Y M I R @ymir-heart - Tumblr Blog

YMIR-HEART

Muse Blog (Ymir, 30, Timezone EST, Pronouns she/her)

SIGNORIA GABRIELLE DI LEONE of FLORENCE - intro available here - aesthetics available here

Rainer Maria Rilke, in a letter to Lou Andreas Salomé written c. January 1913, from Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: A Love Story in Letters

tormxntum

Cailean leaned over the fence to get a better look at her steel, the flower crown slightly slipping from its place on their head as the wooden fence dug into their stomach. They had never seen anything like it, and suddenly, their cheeks flushed scarlet. Was this swordplay something every noble was meant to recognise? Had they unintentionally proven that they were nothing but a fraud? A wolf in sheep's clothing? A commoner masquerading as nobility? A voice whispered in their ear, pleading for them to lie. To make her believe they, too, had nobility running through their veins. It was their father's voice; he had always been concerned about how others perceived their family. Cailean was sure he would roll in his grave if he knew the things people had said about the Fergussons since their parents' deaths. No, they wouldn't lie. There was no use in hiding who they were. Not now when everyone knew of the traitorous things they had done.

'They must have completely gone over my head. I have never seen anything like it before.' They sputtered. It wasn't surprising that they still hadn't witnessed one, even after their years of service to the crown. Before the rebellion, they spent most of their days out in the field where brute force was all that mattered. Whenever they found themself in the royal court, they were expected to be working and, therefore, didn't have time to watch the entertainment. After the rebellion, things were different. People were still trying to piece their lives back together, and few had the luxury of celebrating and having fun. That's precisely what they needed.

'Aren't you worried the sword will break in two? It looks more like a twig than a blade?' There was no maliciousness in their voice. Yet the long, thin blade of her sword reminded them of the swords of their youth, twigs found among the leaves on the forest floor, wielded with as much pride as if they were carrying Excalibur. Their sword today was heavier, perhaps to remind the wielder of the weight they would carry if they were to use it on another person.

ymir-heart

Gabrielle immediately frowned when she heard them say they have never seen anything like it. She always had a decent ear for accent, but this one, she had less experience with. It seemed unlikely that someone of nobility would not have seen a fencing blade up close. And yet, she also grew up under a father who prevented her from seeing and experiencing great many things. She did not judge him, but also knew there was more to it than a simple cultural difference. Something was off, and she liked it. Gabrielle fought her whole life to make her place, she was quite literally the opposite of an upholder of traditions. She noticed her frown and softened it before responding with an amused tone "An unlucky child? Or a noble in the making?" The further comments made by them only accentuated her doubts about the nobility of this peculiar individual. Something that prompted her to say "I would not use this type of sword on a battlefield, that much we can agree. I would say that learning to fence early on in life has taught me quite a bit before I went to war, and yet it is nothing alike. It is not less deadly as some might assume, especially a flat fencing blade like this which still cuts like a razor." She detached the sword from her belt and offered it "Take it, see how light it is. The strength of the blade is not in its volume, but rather in its core, it allows the blade to be more flexible without compromising too much of its solidity. In other words, it is because of its flexibility that it can withstand brutality, it will bend before it breaks. Unlike me." She ended with a smile.

#threads || gabrielle di leone #c: cailean

mournfulroses

Gustave Flaubert, from a notebook entry featured in Intimate Notebook, 1840-1841

#aesthetic gabrielle

tormxntum

Where: The Practice Ground

Who: Gabrielle (@ymir-heart)

Their soul had not found peace since they unsheathed their sword, marking the beginning of the rebellion. It had been over a year. Every piece of Cailean’s life now belonged to the rebellion, to the cause. It had taken a while, but eventually, they accepted that since the reckoning, they were no longer a person. In the eyes of the rebels, they were a twisted idol who was there to make all their dreams come true. For the monarchs, they were a scapegoat, the cause of all of their heartaches. They were not a person and barely a human.

Something broke in them as they sat in a stuffy room listening to old men who had once counselled the king. Their voices turned muffled, and Cailean simply stood and left. They walked until the noise grew fainter, and finally, the world became silent. At last, they found peace. They sat in a small meadow, surrounded by wildflowers. They began picking one at first, but then they kept going, braiding the flowers into a crown of blue, white and gold, just like their older sister had taught them. ‘Well, you finally have your crown,’ they muttered as they crowned themself with flowers.

A sound as familiar as their own breath echoed through the air. They had not wielded a sword since the white flag had been raised; after the fight, they were too blood-sickened to raise their sword. Yet when they heard the crashing of the iron, they followed the sound like a loyal dog. It was not a battle they interrupted but a woman wielding a strange-looking sword. ‘What are you doing?’ They asked, leaning over a fence to get a better look at the strange sword. ‘Are you dancing or fighting?’ They tilted their head, the flower crown still in its place, albeit slightly lopsided.

ymir-heart

If Gabrielle had one fear, it was the thought of seeing her skills diminish. She was nothing if not her skill set and her ambitions, her family gone and many of her comrades dead in pointless wars. She was and remained a re-known duelist. No matter the sword, she knew how to use it and was willing to fight to defend her dominance in the field. It was only natural for someone who holds onto her skills as much as her to practice regularly, that is exactly what she was up to. A brand new sword for the sole purpose of practicing had been made, she enjoyed it enough to warrant such a luxury. She was a lord after all. A fine lengthy blade in hand, she was practicing her attacks direct to the chest, a stabbing motion only too familiar. She had been practicing for quite some time before hearing a voice speak, breaking her concentration. Her head did a sharp turn, observing rapidly her surrounding before noticing the last thing she expected. Someone wearing a flower crown, asking the strangest of question, so much so that it took Gabrielle a second to respond "Dancing? Is this meant to be a joke?" She gave her blade a swirl before sheeting her sword, she continued inquisitive "Have you never seen a fencing duel before? They are quite common, but they tend to be interesting solely when the fighters are skilled at it." She smirked and walked closer to the stranger, before adding "There are no shortages of unskilled nobles out there who duel at fancy events... but I'm not one of them. It doesn't favor brute force the way a soldier's sword does, I should know, I was a soldier once."

#threads || gabrielle di leone #c: cailean

mournfulroses

Vladimir Mayakovsky, from a letter featured in "Love in the Heart of Everything; The Correspondence between Vladimir Mayakovsky & Lili Brik, 1915-1930,"

#aesthetic gabrielle