doing another little sprint for my red queen cousland au (working title being: at what cost to reflect a lot going on in that au) with her and leliana just before the royal wedding. discussions ensue.
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“you look troubled.” a soft voice infiltrates her quiet sanctuary, sweet as the cake she tasted days just before and it makes her jump, going for the knife attached to her leg underneath her dress.
red hair pulled back into a ponytail, startling blue eyes staring back at her in the reflection of the vanity. lithe form leaning against the door frame. rhosyn is comforted by the sight, the thumping in her chest now tinged with one of caring instead of concern. a sigh of relief, “just a bit. you know, you could announce yourself properly, love. you don’t have to sneak around.”
leliana steps further into the room, closing the door behind her and looking around in curiosity as rhosyn turns from where she’d been admiring the cream white dress in the vanity, “i could, yes. i apologize if i scared you, rhosie.”
rhosyn smiles anyway, she’d missed her lover as of late. the castle had been much too empty, and there were only so many shenanigans one pair of to-be-wed friends could get up to. it had been such a surprise when a letter arrived for her and it turned out that her wife would be back in denerim for her wedding.
the other woman’s arms slip around her waist, pulling her into a hug against her chest. she sighs into the touch, not even minding that leliana’s armor may not be the cleanest against her gown. how long she had been gone after alistair’s coronation is immediately forgotten, pressing her lips against leliana’s in a chaste kiss.
“then your mission was successful, i assume?” rhosyn asks after they pull away, still on the cusp of giggling like schoolgirls, “i didn’t expect you back for another few months at least.”
“and miss my wife’s wedding? love, you underestimate me. it wounds my poor heart,” leliana chuckles, “if i could’ve stayed in denerim, i would’ve. but now, i will be here at least a little longer than last time.”
“that’s good to hear. what a wonderful wedding present,” rhosyn answers, intertwining her fingers with the bard’s, “court is absolutely insufferable, i don’t know how you ever deal with it in orlais. nobles always want and want but never want to give, and no one ever smiles enough. never enough help these days.”
“you either need a week away, or you need someone taken out, i presume?” rhosyn’s expression must be startled enough to give leliana pause, “or not?”
“no, no not yet at least. should anyone have an attempt on my life, well, zevran has reminded me that chances are, they won’t even make it close enough to shoot first.” rhosyn admires her, gently brushing her hand against her cheek, “did you say hello to alistair when you arrived? he’s been asking after you.”
“i did. he seems beyond nervous about today, terrified even when he asked if i knew where you were. something about not being able to see the bride until during the ceremony today. he told me you were asking after me,” an uneasy expression sets itself in on her face. this couldn’t be an easy time for her, but that was also why rhosyn was assuming she wouldn’t be back for the party -- and nearly didn’t want her to. getting married off to someone who was decidedly not her lover, she was afraid she would run the poor girl off before they even got to build some semblance of a life together, “i am happy to be here though. so many opportunities to dress up for the occasion, and i’d never want to miss something so important to you.”
“leliana, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be,” rhosyn considers where the crown sits, among the makeup and various other decorations that her handmaidens had doled out and applied earlier. to be entirely honest, this was already difficult. it wasn’t a matter of staving off feelings for alistair (she had none -- they were nothing more than friends), it was a matter of confidence she could keep their relationship together.
they’d been quietly married a few months ago, maybe not as official as either of them would’ve liked to be in the eyes of the Maker, but it was the best they could do. they were still on shaky ground then, but she was hoping that they’d properly solidified it by now, “i would’ve written you about just how exquisite the dresses were, or just how many speeches were given.”
“alistair is your friend, yes?” leliana asks, her eyebrows knitting together in genuine concern. fear maybe, and rhosyn tenses.
“he is. a good friend but-”
“then that’s all i need to know. it may be something to get used to, to know that you will be his love to the rest of the country, but i, and our friends, know that your heart belongs to me,” she pauses again, “i hope.”
“love, you mean the world to me. and if i didn’t have to, i wouldn’t. you know i would love nothing more than to go to orlais with you, travel the world as we know it.” rhosyn holds the crown in her hands, looking at her reflection in the silver. how much she had given up to stay in fereldan, to be a leader of a country proper. it’s been suffocating for the last six months, she wonders how she’ll feel six years from now, “i couldn’t leave anora here to take advantage of alistair and to be entirely honest, how naive he is to court. and as much as we respect him, you know that he’d need help if he attempted to rule alone.”
“i know that much. and i believe you and him will lead fereldan into a new age, one that is significantly better than the one before it,” leliana pushes one of her curls back behind her ear, “how funny, i get to call you ‘your majesty’ whenever i see you, no?”
rhosyn groans at the title, “please don’t. for the love of andraste if you do i will never hear the end of it from zevran.”
leliana smiles again, and her heart lifts with hope. standing back in front of the vanity, she gently places the jewelry atop her head. she’d worn it before, along with ceremonial garb during her own coronation, but it feels different today. different in a good way, sure. she could get all the fancy crap out of the way.
but different also that this was real. she used to dream that she was a princess when she was a child, a paper crown on her head and running around with fergus to slay dragons.
this was all realer than she’d really prefer.
her lover’s arms slip around her waist again, her head on her shoulder, “you look beautiful. just like a real queen.”
“was i not one before?” rhosyn asks, turning away from her grinning reflection, “just playing pretend?”
“you were always the queen of my heart, but now you are one proper. complete with the title and the crown.” leliana responds, pressing another kiss to her cheek, “i do like this look on you, very very regal.”
“do not mistake it for a lack of wanting to go riding or hunting. there’s a corset under this and it feels as if it gets tighter every single time i put a dress on. i believe the handmaidens may be the ones trying to kill me.” rhosyn rolls her eyes, “i can barely breathe in this cursed thing.”
“you were a noble in highever once, yes? didn’t you enjoy dressing up even a little?” leliana queries.
“maybe? i was more of a troublemaker than a proper lady, if that’s what you’re asking. when i was younger, i didn’t have to wear them,” she responds wistfully, remembering the terribly lacy dresses that her mother used to dress her in for parties and functions at the castle.
she wonders what her mother would think of her now, “i’m not amused by how complicated they did the knots though.”
leliana impishly grins, “then you’re saying alistair wouldn’t be able to get them undone with little trouble?”
rhosyn’s face flushes at the comment, suddenly not particularly interested with what it implied, “i hope so. he can sit there and struggle all night if that’s what he wished. leliana, i feel with your fingers you’d be able to get it off faster than i would.”
it’s her wife’s turn to be surprised, and then exasperated, then intrigued, her fingers tracing along her spine, “i could get it undone now, if you gave me the chance.”
“i’d believe whoever comes to retrieve me would have a heart attack, leli. though i might take you up on that offer sometime later,” her arms loosen around her waist, but the thought is still enough to make her worry, “you do know we won’t be sleeping together, right? it’s not unusual for the monarchs to sleep alone, surely you understand that.”
“i am aware, yes. but...you understand that the country will most likely not wait for an heir?” that thought sends a shiver done her spine. she and alistair had discussed it...at length beforehand but she still is made uncomfortable by it. by her age, her parents would’ve selected a nice, handsome man from highever should they have been alive. her mother would start pestering her for grandchildren as soon as he arrived, really.
leliana, unfortunately, isn’t wrong. it was less of a matter of teenage rebellion against her parents than it was doing a duty to her countrymen. she couldn’t rely on fergus’ children to take the teryn title this time, “you know grey wardens aren’t the most fertile people in thedas. and it’s not as if i’ll be spending the night on a whim.”
“you make it sound so...planned out.” there’s another comment behind it, but she’s not sure if that’s jealousy she hears. rhosyn hopes it isn’t.
“it has to be. alistair will surely go on to find someone that makes him genuinely happy, and i’m not interested in stepping on her toes. nor is he interested in stepping on your’s,” she shakes her head, careful not to let the crown slip off her head, “i’m not interested in discussing it right now -- i’m only twenty leliana. i have at least another fifteen before i’d begrudgingly consider it.”
“i was only asking is all, should i come back to you waiting on...oh what would it be, my stepchild?” she plays with her sleeve, one of her tells that she was becoming nervous again, “that is, if you want them to be.”
rhosyn is forced to pause and truly think. she’d never considered how leliana would receive the heir because she’d never considered how she’d receive the heir -- her own child. yes, they would be born to her and alistair instead but...no. not today, today was supposed to be at best, interesting and amusing to play the dutiful wife. those thoughts were making her head spin already, it was too early to be thinking about such things. not when she was supposed to be enjoying the time she had with her lover.
and yet...she’d still want leliana to be involved regardless. leaving her in the dark was never intended. after another moment of deliberation, “if you would like, you can come and talk to me in my quarters afterwards. the reception will be rather tedious and will probably take all night, though. i can’t promise i’ll be entirely conscious, and you haven’t even gotten dressed yet.”
“that is true, yes,” leliana’s eyes are wanting, oh ever wanting in a way that rhosyn couldn’t please right then and there. the future ebbs at the back of her mind, but she pushes it away, “my things are in another room, i will see you soon then?”
“of course,” rhosyn bites her bottom lip before hurriedly moving to hug her, to reassure her. careful not to trip over the train of the dress, “we can make this work, love. i promise you that. you’re my everything.”
“i know you will. you always have, and i have no doubt you will continue trying,” leliana’s features soften. she understands the situation, and she’d be by her side throughout it all. rhosyn loves her more than she’s ever loved anyone else, to lose her would destroy her.
though, she’s aware she can’t force leliana to stay. not if she no longer wishes to be with her. rhosyn wouldn’t be surprised, hurt, but not surprised. they have lives outside of each other, and both have responsibilities the other wouldn’t understand.
“i love you.” leliana responds, turning from where she’d been to open to the door to the hall.
Thinking training with his uncle Sergio would be easy proved to be the biggest lie Cruz ever told himself.
“It’s like you’re not even trying.”
Whether or not he was taunting him or scolding him, Cruz couldn’t quite tell over the exhaustion weighing down on his shoulders. One hit, just one hit and his uncle would let him rest. It sounded easy but for a man with a cane, Sergio was unbelievably nimble.
Sergio leaned on said cane as he walked over to where Cruz was taking a small break on the floor, a permanent limp in his step. The tap of the cane against the hard tile floor echoed in the cavernous training room.
Sergio tapped the end of his cane against one of the bigger bruises littering Cruz’s torso. Cruz grunted and swatted his cane away. “You’re the Top Assassin of the South. This isn’t a fair fight.”
“And you’re the son of one of the legendary Spies of the West who, may I add, later became a highly ranked Assassin. Honestly, Cruz, do some justice to your mamma’s memory. She would have never given up so easily.”
The constant heat behind his rib cage flared and Cruz scowled up his uncle. Exhaustion forgotten, Cruz kicked out his legs, aiming to hit Sergio’s knees. It was a dirty move that would have made the Sergeant roll his eyes. Sergio dodged the kick easily and Cruz waited for the incoming wave of anger and lectures.
However, Sergio smiled like Cruz had done something worthy to be proud of, “Now I have your attention. The Avenue Clan did a good job in making you into a lap dog but never forget where you came from. That heat you feel? It’s the rage of your mamma and the rage of your ancestors. Our family has faced injustice time and time again and you know what we do? We get pissed off about it. That anger is passed on to each generation, hoping to be unleashed onto those who have wronged us one day. Wrath flows through veins, Vicente. Use it!”
All of his memories full of tragedy and sadness were set aflame, filling his lungs with smoke. Vicente, a name Cruz hadn’t heard in such a long time. He could still hear his mamma’s raspy voice telling him it was the name of champions.
“Conqueror,” she said, “That’s what your name means. I know you’ll wear it well, mijo.”
For years he refused to wear that name with pride but it was his no matter how much he denied it. Cruz breathed out clouds of smoke and just for this moment, he dug up all of his repressed anger. He rolled onto his side and before Sergio could move away he swung at his cane, knocking it out from under his grip.
Sergio cried out as he fell and crashed down to his knees. A wheeze escaped his lips and he screwed his eyes shut. Cruz would’ve felt bad under normal circumstances but he was too pissed off to apologize.
“That’s it, kiddo. Let it out, but how about we don’t direct that anger at my knees?”
The only time in the past 50 years or so when the wealth gap shrunk, when the portion of wealth held by the bottom 80% grew against the top 1% was when the Clintons were in the Whitehouse. Nobody has ever forgiven them for this.
...real wages also grew under the Clintons. Interest rates fell, real unemployment fell -- some 20 million jobs were created -- poverty fell and the number of uninsured Americans fell. Again, nobody has ever forgiven the Clintons for this.
