better.
time had taught her the importance of lines drawn in the sand; of not ruining things that were important due to impulsive moments on a whim. there were certain bonds too precious to gamble with, and hers with mathis was one of them. she knew his heart — not all of it, perhaps, but enough. and she trusted that he knew hers in return. that had always been enough. "i hope you do not mind me sending for you like this," she said, remaining stood against the arch as she allowed him to decide whether they stayed, or whether they walked - sitll, her posture was languid yet composed.
"i meant to speak with you sooner when i heard of your return, but the days pass too fast, and the council seems always to be at war with time." her fingers brushed over the edge of the tea tray, though she made no move to pour. her eyes lifted back to his face. "i heard how things have settled in standfast. you’ve done well, mathis. babalarımız would have said the same, were they still with us. seninle gurur duyarlardı." they would be proud of you. a breath passed before she tilted her head, eyes narrowing with the kind of measured attention that always preceded her difficult truths. "but that is not why i called for you. i need to speak to you — truly speak to you, without ears pressed to the walls. i have concerns, and i trust you more than any other to hear them plainly. and please, tell me if i am in my own mind."
