This is my first FFF ( @flashfictionfridayofficial) post and I know I’m late, but this idea didn’t let me go. For this little scene, I returned to Martha, cousin of my protagonist Tilda.
[700 words, continued under the cut // Martha Backstory Weeks // The Dawnbringer Intro]
I did not need to see them to know what awaited me once I stepped out onto that balcony. Like the distant rushing of waves, their faint voices wafted through the open window, impatient curiosity mingling with anticipation.
They had not come to see the king and queen. No, they had come to see me. The princess who had come of age, and would be presented to the world as the crown princess of Issarien. It was my nineteenth name day. Yet another step into a direction I was uncertain about. Was I ready?
I have to be. I am the Rising Sun, and they will see no other. Istar, I prayed, please stay with me.
Stomach churning viciously, I brushed my hands over my wide skirts. Heavy was the gown of beautiful gold and ivory brocade, and it was adorned with small pearls and embroidery upon the bodice.
Some moons before, I had chosen the fabric myself. Then, I had not known how swiftly the days would pass. In admiration, I had ran my fingers across the soft fabric, thinking I still had enough time to prepare myself. What had I done the past moons? Why did time fool me so?
When I looked into the mirror, a poised young woman blinked at me. A princess who had flourished, who had learnt to lock away the insecure girl that sometimes raised her quivering voice. She was still there, still whispering, but I would not give in. No longer was I that girl. I couldn't be. Not when one day the fate of a country rested upon my shoulders.
Straightening my spine, I turned my head. Once again my handmaiden had outdone herself. She had braided strands of my ginger hair on the sides of my head, yet most of it spilled openly about my shoulders. Around my forehead rested a slim coronet made of gold and rubies. Roses and suns were wrought into it, representing both my mother’s and father’s family.
A knock on the door made me flinch. I swirled around, cleared my throat silently. “Come in.”
It was my cousin. Tilda entered with a smile and closed the door behind her. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she met me in the centre of the chamber.
I shrugged. “Not as anxious as I thought I would be, but I suppose that will change once I see them.”
“They are calling your name.”
“I wish they wouldn't,” said the frightened girl in me. My heartbeat quickened.
Tilda reached for my ringed hand and cradled it in both of hers. “I can't speak for you, but I will be there the entire time. All will be well.”
“Thank you,” I breathed and gave her a grateful smile.
She stepped back, tilted her head with pursed lips that quickly unfurled into a grin. “I must say, you do look splendid.”
Tilda herself looked beautiful with her elaborately weaved hair and clad in a blue gown with gold-embroidered roses upon the bodice. Although, it was less adorned than mine. Even my mother's gown was almost plain. After all, all eyes should be on me. I was the one the crowd awaited. It was my name they shouted. The crown princess. The Rising Sun.
Side by side and accompanied by five guards, we strode through a short corridor of the keep and into the sun-drenched hall where my parents and the royal council waited for us. Tilda's parents were there, too, as well as her brothers. They all looked at me with an anticipation I hoped I could fulfil.
Through the closed balcony doors rang the wild cheers, bashing almost like waves upon rocks. I felt faint. My heart fluttered like wings of startled birds.
Father approached me and planted a kiss upon my cheek. “Are you ready?” he asked lowly, leaving his warm, ensuring hand on my arm.
I drew in a deep breath until my lungs pinched, then looked into his vivid blue eyes which were not unlike mine. “I am,” I said with a placid voice and managed a smile as I lifted my chin.
I had to be ready. My people counted on me. And I had sworn myself that I would never disappoint them.
So I opened the doors and stepped out onto the balcony.
After being quite mean to my leading couple Tilda and Robin during NaNo, I had to revisit a past canon event where everything was still fine … This takes place a little over one year before book 1. Thanks to @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @siarven and @raiswanson for creating these lovely prompts!
(~1300 words; continued under the cut)
“We are still in Idernach, are we not?” Robin asked. “We have been riding for hours.”
Amused, Tilda turned to him as they rode up a hill, wet grass glinting in faint sunlight. “Of course we are,” she answered. “Soon we should see the village of Danfeld in the distance.”
Fortunately, the mist had lifted some time ago, yet the air was still crisp, still a little damp. They were clad in padded doublets and pants, with thick, fur-lined cloaks draped about their shoulders and their fingers wrapped in soft, warm gloves. Yet the cold still found its way to graze her skin beneath and make goosebumps rise. Especially now as the warmth seeped from her limbs after they let their horses fall from a gallop into a trot and finally into a slow walk.
The tip of Robin's nose was reddened and surely so was hers. His cheeks were tinted in a deeper shade too, the pale freckles had vanished entirely that speckled his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. But now, from the distance between them, she could not hope to see them anyway. When first she had noticed them some moons before, when golden sunlight had illuminated his face, she had felt a tingle deep inside her stomach, just like she felt in this very moment. Since then it was impossible for her to ignore them, even if they were but faint and most likely not noticeable to others. It made him even more beautiful.
A longing filled her skipping heart. A longing to be as close to him now so that she could see them, so that she could trace them lightly and draw a kiss from his soft lips. Just some weeks before she had finally found the courage to kiss him. It had been odd. She wasn't shy, knew what she wanted most, but the fear he could not feel the same for her, that he saw her merely as a good friend, had made her hesitant for so long. But that one bright autumn day in the forest when their breaths had been rapid with the exertion of their sparring session, it had felt right. So she had dared to come as close to him like she never had before. He had called it unwise. She knew he was right. Nevertheless, he had kissed her back as though it was what he had longed for for a long time too.
And nothing had changed between them thereafter. Only he no longer was just her friend, but her lover too. It was a relief.
“It wouldn't be the first time we nearly got lost,” said Robin, and with a sigh he added, “I should have taken my map with me.”
“I know where we are,” she assured him with a smile. Taking her mare's reins in one hand, she lifted her other to mark the towering mountains beside them. “As long as we keep the mountains to our right, we cannot get lost.”
It had been some time since last she had travelled so far north. Often she had accompanied Uncle Jarl when he had taken her brother Gerard up to the White Sea. But it wasn't the sea she wanted to show Robin. It was something else.
“If we don't return by nightfall, your father will hang me.”
Tilda couldn't help the chuckle that rose in her throat. “He might,” she quipped. “But I would never let that happen. I need you.” As she realised the words that had slipped from her lips, warmth rose into her frigid cheeks.
And Robin smiled. A smile so sweet and so warm, that put a glint into his beautiful brown eyes and that filled her heart with a gentle yet ardent heat. She would never tire of the way he smiled.
As they reached the top of the hill and the promised village appeared in the distance to their left, she felt a little relief. She knew the way, had walked it many times before, but it had been over a year since last she saw this village. Thin tendrils of smoke curled up from the chimneys to the sky of sheer clouds.
“We're almost there,” she said, then pointed to her left and past the village. “Herelon should be that way, I believe. But our destination lies over there.” She moved her outstretched finger to the forest of tall conifers that sprouted before the mighty mountains, whose caps were long garbed in snow.
“I do hope it is worth the frozen fingers and toes,” Robin replied, almost morosely, but when she glanced at him, a grin curled around his lips.
She answered with a grin of her own. “I promise you it is. You will like it, I'm certain of it.” Now that they were so close to their destination, excitement put a tingle in her stomach once more.
They entered the forest on a slender path that forced Robin to ride behind her. Pine needles and cones littered the ground, crunching faintly beneath the hooves of their horses. The sweet scent of the conifers was a pleasant welcoming, and Tilda inhaled slowly to fill both her nose and lungs with the clear air.
After a while they came upon a clearing that gave view upon the majestic mountains – and a large lake that stretched before them in utter tranquillity. Almost in its centre lay a small isle with a few trees reaching their evergreen tips to the sky. The sun hid behind pale blue-grey clouds now, but it did not dull the beauty of this place in any way. Robin halted his gelding beside her, and the mirth that she felt welling up mirrored upon his face.
“This is beautiful,” he said.
“It is, isn't it?” She glanced over the still water that rippled softy in the mild wind. In the distance near the isle, a few birds drew their circles.
They left their horses by the trees, and when they approached the lake in slow strides, pebbles scrunched beneath the soles of their boots. This was peace. This was freedom. With him and alone, without any lurking eyes, without fearing anyone could see them and tell her father.
Her eyes trailed from the lake to him, rested on his comely face for a while as a warmth bloomed inside of her. The lake and the mountains were not near as mesmerising to look at as he was. She tried to make out his freckles when he spoke in a low, soothing voice.
“I'm glad you have showed me to this place.” With a smile, he lowered his gaze to her. “We should come here more often.”
Tilda leaned closer, leaned against his chest and brushed her lips over his. His nose was icy against her skin, but his lips were so warm and welcomed hers with a gentle longing. She never knew her own longing could be as overwhelming as in this moment.
When they parted, he planted a last kiss on her forehead, then laid an arm around her, pulling her closer beneath his cloak.
“Would it not be lovely to build a little house beside the lake and stay here for all times?” she asked, clasping her arms tighter around his middle, breathing in his scent and savouring the warmth.
Robin glanced back to the trees. “You better begin to chop some wood then,” he said solemnly, but quickly a grin unfurled on his lips. When he slowly turned his head, his calm brown eyes found hers, truly looked into hers, and for a moment there was silence. A soothing silence that was filled with all the words they needn't to speak out loud. They knew. And it was the sweetest sensation she had ever felt. “It would be lovely,” he muttered then. “But I'm afraid, I'm a terrible cook and so are you.”
She gave a low hum. “We could learn,” she said, and she felt her skin prickle. From the cold or something else entirely, she could not say. “Together.”
He nodded. “Together, all will be well.”
“Yes. All will be well.”
And she nestled against him while he held her close. The only thing that eventually forced them to move and leave was the biting cold.
Introduction; in which a princess introduces herself
Family; in which the princess talks about the love towards her family and the loss of two brothers she never met
Friends; in which the young, lonely princess wishes for nothing more than a true friend
Rivals; in which the princess finds herself betrayed by a jealous girl who feigned to be her friend for many years
Loss; in which the princess and her family mourn the loss of a beloved queen, a mother and grandmother
Home; in which the princess travels north to reunite with her cousins, that really are like her siblings
Thank you for hosting this lovely event @yourocsbackstory! I really had a lot of fun working on these prompts and I loved exploring Martha’s life.
Adding the tag list in case someone maybe missed a prompt and would like to read it! Thanks to everyone who already left such wonderful comments and tags! I really appreciate all of them <3
Day 4: Lake/Ocean | Day 2 + 5: Flower Crown + Gentle Touch
This scene takes place around two years before the first book and shows two brothers caring for their ill, little sister. Hope you enjoy! :)
(~1000 words; continued under the cut / The Dawnbringer Intro)
The last night had been without a doubt the worst. Pain throbbed in her head and she could not take one breath through her nose. It was rarely that she became ill, but her maid servant had fallen ill too. Ida was not to leave her room for five days now, out of fear she could infect the other servants.
Tilda had tossed from side to side, unable to find sleep, despite the healer's tinctures. So when dawn made pale daylight seep through the shutters of her windows, she was relieved that the dark night was over. Rays of sun peeked into her bedchamber and shimmered on her blanket. Perhaps now with the warm, soothing light she could finally fall asleep.
Her eyes had closed from exhaustion, but not long after they jolted open from a knock on her door. She groaned, squeezed her eyes shut again.
“Tilda?” It was her brother Gerard. When she did not answer he called her name again, pounding against her door a little harder.
“Leave me alone,” she croaked, hoping her wavering voice reached through the door and to him. It didn't even sound like hers.
She wanted to see no one. Although, the thought of him made a warm, fuzziness swirl through her stomach, and she even found herself smiling into her pillow.
Either her brother did not hear her or he cared little for her wish, but she heard the click and faint creak of the door and his footsteps shuffling across the stone floor. Gerard was Gerard and he did not do well in listening to other people – and neither did she. In moments like these, she was harshly reminded of how similar he was to her.
“Tilda?” His face lurked into her bedchamber, a grin curling around his lips. “Are you awake?”
Blanket wrapped around herself, she glared ahead to him. “Please, leave me alone.”
“But I've brought company.” He strode into the room and behind him appeared their older brother Aberlin.
In his hands he held a bunch of colourful flowers. “And I have brought you these,” he said, lifting up the flowers with a wide smile. “How are you today?”
“Not too well.” Slowly, she peeled back her blanket, instantly mourning the comforting warmth. She sat up, tilted her head a little. “Did you pick them yourself,” she teased, “or did you ask the servants to do it for you?”
Aberlin bowed his head. “I assure you, I have picked them all myself.”
Her throbbing head made a groan slip past her lips, and she kneaded her forehead with her fingertips. “Thank you,” she murmured. “But I fear, I'm not well enough for company.” Behind her brothers, rattles and clanks sounded from the solar, as well as hushed voices and tapping of footsteps. “Who is there?” But somehow she knew the answer already. She sighed.
Gerard grinned. “Breakfast.” He sat on her bed, mattress bending from his weight, and patted the blanket under which her leg lay. “Come on. Get up.”
“No.” She didn't mean for it to sound like a whine, but it only prompted him to slowly drag her blanket down. “Please, Gerard, don't.”
Aberlin vanished into the solar, and moments later he returned without the flowers but with her wrap over one arm. The outside had a beautiful stitching of roses, whereas the inside was lined with soft fur. “The servants have kindled a fire already,” he said as he came to a halt before the bed. “Come, you need to eat something.” He handed her the wrap. “You need to drink your tea. It will help you heal.”
Despite her aching head and heavy limbs, she could not deny that she was hungry. Reluctantly, she left the warmth of her bed, slipped into thick, woollen stockings and dress and hugged her wrap tightly around herself as cold shivers rattled her body.
Faint sunlight had dipped her solar into a soft yellow. Candles curled their little flames upwards on the table, reflecting on silver bowls, plates and jugs. In the centre of the table stood a small vase with the flowers Aberlin had picked for her. Bowls of fresh and dried fruit and nuts were placed across the table, as well as brown bread and sweet pastries, honeycombs and jam, boiled eggs and her favourite cheese.
After the servants took their leave, Aberlin pulled on a chair closest to the crackling fireplace for Tilda to sit down. He poured her some steaming herbal tea and placed the cup before her.
“I don't need your help with that,” she protested, but gratefully wrapped her cool hands around the cup, not quite touching the hot surface. The radiating warmth rippled pleasantly through her fingers and palms. She leaned over the cup and let the scent of the herbs swirl into her nose. Finally, she could almost breathe properly again.
Aberlin chuckled. “You are more than welcome, my sweet sister.” Bending down, he gave her a peck on her forehead before seating himself beside her.
Gerard sat to her right side. “For the record, this was my idea.” He reached for an apple and rolled it between his hands.
Tilda brought her lips to curve into a smile. “Thank you,” she said, meant it wholeheartedly and placed a hand on his lower arm. She turned to face Aberlin. “And thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.”
“Ah,” Gerard said, side-eyeing his brother with a smirk, “she has found her manners again.”
“Manners?” Tilda huffed. “Says the one who invaded my chambers without permission.”
He shrugged. “It is all a question of perspective.”
“Isn't it a wonderful morning to sit and break your fast with your siblings?” Aberlin said, his voice nearly indifferent, as he cut a piece of cheese. Before long, he smiled to himself.
But it was a wonderful morning. Despite feeling as sapped as she did, she was grateful that her brothers had decided to come and see her. She could never truly be angry with them, no matter what they did. And they had brought her her favourite cheese.
OC Backstory Weeks by @yourocsbackstory | Week 6: Home
Introduction | Family | Friends | Rivals | Loss | Home (~1200 words)
Martha von Hochfels | The Dawnbringer
When the tall mountains rose in the far distance, I felt a tingle of excitement in my stomach. It had been more than a year since last I had seen them, yet they were so familiar, so welcoming that a grin curled around my lips.
I grabbed my leather gloves from the seat beside me, slid my fingers inside, then leaned outside the window. “Stop,” I exclaimed against the clopping of hooves and rattling of the carriage, and at once it creaked to a halt. “Do you want to join me?” I asked my mother.
Wearily, she shook her head, then pulled her braided brown hair over one shoulder. “No,” she said. “But please give them my regards.”
“Of course.” I reached for her hand, and she squeezed mine as her lips curved into a smile. “I wonder if they have seen us already.” With those words, I stood and stepped off the carriage, letting the coachman help me down.
The sun hid behind puffy grey-white clouds, still leaving the day bright enough to spark hope that rays would soon break through the blanket. I inclined my head skywards and marvelled at the imposing clouds.
The landscape had shaped from flat lands to hills with long blades of grass the further north we travelled. Once the mountains would grow even larger, it was not much further until we would reach our destination.
I shut my eyes, inhaled the clear, earthy air that smelled so differently to the air by the sea. It was not as windy either, and yet the crisp autumnal winds had long taken grasp of Idernach, too. I hugged my fur-lined cloak a little tighter as goosebumps enveloped my skin.
Agitated voices rose behind me, mingling with the snorts and neighs of the horses. Orders were exchanged between knights, lords and servants that had travelled with us. It had been too noisy the past fifteen days since I had left Alasing with my mother and the royal convoy. Once, rarely twice, a year we made the demanding journey north and to my mother's family, and each time I could sense the tenseness that swirled heavily through the air. After all, I was the only living child of King Otwin, and they made sure to never let me forget about that.
The journey was a great endeavour, which I dreaded each time. But once I caught a glimpse of the mountains, my heart grew lighter, for I knew it was not much longer until I was home.
Before my mother had married my father, it had been her home too, for nineteen years. Sometimes she told me that she still missed it, but as queen her place was beside my father in the capital. They had been made acquainted with each other some years before their marriage, and now their love was something I deeply admired. My father had stayed in Alasing, and I would see him again once winter was over. I missed him already.
“Your Highness?”
I turned to look in a pair of concerned brown eyes, wrinkles creasing the skin beside them. They always glanced at me that way, as though I was a fragile thing that would burst the moment it was touched. “Yes?”
Ulrik lowered his eyes, before lifting them to me again. “Your horse is saddled and ready.”
I gave him a polite smile, aware that it would not lessen his concern in any way. “Wonderful,” I said, and circled him. “Thank you, Ulrik.”
As I approached my grey mare, I tried to ignore the sight of the large retinue that had followed us. If they so feared for my life, I wondered if perhaps it would not be safer for me to travel in a smaller group that would not attract as many unwanted eyes.
Sir Herelaf held the reins of my horse while Sir Galinn helped me mount. When I urged my mare into a trot and soon into a gallop, hooves clapping against the dirt road, I had ten knights at my heels. We followed the winding Gold Road further north, curving around the majestic mountains. Meanwhile, the convoy would follow in a much slower pace. But I could no longer wait, had made it my ritual to ride the remaining distance myself that kept me from seeing my family as soon as I spotted the mountains.
The road led us through the Idera Forest, the leaves of the tall trees gleaming prettily in yellows and reds and oranges. Not long after, seven riders approached our group, and when their figures became clearer, I could not keep the grin from unfurling.
To see my cousins again after such a long time nearly brought tears to my eyes.
“You're late,” Gerard said with a lopsided grin of his own as he halted his dark steed before me. It bent its neck and snorted. “We expected you to arrive yesterday, or the day before.”
I gave a dramatic sigh. Slightly tugging on the reins to keep my mare from prancing forward, I said, “Lord von Illenberg did not want for us to leave. He would have kept us all winter, if only to stuff us with all the food he had prepared for us.”
Tilda chuckled wryly. “I remember the last time we abided in his home. He was utterly heartbroken when I refused to eat another cake.” Her cheeks were tinged red from the biting wind, light hair tousled, wild, as some strands had come loose from her braid. She pushed her mare forward, closer beside me, and reached for my hand. I squeezed hers as elation finally made tears well in my eyes. “It's so good to see you again.”
“I have missed you so much.” I blinked, glanced between her and her brother, and was brought back to sweet memories of our childhood.
“I know of my fame, but there is no need to shed tears at the sight of me.” Gerard laughed, then motioned for Tilda to move aside as he lined up his horse beside mine. She gave a disdainful huff, and playfully hurled a hand towards him.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, but had to laugh too. I quickly wiped the tears away that glided down my cheeks.
His soft features grew softer still, more serious, and when he took my hand in his, he said, “We missed you, too. Welcome home.”
As a child, when my cousins still had lived with me in the capital, I had travelled north more often. However, as I grew older, as I became more important to the country, long travels happened rarely. But Father had promised to grant me at least one journey every year to see my family. At least there were still the times when they travelled south to visit us that I could look forward to.
This was my home, too. Not just Alasing where I had been born and lived ever since with my parents, where my place would be for all times. This, my cousins, the mountains, the forest and Castle Dorneburg upon its mighty rock were my home too.
And when we rode up the long slope and through the gates, and I was greeted by the familiar walls and towers and the smiles of my other family members, I knew nothing could tarnish my joy. Not even the drops of rain that began to fall from the darkened clouds.
OC Backstory Weeks by @yourocsbackstory | Week 5: Loss
Introduction | Family | Friends | Rivals | Loss (~900 words)
Martha von Hochfels | The Dawnbringer
The heavy bronze bells resounded across the city, singing their very own song of grief. I could feel it humming inside of me. It reverberated in my chest, my bones, my heart. To hear even the bells lamenting made me realise that I could never relive the bygone days.
The queen had left our world, and Alasing mourned. Soon word of the grave news would reach into every corner of Issarien that Queen Alburg had died.
As much as it clawed on my heart, it had been no surprise. My grandmother had been sickly for some time, and the past few weeks she had not once left her bed. She had always been wilful, however, and strong and resilient, but death comes for everyone eventually.
Even now she looked regal and as though she was merely asleep upon the marble altar of the temple. White flowers rested between her folded ringed fingers. They had garbed her in a deep orange gown, embroidered with suns, and had braided her grey hair elaborately. A slim golden coronet lay around her forehead, glittering beautifully in the sunlight that filtered through the windows.
Despite the illuminating sun, candles flickered eagerly upon the marble steps to the altar. Once they had burnt down, they would be replaced, and their lights would shine brightly even when darkness had long veiled the day.
After my grandfather died, Queen Alburg had ruled the kingdom for two more years. But grief had a steely hand around her heart and the burden of the responsibilities weighed too heavy on her mind, and so she gave her crown to my father one year before I was born. Sadly, I never knew my grandfather, but she often talked about a humorous man who brought a smile to her face from the very first moment they met.
Issarien had lost a reserved but benevolent and dutiful queen who sincerely listened to her people's needs. Our family had lost a mother and a grandmother who loved to laugh and share stories. Even in her last days, there had been smiles on her lips when she cupped my cheek with a fragile hand.
My cold fingers were interlaced with my cousin’s. Her skin was but a little warmer than mine, yet I clung to the little warmth as I shivered from the persistent icy sensation that took hold of my body. Beneath my black gown of thick cotton, goosebumps rose on my skin. The more I tried to withhold my tears, the tighter my throat sealed up.
Father stood as unmoving as a statue, and even if it seemed as though he did not notice my mother's arm curled around his, I knew how much he cherished it. Beside him was his younger brother Bredelin, his wife comforting him, brushing a tender hand over his arm. They stood with their backs to my cousins and me, closer to the altar than we did. I did not want to go closer, did not want to say goodbye, but our time to step forward was near.
My lips trembled. Swallowing thickly, I lifted my gaze to Tilda beside me. Her features were hardened, her jaw squared as her blue eyes seemed to stare into nothingness. But she squeezed my hand a little tighter. I'm here, she said without that any words left her lips.
My cousins and their parents had arrived two days before after they had received the news that our grandmother had grown too feeble to recover. I was glad for their presence, and whenever they came to visit, the keep was more lively, warmer even and filled with dear memories.
A snivel rang to my left side, and I turned my head to Garrick. Hair as ginger as my own, my cousin had his head lowered to his feet. He was eighteen, three years younger than I was, and I had never seen him cry before. To me, he had never been someone for tears. I reached for his hand too, wound my fingers around his, and drew him closer. Garrick wiped on his face before he looked at me. A sad smile curled around his lips, and he gave a nearly invisible nod.
So we stood there, cramped together in a comforting closeness, trying to shield each other from sorrow that had nestled in all of our hearts. It reminded me of the time when we were younger, when we sat before a crackling fireplace on soft furs, listening to our grandmother's melodic voice. Often she had told us tales of heroic knights and brave maidens, and of wonders that were impossible to believe, and yet when we were children we believed it all. Tilda had been a fearless little girl, and yet when our grandmother told us of a gigantic sea dragon that shot through the waves like an arrow to steal children from the shores, she grabbed my arm tightly.
Grandmother had a way of weaving words that no matter how often she had told a story already, it sounded entirely new and as though we had heard it for the very first time.
I had not heard her stories for a very long time, and as I stood inside the vast temple I yearned back the time when we were but children, captivated by fantastic stories before a warming fireplace.
The warmth of my cousins hands left mine as we stepped forward. I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and drew in a ragged breath as tears slid down my cheeks. Saying my silent prayers, I bid farewell to a queen, a sister, a daughter, a mother and a grandmother.
OC Backstory Weeks by @yourocsbackstory | Week 3: Rivals
Introduction | Family | Friends | Rivals (~1400 words)
Martha von Hochfels | The Dawnbringer
My legs were sore and weary, just as I was weary from the hours of horseback riding across the hills and along the cliffs. Summer had finally gifted the lands with its warm embrace. I longed for some rest, but as soon as I climbed the steps to the keep, I knew rest was not what I would receive.
Lord von Osseck awaited me, his expression unfathomable. He brought me to the council chamber while four knights with billowing sunset-orange capes flanked me as though I had committed a grave misdeed.
My icy hands trembled beside me. I demanded to know what was going on, but Lord von Osseck only shook his head. Disconcerting thoughts claimed my mind, made fear wash through my body. Had something happened to Mother, or Father?
It was Father's face I saw first when I entered the council chamber. No smile greeted me. Not even his eyes were smiling; they were unfamiliarly sombre.
Warm wind wafted through two open windows, playing with the orange chiffon curtains. I shivered.
Lord Hilger von Marrthal stood beside Father, arms folded before a broad chest. His eyes studied me as his mouth was set into a grim line.
It was not him, however, who made my stomach twist into aching knots. It was his daughter Almut. The girl who feigned to be my friend for too many years, but I had long seen through her facade of false kindness. If I could avoid her, I did. Unfortunately, even in a large castle you were bound to cross paths at times. I had tried to befriend her, but all she ever did was disappoint me in my hopes of a true friendship.
Father sighed, rubbed his eyebrow, and only then did I notice the letters on the table before him.
“You wanted to speak with me, Father?” I asked cautiously, suspicion tightening my throat.
“These were found in your chambers,” he said wearily, tapping a finger on the letters.
At once I said, “I did not send any letters,” as my heart began to race. I felt as though my sore legs might fail me.
Lord von Marrthal came closer, glanced down on me with cold rigour. “Almut found them in one of your drawers.”
My drawers? Aghast, I whipped my head to Almut. She did not look at me, had her gaze lowered to her feet. “What were you doing in my chambers?” My voice was raw with fear and dismay.
Tears shimmered in her eyes when she first glanced at her father and then at me. “You told me this morning I could borrow your necklace. I could not find it, but … but I found … found the letters.”
Air seeped from my lungs as her words hit me hard. She was lying. Why was she lying? “I did not allow you to take anything,” I said breathlessly. I sounded too weak, too guilty of the unknown misdeed I knew I never committed. “What are those letters about?” I asked Father.
“Don't act so chaste,” Lord von Marrthal growled. “You should be well aware of the content.”
“Hilger,” Father warned. “That is enough.” He circled the table, gently put a hand on my back and guided me to a chair. “Please, sit.”
“I did not do anything,” I blurted, as both hot and icy waves washed over me. Why had Almut been in my chambers? Never before had I lend her anything, nor would I ever change my mind about trusting her. My eyes darted to her, and for half a heartbeat I thought her lips had twitched into a smile. It faded just as quickly, however.
“These letters seem to come from a man named Ernest,” Father said slowly. “Apparently you have given him information about how to infiltrate the castle, which he means to sell to the king of Hallrien.”
My heart stilled. ”I … Father, I would never … ” Tears rose in my eyes as I struggled to comprehend the direness of his words.
“There's talk about other crucial information, too,” Lord von Marrthal said harshly. “Are you – ”
“My daughter would never have such treacherous thoughts,” Father cut in.
Relieve lightened my heart and I lifted my blurry gaze to him. Drops of tears fled my eyes. Quickly, I dried them with my sleeve.
“So my daughter is accused of being a liar? Begging your pardon, but she found those letters in Martha's chambers. What other prove do you need?”
“I do not accuse anyone as of yet,” my father said, voice calm but weighed down by concern. “But I am fairly certain someone placed them there.”
It dawned me then, made my limbs feel more feeble than they already were. Could it be that the girl who feigned to be my friend had stepped over boundaries, eager to become my foe? What would she gain from it?
I swallowed thickly. “May I see those letters?” Reinforcing my suspicion, Almut stirred beside her father. Her face, however, remained marred by anguish.
Anguish, because she was good at playing her game, or anguish, because I was about to expose her?
As I studied one of the letters, a cold sickness coiled through my stomach at the words that glared at me. Apparently I had even promised that man huge amounts of gold as well as a night with me. My bewilderment turned into anger. I had hoped to find Almut's penmanship before me but was disappointed. Yet I could not help but notice that some words looked crooked. Had she tried to feign a different handwriting?
Heart pounding in my chest, I rose, hesitated but then stepped before Almut. “What were you doing in my chambers?”
“You told me I could borrow your necklace,” she said, and for the first time she looked me in the eye with a defiant stare.
“Why are you lying?”
“I'm not lying. You told me so. Elisabeth can confirm your words.” She glanced at her father who put a hand on her shoulder.
Then she forged this plan with you? I dug my nails into my palms until it stung. “You know I would never write those kinds of letters. You did!” The accusation slipped past my lips before I could stop it, but I knew it was the truth, it had to be.
Her dark eyes widened. “My princess, I would never dare – ”
Father stepped beside me, and it made me feel a little braver. Yet I could not stop the fresh tears from rising as agony twisted my heart. Had there been a hint to her devious plan? Had I been so blind?
“You should not lie to your king,” Father said, “nor to your princess, to your friend.”
“Your Grace,” Lord von Marrthal said, taking a step forward, but Father silenced him with a gesture of his hand.
“Please leave us, Hilger.” Reluctance hardened his face, but he followed his order, door falling shut hard behind him. “Now, Almut, I would take this a child's foolishness, but you are no longer a child. Tell me, did you truly write those letters?”
Almut looked frightened then, horrified. If this was still part of her game or her true emotions I could no longer tell. And even as blazing anger flared up, I pitied her.
She fell to her knees. “Please,” she sobbed, “this was all Elisabeth's idea. I didn't want to. I tried to talk her out of it. It is dangerous, I told her, but she wouldn't listen. Please.”
Father reached for her arm, brought her to her feet again. Though his touch was gentle, his voice was not. “This will have consequences. You will pack your belongings at once and return home at first light.”
I tried to rid myself of the aching lump in my throat, could not stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. “What have I done, for you to hate me this much?” I demanded to know, but she only lowered her head.
Those were the last words I ever spoke to her, and I never came to know what had made her so hateful. Elisabeth's innocence could not be fully proven, as she denied ever knowing of Almut's plan. Both were forced to return to their family homes, and afterwards the air I breathed seemed a little clearer. My heart, however, still ached.
OC Backstory Weeks by @yourocsbackstory | Week 2: Friends
Introduction | Family | Friends (980 words)
Martha von Hochfels | The Dawnbringer
Friends. Every child finds a friend somewhere. In the birds that sit chirping upon the trees, or stray cats that find their ways over rooftops or open doors. Or even fleeting friends, like raindrops racing one another on the glass of windows that keep you company while you stare outside, waiting for the weather to clear.
When I was a little girl, my dearest friend was my cousin Tilda. Her brothers, too, were very dear to me. But when their lord father wanted them to move to their family estate, I was robbed of those friends that brightened my days. After that I returned to my friends the birds and the cats. I never considered myself as particularly stubborn, but it took long for me to accept their sudden disappearance.
A tomcat I named Clover had become my companion for a long time. I had begged Father to let me keep him, but he hadn't been so keen to let a stray cat into my chambers. So he had allowed me to keep him, to feed him, if only I promised not to bring him inside.
I had other friends, too. Almut, Elisabeth and Ingrid. They were the daughters of Mother's ladies, and were brought to court when I was ten years of age. Ingrid came one year later, but I had warmed up faster with her in a short time than I did with Almut and Elisabeth. But I often felt lonely still.
They had come to court to become company for a princess and not bring comfort to a lonely little girl. I often found myself wondering if they simply did not want to understand me. And when we played, they often left me by myself.
Whatever you wish, princess, they said when I asked them what we should play or do. You are the princess, you decide, was another utterance I often heard. I wanted to be a girl, not a princess.
When I was fourteen years of age, I met Constanza. She was two years older and the daughter of a wealthy merchant from Essia. For years her father shipped wine and other fine goods to the capital of Issarien, and my father had become rather fond of him.
But one time, on an early autumn's day, their ship had been caught in a hazardous storm and Constanza's father Guillen broke his leg as he slipped on the slick deck. My father insisted they stayed in our home for the time being until his leg was healed. Much to Constanza's dislike. Even if she had spend a lot of her years on her father's ship, it had only been the second time that she accompanied him to Issarien. She barely spoke our tongue, I barely spoke hers either, and she had found herself trapped in the colder growing north while her skin longed for the warmer south. Often we all sat together for meals in Father's solar, and while Guillen could laugh and jest with his injured leg, Constanza could not. She looked morosely at all times. Sad and lonely.
And I suffered with her. I did not know her, did not know how she truly felt, but I could understand her frustration. To approach her was the hardest part. To overcome my shyness as well as nervousness, knowing she would not understand me, and I not her.
It had been a coincidence that I stumbled upon her in the library when rain was pouring endlessly behind the thick, cold walls. She sat coiled together on a chair before one of three crackling fireplaces, eyes gliding over the pages of a book. So I gathered my courage and seated myself on the chair beside her. When I glimpsed a few words of the book that was resting in her hands, it was a surprise to see it was written in Narosh. Not a language I was particularly familiar with, but I did know enough words to hold a conversation. I certainly understood more than I actually spoke.
With nervousness putting my cheeks aflame, I greeted her in Narosh. I felt silly speaking the tongue that rolled oddly from my lips. Yet today, I am glad that I dared that step for that was the first time I saw her smiling. Her voice had been thick with an unfamiliar accent when she corrected my weak attempt of pronouncing three short words.
Fortunately, Constanza spoke Narosh much better than I did, and it helped us communicate. It helped us establish a relationship where I thought none was possible. She was not as morosely and unkind as I first had feared, even if her words were brusque at times. It happened even that she was fond of telling stories, mostly of her time on her father's ship, voyaging to foreign countries. If true or untrue was hard to tell sometimes, but I liked to listen to her jaunty voice. Often she spun the stories so that I had to guess what happened next.
Adventurous and lively, Constanza was so different to the girls I spend most of my days with, the girls that should have been my friends but never had felt true. And it was not until a few years later that I truly considered Constanza my friend. Whenever her father sailed to Issarien, she accompanied him, and she even brought me gifts from her home. Twice she came for a longer visit in the warmer days of summer, until her father returned again.
I do not see her very often, but each time we meet is precious. If Father would let me, I would love to travel to her home too.
Perhaps one day I will see more of Essia than just what stories and gifts tell me. But for now I will await the familiar sails on the horizon with elation for my friend from overseas.
