Fandom 35: Ever After (The Hero and the Crown)
Title: Ever After
Author: aishuu
Fandom: The Hero and the Crown: A Newbery winning novel about Aerin, who must claim a shadowy heritage to save her country.
Wordcount: 1,800
Taunt: ...I don't think this has a fandom. Woe.
Note: sophiap offered invaluable help.
After Aerin returned from her quest, it took Tor time to get to know her again. Her travels had changed her, and sometimes he missed the awkward waif that had relied so much on his affection.
The Aerin he married was a strong woman, unafraid to say what she thought or point out his flaws. She'd learned about politics and how to handle people, but the essential bluntness that made him love her so much was still strong in her character. It was a peculiar mix to see in the first sola who once had run from formal events.
He knew that she had her secrets, and didn't press her. Her heart was not entirely his, but he considered himself a lucky man for owning even part of it. Aerin was a special woman, and her legend was already beginning to outstrip his own. In a hundred years, she would be remembered for her greatness, while he would be a mere historical footnote.
Many men would have been annoyed to be surpassed by their wives, but Tor loved her so much that he felt it was her due. It was nice that people could see how special she was, and he took pride that she had chosen to marry him. That was all the acclaim he needed.
Aerin didn't agree. She didn't like hearing the bards sing songs about her, and would often squirm with embarrassment whenever someone sang her praises. Tor learned to only have those songs played while she wasn't present, even though they were his favorite.
"Honestly, Tor, they get everything wrong. Sometimes I think we should have some kind of test to screen minstrels before letting them write such drivel," she said once when she caught the tail-end of a performance by the court bard.
"That way is the start of tyranny," Tor replied. "Let them have their fun, it's not like they mean to annoy you." He didn't add that their songs were the highest form of praise many of the illiterate could offer. Those songs, paeans to her skill and courage, were meant to flatter.
She gave him a sulky expression, but he laughed and kissed her forehead, diverting her attention neatly.
He decided that whatever had happened had refined her good qualities, making her glisten like a diamond. The people of Damar had come to love her, and most were inclined to take her eccentricities in stride. Some of the women came to her and asked advice, and that spilled over into swordsmanship lessons.
"They have every right to defend Damar, just as much as any man," she told one of the older advisors who had protested that women should not see the front lines. "Things may be horrible in a battle, but I'd rather know that I can have some input, rather than waiting for the menfolk to come home." She said the last sharply, her temper threatening to get the better of her common sense.
Her star was still in ascendancy, and the old fogey was wise enough not to argue with her directly, although the simmering look he leveled on her warned Tor that this indignity would not be so easily forgotten.
Tor learned to gage how people reacted to his wife, forming many opinions - uncannily accurate ones - on how they treated her. The ones most open to reform held her in respect, but never fawned. Those that only wanted the favor of the monarch were syrupy sweet, almost obscene with their obsequious.
It was the ones that treated her with distrust that Tor paid the most attention to - either they were bright men unwilling to believe rumor without proof, or conservatives unable to change. He found both his greatest allies and fiercest enemies among that group.
Sometimes he would find himself watching her instead, but not really listening to what she said. She would never be a graceful woman, but he found himself fascinated by her gestures. She had a tendency to move her hands to illustrate her points, her callused hands glittering with the rings she had taken to wearing when she was active as Queen.
She would never be a pretty woman, he realized, but she was the most beautiful person he'd ever met. Some days, she would look at him out of the corner of her eyes, usually annoyed by some pedantic problem, he would feel his breath escape as he realized how much she meant to him.
He had no doubts about his wife, although he understood that her heart wasn't completely his. He contented himself with the knowledge that it was his bed she shared, that he was the one she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with. Sometimes he could see the shadow of another man - the blond, whose name she never told him - in her eyes, but he never made it into an argument. He knew she loved him fiercely.
She was strong, he thought. He was grateful for that, because he could share the burdens of the crown with her, and knew she understood how heavy it weighed upon him. She had grown up in the shadow of Arlbeth, and had absorbed some of his wisdom without recognizing it. Tor knew, because he could see the moment's pause she'd allow herself now. She had learned patience, which meshed well with her courage.
They only had one child, for although both wanted a big family, Tor didn't want to risk her. She had been through so much that he sometimes wondered if eventually all the stress would come home to roost upon her. No matter how strong, all things could be broken with the right pressure applied. The only time he ever saw his wife know fear was while she was pregnant. Her mother had died in childbirth, and Aerin wondered if she would follow that fate.
She was five months along in her first pregnancy when the midwife confined her to her bed. It was a common precautionary measure to protect the life of both queen and heir, but Aerin fretted about being useless.
"Honestly, I'm not an invalid," she complained, her hand pressed protectively over her growing stomach, "and I'm not stupid, either. I won't do anything stupid."
He knew she wouldn't want him to make a fuss out of it, or be understanding. What she wanted was a fight, and like a dutiful husband, he obliged. "Of course you won't," he said in a deadpan tone, knowing that would irritate her more than anything else he could do.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, a frown marring her forehead.
"I know you would never do anything foolish," he replied, keeping his expression free of amusement. "You would never eat a branch of surka, or go off to slay a dragon, or..."
She interrupted him by throwing a pillow at his face. "Oh, you!" she said, and then launched into a list of his well-known faults, many of which she shared.
It was a good distraction. Aerin was used to being honest with him, but he could see the demons hidden in her eyes. It was a battle she had to fight on her own, although he wished he could make it easier.
They never spoke of her fears, but he did what he could to keep her busy. Every night Tor offered her a massage, telling her about his day and asking her opinion on Damar's course. Alliances from countries to the south were offered, but he was wary. They had not offered their aid when Damar had needed defense from the north, and he didn't trust allies that would only offer support during the good times.
Her pregnancy proceeded without problems, although Tor knew she has nightmares. While they could not have relations due to her condition, they still slept together. He held her through the night, listening to her breathe.
Finally the day arrived, right on schedule. He was kicked out of the bedchamber, and women fluttered in, enacting some kind of arcane ritual that only females were privy to. He found himself in the stables, talking to Talat. The stallion was a poor conversationalist, but Tor preferred to be with the other creature that loved Aerin as much as he did.
Aerin was built along different lines than her mother, and her labor was easy. Mere hours after her water broke, she delivered their child. Those were some of the longest hours of Tor's life, though. His life - all the time they've spent together - flashed through his mind over and over, and he dreaded what could go wrong.
He was more relieved to hear that his wife was all right than to hear the glad news that the child was male. He almost jumped on the assistant that came to inform him that he could see them.
The women must have prepared Aerin and his son for his visit, since birth was not such a mystery that he didn't realize it was messy. She was propped up against a thick stack of cushions, with a yerig and a foltsza standing guard at her side. She was sweaty and splotchy from her labor, but Tor had never seen a more wonderful sight than Aerin, holding their first child out to him.
"Behold your heir, my husband," she said, strangely formal, although he could hear the hitch in her voice. Tor knew she was proud of this accomplishment, prouder than she'd ever been before.
He took the child in his hands, amazed that this was the product of their love. The infant was so small, and Aerim smiled at the pair, and he realized that his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world.
Tor had been wrong about his feelings. What he had felt for her before was only a candle compared to the bonfire of love that blazed within his chest. To him, their son was the greatest miracle Aerin ever produced.
He marveled for another moment, but a wet warmth spreading over his hands distracted him. Tor made a distressed sound, uncertain what to do, but Aerin looked at him with an eyebrow quirked as she realized what had happened.
"He's definitely my son," she said, before pulling a bell to summon Tika to change the child.
Tor wouldn't have it any other way.
Author: aishuu
Fandom: The Hero and the Crown: A Newbery winning novel about Aerin, who must claim a shadowy heritage to save her country.
Wordcount: 1,800
Taunt: ...I don't think this has a fandom. Woe.
Note: sophiap offered invaluable help.
After Aerin returned from her quest, it took Tor time to get to know her again. Her travels had changed her, and sometimes he missed the awkward waif that had relied so much on his affection.
The Aerin he married was a strong woman, unafraid to say what she thought or point out his flaws. She'd learned about politics and how to handle people, but the essential bluntness that made him love her so much was still strong in her character. It was a peculiar mix to see in the first sola who once had run from formal events.
He knew that she had her secrets, and didn't press her. Her heart was not entirely his, but he considered himself a lucky man for owning even part of it. Aerin was a special woman, and her legend was already beginning to outstrip his own. In a hundred years, she would be remembered for her greatness, while he would be a mere historical footnote.
Many men would have been annoyed to be surpassed by their wives, but Tor loved her so much that he felt it was her due. It was nice that people could see how special she was, and he took pride that she had chosen to marry him. That was all the acclaim he needed.
Aerin didn't agree. She didn't like hearing the bards sing songs about her, and would often squirm with embarrassment whenever someone sang her praises. Tor learned to only have those songs played while she wasn't present, even though they were his favorite.
"Honestly, Tor, they get everything wrong. Sometimes I think we should have some kind of test to screen minstrels before letting them write such drivel," she said once when she caught the tail-end of a performance by the court bard.
"That way is the start of tyranny," Tor replied. "Let them have their fun, it's not like they mean to annoy you." He didn't add that their songs were the highest form of praise many of the illiterate could offer. Those songs, paeans to her skill and courage, were meant to flatter.
She gave him a sulky expression, but he laughed and kissed her forehead, diverting her attention neatly.
He decided that whatever had happened had refined her good qualities, making her glisten like a diamond. The people of Damar had come to love her, and most were inclined to take her eccentricities in stride. Some of the women came to her and asked advice, and that spilled over into swordsmanship lessons.
"They have every right to defend Damar, just as much as any man," she told one of the older advisors who had protested that women should not see the front lines. "Things may be horrible in a battle, but I'd rather know that I can have some input, rather than waiting for the menfolk to come home." She said the last sharply, her temper threatening to get the better of her common sense.
Her star was still in ascendancy, and the old fogey was wise enough not to argue with her directly, although the simmering look he leveled on her warned Tor that this indignity would not be so easily forgotten.
Tor learned to gage how people reacted to his wife, forming many opinions - uncannily accurate ones - on how they treated her. The ones most open to reform held her in respect, but never fawned. Those that only wanted the favor of the monarch were syrupy sweet, almost obscene with their obsequious.
It was the ones that treated her with distrust that Tor paid the most attention to - either they were bright men unwilling to believe rumor without proof, or conservatives unable to change. He found both his greatest allies and fiercest enemies among that group.
Sometimes he would find himself watching her instead, but not really listening to what she said. She would never be a graceful woman, but he found himself fascinated by her gestures. She had a tendency to move her hands to illustrate her points, her callused hands glittering with the rings she had taken to wearing when she was active as Queen.
She would never be a pretty woman, he realized, but she was the most beautiful person he'd ever met. Some days, she would look at him out of the corner of her eyes, usually annoyed by some pedantic problem, he would feel his breath escape as he realized how much she meant to him.
He had no doubts about his wife, although he understood that her heart wasn't completely his. He contented himself with the knowledge that it was his bed she shared, that he was the one she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with. Sometimes he could see the shadow of another man - the blond, whose name she never told him - in her eyes, but he never made it into an argument. He knew she loved him fiercely.
She was strong, he thought. He was grateful for that, because he could share the burdens of the crown with her, and knew she understood how heavy it weighed upon him. She had grown up in the shadow of Arlbeth, and had absorbed some of his wisdom without recognizing it. Tor knew, because he could see the moment's pause she'd allow herself now. She had learned patience, which meshed well with her courage.
They only had one child, for although both wanted a big family, Tor didn't want to risk her. She had been through so much that he sometimes wondered if eventually all the stress would come home to roost upon her. No matter how strong, all things could be broken with the right pressure applied. The only time he ever saw his wife know fear was while she was pregnant. Her mother had died in childbirth, and Aerin wondered if she would follow that fate.
She was five months along in her first pregnancy when the midwife confined her to her bed. It was a common precautionary measure to protect the life of both queen and heir, but Aerin fretted about being useless.
"Honestly, I'm not an invalid," she complained, her hand pressed protectively over her growing stomach, "and I'm not stupid, either. I won't do anything stupid."
He knew she wouldn't want him to make a fuss out of it, or be understanding. What she wanted was a fight, and like a dutiful husband, he obliged. "Of course you won't," he said in a deadpan tone, knowing that would irritate her more than anything else he could do.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, a frown marring her forehead.
"I know you would never do anything foolish," he replied, keeping his expression free of amusement. "You would never eat a branch of surka, or go off to slay a dragon, or..."
She interrupted him by throwing a pillow at his face. "Oh, you!" she said, and then launched into a list of his well-known faults, many of which she shared.
It was a good distraction. Aerin was used to being honest with him, but he could see the demons hidden in her eyes. It was a battle she had to fight on her own, although he wished he could make it easier.
They never spoke of her fears, but he did what he could to keep her busy. Every night Tor offered her a massage, telling her about his day and asking her opinion on Damar's course. Alliances from countries to the south were offered, but he was wary. They had not offered their aid when Damar had needed defense from the north, and he didn't trust allies that would only offer support during the good times.
Her pregnancy proceeded without problems, although Tor knew she has nightmares. While they could not have relations due to her condition, they still slept together. He held her through the night, listening to her breathe.
Finally the day arrived, right on schedule. He was kicked out of the bedchamber, and women fluttered in, enacting some kind of arcane ritual that only females were privy to. He found himself in the stables, talking to Talat. The stallion was a poor conversationalist, but Tor preferred to be with the other creature that loved Aerin as much as he did.
Aerin was built along different lines than her mother, and her labor was easy. Mere hours after her water broke, she delivered their child. Those were some of the longest hours of Tor's life, though. His life - all the time they've spent together - flashed through his mind over and over, and he dreaded what could go wrong.
He was more relieved to hear that his wife was all right than to hear the glad news that the child was male. He almost jumped on the assistant that came to inform him that he could see them.
The women must have prepared Aerin and his son for his visit, since birth was not such a mystery that he didn't realize it was messy. She was propped up against a thick stack of cushions, with a yerig and a foltsza standing guard at her side. She was sweaty and splotchy from her labor, but Tor had never seen a more wonderful sight than Aerin, holding their first child out to him.
"Behold your heir, my husband," she said, strangely formal, although he could hear the hitch in her voice. Tor knew she was proud of this accomplishment, prouder than she'd ever been before.
He took the child in his hands, amazed that this was the product of their love. The infant was so small, and Aerim smiled at the pair, and he realized that his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world.
Tor had been wrong about his feelings. What he had felt for her before was only a candle compared to the bonfire of love that blazed within his chest. To him, their son was the greatest miracle Aerin ever produced.
He marveled for another moment, but a wet warmth spreading over his hands distracted him. Tor made a distressed sound, uncertain what to do, but Aerin looked at him with an eyebrow quirked as she realized what had happened.
"He's definitely my son," she said, before pulling a bell to summon Tika to change the child.
Tor wouldn't have it any other way.