#I realise Ive written more about ryella...and not lisette...shh.

[deviline]

hc + mother.

Has any child come into the world so loved and cherished as Lisette, born during the darkest hours of March and laid to sleep in a cradle ringed with holly? Mother spent that night giving gifts of jewelry and silver to any and all who would stand still enough to receive them; The Lady Ryella was said to have only ever longed for the Summer Isles, that she had only ever traveled to twice in her life, gazing rapturously on the infant hazel of her daughter’s hair.

It would darken, the older she grew– black and soft as spun silk. But for those first years, her hair was all dayglow and honey, as hers.

Great things had always been expected of Ryella, daughter of White Harbor, of the Sweet Lotus Vale—but she takes after her father more than her much-vaunted mother, quick-tempered and decisive, willful. She does not even inherit her mother’s sea-longing; the calling of gulls does not tug at her heart,  neither the sweet salt of the Sunset Sea, she prefers the trilling of waxwings, and the forests of The North.

The first time Lord Umber came to her in White Harbor, to ask her to be his wife, his hands shook so badly that he spilled honeyed wine on the hem of her dress. She forgot many things, in all that came after, but not the sight of him – proud beast of a man– going to his knees, touching the hem of her green-forest gown.

She grows fat with her first daughter, so much so that it’s near-comical—though she is less amused when Lord Umber’s cheeks begin to hollow, deep circles growing beneath his eyes. He will not tell her what makes him so ill with worry, which worries her more. 

Her Father loves his grandsons and granddaughter, so much so that for a while Ryella is afraid he might decide to renounce his home in White Harbor altogether to stay in Last Hearth. Finally, Lord Umber has to write to Ryella’s mother, and all-but-beg her to come and collect her husband, so that he and his wife might be left alone with their sons and daughter. 

Lisette is a sweet, cheerful babe, all smiles and dimples, and Ryella does not know how fortunate she is until Arvin is born, squalling, hungry, sleepless, forever upset about this or that. (She does not know how such a beautiful baby can be so red and miserable.) The Lady Manderly comes when Ryella writes her begging for aid, and she has never been so grateful to see her mother, if only for a few hours rest.

(Once or twice, Ryella comes on her mother rocking Arvin back and forth, murmuring, shhh, shhh, sweetling—you want too much, it will bring you grief.)

She becomes self-conscious around her fortieth year, when her hair is more silver than gold, and gentle lines begin to show at the corners of her eyes —especially since Lord Umber is still fair and youthful as he ever was, strong, glowing with health. You have married a crone, she sighs, when she catches their reflections together in her mirror. Never, he tells her, fiercely.(She is beautiful to him as the first he saw her, to the last.)

They are happy, for long years they are happy; she dances with her sons on the shores of the the Last Lake, teaches her daughters to listen for waxwings, nightingales, the white does she well loves– every night Lisette sits in her lap, beautiful, silver daughter of the North, and lets her braid her hair with blue and white ribbons, such sweet a child, saying not a word of protest when Mother accidentally tugs at a loose curl a bit too hard, only snuggling against the warmth of her furs. They foster kings and princes, kinsmen whether by her blood or Lord Umber’s.  Her marriage-bed is warm, and full of joy. Last Hearth is called amongst them, in jest, the last Homely House, and all are welcome.

(Ryella, who has spent long years of her life beneath the auspices of war and flight from darkness, swallowing, does not trust it. Her good husband, Lord Umber, who knew loss young and fears it will come calling if left unfed, does not either. They do not discuss this, in the hope that without a name, sorrow cannot be summoned.)

It comes for them anyway.