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faejilly · 8 months

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once upon a time I was doing a gift exchange for 7kpp and nothing I wrote work so I did a fanmix and made some TEA instead! (Did you like any of the tea, @awaylaughing? I don't recall) and then today, for no apparent reason, I was looping Hozier and feeling bad about how I keep wanting to write but then don't actually do it... and found a Sheltered Princess/Emmett thing from the POV's of the Chaperones in my WIP folder and finished it! Because Brains! Are Crazy-Cakes! (affectionate) Please Enjoy some observations re: Princess Wilhelmina Temperance of Arland and her Earl.

Emmett had known that he would see her.

Of course The Princess would be here. Even before Katyia herself, this is exactly what Arland Princesses always did. Who they always were.

He'd even known it would be difficult, was aware of his own weaknesses, his own flaws, but he hadn't realized it would hit him so hard, just seeing her walk into the Main Hall, seeing the Skalt Lady approach, watching other people see – her. See her, the way no one else in Arland ever had. The Princess was a wonderful young lady, of course everyone else would eventually see it too. It wasn't as if he didn't want her to succeed, didn't want people to know how amazing she was. He just –

It hurt, a little, to know that he would probably never have his friend by his side again, to know that there had never been a chance that he would, despite how fondly he remembered her, how much he'd looked forward to seeing her again, even if just at formal events at Court.

This was worse than Court.

This was going to be good-bye, and he hadn't even managed to say hello yet.

He was afraid that she'd see his worry and think he wasn't pleased to see her, wasn't always happy at the thought of her.

But then she came toward him, and he was glad enough at the sight of pleased recognition she didn't try to hide that he forgot about the future entirely and smiled at the present instead.

It was quite entertaining to realize that he’d been wrong about the Arland Princess. That didn’t happen to Woodly very often. But here she was, holding her own quite successfully through the formal introductions, alert and observant and with a smile almost as engaging as his own niece’s.

He’d dismissed her entirely at the Welcome Feast, convinced she was an even paler and quieter echo of her sister, the one who’d let herself be sold to Corval despite being smart enough to recognize how pleasant her soon-to-be-husband wasn’t.

To be fair, if Penelope had been of an age with Constance, the King and Queen might very well have tried to do the same with her, and Penelope would undoubtedly have agreed, despite also being smart enough to recognize a man who wouldn’t care a bit for her own preferences in the least. (Sometimes Woodly despaired of his sister’s sense, but that was neither here nor there.) Lisle would have fought it though, so it was well that hadn’t been an option.

But here young Princess Wilhelmina was, exquisitely formal with the one deeply unpirate-like Hisean, then listening to the Skalt Princess to call her Mina without looking the least bit upset by the informality. Penelope adored her, which required a bit of a gentle touch, and yet she was vibrant enough that neither the actual pirates nor the Corvali thought her dull. Even the Jiyel delegates were willing to converse with her, and Duke Lyon didn’t like anyone, and Lady Avalie only liked people she could play with.

She was singularly useless for any of the games Woodly himself liked to play, of course, but she was, nonetheless, a singular and effective delegate for Arland. Much more useful than that Earl, who refused to allow an unkind word about anyone, regardless of how much they might deserve it.

Would wonders never cease. An Arland Princess with a hint of a spine.

This Summit was certainly never boring.

Yvette thought her Princess deserved better. Such a bright young woman ought to be able to reach for more than her status as a gift Arland would bestow upon an ally who was willing to put up with her. (Perhaps they all deserved better than Summit machinations and noble politics, but that was a question for future generations to answer, not a single Duchess in her private thoughts.)

The Princess was quiet and polite, exactly as she had been trained to be. But she caught the eye, shone with her own inner light, a light that was already brighter than it had been at the Welcome Feast, and she’d handled that particular challenge with grace, deprecation, and a surprisingly charismatic and self-aware touch of humor, even when that young Zarad had dragged her into a highly inappropriate dance in front of everyone.

Constance would have been so proud of Mina if she’d seen it. Not that Yvette allowed herself to consider Princess Constance too often; that led to worrying about how she was doing, trapped at Prince Aamir’s side.

Yvette swallowed a sigh, and made sure her hands stayed loose in her lap, no tension visible anywhere in her body, even as she had to fight not to squint against the light of a rising sun. She’d managed to place herself outside the stable before anyone else, but the chaperones and servants and delegates would be here soon for the ride, and she could not let her worry show. Not for Arland or the Summit, past, present or future, not for the Princess as Princess or simply as a young lady in a difficult place.

Most especially not for her poor darling Earl, who she knew was painfully aware that half the Isle could tell that he was hopelessly in love with his Princess, by far the least eligible match for either of them to attempt here at this Summit.

Katyia would probably have insisted they be matched regardless; this time Yvette had to swallow a smile at the thought. Perhaps, somehow, even without Katyia, they’d manage a small bit of happiness, at least for awhile.

Yvette’s smile escaped her control, that thought too sweet to entirely dismiss.

Perhaps she had more hope left in her bones for this Summit than she’d thought.

Falon thought the boat race was the least painful activity of the Summit. It required actual effort and forethought and tactics from the delegates, and did not require he make small-talk about things he couldn’t possibly know anything about, and wouldn’t want to chatter about even if he did.

A Hisean team always won it, of course, but it was interesting to watch what the other delegates decided to do. Did they choose to forego it entirely and network among the spectators? Did they back Hise and their easy victory? Did they put on a show of their own boat, costumes or decorations or fancy tricks to draw the eye? Did they fight for that second place spot, did they try and make Hise work for their victory?

It was fascinating, and a good way to see how all the different delegations were starting to relate to each other, an idea of who could work with who, who might be able to reach a hand across a bargaining table by the end of the Summit and have someone grasp it back.

He had never expected two of the Hise delegates to agree to back an Arlish Captain though. One who had somehow managed to entice his damnable Duke out of the library to participate! And a Wellin Princess. It was the most cosmopolitan ship in the competition.

And then it won.

Hise lost.

Hise lost the boat race to Arland.

Falon didn’t know what to do with that. He couldn’t figure out what it meant, it was too improbable to have even considered it as a possible conclusion. Falon was so disconcerted, he didn’t even manage to catch Lyon before he retreated back inside after the race. Not that it would probably have worked, but Falon didn’t even manage to try.

He did manage to congratulate the rest of the team however, and he didn’t think he sounded nearly as bewildered as he felt.

On the one hand, it was good that there were delegates with the strength of will and character to actually make things happen.

On the other, he had a feeling he was going to spend the next five weeks wishing he’d been assigned as Chaperone for a less interesting Summit.

Jaslen loved the Matchmaker’s breakfast. The only real chance anyone had to see what of the Matchmaker’s opinions she was willing to let be seen in public, and so close to the one banquet at the Summit that still held so tightly to Katyia’s dreams rather than everyone else’s fears; there was always something to learn about how well the behind-the-scenes maneuvering was going.

Plus the delegates were always so delightfully chaotic, the stresses of the Summit and the anticipation of the remaining weeks only getting worse…

When Jaslen had flitted through the dining hall prior to any of the delegates arriving, she’d thought placing the poor Arland Princess in between the Revaire Prince and that idiot Blain was uncharacteristically cruel of the Matchmaker. She had no patience for incompetence, but she didn’t usually twist the knife after (metaphorically) stabbing some delegate who hadn’t impressed her.

But then breakfast actually happened, and Wilhelmina was fine! Calm and polite even while her seatmates bickered and everyone stared at her; she even smiled at that Earl of hers without appearing at all self-conscious when she escaped after Blain’s unsubtle attack.

It was such a nice surprise. Jaslen might have underestimated the Princess, but she wasn’t wrong about the Matchmaker, and that would have been disturbing, after all these years.

Watching Blain fumble his way through the Summit was excruciating enough for one year, she didn’t need to add an absolute failure in her usually impeccable people skills on top of that.

This really was the best morning. She wished she could be a chaperone for every Summit.

Jasper had been quite honored to realize he was assigned to Princess Wilhelmina of Arland herself. The Princesses were always such lovely guests, dutiful but seldom dull, young and hopeful and exactly the sort of people Katyia had most wanted to help.

He met his Princess and she was a joy to serve. Not just for the Summit or his duty or Arland, but for herself, complete and entire. He wished her well, and he saw her rise to every occasion, and for all he knew he could not take the credit, he was so proud.

But it was tinged with fear, not just for the Summit, or the Isle, and definitely not for Arland, but for her and her countryman, her childhood friend, Yvette's young assistant, Earl Emmett of Arland. He was as kind and dutiful as any Arlish Lord could have ever desired, and every time he smiled Jasper could see the Princess light up, and yet.

And yet.

They were both of Arland, and had been excessively well trained. Earl Emmet had traveled enough to be able to bring home a bride from anywhere and be kind to her in a way she'd understand, and the Princess. Well. The Princesses of Arland always left.

Always.

And then the night of the Matchmaker’s banquet he almost missed it, distracted by everything else that had happened (everything that shouldn’t have happened). He barely made himself settle before the Matchmaker stood, but he managed it just in time, standing quiet in his shadows as she began her announcement.

Which included the love match of Princess Wilhelmina of Arland to Earl Emmet of Arland.

There was an instant of total silence in the Hall, regardless of the number of people, regardless of servants and cutlery and food and conversation, regardless of high ceilings and the usual whispers of acoustics designed specifically to pick up everything so it would be almost impossible to overhear any one thing out of all the rest beyond one’s seatmate.

Arland to Arland.

Jasper’s eyes closed, and he didn’t know if it was joy or shock, horror or hope. He opened them to the much more familiar incoherence of a room full of whispering delegations, not a single person without an opinion on that match.

Arland to Arland.

He let himself smile, just a little, and let himself imagine it, a Summit that celebrated a match like that, Arland to Arland, for love and happiness rather than politics and duty.

Mina was sure she was blushing, but she’d noticed the shock after the Matchmaker’s announcement, heard the whispers a moment later, and she couldn’t quite contain it.

She also couldn’t hold in the lift of outright glee at hearing their names announced like that, one after the other. She had no idea how they were going to make this work, but oh, she didn’t regret a moment of choosing her best friend to be her partner, to be her future, no matter what anyone else thought of it. Not even her parents.

And she knew, every time she saw him, every time she thought of him, every time he smiled, or ducked his head, or pushed his sleeves up his arm as if this time they were going to stay, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that Emmett didn’t regret it either.

They only managed one quick moment before they were sent their separate ways, but she could live through a dozen more Summits, and she’d never forget the brilliance of his smile in that moment. Proof, if she’d needed it, that it was worth every effort over the next four weeks to keep him with her, to keep herself with him, to make it out the other side of this Summit

Together.

#jilly writes #7kpp #wilhelmina of arland #earl emmett of arland #sheltered princess #CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO BELOVEDS #the most adorable #and the chaperones #I love them #so many of them are terrible at this chaperone concept #and yet #😅

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mendedwings · 1 year

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Fair Trade

Happy holidays, @angstmongertina! I’m your @fyeah7kpp Secret Santa! All your girls are so lovely, but I couldn’t resist writing something for Tempy/Clarmont. I hope you enjoy!

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Most of the obstacles Temperance had faced thus far in her bid for self-sufficiency and independence had been more mental or metaphorical. The sturdy black and white paint mare eying her from the stall was a tad more literal.

Temperance took a deep breath and stepped closer. “Hello, Sugarplum.” She kept her voice soft and soothing and one hand out, a cube of sugar balanced on her palm. That much she knew about horses; they appreciated treats.

Sugarplum took the proffered peace offering eagerly, her lips tickling Temperance’s palm, then nickered.

“There, we’re friends now. hm?” Temperance kept her hand extended and carefully moved to stroke the side of Sugarplum’s muzzle. The horse took it well, content with the attention and treat.

Step one. Temperance bit her lip and lifted the stall latch.

Sugarplum’s ears pricked and she shifted her weight with a quiet snort as Temperance slipped into the stall with her.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you,” Temperance soothed. She stroked the mare’s neck. “I just wanted to go for a ride, we can do that, right? Get you some exercise and fresh air?”

She’d read about the process of tacking a horse, watched the footmen both home in Arland and here on the Isle. Surely she could manage to do this alone, tack and mount a horse. There were a couple stablehands... somewhere if she ran into trouble she couldn’t handle.

Sugarplum huffed and lightly stamped a hoof. Temperance had picked her because she seemed even-tempered, but there was an edge of restlessness to the motion. She dug a pair of carrot slices from her pocket as further gesture of goodwill and reached for the bridle.

Step tw- It was different. There were fewer pieces to it, not as many straps as Temperance expected. She froze in uncertainty, looking between the bridle and Sugarplum, trying to gauge how this one would work.

Sugarplum’s ears went back when Temperance stepped closer again, dodging backwards to avoid the extended bridle.

“Come on, girl.” She was trying to sound encouraging, but it probably came out closer to begging.

Sugarplum snorted and dodged again, tossing in a nip for good measure this time.

Temperance yelped as she backpedaled, avoiding the very large teeth. Tears pricked her eyes regardless as she bumped the stall door. It shouldn’t be so hard to do things for herself-

“Everything alright- Princess?” The familiar voice sounded surprised, and it added to her desire to curl up in a ball or vanish. Perhaps both. Pasting on a smile, she turned to face her company. “Good morning, Lord Clarmont.”

He arched a brow, clearly seeing through her brave front but kind enough not to call her on it. “And to you, Princess Temperance. Might I ask what you’re doing out here so early?”

“I wanted to go for a ride and... thought to tack my own horse.” She gave a shaky laugh, flexing the almost nipped fingers as the other hand maintained a death grip om the bridle. “I... Sugarplum’s always seemed a more gentle horse. Easy-going.”

Clarmont smiled warmly, leaning his forearms against the stall door. “She is, but even easy-going horses will nip if stressed.” He gestured her closer. “Come out for a moment, let her calm down.”

Face hot, Temperance followed the direction. “I was trying to be gentle,” she mumbled.

“I’m sure.” Clarmont stroked Sugarplum’s forelock. “If I may offer some advice?”

She nodded mutely.

“It’s usually wiser to tack a horse out of the stall, unless it’s a large one. So they have room to not feel trapped.” He nodded toward the bridle she held. “And Sugarplum’s mouth is sensitive; while that would be correct for the other horses, she needs a bitless bridle.” He held out his hand. “I can go swap it for you, if you like, while you lead your noble steed out for tacking?”

Another nod, still silent as embarrassed frustration made her eyes burn. Couldn’t even tack a horse on her own...

Clarmont paused, rested a hand on her arm. “Temperance? It’s an admirable goal, and no shame to ask for help with a new task.”

“Thank you,” she managed, her face still warm--though not solely from embarrassment any longer, as she gingerly guided Sugarplum into the main aisle of the stable. The horse was laconic about complying, but did follow to one of the securing lines. Held still for Temperance to loop the rope around her neck. “Good girl,” Temperance whispered, offering another carrot, which was greedily consumed.

“Here we are.” Clarmont returned with the correct bridle in hand. “Did you get a saddle and pad?”

Temperance nodded and pointed to the bench where she’d draped them with one hand as the other stroked Sugarplum’s neck.

“Have you ever used a bitless bridle, highness?” Clarmont asked, twinkle in his eye, as a pair of stablehands passed by.

“Can’t say that I have,” Temperance confessed, tucking loose hair behind her ear. “Even the standard ones here look different from the ones I’ve seen back home.”

“It won’t be much of an issue with Sugarplum here,” he began as he guided the bridle over the horse’s head, slowly to let Temperance see how he did it, “since she’s so calm, but controlling a horse with no bit is different, and trickier if they’re headstrong.”

“Good to know.” Her embarrassment was subsiding, replaced by curiosity and desire to do better next time, so she watched intently as he settled the bridle around Sugarplum’s ears. “I chose her precisely because she’s calm and gentle. And it’s my understanding paints are more laidback in general?”

“They are indeed,” Clarmont said with a smile. “You know horses?”

“To a degree.” Temperance retrieved the saddle blanket and laid it over Sugarplum’s back. “Even if I don’t know everything about their care, I have read quite a bit about various breeds; their temperaments, strengths, areas of use and the like.”

“I’m impressed,” Clarmont grinned, shifting the blanket an inch or so toward the withers. “Can you manage the saddle?”

“I can try.” It had been... very heavy heavy when she brought it out, she wasn’t sure she could get it up on a horse’s back. But she’d give it her best shot.

He watched her collect the saddle, stagger under the weight, and when it was clear she wouldn’t lift it high enough he stepped in. “Allow me.”

And before she knew what was happening, his chest was against her back and his hands under hers, guiding the saddle to its proper place on Sugarplum’s back.

The heat in her cheeks was definitely not embarrassment this time. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Make sure the girth is tight enough as you buckle it, but not too tight,” he said, withdrawing his hands but staying close.

Temperance took a deep breath and tried not to get distracted as she buckled the girth. “Is there a risk of it changing?”

“Mm. I don’t know if it’s foible of Sugarplum’s, but some horses will hold their breath while being saddled, let it out after for a looser fit.” Clarmon rested a hand on Sugarplum’s flank. “More comfortable for them, but dangerous for the rider.”

Sugarplum nickered and nosed his pocket until he laughed and produced a few carrot pieces.

Temperance smiled to herself, kneeling in scratchy straw when her calves started to burn. With the horse distracted, it was relatively easy to confirm the girth was buckled safely. She started to stand, just as Sugarplum shifted position and bumped her shoulder. Temperance teetered and would have fallen into the wall if Clarmont didn’t grab her arm.

“Careful, dear princess,” he said with a twinkle in his eye as he righted her.

“Thank you.” Temperance enjoyed the warmth of his hand on her arm once more as he let it linger. “I’m doing a bang up job of handling this on my own, aren’t I?” she commented ruefully.

He gave her an encouraging smile. “Everyone has growing pains with a new skill, Temperance. Besides, when working with or around horses, it’s better to have two people or more. For safety’s sake.”

“And good company?” she teased, almost--pleasantly--surprised at her own boldness.

Clarmont’s smile widened. “If you’re lucky.”

I am. “Well. Then, in the interest of both safety and good company...” Temperance’s fingers curled around the reins. “Would... would you like to join me on my ride, Lord Clarmont?”

His eyes twinkled. “Princess Temperance, it would be my honor. Give me a moment to fetch a horse.”

Temperance spent that moment stroking Sugarplum’s neck and murmuring quietly to her. ‘He’s quite the gentleman, isn’t he? Very kind and handsome.’

Clarmont returned with a starred sorrel ambling beside him much more swiftly than she expected, and she hastily strangled off her asides to the horse. “That was fast.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I confess, I was hoping to accompany you. Marquis is a good trail mate for Sugarplum; I asked the stablehand to saddle him while I was helping you.” He paused and cocked his head. “I apologize if that was too forward of me.”

“N-No.” She fought the urge to bury her face against Sugarplum’s neck. “Not at all.”

Clarmont’s eyes filled with relief. “Glad to hear it. Would you like a hand up?” He nodded toward the horse.

Temperance nodded. “Yes, thank you.” Sidesaddle was so much trickier to mount on your own. She didn’t loosen her grip on his hand until she was settled and it was only half for safety’s sake.

“Set?” he double checked, waiting for her confirmation before he eased back and mounted his own horse.

“Thank you,” Temperance said as they made their way toward the trail. “For all your help. I do want to learn to do things like this on my own, but I’m... glad you were here for the learning curve.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “As I told you, it’s an admirable pursuit.”

“I do feel I owe you something for your efforts.”

“Not at all, but if you insist” --his eyes were twinkling again-- “there’s a sweet and lovely lady I’m trying to court, if you had advice on how to win her heart, it would be welcome.”

Temperance’s smile widened. “Seems a fair trade. I think I can help with that.”

#my fic #7kpp secret santa 2022 #arland princess #lord clarmont #it's been a very long time since i took riding lessons #i hope i got all the horse stuff right😅

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