Work Text:
A contest - no, a celebration, Pent corrected, erasing the ink of the mistaken word with a wave of his hand - designed to showcase the various talents and virtues instilled within the young women of Etruria. Furthermore-
Earl Pent Argens, heir to the House of Reglay, never wanted his marriage to become a battleground for the highborn to blow smoke over. But his lord father had given him little choice: announce your eligibility as a noble seeking to marry, or I will find a woman for you. Leaving the choice to his father, a man firmly subscribed to the theory of old money and old names, would anchor him to a family that would never allow him to reach his own goals: to explore the realm of magic and find all there was to know about it.
Many families in Etruria practiced magic, but only as a means to an end. The Mage General, a burly man who cast Thoron spells with the laziness of a bear in winter and the ineptitude of a new recruit, had only gunned for the position in order to curry favor with the royal throne. Nothing drove him forward apart from the attachment to prestige and power. It was an abomination of the anima! A muddling of magic!
Pent put his quill down, leaning back in his chair. Sending out an open invitation to the other noble families would bring many hopeful women to their castle. Young, talented, and handsome - his father’s words, not his - the prodigious heir was bound to make waves as he had just come of age. And his parents wanted to capitalize on that.
Out of all the candidates, he could only select one, and the necessity of choice pained him. Pent would have rather not hurt two dozen or more reputations for the sake of putting the power of choosing in his hands, but he would not let his father dictate an event so momentous and pivotal to his future. The temporary wounds the other women would suffer to their egos would hopefully be made up by the advantage a marriage made on his terms would bring.
Reclaiming the quill, he continued to scrawl, his fingers forming flowing cursive across the letter.
We hope you will take the time to consider this opportunity.
Yours truly,
Earl Pent Reglay
Pent stood opposite his reflection in a mirror, adjusting the lapel of his shirt and combing back his hair at the same time. He couldn’t let himself be late for a gathering so large. While the purpose of that night would be for Pent to select his engagement, Etrurian lords and ladies had invited themselves too, along with several nobles from Lycia and Bern. Pent cringed at the thought. The Etrurians would be watching, scrutinizing his preferences, the women he would consider. It was already getting out of hand.
These lords who omitted them and their families from the competition would arrive first, like spectators to a sports match. Pent’s parents would make a big show of their gratefulness, make a few speeches, and throw a large banquet. After that was underway, then the ladies in question would begin arriving.
With a resigned satisfaction, Pent gave one last dour frown to his reflection before exiting his room. He took a series of stairways that would let him avoid the eyes of the Etrurians, aiming to at least reach the ground floor without any inquisitive stares. Taking a side passage along an outside balcony, Pent walked with rushed steps, hurrying along to the point where he almost collided with someone coming up the staircase.
“Ah - pardon me!” Pent exclaimed. Oh no. If this was one of the Etrurian high court, it’d surely leave a horrible first impression. He saw untidy blonde locks sprawled across a round, stout head, a dark green spiked pauldron on the person’s shoulder. Pent recognized the emblem on the man’s armor, the lion of Lycia. He breathed in relief - a foreign delegation, and only a lord’s knight. As long as he apologized appropriately, Pent felt he could avoid making a scene.
“No worries.” The knight took a closer look at him, his gaze going towards Pent’s silver hair. “Hey, you’re Lord Pent, aren’t you? Didn’t think I’d meet you before things even began.”
“Earl Pent, actually,” Pent corrected, hoping it didn’t sound like a chastise, “so long as my lord father lives. But you are correct. I’d hoped to not run into anyone before the festivities began, but since we are here now, I may as well introduce myself. You seem to know me well enough, but,” Pent gestured to the Lycian lion, “I’m afraid I can’t say the same. You’ve traveled far to attend a mere gala for the Etrurian nobility.”
“Sir Harken of Lycia,” the blonde told him, nodding his head. “I serve Lord Conway - he has a habit of coming to all sorts of events during his travels, even if he didn’t mean to attend. He has… a spontaneous streak.”
Pent couldn’t say he’d heard of that lord, but that only made the explanation more plausible. This boded well for him, however. Harken and his lord would barely have any influence on the Etrurians, if at all. He took comfort knowing that at the very least, he knew one person in the castle needn’t cast such a judging look on him.
“You look pensive for someone who’s about to be engaged, my lord,” Harken offered.
“If only it were that simple,” Pent said, a weak smile escaping his lips. He paused, mulling the matter over. He’d already judged that anything he did around Harken would hardly have any repercussions. But did that mean he could consider the man an impromptu confidant? Pent hesitated, shifting his weight towards one foot. This was a matter on which neither book nor tome could advise him.
He couldn’t let his reservations stew inside him. “Tell me, they don’t go to the trouble of organizing things like this in Lycia, do they? I imagined my marriage to be some quiet affair. I’ve always prioritized my work before any romance. This was the last thing I wanted.”
Harken stared at him for a second, before chuckling, his lips curved into a thin smile. “So Isadora was right.” He crossed his arms, taking a stance against the wall. “No, Lycia has much more lax standards. See, I’ve heard from my girlfriend about all the hoops Etrurians have to jump through, and how a lot of the nobles hate the pomp and ceremony that comes with getting married. I’m glad you’re one of those.”
Pent nodded, feeling his gestures get more animated. “You understand, then. I had no interest getting married at this age, but my lord father insisted upon it. It was either this or he would pick for me.”
“Making the best out of a bad decision, I see.” Harken rubbed his chin in thought. “At least you get some say in the matter. Others won’t be so lucky. I can’t say I ever expected to be in your place, but I can tell you one thing: don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”
Pent blinked. Wasn’t that what he was about to do tonight? Make a promise of love to a woman before he could even learn to love her? If he even could?
“You’re in a tough spot, so you can’t really take it to heart. But,” Harken leaned in, raising a hand, “if it comes to choosing what might satisfy your family, and what would satisfy your heart, go with your heart. You want your wife to be someone you can befriend, whose company you can enjoy. The riches and the status will always be out there, but a chance at love - that only comes in a lifetime.”
The words were like a layer of dew in the morning, falling upon his skin and refreshing him. His heart felt cleansed, his mind working with a newfound clarity. “That’s good advice,” Pent agreed. “Thank you, Sir Harken. I’ll be sure to follow that.”
“It was my pleasure.” Harken nodded. “Good luck out there.”
Pent thought the iambic verse would never end.
The privilege of a noble’s education had bequeathed upon him an understanding of the arts and literature, studies Pent excelled at, even if he didn’t enjoy them. Meter and rhythm, rhyme and imagery - all came to him naturally, but he had no love for them. And it was evident that accomplishments in those fields amounted to little but the polite applause from the nobles.
But with all eyes on the room watching him, as he sat in a chair opposite the women who would come forth and pontificate to him, whether through music or poetry or dancing, Pent could do nothing else but clap as well.
“Thank you, Lady Katherine. Your grasp of the ancient language is truly… amazing,” Pent heard himself say.
The brown-haired girl gave a curtsy and headed off into the crowd, a blush on her face. Pent suppressed a groan. Not even halfway into the list, and all the prepared performances had left him feeling hollow. He was starting to fear ending up with a wife who only functioned as a mouthpiece for Etrurians to command him through a pretty face and a pleasing voice.
The next lady stepped forth, slowly easing into the seat across from him. Pent recognized her - Lady Louise, the daughter of a family friend - but couldn’t let himself look surprised. But then his attention was drawn to the large bow she carried, along with the quiver strung at her back. What was she planning? To stage a hunt in the castle?
“My lord Pent,” Louise spoke with a soft smile. Her eyes always reminded him of twinkling stars, far off and distant, but always shining bright. “It’s been some time.”
“It has,” he answered, remembering a time two years ago, when they had been introduced to each other on a dance floor at the Knight General’s mansion. She carried with her a sort of independence that he admired, caring little for the cheap tricks that magicians performed during the gathering or hearing the exploits of the army’s latest campaigns in Bern. Pent could tell she still had little experience with court life at the time, but figured that with a good head on her shoulders, that open thinking would serve her well.
“Then what interests you, Louise?” he had asked as they waltzed together.
“The sapphire oceans,” she had answered, “the snow-white mountains, the emerald plains. But I don’t just want to hear stories about them while I sit in my castle. I want to see the world for myself.”
It was a dangerous wish. Pent would know - he harbored a very similar feeling. But it was different, and he respected that.
Louise came from a somewhat obscure house in Etruria, but her stock had raised upon her cousin Hellene becoming the new queen of Bern six months ago. Now nobles in Etruria began to take note of her house’s name, and Pent sighed knowing that they wouldn’t have bothered if they didn’t think they could live out their dreams of royalty vicariously through her relationship to the queen.
“You still have that same cowlick in your hair,” the Louise in the present noted, and Pent was shaken from his memories. His eyes turned up, a hand moving to adjust the discrepancy. Saint Elmine, did she have to be so candid? He didn’t expect that little joke to score well for either his or her family.
“Ah… yes.” He made an effort to save face. “It’s still a bit unruly, I’m afraid.” Pent cleared his throat. “So… what will you be presenting?” He resisted an urge to glance around for any hint of a bear or lion being loosed into the room.
“My bow,” Louise told him, holding it out in front of him. She stood up, and he tensed. The animal would come barging into the room any second. He felt his fingers grip the side of the chairi.
Then she knelt down on one knee before him, her face serene and resolute. She took out an arrow and pressed it to the bowstring. “I come with no honeyed words or elegant routines. Only a promise. My sweet lord, if you choose me, I will protect you to life’s end.”
Raucous laughter erupted from the Etrurians, and Pent felt a chill in his bones, both from her words and from their reactions. He could make out his lord father in the crowd, stone-faced as ever, and a particularly plump man that the king appointed as treasurer almost doubled over in laughter, clutching a glass of wine.
“Was that supposed to be a couplet?” he heard one noble jeer.
Pent looked down at Louise - her face had gone red, and the light in her eyes had gone out. Dread filled her expression, the corners of her mouth quivering as she came to the realization that she must have made a huge mistake.
That wasn’t the conclusion Pent found.
All the other women spoke a lot, but Pent heard only emptiness in their words. The works of poets long dead told him nothing about the character they would present to him. What use would he have of a wife who could recite dozens of sonnets but couldn’t wield a weapon alongside him in times of strife? Louise’s weapon of choice was the bow - he didn’t know that before - and she was the only one not afraid to display her toughness.
Someone in the crowd lobbed an object at her. Before Pent could react, Louise stood up and drew her bow, releasing the bowstring. Her arrow flew through the air, piercing the thrown object in two as the arrow embedded itself into the wall.
Pent looked down at where the object had split. Some kind of old sandal, something a noble might have picked up from the trash to use if there was heckling involved in the event.
Louise lowered her bow, her body the definition of calm, but when she looked at Pent, he could see the fierceness written on her face. “I told you,” she uttered to the crowd.
Pent didn’t feel like correcting that they meant to harm her, not him, and before he could respond the crowd began to act up again. But instead of laughing, they voiced protests. Get this sham away from Lord Pent! Who does she think she is, firing a weapon in a lord’s castle?
Some disgruntled nobles made their way towards her, but Pent stepped in front of her, his hands raised in a gesture that told everyone to stop. People paid little attention to him. Pent stood up straighter. “Silence!” he yelled, and the crowd died down.
He turned to Louise, his voice softening. “Louise, you really meant all that, didn’t you?”
She nodded, her eyes lighting up. “My gift is my loyalty to you. I’ll protect you with everything I have.”
It was more than enough for him. Pent knelt down, taking Louise’s hand in both of his.
“I have never met a girl whose heart was so clear,” he said. He drew the ring out of his pocket, no longer fearing the time he would have to present it. "It's settled, then. Louise… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”