Post by mistrali on Mar 20, 2020 18:07:37 GMT 10
Title: Coronation Blues (part 3)
Rating: G
Warnings None
Summary: Sandry and Lark decide on a gown
Notes: Treat for sternerstuff, for Yuletide NYR 2019.
Prompt: Lark and Sandry collaborating.
The ‘traditional caftan’ is based on three seconds of Google: www.turkeyfamousfor.com/glorious-caftan-set/. I’ve fudged all the sewing details, so please point out any errors.
Previous ficlets here (rated G): fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com/thread/49291/icw-coronation-blues-ii
——
Lark looked up from her mending and hid a smile. Sketches and drawings covered Discipline’s small kitchen table. Some looked as if they’d been cut out of the new fashion circulars for noble ladies, and others, Sandry’s own, were half-finished.
“Mila bless, what’s all this? I didn’t know you were planning to outfit the entire Citadel,” she teased.
Sandry’s mouth twitched. “I might’ve got carried away,” she admitted. “Nothing looks right.”
“Maybe you’re too close to the work,” suggested Lark.
“Maybe,” said Sandry, with a sigh. “But I do want to make a gown for my own coronation. What self-respecting stitch witch can’t even decide on a style?” Her eyelids fluttered; yawning, she reached for the empty teacup beside her.
“One who’s skipped supper, and who’s doing a duke’s work besides. Have something to eat; we have time enough to work on it. The thread won’t run away.”
Sandry blinked, then giggled. “That was what you told me our first spinning lesson.”
Lark winked at her. “The advice still stands, my dear.“
Coronation gowns were neither woman’s speciality, but between them, they knew enough about formal gowns that they could generalise. While Sandry wolfed down bread and olives and poured them both tea, Lark leafed through the papers. Some she immediately discarded as being too casual; others she set aside to cobble ideas from.
“Would you like a traditional caftan, or something more modern, like a gown?”
It gladdened Lark’s heart to hear Sandry laugh. “A mixture, I think. I’ll never be a style icon like Berenene. And some of the Namornese gowns are very... well... bright. The courtiers told me that the Empress’ mother wore a coronation dress made of fresh roses, jasmines, tiny rubies and seed pearls.” Her eyes danced in the light of her crystal lamp. “I suppose that would scandalise Erdogun. And deplete the treasury for the next decade.”
“Well, Namorn is an empire. We needn’t be quite so profligate.” Even so, Sandry’s gown must be a centrepiece: it should be elegant as well as lavish, to satisfy not only Summersea folk but those who had come from other cities. Privately, Lark thought Sandry might become a fashion icon among young Emelanese noblewomen without quite meaning to. As Duchess, she would attract those of rank whether she wanted to or not. Unlike her Summersea friends, they would flock to her for a share of reflected power, and wealth and favour.
“This shade,” Lark offered, pointing to a sapphire blue gown, “might work in silk or velvet.”
“For the sea,” mused Sandry, “and to go with the Harriers’ blue and bronze. With a wave pattern - look, Lark, instead of all this shirring, we could have silver embroidery down the middle and on the sleeves.” She pointed to a long, flowing gown with an Olarten-style train, and then lingered thoughtfully over a ballgown such as they wore in Anderran.
Rating: G
Warnings None
Summary: Sandry and Lark decide on a gown
Notes: Treat for sternerstuff, for Yuletide NYR 2019.
Prompt: Lark and Sandry collaborating.
The ‘traditional caftan’ is based on three seconds of Google: www.turkeyfamousfor.com/glorious-caftan-set/. I’ve fudged all the sewing details, so please point out any errors.
Previous ficlets here (rated G): fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com/thread/49291/icw-coronation-blues-ii
——
Lark looked up from her mending and hid a smile. Sketches and drawings covered Discipline’s small kitchen table. Some looked as if they’d been cut out of the new fashion circulars for noble ladies, and others, Sandry’s own, were half-finished.
“Mila bless, what’s all this? I didn’t know you were planning to outfit the entire Citadel,” she teased.
Sandry’s mouth twitched. “I might’ve got carried away,” she admitted. “Nothing looks right.”
“Maybe you’re too close to the work,” suggested Lark.
“Maybe,” said Sandry, with a sigh. “But I do want to make a gown for my own coronation. What self-respecting stitch witch can’t even decide on a style?” Her eyelids fluttered; yawning, she reached for the empty teacup beside her.
“One who’s skipped supper, and who’s doing a duke’s work besides. Have something to eat; we have time enough to work on it. The thread won’t run away.”
Sandry blinked, then giggled. “That was what you told me our first spinning lesson.”
Lark winked at her. “The advice still stands, my dear.“
Coronation gowns were neither woman’s speciality, but between them, they knew enough about formal gowns that they could generalise. While Sandry wolfed down bread and olives and poured them both tea, Lark leafed through the papers. Some she immediately discarded as being too casual; others she set aside to cobble ideas from.
“Would you like a traditional caftan, or something more modern, like a gown?”
It gladdened Lark’s heart to hear Sandry laugh. “A mixture, I think. I’ll never be a style icon like Berenene. And some of the Namornese gowns are very... well... bright. The courtiers told me that the Empress’ mother wore a coronation dress made of fresh roses, jasmines, tiny rubies and seed pearls.” Her eyes danced in the light of her crystal lamp. “I suppose that would scandalise Erdogun. And deplete the treasury for the next decade.”
“Well, Namorn is an empire. We needn’t be quite so profligate.” Even so, Sandry’s gown must be a centrepiece: it should be elegant as well as lavish, to satisfy not only Summersea folk but those who had come from other cities. Privately, Lark thought Sandry might become a fashion icon among young Emelanese noblewomen without quite meaning to. As Duchess, she would attract those of rank whether she wanted to or not. Unlike her Summersea friends, they would flock to her for a share of reflected power, and wealth and favour.
“This shade,” Lark offered, pointing to a sapphire blue gown, “might work in silk or velvet.”
“For the sea,” mused Sandry, “and to go with the Harriers’ blue and bronze. With a wave pattern - look, Lark, instead of all this shirring, we could have silver embroidery down the middle and on the sleeves.” She pointed to a long, flowing gown with an Olarten-style train, and then lingered thoughtfully over a ballgown such as they wore in Anderran.