FSC: Pond Life, PG (Skating By)
Jul 5, 2020 0:54:45 GMT 10
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Kypriotha, Tamari, and 1 more like this
Post by Rosie on Jul 5, 2020 0:54:45 GMT 10
Series: Skating By
Title: Pond Life
Rating: PG
Event: A change is as good as a rest
Words: 1,625
Summary: The aftermath of Gwynnen's prank follows her into the ballroom. Sorry for all the puns; Kyp told me not to remove any, so feel free to hold her responsible.
--
Perhaps Gwynnen had intended to be a 'proper lady' once she had come to court. Her mother's name had smoothed the way for her somewhat, her mother having once been a close confidant of Queen Lianne, up until Gwynnen's father had whisked her away to freeze up north.
Entry into the upper social circles had the frustrating sense of restricting her movement; Gywnnen had never felt so observed. Lady Delia's slow drip of poison didn't help. Gwynnen had quite cheerfully let her opinion of Delia be known at the convent, but Delia was established here, had the favour of the court and the Crown Prince into the bargain.
Gwynnen had, privately, earmarked Prince Jonathan for Cythera, and it was most frustrating to be thwarted. Moreover, if Delia did become Jonathan's queen, Gywnnen would likely have to flee the capital. Delia had never forgiven Gwynnen for dyeing Delia's favourite gown orange.
It was hardly Gwynnen's fault that Delia didn't suit that colour.
"If my lady would but let me know what displeases her, I will ensure it is cast out at once." As though she had summoned him, Jonathan appeared before her, eyes twinkling.
Such good humour was utterly wasted on a personality vacuum such as Delia. Gwynnen could have sighed, but instead entered into the spirit of the conversation. "Your Royal Highness is most kind. I was contemplating what an egregious clash the flooring is with my new slippers."
"We cannot have that," he said solemnly. "I shall have the palace redecorated tomorrow - but I fear the rest of the court will be tiresome and insist on the ball continuing tonight. Might I suggest wearing away the stones with a dance?"
Gwynnen tapped her lips with her fan. Her next dance was promised to Sacherell, but the squires were well-used to waiting on the prince, and she had other reasons for wanting to postpone that particular pleasure. "Ah, the art of attritional warfare. It is awe-inspiring to watch a war hero at work, sir." She worried that she had been too flippant; the Tusaine war had been only a few months ago, after all.
Jonathan rewarded her with a smile. "I am my lady's servant."
He was a consummate dancer (another thing wasted on the heavy-footed Delia), and Gwynnen thought that, if she had not singled him out for Cythera, she might have been in grave danger of falling for him herself.
She was still slightly giddy as he led her off the dancefloor, enough so that she was unaware she was being fed to the lions before it was too late. "Forgive me, but my friends rather thought you might disappear on them without a little... misdirection."
If she had any doubts that Squires Douglass and Sacherell knew the source of their pond-laden rooms, those were soon erased. "My lady dances beautifully," Douglass said with a short bow. "We were ribbeted by your performance."
Gwynnen's mouth twitched as Jonathan laughed and ducked away. Probably wise. It behoved the heir to the throne to have a good survival instinct. "How gracious of you to say so, Squire Douglass. I am surprised you noticed, though I suppose you do have a certain... dogged attention to detail."
Sacherell grinned at her. "I believe I had claimed the next dance, though since my lady appears to be swamped with admirers, I would forgive her for letting my most humble self slip her mind."
"You're too kind," Gwynnen said dryly, since he had apparently arranged her royal distraction himself. The dance was fortunately less complicated than the previous; she had the feeling she would need her wits about her. "I must apologise if I seem out of sorts, we had a peculiarly unsettling afternoon tea."
If she hadn't known he was to blame, she might have been fooled by his politely interested look. "Do tell, if you can bear to relive the catastrophe. Did Lady Violet serve the sugar before the milk?"
"Catastrophe isn't quite the word I'm looking for," remarked Gwynnen, delicate emphasis on the first syllable, and the boy who had unleashed the palace hounds on her sedate afternoon smirked. "Nobody would have dreamt of serving sugar first - as bad as it was, it wasn’t as ruff as all that."
"I dare say that sort of behaviour is reserved for the lower forms of pond life."
Gwynnen feigned her own innocent expression, and averted her eyes from where she was reasonably certain Jonathan and Delia were arguing. "Squire Sacherell, I would never presume to know how you serve your tea."
He chuckled, and bowed to her as the dance concluded. "I honestly thought we'd get away with that one," he confided, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her to the refreshments.
"Your knight-master took the trouble of apologising for you," Gwynnen explained, since she was curious about how he'd managed to unmask her. It was, as it turned out, exceptionally useful to have an exceptionally beautiful best friend.
Sacherell heaved a sigh, passing her a glass of punch. "Ah, that explains it, Lady Gwynnen we have both fallen victim to our associations."
Gwynnen looked at Cythera, who was even then accompanied by Sir Raoul. Sometimes it was exceptionally annoying to have a best friend.
"There are two ways forward, as I see it. Either we join forces, or we declare ourselves enemies. I should warn you that I already have a sworn enemy, and couldn't promise you my undivided attention if that were your chosen course of action."
To think, she had been bored earlier this evening. He startled a laugh from her, and her glove flew to her mouth. "Squire, you cannot expect to reveal I have a rival for your animosity and not also provide the identity of this knave."
"I divulge my secrets only to my dearest friends," he replied gravely, jolting as Douglass rejoined them. "Lady Gwynnen is deciding her fate."
"Excellent," Douglass said cheerfully. "Duke Gareth has me cleaning the stables tomorrow, and all that muck has to go somewhere."
Gwynnen felt displaced all of a sudden, the ease of talking to Sacherell dissipating with Douglass's brittle manner. "As it happens, I also have a sworn enemy," she announced. "Let us join forces so as not to distract our attention from those who truly deserve it."
Douglass bowed over her hand. "We had better go prostrate ourselves before our masters. They seem to have the most terrible trouble fetching simple things and wiping their... mouths without us."
She watched as the two of them departed, clearly thick as thieves, and pressed her lips together. She wouldn't feel sorry for herself, just because Cythera was sought after during these sorts of evenings. Frankly, Gwynnen would never understand how Cythera had managed to be at court two months already without a marriage proposal. There could be two reasons for this - one that all men appeared to be struck dumb in her presence, and two, that they were unaware of her excellent frog-collecting capabilities. More fool them.
However, that left Gwynnen rather without anyone with whom she could speak freely, and she was disinclined to suffer through a suffocatingly polite conversation which would flatten her impression of tonight. Knowing she should stay inside, she waited until it seemed no one was looking her way, and slipped out to the gardens.
This was better, and Gwynnen reveled in the cold rush of air on her bare arms, but she wasn't alone for long.
"Was the company so objectionable you had to seek refuge in the gardens? I apologise for abandoning you to such ingrates; we are trying to teach them better."
Even in the dark, there was no mistaking him. "Your Highness."
Jonathan reached the foot of the stairs, and glanced back to make sure he hadn't been followed. "Call me Jon. My friends do, and I feel as though we're going to be friends."
The Cythera part of her told her to walk straight back up the stairs, but Gwynnen was so tired of being stifled and for once she was going to do something that she wanted to do. "Jon," she repeated, wishing she had more experience with boys in gardens. What was she to do now?
He solved the problem by tucking her hand in his elbow, much like Sacherell had done earlier, only Sacherell hadn't evoked this flutter in her stomach. "Gwynnen - if I may?" At her nod, he began to lead them further away from the palace, through a path where the hedges ran high either side. Her heart was racing now, there was certainly no way to spot them from the ballroom but, oh, if someone were to come across them…
Finally, even in the dark, he'd found a bench. They were, she realised, right by the Queen's favourite rose gardens. How would she sit here with his mother now?
"That's better," he murmured, and his Gift formed a ball in his hand. She felt calmer, watching the flicker of light across his face. "Sometimes these evenings are too crowded. Having to be a prince all night can be exhausting."
It probably wasn't the time to make a joke about poor little rich boys. She tilted her head, catching the lemony scent of honeysuckle on the night air. "And you aren't a prince now?"
She got the sense she was reading the lines designed for her. "Sometimes," he murmured, his voice very low and sending a thrill through her, "sometimes it's nice to be just me."
He took her first kiss on that bench, and her second closer to the palace, and it wasn't until later that she found out that he had done it to get back at Delia.
Title: Pond Life
Rating: PG
Event: A change is as good as a rest
Words: 1,625
Summary: The aftermath of Gwynnen's prank follows her into the ballroom. Sorry for all the puns; Kyp told me not to remove any, so feel free to hold her responsible.
--
Perhaps Gwynnen had intended to be a 'proper lady' once she had come to court. Her mother's name had smoothed the way for her somewhat, her mother having once been a close confidant of Queen Lianne, up until Gwynnen's father had whisked her away to freeze up north.
Entry into the upper social circles had the frustrating sense of restricting her movement; Gywnnen had never felt so observed. Lady Delia's slow drip of poison didn't help. Gwynnen had quite cheerfully let her opinion of Delia be known at the convent, but Delia was established here, had the favour of the court and the Crown Prince into the bargain.
Gwynnen had, privately, earmarked Prince Jonathan for Cythera, and it was most frustrating to be thwarted. Moreover, if Delia did become Jonathan's queen, Gywnnen would likely have to flee the capital. Delia had never forgiven Gwynnen for dyeing Delia's favourite gown orange.
It was hardly Gwynnen's fault that Delia didn't suit that colour.
"If my lady would but let me know what displeases her, I will ensure it is cast out at once." As though she had summoned him, Jonathan appeared before her, eyes twinkling.
Such good humour was utterly wasted on a personality vacuum such as Delia. Gwynnen could have sighed, but instead entered into the spirit of the conversation. "Your Royal Highness is most kind. I was contemplating what an egregious clash the flooring is with my new slippers."
"We cannot have that," he said solemnly. "I shall have the palace redecorated tomorrow - but I fear the rest of the court will be tiresome and insist on the ball continuing tonight. Might I suggest wearing away the stones with a dance?"
Gwynnen tapped her lips with her fan. Her next dance was promised to Sacherell, but the squires were well-used to waiting on the prince, and she had other reasons for wanting to postpone that particular pleasure. "Ah, the art of attritional warfare. It is awe-inspiring to watch a war hero at work, sir." She worried that she had been too flippant; the Tusaine war had been only a few months ago, after all.
Jonathan rewarded her with a smile. "I am my lady's servant."
He was a consummate dancer (another thing wasted on the heavy-footed Delia), and Gwynnen thought that, if she had not singled him out for Cythera, she might have been in grave danger of falling for him herself.
She was still slightly giddy as he led her off the dancefloor, enough so that she was unaware she was being fed to the lions before it was too late. "Forgive me, but my friends rather thought you might disappear on them without a little... misdirection."
If she had any doubts that Squires Douglass and Sacherell knew the source of their pond-laden rooms, those were soon erased. "My lady dances beautifully," Douglass said with a short bow. "We were ribbeted by your performance."
Gwynnen's mouth twitched as Jonathan laughed and ducked away. Probably wise. It behoved the heir to the throne to have a good survival instinct. "How gracious of you to say so, Squire Douglass. I am surprised you noticed, though I suppose you do have a certain... dogged attention to detail."
Sacherell grinned at her. "I believe I had claimed the next dance, though since my lady appears to be swamped with admirers, I would forgive her for letting my most humble self slip her mind."
"You're too kind," Gwynnen said dryly, since he had apparently arranged her royal distraction himself. The dance was fortunately less complicated than the previous; she had the feeling she would need her wits about her. "I must apologise if I seem out of sorts, we had a peculiarly unsettling afternoon tea."
If she hadn't known he was to blame, she might have been fooled by his politely interested look. "Do tell, if you can bear to relive the catastrophe. Did Lady Violet serve the sugar before the milk?"
"Catastrophe isn't quite the word I'm looking for," remarked Gwynnen, delicate emphasis on the first syllable, and the boy who had unleashed the palace hounds on her sedate afternoon smirked. "Nobody would have dreamt of serving sugar first - as bad as it was, it wasn’t as ruff as all that."
"I dare say that sort of behaviour is reserved for the lower forms of pond life."
Gwynnen feigned her own innocent expression, and averted her eyes from where she was reasonably certain Jonathan and Delia were arguing. "Squire Sacherell, I would never presume to know how you serve your tea."
He chuckled, and bowed to her as the dance concluded. "I honestly thought we'd get away with that one," he confided, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her to the refreshments.
"Your knight-master took the trouble of apologising for you," Gwynnen explained, since she was curious about how he'd managed to unmask her. It was, as it turned out, exceptionally useful to have an exceptionally beautiful best friend.
Sacherell heaved a sigh, passing her a glass of punch. "Ah, that explains it, Lady Gwynnen we have both fallen victim to our associations."
Gwynnen looked at Cythera, who was even then accompanied by Sir Raoul. Sometimes it was exceptionally annoying to have a best friend.
"There are two ways forward, as I see it. Either we join forces, or we declare ourselves enemies. I should warn you that I already have a sworn enemy, and couldn't promise you my undivided attention if that were your chosen course of action."
To think, she had been bored earlier this evening. He startled a laugh from her, and her glove flew to her mouth. "Squire, you cannot expect to reveal I have a rival for your animosity and not also provide the identity of this knave."
"I divulge my secrets only to my dearest friends," he replied gravely, jolting as Douglass rejoined them. "Lady Gwynnen is deciding her fate."
"Excellent," Douglass said cheerfully. "Duke Gareth has me cleaning the stables tomorrow, and all that muck has to go somewhere."
Gwynnen felt displaced all of a sudden, the ease of talking to Sacherell dissipating with Douglass's brittle manner. "As it happens, I also have a sworn enemy," she announced. "Let us join forces so as not to distract our attention from those who truly deserve it."
Douglass bowed over her hand. "We had better go prostrate ourselves before our masters. They seem to have the most terrible trouble fetching simple things and wiping their... mouths without us."
She watched as the two of them departed, clearly thick as thieves, and pressed her lips together. She wouldn't feel sorry for herself, just because Cythera was sought after during these sorts of evenings. Frankly, Gwynnen would never understand how Cythera had managed to be at court two months already without a marriage proposal. There could be two reasons for this - one that all men appeared to be struck dumb in her presence, and two, that they were unaware of her excellent frog-collecting capabilities. More fool them.
However, that left Gwynnen rather without anyone with whom she could speak freely, and she was disinclined to suffer through a suffocatingly polite conversation which would flatten her impression of tonight. Knowing she should stay inside, she waited until it seemed no one was looking her way, and slipped out to the gardens.
This was better, and Gwynnen reveled in the cold rush of air on her bare arms, but she wasn't alone for long.
"Was the company so objectionable you had to seek refuge in the gardens? I apologise for abandoning you to such ingrates; we are trying to teach them better."
Even in the dark, there was no mistaking him. "Your Highness."
Jonathan reached the foot of the stairs, and glanced back to make sure he hadn't been followed. "Call me Jon. My friends do, and I feel as though we're going to be friends."
The Cythera part of her told her to walk straight back up the stairs, but Gwynnen was so tired of being stifled and for once she was going to do something that she wanted to do. "Jon," she repeated, wishing she had more experience with boys in gardens. What was she to do now?
He solved the problem by tucking her hand in his elbow, much like Sacherell had done earlier, only Sacherell hadn't evoked this flutter in her stomach. "Gwynnen - if I may?" At her nod, he began to lead them further away from the palace, through a path where the hedges ran high either side. Her heart was racing now, there was certainly no way to spot them from the ballroom but, oh, if someone were to come across them…
Finally, even in the dark, he'd found a bench. They were, she realised, right by the Queen's favourite rose gardens. How would she sit here with his mother now?
"That's better," he murmured, and his Gift formed a ball in his hand. She felt calmer, watching the flicker of light across his face. "Sometimes these evenings are too crowded. Having to be a prince all night can be exhausting."
It probably wasn't the time to make a joke about poor little rich boys. She tilted her head, catching the lemony scent of honeysuckle on the night air. "And you aren't a prince now?"
She got the sense she was reading the lines designed for her. "Sometimes," he murmured, his voice very low and sending a thrill through her, "sometimes it's nice to be just me."
He took her first kiss on that bench, and her second closer to the palace, and it wasn't until later that she found out that he had done it to get back at Delia.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!