Ametrine and Emlyn: A Relationship in Four Parts

Aug 01, 2006 00:35

mugglegirl0908, I wanted to write you a fluffy, happy little story about Ametrine and Emlyn. But you know how the Valmaiverse is… These people can’t make it through one short story without angst.

Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy the story, even though it’s not all rainbows and unicorns. ;-)

Ametrine and Emlyn: A Relationship in Four Parts

I.

She was sixteen. Growing up. Uncle Zander had given her permission to move from the room she shared with Callia to the tower that had been her parents’ earlier that month, and though she loved the privacy, loved having rooms all to herself, she found that she was frequently lonely. She started most days determined to revel in her solitude, but usually gave in and crept down the little passageway that connected the tower to the larger bulk of the Bedros family home before noon.

Ametrine was in the passageway when she first heard the voices coming from the small sitting room, heard her name being mentioned, and she slowed down to listen for a moment. One of the speakers was Zander, but the other was quieter, and it took her a little while to recognize her aunt’s voice.

“I just don’t see what other options we have,” Erimentha was saying. “Two boys and two girls in this generation - we can’t afford to lose half of them to other houses. A bridegroom who will take the Bedros name is a good solution.”

“But Ametrine…” Uncle Zander sounded unhappy, but there was a sort of resignation in his tone.

“Is a very sensible young woman. I suggest we put the offer to her, and see what she has to say. She’s standing in the hall now. Come in, please, Amy.”

Ametrine jumped, and then, blushing guiltily, crept out from behind the door. Zander and Erimentha were seated across from one another; Zander rigidly upright, and Erimentha more relaxed, with her feet tucked up underneath her, and her shoes discarded on the rug. Erimentha patted the cushions next to her, and Ametrine moved to join her on her low couch.

“How much did you overhear?” Erimentha asked.

“Not much. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been -”

Erimentha took her hand, squeezed it. “It’s perfectly all right, dearest. We were talking about you, after all. I only wanted to know how much explaining we would need to do, in order for you to understand the situation.”

Zander cleared his throat. “You know that we’re the smallest of the Five Families,” he began. At Ametrine’s nod, he continued. “We’ve had an offer from House Tamesis. An engagement. One of their sons would marry into our family, take our name, and in return we would give them a portion of…of…”

“Of your inheritance, Amy,” Erimentha said, smoothly. “My brother is being coy - when he says ‘marry into our family’ he means marry you. And so the…er…price would come from your third of the family interests.”

“Oh,” Ametrine said.

“You don’t need to decide now,” Zander said, quickly. “There’s plenty of time. And if you do accept, it would be a long engagement. You can’t be married until you’re twenty-one, in any case.”

There was an awkward pause. Zander looked at his hands, which were folded limply in his lap. Erimentha looked at Ametrine. Ametrine tried not to look at anything.

“Who is it?” she asked, at last.

She thought she already knew. The Five Families guarded their sons jealously. They were the vehicles for inheritance, the ones who would add to the family fortunes. There was only one son of the House of Cloth that the Tamesidae might be willing to trade away.

“Emlyn,” Erimentha said, just as Zander said, “Flavian’s son.”

They did not say “the bastard” or “the halfbreed,” but Ametrine was sure that they thought it.

For her part, she thought of her family. Erimentha had no children. Zander had only three. And Ametrine’s parents had died before giving her any brothers or sisters. To the Tamesidae, Emlyn might well be almost worthless, but to the Bedroi, another son would be an inestimable asset.

She hardly knew him. He was so strange. But there would be time for familiarity. It would be a long engagement.

“I’ll accept their offer.”

II.

She was nineteen, and Emlyn no longer seemed a stranger. They spent a great deal of their time together every day, learning the family trade under Zander’s guidance. And there was leisure time taken in one another’s company, too, as was expected of an engaged couple. They took rides together, attended entertainments, danced at balls.

If she didn’t know him, who did she know?

Not that she knew everything. There were still parts of him that were terribly remote. He never spoke of his childhood, of Shea, of his elven mother. He was happy enough to speak of their mutual acquaintance in Valeria, though, and knew the latest gossip - the best stories, and most shocking scandals - better than Ametrine did. And he smiled encouragement when Ametrine spoke of herself, of her thoughts and hopes and dreams for the future.

He never really spoke about himself, though, of his own dreams. Of course, Ametrine’s future was, of a necessity, their future, in a way. Her plans would be their plans. Emlyn was simply generous, accommodating.

Distant.

There was nothing to complain about. He was all that was expected and correct. Perfectly groomed, perfectly dressed, perfect manners, perfectly attentive. But she wanted more from him. More of him.

She took him by the hand, one afternoon, and led him up the stairs and to the foot of her bed. He was willing - very willing - and seemed to know what he was doing. It was far nicer than she had imagined it would be. Afterwards, feeling lazy, and happy, and sated, she turned to him.

“I love you,” she said, as a sort of experiment.

The pause before his response was so infinitesimally small that she was never sure afterwards whether she had imagined it.

“I love you, too.”

She wasn’t certain what either of them meant by it.

III.

She was twenty, but her birthday was just over a tenday away. The wedding date was set for a month after that. She didn’t feel particularly anxious about it. The years of the engagement had shown her that she and Emlyn worked well together. And they had other things in common - an interest in magic, a fondness for books - which was more than could be said of many married couples.

Emlyn had not seemed quite himself for the previous several days, however, and Ametrine worried that he had doubts. That morning, she had demanded to know what was bothering him so, but he had brushed her concern away, saying it was nothing, he had to go, he would see her later that afternoon.

She thought that he must be quite distracted. They had nothing scheduled for the afternoon.

She had nothing to do that afternoon at all, in fact, and decided to take a walk in the garden, as she often did when she was not otherwise engaged.

It was a very pleasant day. Some other people of the household must have thought so, too - Ametrine could hear voices murmuring to one another, and the occasional giggle, as she walked along the garden path. The voices grew clearer, and as Ametrine rounded a corner, she was not surprised to see her cousin, Callia - who was not noted for her discretion - in the embrace of a young man, and rather less than fully clothed. She was surprised that the young man was Emlyn.

IV.

Ametrine was twenty-nine. She was still unmarried, but a great deal else had changed. She had started dyeing her hair - white from the time of her parents’ deaths - first black, then purple, the color of her House, and most recently a horrid shade of rusty grey. She had traveled the world with first Brandekk, who had been a servant of Erimentha’s, and then a troupe of adventurers. They had stayed behind in Valeria when she fled.

She had grown. She was a businesswoman, an educated lady, active in politics, a reasonably competent wizard - and just over a month ago, Emlyn had come to her in the dead of night and told her that she was the lost heir to the Valerian throne. And that he had been sent to murder her, because of it.

He had saved her, instead, and sacrificed himself. She was welcome in Shea. He was not. And her efforts to save his life, to convince the rigid, unyielding elves that he was not the criminal they believed him to be - even as he revealed to her that her own knowledge of him was not nearly so complete as she had believed - had been futile.

There was one thing left to try, and she felt herself balanced on the cusp of a terrible choice. She could not give in, could not let Emlyn die in a Shean cell - but blackmail was not in her nature. Could she do this? Was it right?

“Let me go,” Emlyn said, as she wavered. “Just…let go.”

And she realized that she could not let him go. Not completely.

Not ever.

original fiction

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