(no subject)
”Come on.” Joscelin pushed his chair back and rose. “Enough idle speculation. The Queen is waiting. Let’s get you to Court.”
I had been many months away from Terre d’Ange, but even so I had not reckoned how dearly missed it was. The people were one thing - Phedre, Joscelin, Ti-Philippe, Hugues, all of the members of the household - all of them, and more soon to be met, I had sorely missed, reunions that were bittersweet with the added weight of grief in the loss of Gilot. But it was Terre d’Ange itself as well, not the place where I was born, but the land of my heritage nonetheless, and the only true home I’d known.
I had much to think on as we rode in the carriage to the Palace; my mind seemed crowded with too many memories. I closed my eyes and could still feel the healing touch of Jeanne de Mereliot on my skin, the press of her lips against mine. Fainter still, like a distant stirring, was Claudia, and the chasm of passion she had opened within me.
And there, too, was Lucius, and the memory of how his kiss had stirred something within me I had not known could be reached.
I remembered pain, as well, and suffering. The pain of battle, both in body and mind, the knowledge that now I too, like Joscelin and like Eamonn, knew what it was to take a life. I remembered Gilot, my loyal retainer, who had become a hero, saving us all before he died. I remembered Canis, my beggar-Cynic, the one my mother had sent, who had seen his duty through to his last breath.
Your mother sends her love.
My mother, my deadly traitor of a mother, vanished to parts unknown, and still her influence touched my life in ways I could not fathom. I thought about her letters, the letters she had sent to me over the years, letters I had made Phedre read in a fit of youthful selfishness when I had not yet been ready to face them myself. Mayhap I was ready now.
I looked to the future, as well, to the betrothal I was agreeing to accept, to my duty as a Prince of the Blood. I thought on all these things, and more, rousing myself from silent contemplation only as the carriage came to a halt before the Palace and we shifted to disembark.
I stepped from the carriage, expecting to see the Palace spread before me in all its splendor, and instead my boots sunk into sand.
My hand went to my sword hilt as I whirled around, seeking some explanation, immediately setting myself to observe and take note of my surroundings as Phedre had taught me. She was nowhere to be seen, nor was Joscelin, nor any of Montreve’s retainers. All of Terre d’Ange seemed to be gone, replaced by a beach the likes of which I had never seen, not in any of my travels. It had been nearly winter in Terre d’Ange, the sky grey and the air cold, but here it was warm, naught but a light breeze blowing to render the warmth more pleasant. I didn’t have the slightest idea what to make of it. Was this somehow Kushiel’s doing? Elua’s? I had merely stepped from the carriage. I could not imagine something could have happened in that moment to kill me, nor that this was now the true Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond in which I stood.
If not that, then what?
“I beg your pardon,” I said to the nearest person I saw. No one had yet made any hostile overtures, and I decided caution was to be favored here over outright aggression. “What is this place?”
[Traditional debut, all welcome, and open to new tags through the weekend. Please see this post in slated for more info. NOTE: He is speaking French, but if your pup replies to him in English he will switch to that language. Text in italics, aside from Imriel's dialogue, is from Kushiel's Scion.]
I had been many months away from Terre d’Ange, but even so I had not reckoned how dearly missed it was. The people were one thing - Phedre, Joscelin, Ti-Philippe, Hugues, all of the members of the household - all of them, and more soon to be met, I had sorely missed, reunions that were bittersweet with the added weight of grief in the loss of Gilot. But it was Terre d’Ange itself as well, not the place where I was born, but the land of my heritage nonetheless, and the only true home I’d known.
I had much to think on as we rode in the carriage to the Palace; my mind seemed crowded with too many memories. I closed my eyes and could still feel the healing touch of Jeanne de Mereliot on my skin, the press of her lips against mine. Fainter still, like a distant stirring, was Claudia, and the chasm of passion she had opened within me.
And there, too, was Lucius, and the memory of how his kiss had stirred something within me I had not known could be reached.
I remembered pain, as well, and suffering. The pain of battle, both in body and mind, the knowledge that now I too, like Joscelin and like Eamonn, knew what it was to take a life. I remembered Gilot, my loyal retainer, who had become a hero, saving us all before he died. I remembered Canis, my beggar-Cynic, the one my mother had sent, who had seen his duty through to his last breath.
Your mother sends her love.
My mother, my deadly traitor of a mother, vanished to parts unknown, and still her influence touched my life in ways I could not fathom. I thought about her letters, the letters she had sent to me over the years, letters I had made Phedre read in a fit of youthful selfishness when I had not yet been ready to face them myself. Mayhap I was ready now.
I looked to the future, as well, to the betrothal I was agreeing to accept, to my duty as a Prince of the Blood. I thought on all these things, and more, rousing myself from silent contemplation only as the carriage came to a halt before the Palace and we shifted to disembark.
I stepped from the carriage, expecting to see the Palace spread before me in all its splendor, and instead my boots sunk into sand.
My hand went to my sword hilt as I whirled around, seeking some explanation, immediately setting myself to observe and take note of my surroundings as Phedre had taught me. She was nowhere to be seen, nor was Joscelin, nor any of Montreve’s retainers. All of Terre d’Ange seemed to be gone, replaced by a beach the likes of which I had never seen, not in any of my travels. It had been nearly winter in Terre d’Ange, the sky grey and the air cold, but here it was warm, naught but a light breeze blowing to render the warmth more pleasant. I didn’t have the slightest idea what to make of it. Was this somehow Kushiel’s doing? Elua’s? I had merely stepped from the carriage. I could not imagine something could have happened in that moment to kill me, nor that this was now the true Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond in which I stood.
If not that, then what?
“I beg your pardon,” I said to the nearest person I saw. No one had yet made any hostile overtures, and I decided caution was to be favored here over outright aggression. “What is this place?”
[Traditional debut, all welcome, and open to new tags through the weekend. Please see this post in slated for more info. NOTE: He is speaking French, but if your pup replies to him in English he will switch to that language. Text in italics, aside from Imriel's dialogue, is from Kushiel's Scion.]