Work Text:
Florina had always been the timid one. She watched her feet when she walked and usually found something to look at that was lower than a person’s eyes when she spoke to them. She was afraid to try new things and always stuck to what she knew was safe. It limited her.
Farina was the opposite: bold and pushy. She elbowed her way into messes simply because she could, afraid, too, but of being held back.
Both of her sisters approached things wrongly: to run headlong into a situation was just as foolish as hesitating on the threshold forever.
So, many years ago in a quiet, too-cold little house in the Ilian tundra, Fiora vowed to be different. She would tamp down the impulsivity that Farina let run wild and the fear that Florina struggled to overcome, and embrace moderation. She would always think before she acted.
But even the best-laid plans could be laid to ruin under the right circumstances.
The corridors of Castle Pherae were bustling with the usual early-morning preparations for another long day and Fiora found herself ignored. She might have found it odd in the past, but she knew better, now; the life she lived wasn’t the lovely fantasy she had once imagined it would be, full of carefree hours she could use to do anything she wished. Instead, it was quietly busy and stressful.
And her free hours were spent doing tasks that others many years ago had determined to be worth a lady’s time.
His hands were warm and his expression earnest. She liked that about him. He wasn’t as physically imposing as some of the other men, but he seemed to possess wit and a passion for small things that they all lacked. Most men struggled to see the details, but Eliwood saw them all, even in her.
She couldn’t help but smile at him, her knee brushing his by the campfire. He murmured her name, squeezed her hands, and learned closer as if about to tell her something private.
For a moment, she feared a confession—something she was not yet ready to hear fall from his lips. To her relief, and perhaps also a small degree of disappointment, he spoke instead of class equality.
She listened attentively and tried to shove the spark of disappointment aside. Moderation came easily to her now. She prided herself on being the middle ground. It felt good to be considered responsible, reliable—and it was neither of those things to wish for his lips to ask her something she knew she couldn’t take time to consider.
The grounds of Castle Pherae sprawled over acres of uneven terrain. If she rode just a little while, or flew high enough, she could watch the sea wearing away at the shoreline. She imagined she could see the view from the castle. It was easy with the smell of saltwater stinging in her nose, and through the glass of her window the trees looked much the same: unsightly little things that grew in open crevices of rock, gnarled branches twisting toward the heavens. What is it they’re reaching for? she wondered.
Beauty, perhaps; they lacked it, as did she. Maybe they longed to touch the lovely blue of the sky.
She dropped the curtain, turning from the window. It was pathetic, but she felt sorry looking down at them. If only they weren’t rooted so firmly in place.
The tips of her fingers brushed against the oak of the doorframe above her.
Their discussion of equality had been a strange thing. She thought longer on it than she had a right to. What had Lord Eliwood’s words meant? Had they held a deeper meaning than she’d initially understood? Reading too much into it could spell disaster for her—or at least her heart—but it was hard not to feel hopeful. She wasn’t used to the kind of attention he showed her—gentle and considerate, almost as if she mattered to him a little more than she should.
The river-water was cold against her face, and when she brushed it from the tip of her nose, she noticed her reflection beginning to settle beneath her.
“He was only being kind,” she said softly to herself.
Makar whinnied at her from his stall at the very back of the stable. She smiled at him and held out a cube of sugar. His nostrils flared and his dainty whiskers tickled her hand as he snuffled about against her skin, trying to find his treat.
It was a shame, she thought, that he could see the light from the stable doors but like the trees reaching to the sky, he could never touch it—never feel it.
She unlatched the stall door.
His joints were stiff and he moved like a creature ten times his age. She’d seen him as a colt with his too-long legs and a shedding undercoat. It hurt her to see him like this. She waited patiently, now, just as she had when he had come to her the first time, butting his head gently against her chest. She had loved him for that, for choosing her, and she loved him now for following her as if she had all the answers.
“My lady! My lady!” One of the stablehands rushed after her, a fine leather halter and lead dangling from his hands.
A halter? She almost laughed, reminding herself of her younger sister. Pegasi were not common horses; Makar would follow her to the end of the continent on command. He didn’t need a halter.
But she nodded gratefully, taking it, and with a murmur of apology to her lifelong friend, slipped it over his head.
The morning light washed over both of them as they left the stable. She led him to the back of the building where the rough grass stretched out for miles and one of the wretched trees clawed at the heavens. A row of birds sat huddled in its branches. She turned back to her pegasus, who had started to clumsily nose at the front of her dress as if she might have a treat hidden there.
When she saw Lord Eliwood take the arm of the dancer, Ninian, she put down her currycomb and pressed her forehead against Makar’s neck. “I’m such a fool,” she said to no one in particular. She could never compete with Ninian; everything about her was lovely, even her voice.
Not that Fiora found any fairness in the idea of competing for a man. Ninian deserved happiness, too—just as much as anyone else. And Lord Eliwood was fully capable of choosing on his own.
She tried not to stare as Ninain walked next to Pherae’s young lord, her hands on his arm, her feet gliding gracefully over the grass. She smiled up at him, affection in her eyes…and he returned it.
Fiora lowered her eyes. Lord Eliwood’s words to her had merely been an attempt at kindness. A good attempt. She would treasure the fact that he had been kind to her for many years to come. It wasn’t often that a man of his status bothered to speak gently to someone like her…and she had let it confuse her. Silly. Impulsive.
She was better than that.
Many years had passed since she’d last held a hoof in her hands, but it still felt as familiar and comfortable as it always had. Makar remained still, stretching his neck as she dug what looked like a small stone out of his hoof. It was incredible how something so tiny could ruin a creature as big and strong as a pegasus.
“Lady Fiora,” a voice said at her elbow. “You needn’t lower yourself to such a duty. We take excellent care of our horses.”
She slowly lowered Makar’s hoof and let the small rock in her palm drop to the stable floor. “I know that you do,” she said, as gently as she could manage, and bit back the words she wanted to speak: Makar is not a horse.
A moment passed before she recognized the little man as the stable-master.
“Please brush him,” she said.
“We brush all of our horses every day.”
She swallowed hard and tried to remember the diplomacy she had spent the last few years memorizing. How could she politely say without offending him that he did not know how to instruct his men in the care of a pegasus? That Makar had a double coat and needed to be brushed in a particular way with a specific brush?
Perhaps she would order the brush and leave it in his stall, or show a younger boy how to care for him to her specifications. What if she did it herself and claimed she enjoyed the task? Would they take offense to her ordering them about, then?
She smiled and handed the lead over. “Thank you,” she said, even though she didn’t mean it.
Makar looked over at her for a long moment before he obediently followed the stable-master back to his stall.
It really was no wonder, she thought, heart aching, that Lady Lyndis had run away.
Though everyone had experienced death in their lifetime, they had hoped, perhaps foolishly so, that they would not have to experience it on the battlefield.
Ninian’s body looked broken. It folded so easily in Lord Eliwood’s arms. His cape hid the worst of it—the blood she knew was spilling all over his breeches, the gaping injury.
Fiora hadn’t really known the woman—hadn’t wanted to know her. Perhaps she had even been jealous of her.
But tears gathered in her eyes and slowly spilled over.
She blamed the fact that she had never been able to stand the sight of a grown man weeping, but she knew, deep down, that she still cared a little too much for Lord Eliwood; anything that would hurt him this much would, of course, also hurt her.
Only a year after the Dragon’s Gate had been sealed, there was a ball. Fiora remembered feeling terribly lost, there, and alone. Lord Eliwood had gone to mingle with assorted acquaintances and had spoken of nothing but business propositions: taxes, imported goods, Bern—things that did not warrant her opinion, at least not in public.
Lady Lyndis had been a sight for sore eyes. So, too, had her personal retinue, who stood nearby. Sain even offered her a smile, which she returned gratefully.
“Lady Lyndis,” she began, approaching the younger woman. “I am most sorry to hear about your loss.”
She paused, a small cake of some sort halfway to her mouth, and gave her a bright smile. “Thank you, Fiora.” The cake went in and was promptly swallowed. “How are you faring?”
“Well enough, I suppose.” Fiora looked down toward her feet and then back up, giving the room a sweeping glance before letting her gaze settle once again on the Lady of Caelin whose own eyes seemed focused on the desserts.
Other ladies of high standing stood in groups around the room, chatting idly amongst themselves. Some of them were looking their way, smiles hidden behind fans: the proper way to gossip, Fiora had learned. It wouldn’t do for someone to read your lips or your expression.
“How do you do it?” she finally asked when the silence became too much, when it was clear to her that some of the women and even men watching them were having a laugh at Lyndis’s expense. How could she stand the scrutiny of court?
“Do what?” Lyndis asked, mouth full. After swallowing everything down with her wine, she followed Fiora’s gaze with a full turn of her head. “Oh,” she said, looking back at her. “That.” She made her way around Fiora, dress bumping into the table slightly, and picked up a delicate little sandwich on the other side. It was small enough to eat in one bite yet proper etiquette thought it an unforgivable sin.
To Fiora’s surprise, Lyndis ignored etiquette entirely and pushed the whole thing into her mouth.
“Mm…good,” she said even before she’d swallowed, and reached for another.
“Lady Lyndis,” she whispered, a well-meant warning.
“Lyn,” she corrected, setting down her wine. “Remember?” There was something hard in her eyes. “I’m a savage, you know. That’s what they say.” Her voice was both soft and firm. “And I’m trapped by it. If I do what they say, then I have been tamed or broken or whatever word it is they want to use to say I have been made to be like them. Even then, I would not be good enough. They will hate me whether I hold the fork correctly or not. So I do what I please.”
Fiora could not imagine anyone hating Lyn. She was a bit rough around the edges, and not as culturally advanced as most people would prefer her to be, but she was a good person and she was kind, which was more than could be said for many of the upper class.
Lyn’s fingers squeezed at the sleeve of Fiora’s dress. “Listen,” she said softly, her green eyes pleading. “My situation is different from yours. You married into this. You chose it. You will always have to pick your battles carefully now that you are the wife of the marquess.”
Fiora knew what she meant; everything she did or said reflected onto Eliwood, particularly when it was bad. “I understand,” she whispered, but Lyn had started to eat again.
“I don’t know why this tastes so good,” she said, perhaps half to herself. “It’s just,” another sandwich found its way into her mouth, “exactly what I want to eat right now.”
“You must be hungry for it.”
“I shouldn’t be,” Lyn said with a small smile. “They had to alter this dress twice in the last month. But again, I do as I please, don’t I?”
“Yes, I—I suppose so.”
“Which is why you will spend this evening with me. You can blame it all on me tomorrow and everyone will believe you. Have you heard from your sister lately?”
Fiora’s head was nearly spinning. “Ah…which one?”
Lyn laughed, something a little too loud and so genuine it brought a smile to Fiora’s face, too. “Both, of course! Please tell me everything!”
As terrible as it was, Ninian’s death gave Fiora the chance to spend more time with Lord Eliwood. His blue eyes were tired, but he seemed to enjoy her company and oftentimes sought her out on his own. Ninian hadn’t even been dead a month before he took her hand in his and asked her to spend the rest of her life with him.
The rest of her life.
Her mind flailed. What about Ninian? What about Nergal? What about everything? She hadn’t had time to think it through, not at all—and what kind of a person thought through a marriage proposal, anyway? Shouldn’t she already know the answer?
“I know it’s crazy, and I know it’s sudden…”
Had he even bothered to think it through?
“I know it’s not like either of us, but…”
Oh, his eyes were so earnest.
“Fiora, I know what I want, and what I want is you.”
He learned close to her; she could feel his breath as it fanned over her cheek, and then her lips. He didn’t kiss her, but he smiled, his lips just barely bumping hers with the motion.
“Let’s do something a little crazy…together.”
Could she really answer a proposal like that with a shy little let me think about it?
“Please marry me,” he whispered.
She closed the distance that barely existed between them to press a soft kiss against his mouth. She couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t. And, as she traced the freckles across the bridge of his nose with her lips, she realized that she didn’t even want to.
As much as Fiora wanted to spend the evening with Lyn, she had been right: their circumstances were different; she couldn’t imagine facing Eliwood after shunning their guests all evening in favor of Lyn’s company.
The circle of vultures in their fancy dresses and jewelry gave Fiora false smiles as she approached. “Good evening,” she said to them politely.
“Good evening, Lady Fiora,” they answered. A shorter woman waved her fan close to her face. “We trust you are well?”
“Indeed. And you?”
“Decidedly well!” one of the group piped up, though her gaze was settled on some point in the distance instead of on present company. “Do you know Lady Lyndis well?” she asked after a moment, brown eyes finally coming to rest on Fiora.
“Not especially well,” she returned cautiously. “But we did spend some time together recently.”
“Does she usually…act like this?”
An older woman shook her head: “Surely not…?”
Fiora turned to see Lyn eating again, this time talking to a servant girl who had brought more food out to the party. The poor girl seemed nearly overwhelmed to be spoken to as an equal—something Fiora knew Lyn was doing without hearing her words.
She suddenly admired Lyn very much for doing exactly as she pleased.
“At this rate, she will have to be rolled to her rooms,” someone said, and Fiora turned around to see all of the ladies tittering and looking only half-ashamed of themselves for laughing.
“In the name of St. Elimine, how many has she eaten, now?”
“St. Elimine doesn’t help heathens.”
“Mother Grass, then!”
“Come, ladies, don’t be so hard on the poor dear.” It was the older woman again, wagging a finger. “She probably grew up eating off of the ground. Imagine how good even a little sandwich like that would taste if you were used to dirt in your venison.” She nodded as if doing so made it fact.
“Isn’t it possible she’s, you know…”
Fiora managed to unhinge her clenched jaw and tipped her head slightly to the side. “She’s…?”
The brown-eyed young woman whispered, “In the family way…I think she means. Unless I’m mistaken—”
There was an audible gasp from one of the women. “What a horrible thing to say!” the same person said, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice that kept her words from sounding genuine.
“It would be a shame,” the older lady said, adjusting her hairstyle slightly, eyes flickering back over Fiora’s shoulder to Lyn. “But it would not be a surprise… I heard the people out there where she’s from don’t marry.”
“What do they do?”
“Mate.”
Laughter erupted from all of the women, and Fiora’s arm felt strained from the angle she was holding it at; she worried that if she let it go, her fist would meet the face of at least one of the women present.
Pick your battles carefully, Lyn had said only hours earlier.
Well, Fiora, thought: she was.
“So, ladies, what is it you say about me when my back is turned?”
If Ninian’s death had hit them hard, her resurrection had an even great effect. Eliwood stared at the beautiful girl whose life he had accidentally taken with his own two hands, and…Fiora did not know what to think.
In the end, in the space of a breath, Ninian left through the Dragon’s Gate.
Eliwood had chosen to honor his promise of marriage to her.
But she couldn’t help but feel that he had only chosen her because of it—out of obligation. The word felt sour rolling around in her head.
He had given her a silly, crazy marriage proposal. It made her feel at least a little special to receive a promise such as that from a man as wonderful as Lord Eliwood. But as the Dragon’s Gate sealed forever, she wondered if maybe she ought to have released him from it.
Fiora wasn’t surprised when, only months later, Pherae heard the news about Lyn’s disappearance. Some said that she eloped and others said she ran away out of shame. Nobody seemed to want to entertain the idea that she had at least taken all the proper steps to abdicate, leaving her kingdom in Ostia’s capable hands.
Fiora knew why that was.
She could only hope that Lyn was happy, wherever she was, and that leaving Caelin had been the best thing for her.
Nobody talked disagreeably about Lyn of Caelin around Fiora again; in fact, they hardly spoke to Fiora at all. At court, at dances… The other women stood together in clumps and Fiora had to take the time to approach them. An interesting social rule, she thought, that the lady of the highest standing had to do the approaching. She wondered if it had been invented just for her.
And even though she knew they didn’t like her, she still had to walk up to them, smile gracefully, and ask after their husbands and children. In turn, they would ask after her, and then there would be silence that neither party was willing to fill.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Eliwood said once as he distractedly wrote a letter to Lord Hector, “but please, for your sake, try to befriend them.”
She wanted nothing more than to argue with him; she had been itching for a fight for a long time, now, for once missing the way that she could go at it with Farina and come out of it feeling better whether or not the problem had been solved. In this place, in this life, things were resolved diplomatically or not at all.
Eliwood looked up from his writing at her silence. She saw the tense lift of his shoulders and the weariness in his eyes. He had been busy, lately. “It needn’t be real,” he offered, something that might have passed for a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
But when would it be, she wondered, feeling suddenly very lonely. She couldn’t say that to him, though—couldn’t burden him further. It wasn’t fair. He had chosen her and she had to be worth it, at least a little bit.
“I understand,” she said instead.
He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t mean to push you, I just—” Another sigh, this one longer and sadder. “We are adults, and also royalty, and here it means…doing what needs to be done. Those women are not…perfect people, but they organize charity work and it is through their efforts that Pherae has orphanages at all. I would like it…very much…if you could get along with them.”
She understood it perfectly well and turned to the window, glancing down at the warped landscape below. He did not mean ‘do it or else’ because that was not his way; he meant that if she didn’t make an effort, he would be disappointed in her. Somehow, that was worse. She swallowed hard.
“I shall try.”
The return trip to Pherae had seemed short.
Lady Lyndis approached her almost shyly and when she spoke her voice was hushed: “Hector says that you’re marrying Eliwood.”
Fiora couldn’t help but smile in response, the tips of her ears turning red. “Yes.”
Lyndis beamed back at her. “Tomorrow we’re branching off for Caelin. I just wanted to wish you well before then.”
“Thank you, Lady Lyndis.”
“Just Lyn, please.” She stretched and sighed, looking almost sad. “I suppose I’ll see you again at your wedding, then.”
Fiora had not thought much about that—about how big it would be or when they would have it. What would she wear? Something elegant, no doubt; she would have to be made beautiful enough to look worthy of her lord husband, after all. After a moment, she swallowed hard. “Yes, I hope so.”
“I’m glad.” Lyn smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It will give me something to look forward to. We will be back in Caelin before we know it, and I will need it.”
Perhaps, Fiora reasoned, she ought to have questioned Lyn’s words all those years ago. At the time she hadn’t thought much of them, had even assumed that Lyn only wanted to escape her basic etiquette classes.
Breakfast was a quiet affair with Lord Eliwood at one end of the table and she at the other. All of the chairs between them were empty, with no children to occupy the cushioned seats. She looked down at her rounded belly and sighed. Soon enough, she thought she would have a baby.
And by extension, a better reason to stay in Pherae.
Perhaps she should have a dozen more.
For just a moment, she envied Lyn’s freedom.
“Is something wrong, Fiora?” Eliwood asked. She could barely make out his expression, they were seated so far apart, but she knew his face was lined with worry and stress; it always was.
I’m lonely, she wanted to say. I’m not allowed to do anything.
It’s no wonder Lyn arranged to run away.
Instead, she forced a winning smile onto her face and unfolded her napkin, settling it across her lap. “No,” she said. “Nothing is wrong. I only felt a kick is all…”
“You’re sure?” Eliwood offered her a small smile in return. It wasn’t as sweetly affectionate as it had been when they were first married, but it still managed to stir something in her heart.
She almost couldn’t look at him; she hated to lie. “Yes,” she said. “He’ll grow up to be strong, just like his father.”