Post by mistrali on Apr 7, 2020 11:13:43 GMT 10
Title: Wedding Gift
Summary: Carthakis are OTT - or, Kally doesn’t know what to make of her gift.
Prompt: Excess, MPP #7
Rating: G
Other notes: Disclaimer: I haven’t yet read Tempests and Slaughter, and the last time I read EM was over a decade ago, so all the Carthaki stuff is made up.
Also… sorry, this is a bit weird, I think, and probably not very well written.
———
Kally couldn’t suppress a gasp at the coronation robe laid out before her on the floor of her private chambers.
It was midnight blue silk brocade and sewn with comets and constellations, in such profusion that Kally thought Sir Myles might have set her to calculate the value of the gold thread if he could have seen it. The treasurers at home would have wept to handle some of the diamonds and sapphires on it.
I suppose, she thought wryly, it was too much to credit a Carthaki with restraint. Whoever had chosen - Fazia, probably - had her colouring right, at least.
“Is it to your liking, Imperial Majesty?” asked Hamsa, misinterpreting her silence. His voice was carefully deferential.
And then, with a hint of challenge and a glint of unmistakable pride, “His Imperial Majesty particularly chose the designs himself, he said, to accentuate your beauty.”
Her astonishment must have shown in her face, for Hamsa blinked. It was a tradition for the Emperor to personally choose his bride’s wedding gown, but it was a very archaic one. Usually his female relatives chose for him. She would have preferred something less ostentatious. It was almost too lovely to wear: properly regal, flawless, confining, redolent of Carthak’s deep treasury. Too much, too soon. Would he be like this when they were married - extravagant gifts, ornate clothes, horses? Would she even be unable to choose her own wardrobe?
Stifling her reflexive annoyance - did the tailor think her tactless enough to find fault with a gift from her betrothed (especially in front of him)? - she smiled at him.
”If ever I had occasion to criticise His Majesty’s taste…” she gestured at the folds of cloth. “He chose very thoughtfully. It’s beautiful. Thank you, Hamsa.”
She’d thanked him hoping to mollify him, but he only inclined his head. “I’m at your Imperial Majesty’s service,” he said, a touch too stiffly for comfort.
He was still gazing off just to her left side, as he had been doing for the entire conversation. I wish he’d look me in the eye, she thought. I wish he’d stand to face me. In Tortall, the servants would… but this was Carthak, where eye contact was impolite. And, it seemed, where husbands chose their wives’ wedding outfits. Was she being too Tortallan about this — too forward, too independent? What had Kaddar meant by it? What message was he trying to send?
With an inward sigh, she dismissed the tailor and went to prepare for her next meeting.
Summary: Carthakis are OTT - or, Kally doesn’t know what to make of her gift.
Prompt: Excess, MPP #7
Rating: G
Other notes: Disclaimer: I haven’t yet read Tempests and Slaughter, and the last time I read EM was over a decade ago, so all the Carthaki stuff is made up.
Also… sorry, this is a bit weird, I think, and probably not very well written.
———
Kally couldn’t suppress a gasp at the coronation robe laid out before her on the floor of her private chambers.
It was midnight blue silk brocade and sewn with comets and constellations, in such profusion that Kally thought Sir Myles might have set her to calculate the value of the gold thread if he could have seen it. The treasurers at home would have wept to handle some of the diamonds and sapphires on it.
I suppose, she thought wryly, it was too much to credit a Carthaki with restraint. Whoever had chosen - Fazia, probably - had her colouring right, at least.
“Is it to your liking, Imperial Majesty?” asked Hamsa, misinterpreting her silence. His voice was carefully deferential.
And then, with a hint of challenge and a glint of unmistakable pride, “His Imperial Majesty particularly chose the designs himself, he said, to accentuate your beauty.”
Her astonishment must have shown in her face, for Hamsa blinked. It was a tradition for the Emperor to personally choose his bride’s wedding gown, but it was a very archaic one. Usually his female relatives chose for him. She would have preferred something less ostentatious. It was almost too lovely to wear: properly regal, flawless, confining, redolent of Carthak’s deep treasury. Too much, too soon. Would he be like this when they were married - extravagant gifts, ornate clothes, horses? Would she even be unable to choose her own wardrobe?
Stifling her reflexive annoyance - did the tailor think her tactless enough to find fault with a gift from her betrothed (especially in front of him)? - she smiled at him.
”If ever I had occasion to criticise His Majesty’s taste…” she gestured at the folds of cloth. “He chose very thoughtfully. It’s beautiful. Thank you, Hamsa.”
She’d thanked him hoping to mollify him, but he only inclined his head. “I’m at your Imperial Majesty’s service,” he said, a touch too stiffly for comfort.
He was still gazing off just to her left side, as he had been doing for the entire conversation. I wish he’d look me in the eye, she thought. I wish he’d stand to face me. In Tortall, the servants would… but this was Carthak, where eye contact was impolite. And, it seemed, where husbands chose their wives’ wedding outfits. Was she being too Tortallan about this — too forward, too independent? What had Kaddar meant by it? What message was he trying to send?
With an inward sigh, she dismissed the tailor and went to prepare for her next meeting.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!