#Duke Lyon/Jiyel Scholar

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Week 2022: Day 1

We’re doing another 7KPP Appreciation Week over on @fyeah7kpp, and I thought I’d start the prompts with an introduction to how my ultimate OTP meet in their cutest iteration, the Childhood “Friends” AU. It’s so cute, I almost feel bad for what I put them through on most iterations.

Day One - First

Lady Camellia Guo of Jiyel had barely turned nine years of age when she attended her first academic lecture.

Cousin Jiya, three years her elder and born with the triple advantage of an influential lineage, razor sharp intelligence, and not insignificant beauty, had adapted quickly to the expectations placed upon her, rising to the challenges of academic study and social niceties with aplomb. As such, it was only natural for the entire extended family to be invited to the budding young scholar’s first officially hosted event; after all, few had mastered the art of both paying respect to others and humbly bragging about themselves as thoroughly as the Jiyelese elite.

Which was, of course, why Lia found herself in the library, contemplating the impressive collection of books with curiosity and no small amount of envy. The lecture on Jiyel’s changing philosophy towards its relations with its fellow kingdoms had been most fascinating, particularly with regards to the introduction of the famed summits, to be sure. However, and much to her chagrin, its conclusion had soon brought about mingling and dancing with the peerage of Jiyel, a pastime that she, still a child with barely a name of her own compared to her much grander cousin and the other, more esteemed, guests, had little to contribute. But the library, on the other hand…

She reached out, running a gentle finger along the worn spines. Leather, smoothed by years of careful handling, greeted her as far as she could see, from the floor to the ceiling in carefully arranged rows of bookshelves, covering everything from art and music to science and history. Craning her neck to one side, she mouthed the titles to herself as she shuffled forward, each one more intriguing than the last.

Rounding a corner, she continued forward, transfixed, until her arm bumped into something hard and she tore her gaze away, just in time to watch as a precariously stacked pile of books teetered on the arm of a chair… before collapsing onto the floor as well as the lap of its occupant.

In the suddenly deafening silence, she winced. “I’m so sorry.”

Cool dark eyes blinked several times from behind a thin pair of spectacles before their owner sighed, brushing his hair out of his face as he looked down at the mess she had made. “It is no matter. I should not have kept them so.”

“And I should have paid more attention to my surroundings as well. I apologize for not noticing you sooner.” As she spoke, she knelt, gathering the fallen books and depositing them into a stack that she rather suspected would rival herself in height.

And, given the diminutive form working beside her, would probably give her newfound companion a run for his money as well.

After setting down another two onto the pile that was already threatening to reach her waist, she turned to him. “Were you planning on reading all of these?”

To her surprise, he flushed a faint red, halfway through putting the final tome on their careful tower. “I admit it is unlikely that I even could, but many of these are new to me and their perusal seemed a… more interesting way to spend the evening than performing social niceties.”

“At least until I interrupted?”

He paused, considering her with something that, for all the world, resembled Master Hinata’s expression when discussing the unknown mysteries of astronomy, the expression of a researcher possessed by a scientific curiosity bordering on fascination. “I confess I am not entirely certain. I suppose that remains to be seen.”

She smiled with some mischief, even as she folded her hands as demurely before her as she had been taught. “I see. Do you need more data?”

“It would seem that that would be ideal for proper analysis.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t quite hold back a giggle. “Are you hoping to conduct an experiment on social interactions, then?”

“That would be an efficient way to…” He blinked, apparently taking in her amusement, before his expression drew into a hint of a frown. “I… apologize. I am not well-versed in the social arts, nor do I find much enjoyment in their performance. I fear I am poor company for you to keep.” With that said, he returned to his seat, this time free from the looming threat of collapsing books, though she couldn’t help but notice that even though he had a book in hand, he didn’t seem as impatient as he could have been to read it.

“If I wanted to find sociable company, I’d go to the ballroom. Since you’re clearly not there, I think it’d be safe to assume you aren’t interested either.” The only response she received was a shrug, which was, given the situation, acknowledgement enough. “Besides, there are better ways to improve at onvu than reading a manual on strategy.”

When he met her gaze, this time with a brighter curiosity, she grinned. “I think I saw a board earlier. You can always test your new strategies against another player. See how much Liu Zhu’s manual can actually help you.”

“I didn’t— I was brainstorming how to counter them!” His protest floated over her shoulder as she walked away, laughing; the quiet shuffles following her were indication enough that he was more amenable to her suggestion than his mannerisms might have implied.

Which was how, an hour later, Camellia found herself in the most evenly matched game of onvu she had ever played. Contrary to her teasing, he had proven himself to be a formidable opponent, armed with quick thinking and a hidden spark of spontaneity that took her entirely by surprise.

Then again, considering the astonishment that slowly turned into respect in his expression, perhaps it was a mutual experience.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she watched him sit forward, absently pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as his eyes scanned the board and her scattered pieces. A thin finger nudged a cavalier to the side, neatly avoiding her attempted Taniguchi maneuver, before he slouched back with a genuine smile. “A good attempt.”

Finally relaxing, she grinned back and slid forward in her seat to shift her sage over a square, disrupting his counterattack. “Not quite. Check.”

Consternation flooded his face as he leaned forward, contemplating the board with renewed intensity. “That was… unexpected.”

She laughed, swinging her legs rhythmically as she waited for him to settle on his next move. “The game would be over much too quickly if it were not. Except…”

“Except it may just as well be now as well.” Her companion scowled, though his gaze never left the board.

Before she could reply, the door to the library creaked open. “Lia? Where are you?”

She heaved a breath, sliding out of her seat with an apologetic look and padding around the corner to the doorway. “I’m here, Mother.”

Her hand on her hip, Lady Hyacinth sighed, though it sounded more resigned than exasperated. “Of course you are. Heavens forbid we should find you properly socializing as opposed to ensconced in a library somewhere with your nose buried in a book.”

“I like reading, and I’m certain nobody even noticed my absence. It’s not as if any of them would want to dance with me, so learning is a much more efficient way to spend my time.”

“Learning and socializing need not be mutually exclusive, my dear. But no matter. Your father is ready to return home.”

Camellia nodded. “I’ll be just a moment.”

“Of course. It would not do to leave the room a mess.” Her mother smiled. “We’ll meet you in the entryway.”

When she returned to the onvu board, it was to find her opponent a little distance away and back to perusing a book in what was once again threatening to become a fort around him. He didn’t bother to look up as she drew near, though she couldn’t help but notice that his literature of choice was another manual on onvu strategy… and that his general had been tipped over on the board in a show of surrender.

She smiled, sweeping the pieces into their drawer. “Thanks for the company. I had fun.”

At that, he did glance towards her, eyes flicking so quickly that she almost missed it. “Good game.”

“You too. Rematch next time?”

Nearly at the corner, she paused, turning her head back just in time to see him shrug, though he did drag his gaze fully away from his book to meet her eyes.

Grinning wider at the acquiescence, reluctant though it might have been, she dropped into a brief curtsy before hurrying away.

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

Julianna: I'm kind of crushing on someone, but I'm worried about telling you who it is, because you're not going to like it.

Lyon: Just rip the bandage off.

Julianna: It's Prince Zarad.

Lyon: Put the bandage back on.

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Week 2022: Day 3

Because, at least in Jiyel, cut fruit is a love language and making food is a family bonding activity. Also known as: The moment all of Grenwold knew that Lyon was definitively a member of the family.

Yes, I am also confused by all of the fluff. WHO AM I?

Day Three - Food

Regardless of how long she has spent away, regardless of how long she has been moved into her new home, the rooms and passages of her parents’ manor at Grenwold will always be as familiar as the back of her hand. She smiles, weaving her way past servants, both recognized and new, with a nod, but does not stop, cannot stop, because she knows where she is needed. She knows in her very bones that every time she visits home without fail, the kitchens will be full of bustle and she will not—dare not—miss it.

Even before she enters the room, she can hear the chatter, the warm, rich tones of her mother, the quiet, deep baritone of her father, and she can picture them in her mind’s eye before she turns the corner, animated eyes and bright faces and light-fingered hands in constant motion, dusty with flour, creating rows and rows of neatly folded dumplings.

They look up when she enters but without a pause in their discussion, something about the moderate success of their tenants’ newest crop rotation, but she sees the open seat to Lady Hyacinth’s left, the pair of chopsticks and row of covered balls of dough, and for a moment, she finds that she cannot interject into the conversation, even if she wants to.

Instead, she settles into her seat, dodging floury smudges as she kisses her mother’s cheek, and picks up the rolling pin. The motion is half-remembered at first, the wrapper uneven and misshapen, formed by fingers now more used to holding a quill than culinary tools, but the rhythm is still there, comforting in its constance, in its timeless familiarity.

“A little lopsided there,” her father interrupts his discussion to comment, amusement dancing in the crinkles of his eyes, and she makes a face in response to his light laughter. “Looks like you need more practice.”

“Should we switch then?” she counters, and this too is familiar, the faux disappointment as he shakes his head, the fond exasperation as he passes over his own rolled out wrappers, each one a neat circle, without protest, and she relaxes as she settles into the folding process and the customary banter on the virtues of knowing how to roll out one’s own dough compared to the expediency of focusing on the part of the process that she is much more competent at, thank you very much.

For several long moments, it feels almost as though nothing has changed, until…

“Lia?”

“In here,” she calls, and it is only when Lyon enters the room and stops, sharp eyes examining her from head to foot, that she remembers the flour which always somehow, inevitably, covers her like powdered snow, and finds herself fighting a truly illogical urge to blush.

In contrast, her mother does not falter, wiping her hands on a towel before rising to her feet in a fluid motion. “Ah, Duke Lyon, I see you’ve found us. We’re making dumplings. Come and join us.”

Almost before she is even aware, another position has been set up to her left, her father passing over another set of chopsticks and dough in quick succession while her mother pulls over another chair, and it isn’t until he has folded himself into the seat beside her that she notices the hesitation in his movements, the way his gaze lingers on her hands as she tightly pleats the edges of another dumpling.

“Do you always make your own dumplings?”

She hums, reaching for another wrapper. “Typically, yes. Between making the filling and all of the folding, it is far more efficient for everyone to work together than for only a select few to make them for everyone.”

“And it has always been an excuse for everyone to sit down together.” Her father leans forward, though she rather suspects that it is less about reaching for the filling than it is to look around her toward her husband. “The experience itself provides an opportunity to come together as a family and spend time together.”

“Or, at least, a uniquely bonding experience that is different from sharing a meal or something else of that nature. It was something that I enjoyed doing with my parents, and something that we have passed down to Lia.” Her mother reaches for her own wrapper, holding it out, flat on her palm, as she meets Lyon’s gaze, warm and encouraging. “And to you, if you would like.”

It is an invitation, and even more than that, it is an acceptance, and if her smile is a little shaky as she watches him imitate her, the rest of her family are thankfully all much too distracted to notice.

[angstmongertina]

and still so far (7KPP)

I technically had this written a while ago now but it kind of fits for today’s 7KPP daily prompt and I haven’t posted it yet so I’m gonna do that now.

This is another fic for my universe where Lia and Lyon break up before the end of the Summit. Because I live for angst.

Title taken from the song So Close from Enchanted.

Prompt 19: Facade

AO3 Link

He almost, almost, did not attend the ball. After all, he had already made his unofficially required annual public appearance towards the beginning of the season and was accordingly left to his own devices for the remainder of his time at the capital. Surely none of society was expecting his attendance at an engagement ball.

None, it seemed, except for one of the two whose engagement was being celebrated, and it required very little thought to figure out which one.

Still, that itself was worth considering, if only to prevent less enjoyable considerations from occupying his mind. Regardless of their previous association, Lady Camellia was never one who would do anything that might taunt him in the slightest, or, if their most recent interaction was any indication, even communicate with him at all if she could avoid it, not that he could blame her for that. The invitation was almost unthinkable to have been from her. But her… But Lord Randall, it appeared, had no such misgivings and, given his conviviality, seemed inclined to invite anyone who might have a passing relation to the parties in question.

Which he did, though perhaps not in the way the lord believed.

Still, Camellia appeared… content, or at least was genuinely willing to accept the man’s hand, which he knew was no small concession in it of itself, and whatever else happened, he would always wish the best for her, something that she tended to undervalue on her own. Not to mention the fact that, given her more reticent nature, the celebration would not be so large in scale that his absence would be unnoticed, something which might raise more undesired questions than his attendance would.

He wondered briefly when conforming to societal niceties became such an exercise in irony.

And so, he found himself standing in the corner of the ballroom, watching as a small crowd whirled on the floor or else mingled by the refreshments. Most were only vaguely familiar, a testament to his asocial tendencies, but they clearly recognized him; the surprised and calculating looks directed at him when they assumed he was not paying attention were evidence enough for that. In fact, it was some miracle that they had not descended upon him in full force, though perhaps he had the couple’s insightful choice of friends to thank for that, even more so than the drink and generally unapproachable expression he nursed.

It was, however, not enough to prevent Lord Randall from greeting him, leading his fiancée along by the hand. Then again, perhaps he should have been expecting it; the pair had shown themselves to be consummate hosts, and his determination to remain as far from the festivities as possible no doubt had caught their attention. He had attended, after all. It was only logical that he would have to interact with them.

That did not stop him from stiffening, ever so slightly, when he noticed their approach, a sentiment that she echoed, given the shock that crossed her face, replaced almost instantaneously by a polite smile.

Their reactions, however, did nothing to reduce her fiancé’s enthusiasm.

“Your Grace! A pleasure to see you again!”

Instinctively, his eyes darted to Lady Camellia, but instead of meeting his gaze, she dropped into a low bow, eyes lowered and hands clasped before her. “We are pleased you have decided to attend our humble celebration, Duke Lyon.”

Her greeting was everything appropriate from a minor noblewoman to a duke of Jiyel… and yet somehow all the worse for it.

Forcing some semblance of a polite expression onto his face, he bowed in turn. “It was a privilege and an honor to be invited.”

“So formal, you two.” Lyon nearly jumped, but Lord Randall only chuckled, shaking his head and clapping him on the shoulder. “One would think you barely know each other.”

“It has been four years, Randall.” Her voice, though chiding, was soft, almost hesitant, as apologetic eyes flicked to his face. “And I’m afraid much has changed since then.”

“Then you two should catch up!” He had, apparently, already encountered the lord enough that he was not entirely surprised to find himself pushed towards the lady. Unfortunately, that did nothing to quell his discomfort, particularly when he found himself grasping the hand of one Lady Camellia. “Go on for a dance.”

Before he could even formulate any sort of response, he was propelled towards the center of the room, Lady Camellia right beside him, as Lord Randall fairly disappeared into the nearest group of guests. It was almost impressive, given the man’s height was not far from his, and, as such, almost a head taller than the vast majority of people in the kingdom. Or, at least, it would have been had the situation not been so uncomfortable.

“I apologize, Your Grace.” He looked down, meeting anxious brown eyes, and told himself that it didn’t sting when she dropped his hand, taking a step away. “Lord Randall has always been enthusiastic about such things. He is more gregarious than I by far and I think he wishes to ensure that I find an equal enjoyment in companions.”

She chuckled, something resembling a smile, small and tremulous, crossing her lips for a heartbeat, and his chest constricted too tightly for him to form a response. Instead, he only inclined his head, offering his hand, and her smile, such as it was, turned melancholic.

“I have no desire to force you into a dance when all of Jiyel knows your distaste for such things, Your Grace.”

He shook his head. “Hardly.” When she didn’t react, instead watching him steadily with that faint sadness lurking in her gaze, he swallowed, forcing the words out of his suddenly dry mouth. “It would be an honor, Camellia. Please.”

That managed to catch her off guard, if the visibly stupefied look on her face as she accepted his hand was any indication.

As if on cue, the musicians played the opening strains of the next waltz, and he drew a deep breath, carefully leading her into the proper position and ignoring the gapes and whispers from the crowd. They did not go unnoticed by his partner either, a fact that was apparent when her expression somehow turned even more stilted.

Still, she said nothing as he stepped around her, save for offering him wordless apology when their eyes met. He shook his head, focusing instead on sweeping her across in turn, on recalling the lessons from his childhood, so many years ago. The lessons that he had reviewed in preparation for the Summit four years past, that he had anticipated using…

Keeping his face neutral, he carefully eased her into a turn, watching as she twirled, her gown rippling around her, light and graceful. When he caught her, she beamed, a warm, genuine smile that seemed to steal his breath. “A fine secret you’ve been keeping from us, Your Grace.”

For a moment, panic scrabbled at his throat and he nearly stumbled over the next step. “What?”

The sound was more croak than word, but she only grinned, a little sheepish. “The rumor on the Isle was that you didn’t attend the Ambassador’s Ball because you didn’t know how to dance and had no desire to advertise it.” She paused as he led her into a free spin, dropping away before returning to his arms, elegant and natural and something in his chest twinged. “I have no doubt society thought the same way, but I’m afraid your secret is out now.”

“You flatter me, milady.”

She said nothing more, only shaking her head with a soft, almost wistful look, and he followed her lead, putting the crowds and the people out of mind until there was only the two of them. Her grasp in his, light and trusting. Her hand resting on his arm, his palm against her shoulder blade. In synchrony and as one, a wordless conversation of giving and taking, a perfect communication of the mind. Warm and soft and right.

When he pulled her closer, leading her into a pivot, somewhat stilted but still with decent form, she laughed, cheeks flushed a faint pink, and for a moment, he relaxed completely, letting the faintest hint of a smile curve his lips as they spun smoothly across the floor.

Faintly, he heard the music taper away, sensed the other couples on the floor slow as the song came to an end, and he carefully led her into a final turn, bowing as she dropped into a low curtsy. Applause surrounded them, compliments and warm wishes, sights and sounds that slowly filtered back into his consciousness. Teasing remarks from the Jiyelese elite… not the delegates at the Summit.

That was four years prior, and a moment that had never come to pass.

He offered her his arm, feeling his chest tighten when she accepted it, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow with her face arranged back into a mask of inscrutability. “Thank you for honoring me with the dance, Your Grace.”

He cleared his throat. “It was my pleasure.”

Lord Randall, of course, had chosen to wait in the farthest corner of the room, and Lyon would likely have suspected that the man was planning something were he any less good-natured. As it was, however, he simply led her along, grateful that her presence, at least temporarily, served to protect him from any who might have wanted to approach him.

It did not, however, shield him from the weight of his partner’s gaze nor the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm.

“I must admit I was surprised you accepted the invitation.”

Her voice was soft, hardly audible over the music and conversation around them, and surely inaudible to anyone who might be listening in. For a step, he faltered, but when she said nothing more, he chanced a glance in her direction.

“I thought it would have been more telling had I not.”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps. But you would also have been spared all of this…” She hesitated, looking about as though hoping to find the right word to describe the celebration plastered upon the wall. “All of this unpleasantness. Socializing.”

“Perhaps, but… I came to wish you well in person.”

Her smile was small, tinged with wistfulness. “I am glad you came.”

Unable to meet her gaze, he looked away and swallowed, feeling the strange lump in his throat shift with the movement. “I… I am as well.”

All too soon and yet not soon enough, Lord Randall stood before them, beaming as he accepted the hand of his betrothed. “Welcome back, my flower. I hope you enjoyed yourself and were able to catch up?”

She might have said something in reply but Lyon didn’t notice, preoccupied by the friendly gaze that met his, open and unguarded. “Thank you for humoring my request, Your Grace. I hope you know that any friend of Lia’s is a friend of mine.”

Yet another offering of gratitude added to the swirl of interactions and conversation, and between the forced pleasantry and polite socialization, it was all suddenly too much.

Glancing between the pair, he nodded, replying with something that, given the affable smile he received, was appropriate enough. Or, more likely, the lord was simply generous enough to accept whatever had managed to leave his mouth as agreement. At any rate, it was enough to allow for his escape, which was all that he wanted, the social consequences be damned.

Finally alone on the cobblestone, under the cool night sky, he released a shaky breath, watching as silhouettes continued to pass before the brightly lit windows of the ballroom, blissfully unaware of how the celebration was thoroughly crumbling the foundations of his very being. Then again, who would have noticed? Not even he had realized…

“Duke Lyon?”

He had to press his lips together to prevent something that resembled hysterical laughter from bursting forth. It was only natural that if anyone at the engagement ball were to notice, were to follow him out, it would be her. One of the couple that the ball was celebrating… and the one person in the entire seven kingdoms who still possessed the ability to send his world completely off-kilter.

“Lady Camellia.”

He said nothing more, and she approached slowly, footsteps faltering and stopping when she was almost close enough to touch. Almost, but still just out of reach. “I know I may very well be the last person you wish to see in this moment, but you left in a hurry without bidding farewell, and… well… I was worried…”

When she trailed off, he glanced down to find her watching him, sorrow resting heavily on her features, and he slowly released a breath, finding, though not to his surprise, that he was still—would always be—unable to resist her. “I apologize. I found I needed some air.”

Her answering smile was at once tentative and rueful. “I thought you preferred to tell the truth?”

That, the reminder, the memory, of a less burdened man’s long-lost words, was enough to coax a barking, almost harsh, laugh from his throat, and she was not quick enough to disguise her flinch. Not from him. “I did.”

What he left unsaid seemed to hang between them for several heartbeats before she nodded. “I suppose much has changed since then. For the both of us.”

“Indeed.” He shifted, noticing the way she moved subconsciously, balancing his change in posture without thinking.

Or, perhaps more accurately, she was reacting, adjusting. Adapting and rebuilding, just as he knew he had to.

He drew another shaky breath, closing his eyes against the pinpricks of heat behind his lids. “I hope Lord Randall makes you happy.”

For a second, she froze, expression startled, before she smiled, gentle. Sad. “He does.” A pause, during which time he could barely breathe, and then a warm hand brushed against his, light and tender, so quick that he almost missed it. “Thank you, Lyon.”

He nodded once, not trusting his voice, and waited until she returned to the ballroom before letting his mask fall.

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Week 2019: Day 5

I kind of cheated and am stealing a little bit of Day 6 here, because I’m borrowing @seckritlab‘s Hise pirate, Rosa, and (briefly) @voidnoodles‘s Tomboy Countess, Peti for this ficlet, which takes place in what we’ve been calling the Flower Power Trio AU.

Because Lia needs an AU where she has friends who will push her off the cliff to gain courage and also smack her over the head (mostly verbally, at least on her end) to get her to stay with Lyon. It was meant to be longer, but I’m already late, again, and this seemed like a good stopping point.

AO3 Link

Day 5 - A Day of Friendships || A Romance for the Ages

“Lia!” Loud banging accompanied the cry of her name, so intense that were she not already very familiar with the voice interrupting her at any hour of the day, she might have been concerned that something horrendous had happened.

As it was, she only eyed the door with trepidation. There was only one thing that would have Rosa knocking with so much… enthusiasm so early in the morning, and it was not a topic she had any desire to discuss, with Rosa or anyone else.

However, she also knew Rosa well enough to know that she would happily irritate all of her neighbors before giving up, and Jasper was apparently indisposed with other duties… though she sometimes wondered whether her butler, capable though he was, would even be able to talk Rosa down when her mind was set on something.

Alas, the only logical option was to answer the impassioned summons, especially considering the fact that Rosa had begun verbally threatening the integrity of her door after just her few seconds of consideration.

She was not, however, expecting both Rosa and Zarad to be waiting outside, the latter looking on with faint amusement as the former continued on her apparent quest to destroy the offending barrier. Instinctively, she ducked, feeling her friend’s hand slash through the air just above her head before coming to a stop.

“Are you quite finished?”

Unfortunately, scorn was a feeling difficult to convey while hunched forward to avoid a blow and Rosa only looked supremely unimpressed at her attempt while Zarad chuckled. “Hardly, but if the door is open…”

She sighed, somehow already exhausted. “Only because I am well-aware of your tenacity.”

“Excellent!”

As Rosa let herself in, she glanced at Zarad with a questioning look, who offered her a shrug and a brief look of sympathy, and she sighed again, wondering why she had even expected him to attempt to suppress her fury.

Indeed, she had barely closed her door before Rosa whipped around, red hair flying, to point an accusatory finger at her. “Now, what is this I hear about your relationship with Duke Lyon?”

“I think it is more the lack thereof,” Zarad drawled, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. When she glared, the prince only held up his hands in defense. “What? It is indeed true.”

She drew a deep breath, schooling her face into an impassive mask. “Then you both know that that is all there is to say. We have decided to no longer be an approved match, and will inform the matchmaker of such later today.”

“Bullshit.”

When she blinked, Rosa stalked closer, shaking off the restraining hand of her companion, and though Lia was definitively taller than her diminutive friend, Rosa’s rage seemed to tower over them both, an intimidating specter.

She took a step back.

“You care for him and he for you. Don’t try to deny it; half of the other summit attendees would agree with such a statement, given how obvious your regard for each other is. And you intend to throw it all away for what? The hopes that he might make a more advantageous match for Jiyel?”

In spite of herself and hopefully unbeknownst to Rosa, Lia’s hands fisted in her skirt. “That would be ideal for all involved parties, yes.”

The sound that escaped Rosa could only be described as a snort. “If you truly believe that will happen, then, for all your logical Jiyelese training, you are a fool, and so is he for going along with this… farce.”

“Lady Rosa…”

But the woman in question utterly ignored her suitor’s interjection. “Answer me honestly. Can you imagine Duke Lyon allying himself with another in marriage solely for political gain? Because I have no doubt that he would hardly marry another when his affections are very clearly still upon you.”

“Lia? Rosa? Open the door.” As if on cue, Peti’s voice cut through her discomfort, accompanied by something resembling a scuffle as well as another knock on the door, and Rosa’s expression visibly brightened as she glanced toward it.

“Ah, perfect timing.” Before Lia could so much as blink, Rosa darted towards the door and threw it open to reveal their friend. And behind her, looking somewhat worse for wear with his rumpled clothing and shocked expression, one Duke Lyon.

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Week 2019: Day 6

More in the Flower Power Trio universe, with a dash of tomorrow’s happily ever after fluff, because this takes place well after the Summit. A lot of the idea was actually @seckritlab and I ABSOLUTELY ran away with it because I thought it was hilarious. (And because I know I did not make it clear, yes, it is absolutely Sina who ended up “kidnapping” Caden.)

The last bit of fluff before day 7, which will be the angst I have been planning from the beginning. :D

AO3 Link

Day 6 - The Road Not Taken || Alternate Universes

Everyone was waiting for the return of the Jiyel delegation from the summit. Even Lily, newly married and moved to Lord Thomas’ estate, had returned home for the occasion, an arrival that, much to Lia’s amusement, her husband seemed to take great comfort in, despite his insistence that he had hardly noticed their daughter’s absence since her marriage.

Then again, she could not entirely blame him for his anxiety on behalf of the twins, considering how many times her life had been threatened those seven weeks she and Lyon had spent on Vail Isle.

Communications from the summit, though reassuring on their sons’ welfare, revealed little more, remaining vague on events in the later weeks, or, really, anything relating to the potential of matches for the pair. Which, given the reticence of their father on all things pertaining to his emotions, perhaps should not have been surprising, a fact she took great pleasure in reminding him.

It was, thus, a thoroughly curious crowd that had gathered in Evenmoor’s front sitting room with various levels of impatience, from her father’s calm amusement to her husband’s intense pacing.

After watching him cross the room for what must have been the hundredth time, she rose from her conversation with her mother but before she could move, Lily spoke, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Father, I fear if you continue any longer, the floor might become visibly worn. I trust that Caden will have kept Conan out of too much trouble.”

“That is supposing he ever left the Isle’s library. Your father hardly did unless I forced him to.” When Lyon’s expression only drew into a scowl, Lia chuckled. “Do not look at me so. I found you asleep in there once, and you skipped multiple meals, as I recall.”

Before he could respond, a carriage pulled into view, laden with unfamiliar trunks, and the room burst into relative chaos as everyone crowded around the window, speculating on the mysterious lady.

“Which kingdom has a house whose colors are brown and gold? Revaire, perhaps?”

Lady Hyacinth snorted. “I doubt the luggage’s base color is indicative of her kingdom, my dear.”

“That is the Arlish royal crest, I believe.” Lyon, peering over Lia’s shoulder, frowned. “I do recall it being said that the eldest princess would be attending this year.”

Raising an eyebrow, she turned. “I did not think you one for idle gossip about the Arlish royal family.”

To her delight, he flushed, muttering something about research and the summit and in-laws in a nearly incoherent ramble, which only faded away as she led the group to the front steps, where the carriage was coming to a stop.

Before the driver could so much as dismount, the door swung open and her elder son emerged, hair as tousled and chaotic as ever. However, rather than shout a greeting, as he was wont to do, he instead turned, offering a hand to the lady who hesitantly stepped out after him, her eyes wide.

“Welcome to Evenmoor, Serenity.” Conan, still holding the young woman’s hand, bowed over it before turning to face them, a proud smile on his face. “May I present my father, Duke Lyon, and my mother, Duchess Camellia? Mother, Father, this is Serenity, the eldest princess of Arland.”

The woman dropped into a perfect curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Graces.”

Lia stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on the thin shoulder. “None of that, please, my dear. You are family now, after all.”

While the others moved to greet the princess, she turned back to her son, watching his new bride with a smitten expression, with a raised brow. “And where is your brother?”

Conan visibly winced. “Kidnapped, I think? Technically?”

Beside her, Lyon stiffened. “What?”

As if on cue, a figure on horseback raced into view, coming to a stop a few meters from the carriage and leaping off his mount. “A letter for you, Your Grace. I was told to deliver it as quickly as I could.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ignoring her husband’s dumbfounded expression, she reached for the envelope, took one look at the extremely familiar handwriting, and burst into giggles.

“Mother?”

“Lia?”

The identical looks of astonishment only added to her mirth; she swayed, shaking with laughter, as she pressed a coin into the bemused messenger’s hand, who took it and promptly fled the scene before she could offer him a respite, no doubt hoping to escape whatever madness had befallen the duchy of Evenmoor.

Then again, given the crowds and chaos around her, she couldn’t blame him.

After another moment, she took a deep breath, dashing away the tears that had escaped her control, and moved for her study.

“Where are you going?”

In the doorway, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder at her still-stunned husband and equally confused son, and held up the letter, where To Aunt Lia and Uncle Lyon was clearly written on the front. “To write a reply to Rosa, of course. Arrangements must be made for our upcoming visit to Corval.”

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Week 2019: Day 7

Last day of the appreciation week (that I am absolutely late for)! Aaaaand, of course, I have to finish on angst, because of who I fundamentally am as a person. This is actually probably going to end up being my “canon” version of Lia and Lyon, just because it makes sense the way I’ve been developing her out. And because I’m just a little angstmonger. Whoops.

Ummmm, enjoy? Maybe?

AO3 Link

Day 7 - Happily Ever After??? (Angst || Fluff)

It was a moment of idle curiosity that had Lyon watching the carriage coming to a stop before his at the opera house.

Around him, people swarmed towards the brightly lit entrance, all dressed in their finest gowns and pressed jackets, mingling and catching up with acquaintances on their way to the performance. After all, the opening night of the new season was the event of the year and it seemed anyone who had the means of attending had done so, if the slow progression of carriages was any indication.

It was almost enough to convince him to return back to his estate and put any thoughts of socializing out of his mind. Particularly since his return from the Seven Kingdoms Summit without a bride in tow had somehow convinced the young ladies of the Jiyelese elite that he was still unattached. Why they had fixated on him, despite all of the more eligible and interested men in their acquaintance, he would never understand but without even leaving the sanctuary of his hansom, he could see more than a few eyes recognize his family’s crest and turn his way.

But it was his one concession to his duty, to the Crown’s increasingly insistent reminders that he find a wife and produce an heir, that forced him to suffer through the appearance and those trying in vain to earn his affection in exchange for a year’s reprieve. Never mind that, four years earlier, it was in some ways the very same Crown that had denied him what they now insisted he must seek…

But to dwell on it would be illogical and, as the line crawled forward, he shook his head, eyes landing once again on the carriage before his. The crest was unfamiliar, though considering his lack of interest in interacting with much of Jiyel’s peerage, that meant very little. That its occupants had elected to arrive early rather than society’s preferred fashionably late was another point in their favor and, for one moment of atypical fascination, he watched the carriage door open, contemplating the wisdom of attempting to form a new acquaintance.

Any thoughts on the matter dissipated from his mind as a passenger emerged and reached to assist his companion, not releasing her hand until they had moved off the street. Murmuring something, the man disappeared from sight, but Lyon barely noticed his departure as he stared at the woman standing with her back to him. Clad in a vibrant purple, her slender form should have been easily swallowed by the crowds, or at least would have been if not for her pale updo, the bright white at once unusual and impossibly, heart-wrenchingly familiar.

He was standing on the cobblestone before he was fully aware of moving, not noticing his driver’s question or the carriage pull away. Around him, several pedestrians paused, no doubt recognizing him, but even with what seemed to be the entire population of the city gathered at the opera house, he only saw her.

Lady Camellia.

She had not much changed, was still instantly recognizable despite the years since their short… acquaintance. Her movements were still fluid, manners unassuming as she shifted to stay out of the way of passersby. Her shock still remained solely in her widening eyes and quiet inhale when he called her name and she turned around.

“Duke Lyon?” Her face smoothed back into inscrutability. “It has been some time.”

“Indeed. Not since the Summit, I believe.”

Was it his imagination or did she seem to grow paler?

He took a deep breath, watching as her fingers fidgeted on her fan, tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm in the long silence. “You… You are well?”

A polite smile tugged at the corners of her lips, cool and reserved. “Well enough. And you?”

“...well enough.” He shrugged, though his chest tightened at the way her gaze softened, genuine amusement flitting across her features. After another long moment, he cleared his throat. “And… And your family?”

At that, her expression visibly faltered, smile falling for a heartbeat, so quickly that he might have missed it were he not already familiar with her mannerisms. “Satisfactory.” She paused, drawing a slow breath. “It is very kind of you to ask.”

He swallowed. “That is… good to hear.”

Her returning smile did not quite reach her eyes, nor disguise the glimmer of something, raw and jagged, in their depths, that, as illogical as it was, he both longed and feared to identify. As if noticing his scrutiny, she bit her lip and looked away… though despite the heavy silence, she seemed no more eager to leave the conversation than he.

Finally, he opened his mouth, but before he even knew what he wished to say, another voice spoke up, warm and cheerful. “Sorry about that! Olivier insisted that we catch up and it took longer than I expected. Though I see you’ve found a friend as well!”

If possible, she turned even paler, eyes darting to the newcomer.

Lyon followed her gaze to find the gentleman from earlier smiling at the pair of them, a friendly, open expression. Standing a few scant centimeters shorter than him, the man was carefully dressed and polished, dark hair trimmed neatly and cravat chosen to match her gown. Apparently oblivious, or perhaps immune, to the oppressive weight of the air around them, he grinned wider and held out his hand. “Would you mind introducing us, my dear?”

“Oh, of course!” She hesitated, so slightly that it could very well have been unintentional, and smiled, a mask of cordiality firmly back in place. “Lord Randall, this is Duke Lyon, a friend I met at the Seven Kingdoms Summit.”

Recognition lit in the steady brown eyes that met his, respectful and companionable. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, your Grace. I’ve heard many good things about you.”

When he said nothing, Lady Camellia drew a deep breath, eyes shifting from him to Randall in quick succession. “And your Grace, this is my betrothed, Lord Randall.”

She might have said more, but he heard nothing else, drowned out by his thundering heartbeat and the single word rattling through his mind.

Betrothed.

It was instinct that directed his arm out for the brief handshake, that had him murmur… something that must have been polite enough, at least for his own taciturn reputation. It was instinct that kept his voice steady as they said their farewells, as he finally noticed the ring sparkling on her finger when she walked away, arm in arm with her fiancé.

And it was instinct that kept his features impassive, throughout the agonizingly long concert and ride home, until he could lock himself in his chambers, ignoring the faintly worried expressions of his servants, and lower his face into his trembling hands.

(Bonus)

The announcement barely made the paper, tucked into a corner where none save those who were looking for it would find it. After all, in the grand scheme of things, the quiet wedding of a lady of no name to a lord of little more could hardly draw any attention from the vast majority of Jiyelese society.

Of course, he had seen it, traitorous eyes scanning every page in spite of all of his best efforts to avoid it. And so, the small assembly hall temporarily hosted an extra, silent guest that night, who, while the ceremony was ongoing, slipped in just long enough to leave an anonymous gift of an ivory onvu set and a small collection of rare books.

He was impressed but hardly surprised to receive a heartfelt note of appreciation in the mail only a short week later.

[angstmongertina]

Fictober 2k18: Day 1

Another October, another month of short daily ficlets. This year, I’m using a list of dialogue prompts (link below) and probably going to do a variety of fandoms, from older stuff like SWTOR to newer fandoms like Fire Emblem and 7KPP. Everything will be tagged with “Tina does Fictober 2k18.” for blacklisting purposes. So without further ado... day 1.

Posting a day late because my WiFi cut out last night thanks to a storm. :(

Prompt List | Masterpost

1. “Can you feel this?”

To what is surely nobody’s great surprise, Lyon is already settled in the library when she enters, his typical fortress of books a scattered heap around him. And perhaps equally as unsurprising, he seems acutely unaware of anything that has taken place around him, including her own arrival.

Then again, considering the fact that he has definitely missed multiple meals and possibly even some nights of sleep in lieu of reading every book he can get his hands on exclusive to Vail Isle, it’s only to be expected.

Still, that doesn’t stop her from dropping into the seat beside him, curious in spite of herself how long it will take—or perhaps how much it will take—for him to notice her. Then again, it’s not like she can’t try to figure it out herself.

She is a scientist, after all.

Barely resisting the urge to laugh aloud, she pulls out a piece of paper, laying it on the table in front of her before turning her attention back to her still-inattentive Duke. “Lyon, what are you reading?”

Much to her private satisfaction—it wouldn’t be much of an experiment if it were to end so soon, after all—he doesn’t so much as glance in her direction and, at least from what she can tell, has not even registered her presence. Permitting herself a small chuckle, she pulls out a pen and drags the page closer. “The subject is unresponsive to vocal stimulus. Does it register as white noise or did the subject fail to hear it entirely? More research needed…”

Well, if words aren’t enough, then maybe physical contact might produce a response.

She leans forward, straining to keep her voice steady, though she suspects that her amusement is clear nonetheless. “Can you feel this?” she murmurs, prodding his arm lightly with a finger, first once, and then a few more times for repeated sampling. For a second, he frowns and she freezes, still posed halfway out of her seat, but he only exhales and turns a page before resuming his perusal.

This time, she isn’t entirely successful in holding back her laughter, though she manages to keep it muffled enough that the head librarian, a rather stern looking woman sitting at the desk towards the front entrance, doesn’t threaten to kick her out. Instead, she frowns herself, contemplating her ongoing study.

Finally, her eyes land on his hunched form and is struck by an idea that she can’t help but suspect is being heavily fueled by the bad influences of her friends. She hesitates, biting her lip, then shrugs, both physically and mentally. It’s only the natural progression of her experiment, and hey, it’s all for science.

Or, at least, that’s what she tells herself as she reaches for some more sheets of paper, already wondering how many pages she can actually get away with.

The answer, as it turns out, is quite a few. Every single scrap she can find has been stacked, painstakingly carefully, on his head in a way that doesn’t completely disrupt his reading. In fact, between his surprisingly steady posture and the pinned twist in his hair, it stays much better than she’d ever suspect… and he remains as oblivious as ever.

It’s starting to get a little ridiculous.

With a sigh, she turns back to her notes, scribbling her findings before staring at the unperturbed man beside her, nose still buried in his book in spite of the veritable essay on his head.

Though… speaking of essay…

She casts her eyes over the book fort he has constructed, weighing the benefits and consequences more than actually searching. Surely there is a limit to how far she can take this farce of a scientific study, particularly in the face of potential mortification, which she is about to subject both of them to, if she continues. There’s no denying that.

But on the other hand, nothing else has worked and desperate times call for desperate measures…

With another sigh, this time at her own ridiculousness, she gives in to her… cruder instincts, snatching up the thinnest book she can find and getting to her feet. The slender volume, ironically comparing the traditions and etiquette across the seven kingdoms, is scarcely thicker than her stack of paper, save for its binding, and it’s almost in place when…

“Lady Camellia?”

The pages slip as he tilts his head back and she winces, kneeling to tidy up the paper now littering the floor before meeting Lyon’s bemused gaze.

“Yes?”

Dark eyes blink at her for several seconds. “…what were you doing?”

In spite of herself, her lips twitch. “An experiment.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And the conclusion?”

“That your focus when reading is something to behold. Though…” She pauses, frowning with feigned consideration. “I’d say that the sample size is a bit small. I fear we may need to try some more tests.”

When his only response is a look of horror, she can’t help but grin wider before leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek.

At that, he shifts from appalled to bashful with an alacrity that must break several laws of physics, a phenomenon that warrants further investigation in it of itself.

All in the name of science, of course.

[angstmongertina]

“I... I was convinced I would hate everyone I met here. Especially eligible young ladies. ...I was wrong. You... I do not find you intolerable.” --Duke Lyon, Seven Kingdoms: the Princess Problem

This idea slapped me in the face last night as I was getting ready for bed, so I had to make it today. A moodboard for Duke Lyon/MC (namely, my Jiyel scholar, Lady Camellia), because I’ve missed them.

[angstmongertina]

Also, in case my previous posts crying over Duke Lyon haven’t made it abundantly clear, @voidnoodles got me into playing Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem about a week ago, and it’s so good! The plot is very intriguing, the characters are so varied, THE LIs CAME FOR MY FUCKING LIFE, and there’s great replayability value to it!

Featured here are my Jiyel scholar, Lady Camellia, and my Arland girl, Princess Temperance.

Camellia and Duke Lyon are adorably nerdy together and also best friends with Noodles’ Wellin Countess Peti and @seckritlab‘s Hise Lady Rosa (both of whom were instrumental in making sure she had the courage to ask him out by helping push her off the cliff LOL).

Meanwhile, Temperance is quite taken with Lord Clarmont and also nearly inseparable from Noodles’ Revaire Lady Adelaide after a bit of a rough start. Because the idea of the Revaire Widow and the Sheltered Princess supporting each other to shed their duties and live for themselves is SO GOOD.

Long story short, I love this game and I can’t wait for the full release! :D

(Dollmakers are found here and here respectively.)

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem Ships

OTP:

Prince Pirate Hamin of Hise x Lady Beatrix “Bee” of Corval

Love:

Duke Lyon of Jiyel x Lady Ivory “Ivy” of Hise Prince Zarad of Corval x Lady Julianna “Juli” of Jiyel Earl Emmett of Arland x Countess Belladonna “Bell” of Holt Wellin Lord Clarmont of Revaire x Princess Cornelia “Corny”/“Nelly” of Arland Lady Leala of Hise x Lady Skyler “Sky” of Skalt Prince Lisle of Wellin & Lady Sabine of Revaire

Like:

Princess Penelope of Wellin x Countess Belladonna “Bell” of Holt Wellin Lady Cordelia of Hise x Princess Penelope of Wellin Earl Emmett of Arland x Princess Penelople of Wellin Princess Anaeale “Ana” of Skalt x Princess Penelope of Wellin Prince Pirate Hamin of Hise x Prince Zarad of Corval Prince Pirate Hamin of Hise x Corval Lady Prince Pirate Hamin of Hise x Wellin Countess Lord Clarmont of Revaire x Wellin Countess Lord Clarmont of Revaire x Corval Lady Lord Clarmont of Revaire x Hise Pirate Prince Pirate Hamin of Hise x Arland Princess Duke Lyon of Jiyel x Wellin Countess Princess Gisette of Revaire x Jiyel Scholar

Neutral:

Anything not listed

Dislike:

Lord Clarmont of Revaire x Princess Gisette of Revaire Princess Gisette of Revaire x Revaire Rebel Leader Princes Jarrod of Revaire x Anyone Lord Blain x Any Main Character Lady Sabine of Revaire x Anyone Romantically

Hate:

Princess Anaeale “Ana” of Skalt x Any Man Romantically Lady Leala of Hise x Any Man Romantically Prince Lisle of Wellin x Any Woman Romantically Grand Duke Charles Woodly of Wellin x Anyone Princes Jarrod of Revaire x Lady Sabine of Revaire