[Wild Roses] Sun Queen
Title: gooood morning, your majesty...
'Verse/characters: Sun Queen era; Phoebe, Ian-hand
Prompt: merditha: "Phoebe, " . . . oh good [expletive]"."
Word Count: 578
Notes: Her first meeting with the man who eventually becomes one of her primary Hands during her reign. Not so much with the proper-conclusion, rather more with the jigsaw puzzle piece.
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Her mouth was full of tea, just hot enough she didn't feel comfortable gulping, when there was a knuckle-tap on the wood of her study door. So instead of calling 'Come in', she jerked her ankle up in an abbreviation of the spell she'd have sketched with her fingers, and the latch clicked open.
One of the maids detailed to her service stuck her head inside, fingers holding the edge of the door from swinging fully wide. Dark braided hair fell over her shoulder to dangle in the air as she inquired "M'dame?"
Phoebe made an impatient gesture with her tea-cup, mouth still full, and the girl managed not to snicker or smile. Just straightened up a little as she said "Ian's here to see you."
Phoebe swallowed involuntarily, spiced tea burning down her throat. She managed not to cough in reaction, and after a moment, throat tight, she muttered "Winter, Spring and Summer" and put the cup down on the table by the pot, covered her mouth with the fingers of her right hand, pressing at her lips.
"M'dame? Is this a bad time?" the girl asked, looking a little worried, "I can send him away again--"
"No, no," Phoebe replied, shaking herself a little as she dropped her hand from her mouth, and didn't touch the circlet woven into her hair. "Send him in--there won't be a better time today."
The girl nodded and retreated, door-latch clicking metallically closed behind her, and Phoebe kept herself from nervously touching her hair again.
She did, however, tuck her feet further beneath the chair, twitched her skirts into a more pleasing arrangement of fall-leaves waterfalls, framed by embroidered golden vines.
It wasn't until the girl returned, tapping a warning at the door before she opened it, announced "Ian, m'dame," and closed the door behind Phoebe's guest that Phoebe realised that simply because she herself had only one face associated with that name, her servants might have others.
Because it wasn't Ian Sabaey who walked into her study, but a tallish stranger--smaller than her husband, taller than her memory of Ian, but without standing and using herself for reference she could not be more precise--with broad-palmed hands and thick dark hair clipped close enough to his head that she could see his unpierced ears.
The water-snake in her belly twisted itself over again, but she ignored it, spread her hands and rested her wrists, palm-up, on the arms of her chair, letting her fingers fall open in response to the gentle tug of gravity. 'Queen', she told herself firmly, and didn't flick a mage's inquiry with the tips of her fingers.
The stranger touched his chest with the tips of the fingers of his right hand, his sleeve falling away to reveal a red cord wrapped securely around his wrist, then raised his eyes to her. "Ian Sansoucy, majesty," he told her, and suddenly much became clear.
She deliberately brightened her eyes slightly as she remarked "Sansoucy? Ah--Iarlaith mentioned you. The impression I had was that you don't spend a great deal of time in the city?"
"Well," he replied dryly, "'Sansoucy' isn't exactly 'Sujayjanth' or 'Sandoval', and my court-language isn't very good besides. Iarlaith-lord seems to think I'm of more use on the move."
She pressed her lips together just enough to keep herself from quirking a smile, but allowed herself a twinkle. "I see. Now--do you have any guess as to why Iarlaith wanted you to meet me?"
'Verse/characters: Sun Queen era; Phoebe, Ian-hand
Prompt: merditha: "Phoebe, " . . . oh good [expletive]"."
Word Count: 578
Notes: Her first meeting with the man who eventually becomes one of her primary Hands during her reign. Not so much with the proper-conclusion, rather more with the jigsaw puzzle piece.
---------
Her mouth was full of tea, just hot enough she didn't feel comfortable gulping, when there was a knuckle-tap on the wood of her study door. So instead of calling 'Come in', she jerked her ankle up in an abbreviation of the spell she'd have sketched with her fingers, and the latch clicked open.
One of the maids detailed to her service stuck her head inside, fingers holding the edge of the door from swinging fully wide. Dark braided hair fell over her shoulder to dangle in the air as she inquired "M'dame?"
Phoebe made an impatient gesture with her tea-cup, mouth still full, and the girl managed not to snicker or smile. Just straightened up a little as she said "Ian's here to see you."
Phoebe swallowed involuntarily, spiced tea burning down her throat. She managed not to cough in reaction, and after a moment, throat tight, she muttered "Winter, Spring and Summer" and put the cup down on the table by the pot, covered her mouth with the fingers of her right hand, pressing at her lips.
"M'dame? Is this a bad time?" the girl asked, looking a little worried, "I can send him away again--"
"No, no," Phoebe replied, shaking herself a little as she dropped her hand from her mouth, and didn't touch the circlet woven into her hair. "Send him in--there won't be a better time today."
The girl nodded and retreated, door-latch clicking metallically closed behind her, and Phoebe kept herself from nervously touching her hair again.
She did, however, tuck her feet further beneath the chair, twitched her skirts into a more pleasing arrangement of fall-leaves waterfalls, framed by embroidered golden vines.
It wasn't until the girl returned, tapping a warning at the door before she opened it, announced "Ian, m'dame," and closed the door behind Phoebe's guest that Phoebe realised that simply because she herself had only one face associated with that name, her servants might have others.
Because it wasn't Ian Sabaey who walked into her study, but a tallish stranger--smaller than her husband, taller than her memory of Ian, but without standing and using herself for reference she could not be more precise--with broad-palmed hands and thick dark hair clipped close enough to his head that she could see his unpierced ears.
The water-snake in her belly twisted itself over again, but she ignored it, spread her hands and rested her wrists, palm-up, on the arms of her chair, letting her fingers fall open in response to the gentle tug of gravity. 'Queen', she told herself firmly, and didn't flick a mage's inquiry with the tips of her fingers.
The stranger touched his chest with the tips of the fingers of his right hand, his sleeve falling away to reveal a red cord wrapped securely around his wrist, then raised his eyes to her. "Ian Sansoucy, majesty," he told her, and suddenly much became clear.
She deliberately brightened her eyes slightly as she remarked "Sansoucy? Ah--Iarlaith mentioned you. The impression I had was that you don't spend a great deal of time in the city?"
"Well," he replied dryly, "'Sansoucy' isn't exactly 'Sujayjanth' or 'Sandoval', and my court-language isn't very good besides. Iarlaith-lord seems to think I'm of more use on the move."
She pressed her lips together just enough to keep herself from quirking a smile, but allowed herself a twinkle. "I see. Now--do you have any guess as to why Iarlaith wanted you to meet me?"