Post by devilinthedetails on Dec 18, 2022 3:50:53 GMT 10
Title: A Matter of Gift-Giving
Rating: PG-13 for references to past child abuse.
Prompt: Winter is Coming.
Summary: As winter comes, Roald asks for Thayet’s advice on a matter of gift-giving. Set during Kel's first year as a page.
A Matter of Gift-Giving
Winter was coming. Thayet could feel it in the cold of her fingers as she wrapped them about an ink-dipped quill. In the chill damp that not even her solar’s roaring fire could banish from the air. In the wind that howled like a haunting spirit against the windows, rattling the glass panes. Slipping through the mortar cracks in the palace’s stone walls and through rich threads of elegantly woven tapestry to cut directly to her bones.
Making them ache in a way they never had in her youth. Freezing them to the marrow even when she sat beside the pleasant warmth of her oldest son. Visiting her in the precious little free time he had on a Sunday afternoon during page training. Helping her write the thousands of polite Midwinter cards that it seemed the family had to send out earlier every year. Bent beside her over her small writing desk. Face illuminated by the same flickering yellow candlelight.
He was devoted to her, her Roald, Thayet thought, appraising him with a mother’s eye. Sweet in his stiff way.
“Mama.” With the keen perception of the child he still was for a little bit longer, Roald must have sensed his gaze upon her. He didn’t glance up from his scroll of parchment–continued to compose merry Midwinter greetings with perfectly measured penmanship–but he did speak for the first time in what felt like half an hour at least. He wasn’t a talker, her Roald. Never had been. Even as a toddler, he hadn’t liked to babble as her subsequent children had delighted in doing. The older he got, the more each word appeared to be considered with care before it left his mouth. “I did come seeking your advice about a gift-giving matter as Midwinter approaches.”
“Ah.” Thayet steepled her fingers. Grateful for a chance to stretch them. To set down her quill. “Nothing is more serious than gift-giving as Midwinter draws near.”
Something it seemed to do faster and faster every year. Thayet having just enough time to get used to writing one year on all her official correspondence and documents before the calendar changed again. The brutal march of time that spared nobody keeping up its relentless pace even as she started to flag.
“I wanted to get a gift for Keladry of Mindelan.” Roald fixed her with wide, worried winter-blue eyes. He was often fretting about something. An anxiety not inherited from her or Jon. A turmoil a mother could always sense brewing beneath the calm surface he strove to project. “But I’m afraid it wouldn’t be proper.”
“Why wouldn’t it be proper?” Thayet arched an eyebrow. Her eldest son had a penchant for seeing improprieties where she would never have dreamed of finding them. A trait she was inclined to blame on too much etiquette instruction with Master Oakbridge at an impressionable age.
“It wouldn’t be impartial.” Roald set down his own quill. Forehead furrowing. “It could be interpreted as a sign of favoritism.”
“You do not have to be impartial all the time,” Thayet reminded him because he was so prone to forgetting that. To enforcing on himself a complete lack of bias no one was capable of maintaining. “Keladry of Mindelan has been the target of so much bias against her that a little bias for her would not upset the scales of justice. Might balance them more evenly, in fact.”
“Keladry wants to succeed fairly. Without any extra help or favors.” Roald’s lips fell into a frown. “I respect that about her, Mama.”
“So do I.” Thayet kissed her son’s forehead. Feeling the furrows ease there. Seeing the frown begin to melt away like snow in sunlight as well. “But a gift does not have to be a sign of favoritism. Sometimes it can be a sign of friendship as well. Even princes are allowed friends, Roald.”
He had a horrible habit of forgetting that as well. Needed to have that obvious point pointed out to him.
“Yes, Mama.” Roald sounded more dutiful than convinced.
“You are friends with Keladry?” Thayet pressed. Prying into her firstborn’s life. Praying to the Horse Lords that he wouldn’t resent the probing and her too much. He had come to her for guidance, after all, hadn’t he? Must have known how forthright and prodding she would be.
“I’d like to be and hope she sees me as such.” Roald tugged at his earlobe. “But I am not sure she wants me as a friend or trusts me as one. Especially since I am the son of the king who agreed to her probation.”
“Well.” Thayet smiled. Tapped the K’miri nose he had inherited from her. “A gift may be just the sign she needs to know that you are her friend and she can trust you as one.”
“I am the only page beside Neal who calls her by her name. The only one besides Neal who eats with her, and I dine with her and Neal more than any other pages.” Roald radiated genuine confusion. “Aren’t those enough signs that I am her friend and she can trust me?”
“Those are subtle signs.” Thayet’s smile grew as a mixture of warm fondness and amused exasperation with her eldest swelled to a chorus within her. “Some prefer signs of friendship to be less oblique. More straightforward.”
“Like a gift.” There was a tinsel shining in Roald’s eyes for a moment before it clouded. Before he sobered again. “Papa might not approve. Might see it as going against his policy in regard to Keladry of Mindelan.”
Thayet sighed. Roald feared Jon’s stern disapproval more than she ever had the rages of her warlord father. Even though her father had beaten her and Jon was never so violent with their children. She supposed that wasn’t a bad or a sad thing. That it was only a sign of how much her eldest son loved her husband. A love expressed through obedience and fear of provoking displeasure.
“Your father–” she pronounced with determined lightness– “does not have an official policy that none should bestow Midwinter gifts on Keladry of Mindelan.”
“No.” Roald bit his lip. “But he still might not be happy if I give her a gift.”
“Then–” Thayet stroked her son’s midnight black hair– “I will tell him he is wrong to be mad and that he should stop ruining everyone’s Midwinter.”
“I love you, Mama.” Roald kissed her cheek. “Thank you for being my advocate and Keladry of Mindelan’s.”
“You don’t need an advocate with your father.” Thayet patted his cheek. “He loves you as much as I do.”
“I know.” Roald’s gaze dropped to the carpet. His voice to a murmur. “I love him too. That’s why I should obey him and not upset him like the Mithran priests say.”
“The Horse Lords are not so rigid in their demands.” A hint of mirth gleamed in Thayet’s hazel eyes. “Nor is your father no matter what you might think.”
“Do you believe in the Horse Lords, Mama?” Roald’s eyes lifted to hers again. Alight with curiosity. “You hardly ever speak of them.”
“I believe in them as myth and legend.” Thayet cupped her inquisitive son’s chin between her palms. “That is how the wild deities of the K’mir wish to be worshiped. Not with the unthinking devotion and blind obedience Mithros requires of his followers. Not all those who believe in gods and spirits must be as rigid about it as the Mithran priests. In fact, the world might be a better place if the Mithran priests were less rigid in their beliefs.”
“You believe that rigid beliefs are dangerous then?” Roald obviously had more questions burning in him.
“Absolutely.” Thayet’s lips quirked. “I’ve had enough encounters with staunch conservatives to beware the dangers of rigid beliefs.”
“But staunch progressives can be just as adamant and rigid in their beliefs, can’t they?” Roald asked. Of her six children, only him and Jasson would have posed such a question. For Jasson, it would’ve been a matter of logic and fierce intellectual debate. For Roald, she understood it was different. A question of the fairness Roald seemed to value above all else.
“They can.” Thayet kissed her oldest’s forehead again. Wondering how many more kisses like that she had left before he started pulling away from them. Flinching from her displays of affection as if they were an embarrassment to him. A peril to his adolescent pride. “But I find their beliefs less odious as they mirror my own.”
“So do I.” Roald’s white teeth flashed in a rare grin. A shared, guiltless confession. “Whether that is fair or not.”
“Have a happy Midwinter.” Thayet ruffled his hair again. “Don’t worry too much about fairness and embrace the generous spirit of the holiday. That is my most important gift-giving advice.”
Rating: PG-13 for references to past child abuse.
Prompt: Winter is Coming.
Summary: As winter comes, Roald asks for Thayet’s advice on a matter of gift-giving. Set during Kel's first year as a page.
A Matter of Gift-Giving
Winter was coming. Thayet could feel it in the cold of her fingers as she wrapped them about an ink-dipped quill. In the chill damp that not even her solar’s roaring fire could banish from the air. In the wind that howled like a haunting spirit against the windows, rattling the glass panes. Slipping through the mortar cracks in the palace’s stone walls and through rich threads of elegantly woven tapestry to cut directly to her bones.
Making them ache in a way they never had in her youth. Freezing them to the marrow even when she sat beside the pleasant warmth of her oldest son. Visiting her in the precious little free time he had on a Sunday afternoon during page training. Helping her write the thousands of polite Midwinter cards that it seemed the family had to send out earlier every year. Bent beside her over her small writing desk. Face illuminated by the same flickering yellow candlelight.
He was devoted to her, her Roald, Thayet thought, appraising him with a mother’s eye. Sweet in his stiff way.
“Mama.” With the keen perception of the child he still was for a little bit longer, Roald must have sensed his gaze upon her. He didn’t glance up from his scroll of parchment–continued to compose merry Midwinter greetings with perfectly measured penmanship–but he did speak for the first time in what felt like half an hour at least. He wasn’t a talker, her Roald. Never had been. Even as a toddler, he hadn’t liked to babble as her subsequent children had delighted in doing. The older he got, the more each word appeared to be considered with care before it left his mouth. “I did come seeking your advice about a gift-giving matter as Midwinter approaches.”
“Ah.” Thayet steepled her fingers. Grateful for a chance to stretch them. To set down her quill. “Nothing is more serious than gift-giving as Midwinter draws near.”
Something it seemed to do faster and faster every year. Thayet having just enough time to get used to writing one year on all her official correspondence and documents before the calendar changed again. The brutal march of time that spared nobody keeping up its relentless pace even as she started to flag.
“I wanted to get a gift for Keladry of Mindelan.” Roald fixed her with wide, worried winter-blue eyes. He was often fretting about something. An anxiety not inherited from her or Jon. A turmoil a mother could always sense brewing beneath the calm surface he strove to project. “But I’m afraid it wouldn’t be proper.”
“Why wouldn’t it be proper?” Thayet arched an eyebrow. Her eldest son had a penchant for seeing improprieties where she would never have dreamed of finding them. A trait she was inclined to blame on too much etiquette instruction with Master Oakbridge at an impressionable age.
“It wouldn’t be impartial.” Roald set down his own quill. Forehead furrowing. “It could be interpreted as a sign of favoritism.”
“You do not have to be impartial all the time,” Thayet reminded him because he was so prone to forgetting that. To enforcing on himself a complete lack of bias no one was capable of maintaining. “Keladry of Mindelan has been the target of so much bias against her that a little bias for her would not upset the scales of justice. Might balance them more evenly, in fact.”
“Keladry wants to succeed fairly. Without any extra help or favors.” Roald’s lips fell into a frown. “I respect that about her, Mama.”
“So do I.” Thayet kissed her son’s forehead. Feeling the furrows ease there. Seeing the frown begin to melt away like snow in sunlight as well. “But a gift does not have to be a sign of favoritism. Sometimes it can be a sign of friendship as well. Even princes are allowed friends, Roald.”
He had a horrible habit of forgetting that as well. Needed to have that obvious point pointed out to him.
“Yes, Mama.” Roald sounded more dutiful than convinced.
“You are friends with Keladry?” Thayet pressed. Prying into her firstborn’s life. Praying to the Horse Lords that he wouldn’t resent the probing and her too much. He had come to her for guidance, after all, hadn’t he? Must have known how forthright and prodding she would be.
“I’d like to be and hope she sees me as such.” Roald tugged at his earlobe. “But I am not sure she wants me as a friend or trusts me as one. Especially since I am the son of the king who agreed to her probation.”
“Well.” Thayet smiled. Tapped the K’miri nose he had inherited from her. “A gift may be just the sign she needs to know that you are her friend and she can trust you as one.”
“I am the only page beside Neal who calls her by her name. The only one besides Neal who eats with her, and I dine with her and Neal more than any other pages.” Roald radiated genuine confusion. “Aren’t those enough signs that I am her friend and she can trust me?”
“Those are subtle signs.” Thayet’s smile grew as a mixture of warm fondness and amused exasperation with her eldest swelled to a chorus within her. “Some prefer signs of friendship to be less oblique. More straightforward.”
“Like a gift.” There was a tinsel shining in Roald’s eyes for a moment before it clouded. Before he sobered again. “Papa might not approve. Might see it as going against his policy in regard to Keladry of Mindelan.”
Thayet sighed. Roald feared Jon’s stern disapproval more than she ever had the rages of her warlord father. Even though her father had beaten her and Jon was never so violent with their children. She supposed that wasn’t a bad or a sad thing. That it was only a sign of how much her eldest son loved her husband. A love expressed through obedience and fear of provoking displeasure.
“Your father–” she pronounced with determined lightness– “does not have an official policy that none should bestow Midwinter gifts on Keladry of Mindelan.”
“No.” Roald bit his lip. “But he still might not be happy if I give her a gift.”
“Then–” Thayet stroked her son’s midnight black hair– “I will tell him he is wrong to be mad and that he should stop ruining everyone’s Midwinter.”
“I love you, Mama.” Roald kissed her cheek. “Thank you for being my advocate and Keladry of Mindelan’s.”
“You don’t need an advocate with your father.” Thayet patted his cheek. “He loves you as much as I do.”
“I know.” Roald’s gaze dropped to the carpet. His voice to a murmur. “I love him too. That’s why I should obey him and not upset him like the Mithran priests say.”
“The Horse Lords are not so rigid in their demands.” A hint of mirth gleamed in Thayet’s hazel eyes. “Nor is your father no matter what you might think.”
“Do you believe in the Horse Lords, Mama?” Roald’s eyes lifted to hers again. Alight with curiosity. “You hardly ever speak of them.”
“I believe in them as myth and legend.” Thayet cupped her inquisitive son’s chin between her palms. “That is how the wild deities of the K’mir wish to be worshiped. Not with the unthinking devotion and blind obedience Mithros requires of his followers. Not all those who believe in gods and spirits must be as rigid about it as the Mithran priests. In fact, the world might be a better place if the Mithran priests were less rigid in their beliefs.”
“You believe that rigid beliefs are dangerous then?” Roald obviously had more questions burning in him.
“Absolutely.” Thayet’s lips quirked. “I’ve had enough encounters with staunch conservatives to beware the dangers of rigid beliefs.”
“But staunch progressives can be just as adamant and rigid in their beliefs, can’t they?” Roald asked. Of her six children, only him and Jasson would have posed such a question. For Jasson, it would’ve been a matter of logic and fierce intellectual debate. For Roald, she understood it was different. A question of the fairness Roald seemed to value above all else.
“They can.” Thayet kissed her oldest’s forehead again. Wondering how many more kisses like that she had left before he started pulling away from them. Flinching from her displays of affection as if they were an embarrassment to him. A peril to his adolescent pride. “But I find their beliefs less odious as they mirror my own.”
“So do I.” Roald’s white teeth flashed in a rare grin. A shared, guiltless confession. “Whether that is fair or not.”
“Have a happy Midwinter.” Thayet ruffled his hair again. “Don’t worry too much about fairness and embrace the generous spirit of the holiday. That is my most important gift-giving advice.”