Post by devilinthedetails on Jul 23, 2018 9:04:22 GMT 10
Title: Naxen Colors
Rating: PG-13 for references to death
Prompt: Color
Summary: Gary gives Cythera the gift of Naxen colors.
Naxen Colors
Cythera strolled through the stone pathways that twisted and curved through the royal gardens. Occasionally she stooped to pick an autumn amaryllis or dahlia from the flowers bowing to the brisk November wind off the Olorun. Even if the chill air whipped cherries into her cheeks, she was grateful for the opportunity to escape the oppressive heat of the queen’s chambers, which Queen Lianne needed to be sweltering to combat her constant freezing fevers and hacking coughs that had come courtesy of the Duke of Conte who was back from the dead, a fact that had withered Queen Lianne’s flesh from her bones until she was so frail that a strong gust of wind looked likely to send her sailing to Scanra if she ventured outside.
Since the queen was never healthy enough to step outdoors, Cythera had resolved to bring nature to her. She would gather fall flowers in vibrant orange, red, and yellow to place in vases on Queen Lianne’s nightstand and along her windowsills. The sweet aromas and the vivid colors would lighten the queen’s spirit, cheering and energizing her like a breath of the air she was too weak for exposure to, Duke Baird had assured Cythera when she asked him on one of his daily visits to the ailing queen.
“Lady Cythera, a flower among flowers!” Sir Gareth’s greeting fanned fires in Cythera’s face, and she thanked the Goddess for the wind that made her blush of pleasure indistinguishable from the one the crispness beat into her cheeks. Though she and Gary had been courting steadily for over a year, Cythera still was flustered and flattered by his effusive praise. Part of her—the romantic fool that didn’t value her poise enough—prayed to the Goddess that she would always be.
“Sir Gareth.” She dimpled at him to soften the sting of her next words. “How long did you spend coming up with that compliment?”
“You wound me, dear lady.” Gary clutched at his chest as if she had dealt him a mortal blow with a sword, a weapon she had never held nor wanted to for that matter. “I just saw you picking flowers and was so overcome by your beauty in the garden that I was inspired to spontaneous poetry.”
“Your definition of poetry differs from mine, good sir.” Cythera tapped his arm with a dahlia before sliding her elbow through the one he extended to her. “If I might be so bold, I would recommend lengthening your poetry and at least attempting rhyme.”
“Maybe I’ll take your advice should I write you poetry for your next birthday.” Gary’s brown eyes were warm as cinnamon in apple cider on a November night, and Cythera found herself swallowed in them. “Fortunately for you and me, my birthday present for you this year isn’t limited to my spur of the moment poetry.”
“You remembered it’s my birthday?” Cythera was astonished though perhaps it wasn’t fair for her to be. After all, Gary might have been forgetful when he was lost in his books and papers but he was never neglectful of her. Still, she had been so swamped as the queen’s social secretary—planning Queen Lianne’s increasingly scarce and shortened appearances and corresponding through letters with those the queen was too feeble to meet in person—that it had slipped her own mind that it was her birthday, a sure sign of aging, the priestesses at the convent would have assured her. She could only imagine that Gary, who had assumed most of the burdens of governance while his father the Prime Minister stayed at his fading aunt’s bedside, would be even more preoccupied with affairs of state she understood were objectively more important than her as they determined the fate of the realm.
“Of course I did.” Gary’s eyes were wide as Cythera’s. “You didn’t think I’d forget the lady I’m courting’s birthday, did you?”
“I know you’re consumed by your duties in government.” Cythera patted his elbow with her gloved palm to rob any potential offense from her observation. “I don’t complain, and I don’t criticize. I only mean that I wouldn’t blame you if you had forgotten.”
“I’d blame myself if I did.” Gary shook his head sharply as if to dislodge an irksome idea, and Cythera noted inwardly that he was always hardest on himself, driving himself to exhaustion and beyond. “My father had many duties as Prime Minister, training master, and King’s Champion, but he always had time for Mother and me.”
Cythera thought Duchess Roanna too imperious and Gary until recently too rambunctious to be ignored, but aloud she only replied, “She’s his wife and you’re his son.”
“Yes, and you’re the woman I’m courting as seriously as I’ve ever done anything.” Gary spoke with a finality that suggested that settled the matter. “That’s why I’ve gotten you a birthday gift to celebrate your glorious entrance into the world.”
“I don’t need a birthday present.” Cythera was from a family that had barely scraped into the Book of Silver and would never be permitted to forget that fact. Her line wasn’t impoverished, but it had to be practical and never indulgent. The daughter of a mother who had died in childbirth and a diplomat father who lacked the clout with the Crown to procure a posting to anywhere more prestigious than Galla, Cythera had cultivated a style of simple, understated elegance out of necessity since the start of her convent days. She could walk with pride past the petty courtiers who whispered allegations that she was a money-grubber daring to aim well above her station by attracting the attentions of the heir to one of Tortall’s oldest, wealthiest, and most powerful families. As long as Gary didn’t believe for a heartbeat she was so shallow or coldly calculating, Cythera wouldn’t worry about the spiteful rumormongers. Their jealousy was a reflection of them that didn’t mar her beauty while rendering them uglier with twisted resentment that became etched into their features. “The fact that you remembered my birthday at all is more than enough to please me.”
“That’s touching to hear, but I’m afraid it’s too late for me to return this little gift to the merchants, so you’ll have to suffer through wearing it, darling.” Gary chuckled as he slung a silk shawl that gleamed gold and scarlet in the clear autumn sunlight. She couldn’t fathom where he had hidden the shawl while they were strolling but the mystery drifted from her mind as her fingers stroked the silk around her neck. It was the finest silk imported from the lone port in the faraway Yamani Islands where the emperor permitted merchants from the Eastern Lands to trade. In other words, it was a shawl too luxurious for Cythera’s family to have ever afforded. “I hope you’ll learn to like it.”
“I love it already.” Cythera hugged the shawl to her shoulders and wished that the inflexible dictates of etiquette would have relented enough to allow her to hug him instead without being branded immodest. Accusations of immodesty would only encourage the nasty gossip circling the court about her sinking her talons into Gary to tap into his family’s riches and status. “Thank you. It’s gorgeous and makes me feel like I’m wearing your Naxen colors.”
In her happiness, she wondered if she had overreached herself with her final comment, but Gary flashed her a broad, radiant grin. “I admit that was my intention, my fair lady. You’re breathtaking in Naxen colors, but a fresh amaryllis would complete the look to perfection.”
“Oh, go on and make me perfect then.” Cythera giggled and glowed pink as Gary bent to pluck an amaryllis from the diamond of them planted by the path and then rose to tuck it behind her ear with a flourish and a bow.
When Cythera at last returned to the queen’s quarters with the bouquet of fall flowers, Queen Lianne, wrapped in thick woolen blankets with hot pans making lumps by her feet, remarked in an almost whisper, “That’s a lovely shawl, Lady Cythera. Would it be a birthday gift from my nephew?”
“It would, Your Majesty.” Cythera smiled even though she was on tenterhooks about what the queen’s reaction to Gary’s generous gift would be. Although Queen Lianne had always been kind to her and never uttered anything disparaging about the humble ranking of Cythera’s Elden family, the queen was also famous for doting on her Naxen nephew. It was possible that she might regard Cythera as beneath her nephew when it came to serious courtship, and Cythera couldn’t necessarily fault her for that.
“Naxen colors suit you, my dear.” Queen Lianne gave a nod that conveyed gentle approval of Cythera, her shawl in Naxen colors, and her relationship with Gary. “If my nephew stops dragging his heels, perhaps you’ll have a spring wedding. His Majesty and I were married in the spring, and ever since then I’ve loved spring weddings the best. The flowers just smell the sweetest in the spring, don’t they?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Flustered by this discussion of marriage, Cythera busied herself by transferring the flowers she had plucked into vases on the queen’s nightstand and windowsill. “They do.”
“The shores of Lake Naxen are golden with yellow flowers that grow nowhere else in Tortall every spring.” Queen Lianne’s voice was melancholy with memory. “Smelling those flowers was the nearest joy to the Divine Realms that I’ve ever experienced, but I’m too weak to travel to the shores of Lake Naxen this spring. I’ll never see or smell those flowers in my life again, but there must be such flowers in the Divine Realms surely.”
“Of course there are, Your Majesty.” Cythera abandoned her flowers to squeeze the queen’s trembling fingers in all the comfort she could offer as Queen Lianne danced ever closer to the darkness of death. “All that is beautiful in the Mortal Realms is found and magnified in the Divine Realms.”
“We must have faith that it is so and not live without hope.” Queen Lianne’s wobbly attempt at a brave smile broke Cythera’s heart. “Now that we’ve decided that, we must choose colors for your wedding. Elden blue and Naxen red would clash horrifically, of course, but Elden silver and Naxen gold would be stunning…”
When Cythera and Gary married months later, Elden silver and Naxen gold were the colors—shining as their future together—they selected. It wasn’t a spring wedding with the sweet flowers that Queen Lianne had daydreamed about in her sickbed, but it was a winter wedding with gleaming snow sculptures and ice statues, which was just as well since Queen Lianne didn’t live to see another spring, and Gary and Cythera’s wedding was one of the last times anyone saw her smile.
Rating: PG-13 for references to death
Prompt: Color
Summary: Gary gives Cythera the gift of Naxen colors.
Naxen Colors
Cythera strolled through the stone pathways that twisted and curved through the royal gardens. Occasionally she stooped to pick an autumn amaryllis or dahlia from the flowers bowing to the brisk November wind off the Olorun. Even if the chill air whipped cherries into her cheeks, she was grateful for the opportunity to escape the oppressive heat of the queen’s chambers, which Queen Lianne needed to be sweltering to combat her constant freezing fevers and hacking coughs that had come courtesy of the Duke of Conte who was back from the dead, a fact that had withered Queen Lianne’s flesh from her bones until she was so frail that a strong gust of wind looked likely to send her sailing to Scanra if she ventured outside.
Since the queen was never healthy enough to step outdoors, Cythera had resolved to bring nature to her. She would gather fall flowers in vibrant orange, red, and yellow to place in vases on Queen Lianne’s nightstand and along her windowsills. The sweet aromas and the vivid colors would lighten the queen’s spirit, cheering and energizing her like a breath of the air she was too weak for exposure to, Duke Baird had assured Cythera when she asked him on one of his daily visits to the ailing queen.
“Lady Cythera, a flower among flowers!” Sir Gareth’s greeting fanned fires in Cythera’s face, and she thanked the Goddess for the wind that made her blush of pleasure indistinguishable from the one the crispness beat into her cheeks. Though she and Gary had been courting steadily for over a year, Cythera still was flustered and flattered by his effusive praise. Part of her—the romantic fool that didn’t value her poise enough—prayed to the Goddess that she would always be.
“Sir Gareth.” She dimpled at him to soften the sting of her next words. “How long did you spend coming up with that compliment?”
“You wound me, dear lady.” Gary clutched at his chest as if she had dealt him a mortal blow with a sword, a weapon she had never held nor wanted to for that matter. “I just saw you picking flowers and was so overcome by your beauty in the garden that I was inspired to spontaneous poetry.”
“Your definition of poetry differs from mine, good sir.” Cythera tapped his arm with a dahlia before sliding her elbow through the one he extended to her. “If I might be so bold, I would recommend lengthening your poetry and at least attempting rhyme.”
“Maybe I’ll take your advice should I write you poetry for your next birthday.” Gary’s brown eyes were warm as cinnamon in apple cider on a November night, and Cythera found herself swallowed in them. “Fortunately for you and me, my birthday present for you this year isn’t limited to my spur of the moment poetry.”
“You remembered it’s my birthday?” Cythera was astonished though perhaps it wasn’t fair for her to be. After all, Gary might have been forgetful when he was lost in his books and papers but he was never neglectful of her. Still, she had been so swamped as the queen’s social secretary—planning Queen Lianne’s increasingly scarce and shortened appearances and corresponding through letters with those the queen was too feeble to meet in person—that it had slipped her own mind that it was her birthday, a sure sign of aging, the priestesses at the convent would have assured her. She could only imagine that Gary, who had assumed most of the burdens of governance while his father the Prime Minister stayed at his fading aunt’s bedside, would be even more preoccupied with affairs of state she understood were objectively more important than her as they determined the fate of the realm.
“Of course I did.” Gary’s eyes were wide as Cythera’s. “You didn’t think I’d forget the lady I’m courting’s birthday, did you?”
“I know you’re consumed by your duties in government.” Cythera patted his elbow with her gloved palm to rob any potential offense from her observation. “I don’t complain, and I don’t criticize. I only mean that I wouldn’t blame you if you had forgotten.”
“I’d blame myself if I did.” Gary shook his head sharply as if to dislodge an irksome idea, and Cythera noted inwardly that he was always hardest on himself, driving himself to exhaustion and beyond. “My father had many duties as Prime Minister, training master, and King’s Champion, but he always had time for Mother and me.”
Cythera thought Duchess Roanna too imperious and Gary until recently too rambunctious to be ignored, but aloud she only replied, “She’s his wife and you’re his son.”
“Yes, and you’re the woman I’m courting as seriously as I’ve ever done anything.” Gary spoke with a finality that suggested that settled the matter. “That’s why I’ve gotten you a birthday gift to celebrate your glorious entrance into the world.”
“I don’t need a birthday present.” Cythera was from a family that had barely scraped into the Book of Silver and would never be permitted to forget that fact. Her line wasn’t impoverished, but it had to be practical and never indulgent. The daughter of a mother who had died in childbirth and a diplomat father who lacked the clout with the Crown to procure a posting to anywhere more prestigious than Galla, Cythera had cultivated a style of simple, understated elegance out of necessity since the start of her convent days. She could walk with pride past the petty courtiers who whispered allegations that she was a money-grubber daring to aim well above her station by attracting the attentions of the heir to one of Tortall’s oldest, wealthiest, and most powerful families. As long as Gary didn’t believe for a heartbeat she was so shallow or coldly calculating, Cythera wouldn’t worry about the spiteful rumormongers. Their jealousy was a reflection of them that didn’t mar her beauty while rendering them uglier with twisted resentment that became etched into their features. “The fact that you remembered my birthday at all is more than enough to please me.”
“That’s touching to hear, but I’m afraid it’s too late for me to return this little gift to the merchants, so you’ll have to suffer through wearing it, darling.” Gary chuckled as he slung a silk shawl that gleamed gold and scarlet in the clear autumn sunlight. She couldn’t fathom where he had hidden the shawl while they were strolling but the mystery drifted from her mind as her fingers stroked the silk around her neck. It was the finest silk imported from the lone port in the faraway Yamani Islands where the emperor permitted merchants from the Eastern Lands to trade. In other words, it was a shawl too luxurious for Cythera’s family to have ever afforded. “I hope you’ll learn to like it.”
“I love it already.” Cythera hugged the shawl to her shoulders and wished that the inflexible dictates of etiquette would have relented enough to allow her to hug him instead without being branded immodest. Accusations of immodesty would only encourage the nasty gossip circling the court about her sinking her talons into Gary to tap into his family’s riches and status. “Thank you. It’s gorgeous and makes me feel like I’m wearing your Naxen colors.”
In her happiness, she wondered if she had overreached herself with her final comment, but Gary flashed her a broad, radiant grin. “I admit that was my intention, my fair lady. You’re breathtaking in Naxen colors, but a fresh amaryllis would complete the look to perfection.”
“Oh, go on and make me perfect then.” Cythera giggled and glowed pink as Gary bent to pluck an amaryllis from the diamond of them planted by the path and then rose to tuck it behind her ear with a flourish and a bow.
When Cythera at last returned to the queen’s quarters with the bouquet of fall flowers, Queen Lianne, wrapped in thick woolen blankets with hot pans making lumps by her feet, remarked in an almost whisper, “That’s a lovely shawl, Lady Cythera. Would it be a birthday gift from my nephew?”
“It would, Your Majesty.” Cythera smiled even though she was on tenterhooks about what the queen’s reaction to Gary’s generous gift would be. Although Queen Lianne had always been kind to her and never uttered anything disparaging about the humble ranking of Cythera’s Elden family, the queen was also famous for doting on her Naxen nephew. It was possible that she might regard Cythera as beneath her nephew when it came to serious courtship, and Cythera couldn’t necessarily fault her for that.
“Naxen colors suit you, my dear.” Queen Lianne gave a nod that conveyed gentle approval of Cythera, her shawl in Naxen colors, and her relationship with Gary. “If my nephew stops dragging his heels, perhaps you’ll have a spring wedding. His Majesty and I were married in the spring, and ever since then I’ve loved spring weddings the best. The flowers just smell the sweetest in the spring, don’t they?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Flustered by this discussion of marriage, Cythera busied herself by transferring the flowers she had plucked into vases on the queen’s nightstand and windowsill. “They do.”
“The shores of Lake Naxen are golden with yellow flowers that grow nowhere else in Tortall every spring.” Queen Lianne’s voice was melancholy with memory. “Smelling those flowers was the nearest joy to the Divine Realms that I’ve ever experienced, but I’m too weak to travel to the shores of Lake Naxen this spring. I’ll never see or smell those flowers in my life again, but there must be such flowers in the Divine Realms surely.”
“Of course there are, Your Majesty.” Cythera abandoned her flowers to squeeze the queen’s trembling fingers in all the comfort she could offer as Queen Lianne danced ever closer to the darkness of death. “All that is beautiful in the Mortal Realms is found and magnified in the Divine Realms.”
“We must have faith that it is so and not live without hope.” Queen Lianne’s wobbly attempt at a brave smile broke Cythera’s heart. “Now that we’ve decided that, we must choose colors for your wedding. Elden blue and Naxen red would clash horrifically, of course, but Elden silver and Naxen gold would be stunning…”
When Cythera and Gary married months later, Elden silver and Naxen gold were the colors—shining as their future together—they selected. It wasn’t a spring wedding with the sweet flowers that Queen Lianne had daydreamed about in her sickbed, but it was a winter wedding with gleaming snow sculptures and ice statues, which was just as well since Queen Lianne didn’t live to see another spring, and Gary and Cythera’s wedding was one of the last times anyone saw her smile.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!