#Lady Avalie of Jiyel

[fyeah7kpp]

Yuletide 2024 Nominations!

Hello, my dears!

It's the time of year again to nominate the 7KPP characters for Yuletide! For those who are unfamiliar, Yuletide is a yearly fanfiction gift exchange for small fandoms (fewer than 1000 works in English) on AO3, where the fandoms and characters that can be requested are nominated by users. You can find more information about it on the AO3 collection or on their Dreamwidth.

Nominations are currently open, for both fandoms and for characters. 7KPP will definitely be nominated but individual characters to request will also need to be nominated, so we're putting together a list to keep track of which characters have already been nominated, and who we have yet to nominate!

Note that you do not have to participate in the gift exchange itself to nominate, though you do have to have an AO3 account! You also do not have to nominate to participate, so if you're interested in the future, please feel free to hop in and join the fun!

Nominations are open through September 20 at 9 am UTC!

Please reply/reblog this post/message me to let me know who you are nominating and I will update the post accordingly so we can keep as careful track as we can! Also, people who don't have AO3 accounts who want to suggest additional characters to add to the list who I may have forgotten are welcome to!

Much love to everyone, and I'm sorry for the long absence! We will hopefully get an announcement about 7KPP Week out soon!

-Mod Tina

Information about current nomination statuses under the cut!

Updated as of 9/11/24.

Spoken For Characters: Jiyel Scholar, Jasper, Matchmaker, Sayra, Falon, Jaslen, Yvette, Woodly, Gisette, Avalie, Ria, Rebel MC, Widow MC, Princess MC, Court Lady MC, Countess MC, Clarmont, Lisle, Emmett, Zarad, Jarrod, Kade, Blain, Mrs. White

To be Nominated Characters: Pirate MC, Anaele, Penelope, Hamin, Cordelia, Lyon, Katyia, Sterlyn, Aamir, Constance, Leala, Adalric, Imogen, Estelle, Greer, Jorges, Lord Chancellor Torren Han-Lyle (Arland ambassador), Viscount Herschel (Wellin ambassador), Marchioness Iris Patricia Valentine (Revaire ambassador), Lady Nasira (Corval ambassador), Captain Nike (Hise ambassador), Minister Cato (Jiyel ambassador), Speaker Andel (Skalt ambassador)

[faejilly]

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

Emmett had known that he would see her.

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

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

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

This was worse than Court.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Summit was certainly never boring.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

And then it won.

Hise lost.

Hise lost the boat race to Arland.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

And yet.

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

Always.

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

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

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

Arland to Arland.

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

Arland to Arland.

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

-

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

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

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

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

Together.

[thisiswhereipostmystuff]

Second thing to come out of yesterday’s stream - long overdue fanart for Lady Avalie ♥ P.S.: I love her

[ellebeebee]

Day 3 -- Dreams

Okay, so this one is a doozy at nearly 6,000 words, but Huan just had a lot to say.  Also, let’s suspend disbelief that her actions (of a violent nature according to some interpretations) would not have gotten her kicked off the Isle on the first night.

Huan, a descendant of a traditionally martial family, had only one desire in coming to the Summit.  She has lived her whole life honing a discipline in her family’s style of swordsmanship, and has never become the type of scholar that has the best opportunity for rising within Jiyel’s ranks.  Still, she is extremely determined to fulfill her dream.

5,954 words, jiyel!mc, no pairing, there’s a lot of General Falon in this so if you are anti-Falon look elsewhere, lol, general rating

Huan centered herself, moving her ego aside with the image of sweeping smooth a sand tray-- the exercise Master Gan had been so fond of, and was meant to open the self to a truer perception of the world.  It was almost an impossible task, though, with these maids fluttering like sparrows around her.  Not the butler, though.  Jasper.  She could sense from him a near mastery of the upper and deeper selves.  She was impressed.  She would have to ask him who his master had been.

Not now, though.  Now, she must forgo her human turmoils.  She must forget herself and the now just as they tried to hone and highlight the individual called Huan with their silks and cosmetics.

She breathed deep.

“Are you upset, my lady?” Ria asked worriedly. “Do you want something changed?”

Huan stared at the girl.  And apparently the stare was an inappropriate response or went on for too long or something, because the maid was looking to Jasper with mild alarm.

“I was eliminating my ego,” Huan told her.

Ria’s jaw dropped before her training and Jasper’s pointed look reminded her to nod pleasantly at such a statement.

In short order, the servants had her painted and dressed up properly, and they bustled her out the door.

As Huan faced the double doors into the great hall, she steeled herself.  This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since she’d been told she was going to the summit.  In fact, it had been the moment she’d dreamed of ever since she’d been a little girl, sitting at her grandmother’s feet and listening to tales of her ancestors.

Hers was a martial family, each member raised in the skills of the fighting arts.  The Way of the Sparrowhawk was the ancestral school of her clan, a style of swordsmanship as articulated and choreographed as the most exacting dances.  Its secrets and skills had been closely guarded for centuries.  And no member of her family had been a truer representation of their way than Huan’s great-grandfather, Rhoen.

Thinking of her great-grandfather, and her purpose in coming here, Huan pushed open the door into the hall.

She did not see him at first.  The man whom she was sure she was destined to meet here.  As Huan gazed around sharply, several obstacles interrupted her path.  Delegates with strange declarations of love and hate.  She handled these as best she could-- which was not well all things considered.  But she handled them and continued her search.

The hall was filled with people in their unwieldy gowns and suits, moving about with their unwieldy limbs and soft bodies.  Some were not so soft, and Huan filed these faces away for later.  Now, she must find him.  She was determined to fulfill her dream, her duty.

And then she saw him.

She felt her brows draw in and her face stiffen, the stiffness trickling down to the rest of her form.  Huan forced herself to relax.  Anxiety, anger-- any strong emotion was as deadly to the martial artist as any stray blade.  She calmed herself and refound her center.

Huan breathed, schooling her lungs in the pattern she needed now.  She let her distracting thoughts dissipate like smoke, and she slipped into the basic form for offensive action like a koi surfacing and diving beneath a pond’s silky skin.

And at the exact moment-- the very precise intersection of fate and timing-- when the many paces filled with the slow moving delegates, passing and dancing in their games of useless chatter, between Huan and him cleared-- the moment, the only moment there would be like this, like an alignment of the stars-- that moment, Huan tensed her feet and in the same instant launched herself thirty paces to lash at her target.

Ice Cracking in Spring.  A good move to test the waters.  But, just as she knew would be the case, he easily leaped away from her crashing palm.  A vase standing on a marble pedestal was not so lucky.

A lady shrieked as the vase and pedestal shattered violently.  Gasps and alarmed silence filled the hall.  Huan ignored it all, facing her opponent in the traditional stance of challenge.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk and a descendant of the master Rhoen,” Huan stated calmly, “I will redress an insult made by Geda of Mountain Fire, your ancestor.  Do you accept my challenge, General Falon?”

Murmurs followed her statement.  The middle-aged man across from her had already recovered his stance, and gazed at her in consternation.  Around them, whispers sprouted like weeds.  Huan ignored it all, feeling all of her sharpness and intensity welling in her gaze on the chaperone.  At the edge of her perception, she sensed the soft steps of approaching servants who stopped at a single glance from Falon.

The general turned back to her.

“No,” he said, shortly and firmly.

Huan paused.  She cleared her throat.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk and a descendant of Rhoen--”

“I heard you the first time,” Falon barked.

“Then you’re obligated to accept!” Huan snapped back.

She had not foreseen this.  It just didn’t happen.  Members of the martial world in Jiyel competed with one another constantly.  Challenges, if reasonable, must always be answered.  There was no law saying so, of course, but to shirk a challenge was simply shameful.  Especially if the challenge is meant to redress a perceived wrong.  It was a matter of honor.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk--”

“I said no,” the general practically shouted. “Look around you, this is not the practice yard.”

“I’ll let them move out of the way--”

“No,” Falon stated in a tone clearly meant to be final. “You are disgracing our nation.  The summit is meant to achieve international harmony.  Not satisfy personal vendettas from over a century ago.”

He studied her, his great black brows drawn down.  She stared back stubbornly.  He sighed.

“But it is not honorable for me to deny your request.  We will spar at a later time.”

Instantly, Huan felt her face light up, but quickly stifled her natural reaction behind a serious nod.  She snapped into a respectful bow, as a younger warrior to a master.  Falon returned his own bow.  And with that, the silence was gradually broken and the hiss of gossip and tittering renewed.

-

Huan was pulled aside before the delegates were released to the formal dinner, and Jasper gave her a thorough dressing down over her actions.  Dangerous, unbecoming of a lady, and impolite.  Nearly worth sending her home over.  Huan took it stoically; she was used to getting told off by tutors and her family.  It would be worth it in the end.

-

A few days later, Falon was stewing in silent resentment and his own manly fortitude.  Princess Jaslen and young Lady Avalie had somehow roped him into a garden tea.  The table was full of chirping young women, fragile flowery china, and little cakes.  Jaslen had convinced him his attendance was beneficial to the summit, so he had stayed.  But Falon was hard put to find how debating the merits of white or brightly colored petticoats would ever prevent war.  In fact, the most exciting thing to happen to this garden party was the introduction of Jaslen’s nephew and that pirate prince, and the subsequent wave of giggling (giggling) that washed over the table.

And so, it was perhaps with a touch more relief than annoyance that Falon found himself one moment holding a teacup and the next-- the teacup quietly exploding with clinking slivers of porcelain and lukewarm tea falling into his lap.  A stick-- an ordinary little twig-- spun around on his saucer sitting on the table.

And then, beside the silver teapot and the delicate tiered tray of cakes, there were two feet.  The table’s chatter broke into little alarmed screams and gasps as the young women pushed away, some falling over their chairs and skirts.  Falon looked up to glower at Huan, the last minute delegate from Jiyel, standing on the tea table in the stance of challenge.  She glowered back.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk--”

“Young lady,” Falon barked. “You--  This is not the time--”

“Now, now,” Prince Zarad said, tone dripping in amusement.  He sipped at his tea, calmly seated with his long limbs casually tossed about. “General, you did make a promise to Lady Huan, did you not?”

“Yes, and what sort of example would you make to us delegates of Jiyel if you did not uphold one of our greatest virtues?” Lady Avalie mused over a plate of finger sandwiches. “Honor, my lord General.  Is not honor worth your consideration?”

Falon spluttered. “On a tea table?  In front of--” He trailed off, gesturing at the young women who stood about slack-jawed and half-witless.

“Oh, the table can be moved,” Hamin of Hise said lightly.

“And these are not ordinary ladies,” Zarad added, winking at the group of girls. “They are noblewomen of stiff character who would certainly not shy away from a display of Jiyel’s greatest skills.  They have the good taste to appreciate such artistry, no?”

One of the girls recovered herself to smile back at the Corvali prince. “Of course, your highness.  We would be delighted for such a diversion.”

“Yes,” Princess Jaslen exclaimed, popping up. “It should be such a divine show!  Come, General.  Be a dear.”

Falon had half a mind to balk again; martial skills were not meant for ‘shows’ or ‘diversions.’  They were serious disciplines that took a lifetime of dedication to master.  But he was not so old or so distant from the happenings of the martial world to be immune to the fire of a challenge.  Huan was right.  He was obligated to accept, and although he aimed to achieve international harmony, he could not bear it if he went home with personal disgrace.

He stood, and met Huan’s gaze.  She smoothly pulled into a bow, and he bowed in return.

The tables and chairs and china were whisked away, and Huan of Sparrowhawk and Falon of Mountain Fire faced one another.

They bowed again, and as Huan smoothly poured herself into a stance of offense, she gazed back at him.  For Falon, her eyes recalled a time before his service to the king, before the military exams.  The endless hours of devotion to your school’s teachings, the burning ambition and the faith in one’s potential.  The general planted his feet and brought his palms up.

“I will defeat you within a hundred movements,” Huan stated calmly, her breathing tranquil and deadly.

Despite himself, Falon grinned.  Huan of the Sparrowhawk had some nerve.  The general had not gotten to where he was on military tactics alone.  He was widely regarded as the best warrior of his generation, and only three people of the previous generation had defeated him.  The best, Master Nenne of the Black Cloud, had forced him into submission at the hundred and fourteenth movement.  And Huan, no matter her skill, was too young to be anywhere near Master Nenne.

But it did remind him of his own boasts as a youth.

Lady Avalie took on the role of officiator.  As the tension and intent bloomed between the two opponents, and the silence spread out into the far reaches of the sunny garden, Avalie smiled charmingly at all.  Slowly, she raised her hands before her, slipped back her sleeves to bare her slim fingers and-- crack went her hands with the commencement clap.

Huan flew.

She was fast.  Falon had already known that from her whipfire attack during the welcome feast.  He’d been able to see it in her light build and the way certain muscles in her legs were defined.  He’d known it, yet it was another thing to endure the endless barrage of blows from dagger-like fingers.

Ice Cracking in Spring.  Bamboo Thicket in a Gale.  Diving on Prey.

Relentlessly, without pause, Huan attacked while Falon defended.  It was not that he couldn’t attack (although if he had not maintained his form over the years, even he would be hard-pressed by her speed); it was the difference in their strengths.  Huan was light and fast;  Falon heavier and far stronger.  If she wanted to avoid a blow from him, she had no choice but to press him as hard as she could.  And if he did not time his blow (and it would certainly come, he was already sure of it) she would strike a touch.  With the way her flashing palms hit his defense in all the correct moments and places, he knew even her small strength on a precise spot could cripple him.

Unacceptable.  He had not gotten to where he was, respected by His Majesty and regarded as a great military mind, just to be shown up by some upstart Sparrowhawk with a chip on her shoulder.

At the thirty-third movement-- her Lynx Spinning over Scree against his Birch Sapling Bending-- Falon saw his opening.  A sudden twist of his torso up toward her palm, instead of away, surprised her, and the imbalanced and undulating form required for her move left her exposed to a confident switch in Falon’s palm.  He bore down on her with a surge.

Huan spun away, dancing back to the other side of the circle their spectators had cleared for them.

She kept form, arms so perfectly defending they could have been sculpted into place.  But, to the trained eye, a miniscule contraction in her left forearm revealed where Falon had scored his touch.  She would have an enormous bruise tomorrow.

But he was impressed; she had, in mid-motion, instantly changed course.  He’d been aiming to dislocate her shoulder, not glance off her forearm.

“Is it over?” one of the noblewomen hissed.

“My dear, I’m afraid it’s only just begun,” Zarad answered, amused.

It was true.  Huan’s intense, large eyes had not wavered once through the whole exchange.  There was no pain or distraction within her mind now.  She was nowhere near finished.

Good.  Because Falon had just warmed up.

He lunged toward her.  And Huan, rather than bend backward to avoid his shovel-like palms, leaped forward to meet him.

Time faded away.  All worldly concerns drifted off.  It was merely two beings, skilled in a dance equal parts violence and beauty, clashing and whirling together.  Falon had met many people in his time, but he had found over the years that there were fewer ways to better understand another human than by crossing blades or fists.  In the meticulous control in her breathing, he saw the bottomless well of determination within her, fuelled by a well-trained endurance.  In the particular twist of her feet, he saw the habits of an old master he’d encountered once years ago.

At the sixty-eighth movement, Falon scored another touch.  At the ninety-sixth movement, Huan scored her first touch.  A stab from her fingers, formed into a striking knife, on his inner wrist that if she had used more strength and if Falon had not adjusted minisculely for the blow would have ruined his hand for life.  As it was, it would be numb for at least a day.  At the one hundred and twenty-third movement, Falon tangled her elusive footwork and closed on her.

They both froze.

Falon’s hand rested in the hollow of her throat.  If he actually struck the blow, she would be dead.  The bout was over.

After what seemed an eternity, they stepped apart.  Huan bowed first, and deepest.  Falon returned her respect.

He straightened. “I would much welcome another match, when we both have our partners again.”

‘Partner’ in the martial world referred to one’s sword, or weapon of choice.  Sparrowhawk and Mountain Fire were both schools of the sword, and though all schools were grounded in hand-to-hand skills, Falon had to admit he was curious about an armed bout with the girl.

Huan stared at him.  She frowned.

“That will take too long,” she stated. “Please be prepared.  I will challenge you again during the summit.”

“What,” Falon said loudly, startled. “How many times are you planning on doing this?”

“As many as it takes,” Huan said matter-of-factly.

She bowed again, and stalked off.  Behind her, the young noblewomen were attempting-- attempting-- to speak intelligently amongst themselves about the match, Jaslen and Avalie where gossiping loudly, and Hamin and Zarad appeared to be sniggering about Falon’s expression.

-

My Lord General,

Our family, as well as all of Jiyel surely, bears an immense respect for your achievements both on and off the field of battle in the name of our mother nation and her king.  We are surely smiled upon by the heavens to have not only a fellow countryman but an exemplary member of our society acting as a chaperone at the Summit.

As chaperone, we know you will look upon our best and brightest, our most accomplished sons and daughters, as charges to be guided down appropriate paths for cooperation amongst the seven nations.

That being said, my wife and I can only beg your magnanimity in regards to our deficiency as parents.  Our daughter, Huan, we know has few rights to serve as delegate.  Although she has some skill in swordsmanship and sparring, she did not take the exam for consideration as member of the summit, and we very much doubt that she would have distinguished herself if she had.  I am embarrassed to admit it, but we have not been able to cultivate in her much ability as a scholar.

She may also be harboring inconvenient notions of her duty to our family with regards to you personally, General.  If this is the case, I can only again ask for your generous nature to regard her with an open mind.  She is a young girl, naive to the ways of the world, and has yet to forgo her childish idealisms.

Again, if our Huan offends you, my Lord General, we can only offer our profuse apologies.

Sincerely,

Lord Ru, assistant magistrate of the ninety-third district

Falon frowned at the letter in his hand.

It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting.  Nothing about its contents was improper, exactly, but its sentiments rang untrue for him.  He glanced at the other letter on his desk.  Pulling it towards himself, he cracked its wax seal marked with the same insignia as the seal on the first letter.

Falon,

Forgive my presumption for taking the liberty of not using your titles, but I knew your grandfather when he didn’t have a thread of gray hair and I met you when you were still cutting milk teeth.  Besides, I’m too old to be mincing words with a kid like you.

My third son is useless and will try to tell you that my favorite granddaughter, Huan, is as well.  But she has more talent in her little finger than he will ever exhibit in his entire miserable life.  She has the potential to be the greatest martial artist our nation has ever produced.  I suspect you may already know this by the time my letter reaches you.

She has a good nature and is a very sweet child, but she needs to see more of the world.  Unfortunately, the opportunities for her are slim in Jiyel.  She is no doubt challenging you at every turn.  I want you to answer her challenges.  It will help her grow, and it won’t hurt you to get your head out of your scenarios and actually sweat a little for your victories again.

Ulla, of Sparrowhawk

By the way, I was the one who told her to get revenge for my father, Rhoen.  Better keep an eye out, you Mountain Fire scum.

Falon peered at the second letter.  It’s tone was all too familiar, somehow.  He wondered if this was some practical joke by the Matchmaker.

Inept scholar.  Naive, idealistic girl.  Good-natured and sweet.  He was struggling to resolve these terms with the determined young warrior he’d crossed fists with.

And ‘Mountain Fire scum’?  Falon snorted and threw down the letter.  This certainly was a matter of the martial world.  He couldn’t remember the last time someone insulted him to his face; his time at court had been long and tedious, indeed.

His hand unconsciously went to his belt, where his sword would usually hang.  The Isle could at least allow steel in cases of show bouts.  Maybe he should start carrying a wooden practice sword.  No matter how embarrassing carrying a child’s weapon would be.  But it wouldn’t do to appear as if he was concerned about Huan of Sparrowhawk.  No.  He was General Falon.  He’d only been defeated properly three times in his life.  The next six weeks certainly weren’t going to change that.

-

At luncheons, private dinners, and suddenly in the middle of hallways, Huan began a hunt whose sole target was painted on the back of General Falon.  She would burst from cupboards and drop from ceiling beams to attack the man, and begin the rapidfire exchange of blows that were quickly becoming a favorite entertainment for the delegates.  The general was suddenly inundated with invitations in the hopes that Huan would make an appearance as well, kicking aside wine goblets to aim at Falon’s face.  You were considered a bit out of touch if you hadn’t attended at least one event where the pair from Jiyel crossed fists.

Betting pools began on how many touches the general would score, if Huan would score any at all, and how many movements it would take to defeat her.  Because, like clockwork, Huan would eventually make some misstep and be forced to submit.

Some bouts she did not score a single touch.  Her worst defeat came at a match with a mere sixty-eight movements.  Her best showing lasted for one hundred and ninety-two.  But without fail, no matter the results or General Falon’s admonishments, she promised to attempt the challenge again.  Her eyes perpetually burned with a fierce resolve.  Falon had a theory that she slept with her eyes open, lest that gaze burn holes through her eyelids.

-

Palm of the Fishing Bear.  Palm of the Fishing Bear.  Palm of the Fishing Bear.

A thrust of the rigid palm, fingers crooked like claws, down and curving out and inward to cripple an opponent’s shins.  But it was a training dummy she’d dragged into a quiet corner of the castle grounds that her hand lashed out at, the wood groaning with each strike.

Huan jumped back, stretching her limbs to cool them.  She wiped sweat from her brow and considered her hand.  Calloused from years of training, some fingertips cracked and rough, the shredded sheet she was using to bind her hands for hand-to-hand work.  A stubborn paper cut that would not move on.  Rolling back her sleeve a little, she considered her wrist.  If she was not imagining things, the tendons were swollen.

She glanced back at the dummy.  The scars she’d placed in its oaken surface were not as deep as she was accustomed to.

She wasn’t imagining things.

She was getting weaker.

-

Huan paused at a corner within the castle’s grand library, hidden from sight.  She listened carefully.  The librarian was busy pushing a cart laden with books through the stacks, and the perpetual resident of the library-- Duke Lyon -- was breathing in the steady, slow rhythm of deep sleep.  His little fort towered several paces away, far beyond hearing range of Huan’s soft steps.  Even if he were awake, and even with his moderate training, Huan doubted Lyon would notice anything beyond his scrolls and books.

There was no else in the library, so Huan rounded the corner.

She gazed up at the high reaching shelves.  Full of leather and paper and learning.  Not knowing where to start, she pursed her lips and began at random.  There were tall books, thick books, thin and squat.  She pulled a couple out, here and there, and flipped them open.  She stared at the pages for a long time.  Sometimes she turned to a new page, sometimes she only peered at the paper surfaces with hard eyes.

Things had not changed since coming to Vail Isle.  The black marks on the white pages, meant to signify words and sentences and ideas, merely squirmed and jumped over one another when Huan glanced at them.

It was as if the writing bore her some personal grudge, knew exactly when she was looking at them, and chose those exact moments to gambol about.  Sometimes, if Huan was patient and used her fiercest glare, she could tame the letters long enough to eek out a few phrases.  If she was particularly persistent, and willing to sacrifice long, arduous hours, she could even tough her way through several pages.  But it was so hard and tiresome and never as rewarding as sword practice.

And.  It was… upsetting.  It reminded her of the worst of the tutors, the ones who smacked her hands with their little rods even though she had always been sure it wasn’t her fault.  It reminded her of the nausea that rose in her throat whenever she sat in the great testing halls as a child, staring blankly at her blank exam pages.  It reminded her of her older siblings, all with their own minor or major scholarly accomplishments and therefore loved by their parents.

She hated it.  But.  She could not avoid it this time.  She was sure her survival rested in these leather volumes, spiteful and hateful things as they were.

Huan spent some time quietly battling with obtuse script.  When she heard Duke Lyon stirring in his corner, she slipped the volume she’d been holding back into its place and left the library without a sound.

-

When several days passed by quietly, Falon found himself at loose ends.  He had not heard even a whisper of Huan’s expert footwork, not even the smallest breeze from her lightning fast lunges.  It surprised him that he actually missed being abruptly forced into a fight.

Therefore, on a sunny day strolling through the castle’s solariums when Falon found a long thin object hurtling toward his face, he struggled to keep a grin from his lips as his hand automatically flew to catch a wooden practice sword before it could brain him.

He frowned at Huan, standing before him with her own practice sword.

“You never learn your limits,” he scolded. “To be ambitious is one thing, to be a fool is another.”

Ignoring his statement, the girl bowed.  The solarium’s other occupants perked up at the sudden scene, and began to titter amongst themselves.

Straightening, she glowered at him. “I’ve been reflecting.  I want you to accept me as a disciple.”

Falon raised a brow. “My disciple?  Will you then abandon the Way of the Sparrowhawk you’re so proud of?”

“No,” Huan answered firmly. “I mean, teach me for the remainder of the summit.”

“Why would you want that?  You have all the skills you need.  Anything I could teach you would be incompatible with your style.”

She stared at him with burning eyes. “So I can learn all your secrets and defeat you with them.”

A snort of laughter went up in the sparse crowd strung around them.  But Huan held no shred of irony or duplicity in her gaze.  Her words, like all her words and actions, were sincere.

“I see,” Falon stated.  Then, he couldn’t help himself-- he laughed. “You upstart, presumptuous punk.  What makes you think I’ll accept such reasoning?”

“I’ll prove myself,” she stated. “I will gain a touch within fifty movements.  If I can, make me your student.”

The general paused.  It was not impossible for her. In fact, the touches she had been scoring had been coming more and more quickly.  But the past few bouts had a touch of urgency in them that they had not begun with; he’d been surprised, therefore, at the period of respite where she disappeared.  He studied her for a moment, and raised the wooden sword-- little better than a stick really-- and gestured toward her.

“Come,” he said.

-

She did not know what to do.

Her hands were starting to shake just holding a teacup.  The things that defined her, the things that filled her with purpose-- her strength and agility -- were slipping away like fine snow in the wind.  If she could see the person that had done this to her, she could have it out of them.  If she could cut with a blade the poison that ran through her, she could defeat it.

As it was, her furtive forays into the library and the alien world of research were useless.  Worse than useless, since they wasted energy and sparked anxiety and anger in her.

What if she died like this?  Would they say, oh serves her right, how apt, when she didn’t try hard enough at her studies?  Would they remember her efforts at all at perfecting her family’s Way?

If she could at least defeat General Falon, at least there would be that left of her name.  But even that possibility was becoming slimmer and slimmer.  Score a touch within fifty movements?  Ha!  She barely avoided defeat until the hundred and eighth!

And she had not been able to muster the strength to challenge him again.  She was afraid she would reveal her ailment to the general, who now, after so many bouts, knew her almost as well as her grandmother.  She did not know the cunning ways of court, but like any battle she knew it was beyond dangerous to ever show your weakness.

She did not know what to do.

-

“I will show you my sincerity in fifteen movements.”

Falon studied her.  It was the same fierceness, the same unwavering determination, but something had changed since she’d declared she would be his student.  A stillness beyond stillness, a certainty beyond certainty.  A slowness that spoke more of depth, of commitment than any quenching of her fire.

It was a rare afternoon when the ballroom stood empty but for the long shadows cutting the polished floor and the silken rustle of the tall drapes at the cavalcade of windows.  This time, there was no nuisance of an audience with their vulgar curiosity.

Falon nodded.  They paid their respects, and began.

She careened toward him, her feet eating up the glossy tile of the ballroom like a stone skipping over a lake instantaneously, a collapse in the fabric of the world that made time obsolete.  She was there, now she was upon him.  All at once.

At first, Falon did not know what had happened to him.  She struck a touch at the first movement, one that he barely deflected from becoming a defeat.  The next string of paired maneuvers seemed to occur with him mired in a sludge.  He was forced to bend and twist in ways that recalled the broken rhythms and scrambling of his three defeats.  What had happened?  It was like a sense he didn’t even know he’d been using had been cut down.

And then, as she flew backward from him releasing a blow, weighted with the iron defense it had sprung from, he saw it.  The way she planted her foot, and the contortion of her leg muscles as she prepared to fly back into the furor.

It was the first he’d seen it.  He’d heard of it.  But never would he have believed her to be so foolish.

He had to stop this.  Now.  Fifteen movements would be too late.

Falon waited.  Or rather, being that this fight, somehow only milliseconds in length, gave him no room to wait, he sharpened himself.  With the whetstone of his will, he found the razor-edge stillness with which to cut down the outer world.  He observed, and he saw it--

Falon groaned with the pain of releasing the tension in his calves and thighs, the feverish spring of his arms in the aftermath of the motion that had sent Huan crashing to the marble tile and skidding, prone, several paces away.  She was silent.

The general heaved with heavy breaths.  Still, he moved toward her with a quiet fury in his eyes.

“How dare you,” he said. “How could you be such a fool.”

The girl pushed up from the floor, her arms shaking.  She did not meet his gaze.

“These things,” he continued, “are meant for war.  For real battles.  Where lives are at stake.  Not show bouts.  Not trivial, stupid pride.  Show me your sincerity?” He made a sound of disgust. “You have only shown me the paper-thin depth of your character.”

“I know,” Huan finally said, her head still down. “I know.  But--”

Her hands on her knees clenched and bunched her tunic. “I know, but I don’t have any options left.  There’s no time.”

Falon frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Huan glanced up at him, then back down.  She shook her head and remained silent.

The general sighed heavily and winced.  The move to stop her had taken a lot out of him, and he would certainly pay for it in the morning.  He could already feel a jittery sort of numbness in his limbs.

“I don’t know what is weighing on you,” he said quietly. “But you are alive and young and strong.  You are fully capable of conquering many obstacles, so there is no need to resort to such tactics.  You have time.  And if you don’t, make time.”

Huan, her head still bent, knelt silent for a long stretch of time, as if absorbing his words carefully and fully.  Then, she bent in the most respectful bow possible; one meant for the subject to her king, or the child to her parents and masters.

Falon studied her for a moment, and then made her get up and go on to bed.  He needed sleep, too, desperately.  Maybe a hot bath first.  To loosen his muscles a bit and make his morning at least incrementally less excruciating.

-

“...if, for example, we take Nadya’s proposition to the fifth emperor of the Jurri dynasty in Corval, Emperor Perr Deut Zhardent, for the establishment of a social construct wherein the tenets of Grae’s aesthetic theory were followed to a letter, and the subsequent disastrous results which culminated in the horrific Red Canvas Movement, insulting the Dowager Queen Benice of Revaire as--”

A hand interrupted any further progression through the text.

A real, three-dimensional hand, that is, placed upon the page in front of Lyon’s nose.  He looked up, his bones creaking from disuse.

Lady Huan scowled back at him.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a long time,” she accused. “What if I had been an assassin?”

“Then you would have killed me,” Lyon replied.

Huan’s frown deepened. “Weren’t you trained by Master Ideer from Brass Palm?  She would be appalled.”

“If you had really been set on killing me, I probably would have reacted,” Lyon answered.

“Probably?”

“Look, is there something you need?”

Huan closed her mouth against whatever outraged statement she was about to express.  She released a stream of air from her nose to disperse her annoyance.  Pulling out a chair at the table where Lyon sat (she assumed there was a table underneath all the texts), she perched herself across from him.  Huan stared at Lyon with her hard eyes, and he pushed his spectacles up.

“I have a puzzle for you,” she stated. “I can’t solve it on my own, so I need your help.”

Lyon straightened to focus on her fully, rather than let his eyes sidle to the open books before him.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“It all started when I got this letter…”

[quilleth]

For the 7kpp meme: 11, 15, 16, and 24.

11) Parents- Jiyel (For Elisabeth…because I just remake her any time I play a scholar xD).  Both of her parents are still alive.  Her mother, Mei is rather short and has a difficult time staying still; she has to be busy constantly (even if being busy means pestering her children to improve themselves….especially so).  Her father (I haven’t figured out a name for him yet) is a workaholic, and researches ways to make agriculture more efficient, and her mother does a little bit of research into herbal remedies, especially as beauty products.  Also, going off of British court titles, I imagine her father being kind of like a baronet (the lowest rank of nobility) or his family having been given notoriety because of the research (which would technically mean Elisabeth would be Miss not Lady going by English court titles).Jiya is a cousin on Mei’s side (Mei married down for lurve d’awww)

15) Childhood friends: (I’m probably just going to roll with Elisabeth because let’s be honest, I haven’t thought quite this in depth about most of my other babes yet xD)  I like the idea of Jiyel MC and Jiya being friends, so Jiya and Elisabeth are pretty good friends, and Elisabeth has a habit of befriending the staff (that’s how she wound up with that stable hand crushing on her).  Her best friend though, was her older brother. 

16) Current friends:  WELLIN CINNAMON ROLLS!  Elisabeth is besties with both Lisle and Penelope, and she utterly adores them and would smash all the things if they got hurt.  She’s also very good friends with Emmett, Lyon, Ana, Hamin (assuming I’m playing her on observer path) and Clarmont. She’s got good standing with both Cordelia and Zarad.  Basically the only ones she’s NOT friends with are Jarrod and Gisette.  She and Avalie aren’t really friends or rivals, they’re kind  of like good acquaintances.  Elisabeth doesn’t know what to make of Avalie, but she respects her abilities. And again, Elisabeth makes nice with her staff ;)

24) Future children:  Elisabeth and Hamin end up with at least two children (probably more though), a boy who is more bookish and quiet and a girl who is adventurous and outgoing.  The boy, (I haven’t thought of names for them yet) is their first and is born within the year following the Summit ;)  Because ~someone~ didn’t keep good enough track of her cycle and plan ahead and ends up preggers while they’re sailing home xD (I imagine that they’d go to Jiyel and collect her stuff, etc. first, then go to Hise, so there are several weeks on board…in close quarters…with lots of pheromones … ;)  Both kids would have darker hair and green eyes (since both she and Hamin have green eyes.  IF they have more than the two, one probably has lighter hair and darker eyes)I’m sort of undecided if she and Jasper would have children, mostly because I’m not sure how that would work with the Historian faction and ~rules~ and all that jazz.  But if they do, they don’t have a child until a few years after the Summit, and I think they would probably only have one (who I imagine would be utterly doted on, and would end up with blonde hair like Elisabeth, but violet eyes like Jasper)

Thank you for asking!! :D

[faejilly]

pique

idk, ending the year with all the bits and bobs of 7kpp feels that I never quite got out there during Fictober, thanks to returning to work. Have Lady Hanako of Jiyel and General Falon. (We’re on a chaperones kick! Now I just need to manage something with Jaslen... 🤣)

Lady Hanako was inclined to feel some sympathy for General Falon.

She met him briefly before he departed for the Isle, leaving before the delegates themselves to prepare with the other Chaperones. He’d introduced himself, a stiff bow and a hint of a frown in his eyes, and she’d barely refrained from apologizing for her existence rather than introducing herself in turn. (But she wasn’t what any of them had planned for, and she knew exactly how little her people liked having their plans disrupted. She wasn’t thrilled by it either, after all.)

As a Chaperone he was supposed to be unbiased, to assist all the delegates. In theory, at least. In practice he was, of course, expected to aid Jiyel to the best of his ability, and Hana didn’t envy him that balancing act.

Especially not considering who he had to work with: Duke Lyon, whose disdain for the proceedings could be seen from the far side of the Corvali deserts, Lady Avalie, who was sharp enough to cut the rest of them to ribbons without getting a drop of blood on the toes of her very nice shoes, and herself, entirely unprepared and unexpected, with a title that was a bare courtesy, and very little of the usual expected training.

She hoped the other four delegates, who’d mostly avoided her on the voyage over as if afraid her own lack of preparation would somehow taint their own plans with her presumed incompetence, would refrain from causing any other problems for the General and Jiyel.

That inclination toward sympathy died at the Welcome Feast, when the General managed to somehow look down his nose at her and avoid her eyes at the same time and she realized he was already planning how to make the disastrous mistakes he expected of her not reflect back on him. Not a glimmer of intent to help the last minute addition could be seen in his expression or his posture; he was perhaps even better at long-distance disdain than Lyon.

He’d already decided that she wasn’t worth the effort. 

She barely refrained from stomping her foot and pouting, but she supposed that would just prove him right. She swept right past him, and greeted Princess Jaslen instead.

She was going to prove him so wrong, he was going to regret his behavior for years.

Decades!

At least.

[faejilly]

Yellow roses for the language of flowers meme, for any pair (or group!) of friends you want.

flower meme

I have mentioned before how I am entirely incapable of not being friends with Cordelia in 7KPP, no matter what sort of character I set out to make, so this is. Kind of joy/friendship but probably more first impressions, I am bad at this prompt thing, it’s been too long since I did one.

She was still. In the entire hall of mingling and milling delegates, the few spots of stillness stood out. 

Dowager Countess Yvette of Arland had a small circle of space around her chair, but delegates washed up against her, short soft conversations and the shift of her hands as she spoke. Lady Avalie of Jiyel was beautiful and sharp and deadly and never shifted from her spot, as if the entire rest of the party was swirling around simply for her own edification. She looked as if she was poised to strike, tension coiling somewhere behind her eyes; even though she wasn’t moving, she clearly wasn’t at rest.

The Hise delegation was the least still, which made Princess Cordelia stand out all the more. Quiet and poised, in a beautiful dress and immaculately styled hair. She greeted every other delegate in exactly the same way, calm and sweet and polite. No favorites, no dismissals, but she was as warm as Princess Gisette was cold, as gentle as Lady Jaslen was sharp. 

She was a joy to watch, an exquisite moment of peace in an otherwise frantic world. It was impossible to tell how far beneath her manners her real thoughts lingered. It was equally impossible not to want to find out, if only to see if her real smile was somehow even sweeter than the one she gifted with every greeting, every farewell.

How would she smile at a friend?

[ellebeebee]

Late to the party, but if you're still doing the post-7KPP week thing... 4, and/or any of these you feel like for anyone (but especially Sabine b/c she's amazing); 16, 19, 20? :D

Under the cut~

4.  Siblings - Revaire

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT CHRETIEN.

Chretien is the second oldest after Sabine.  He’s four years younger than her.  He is the ‘good guy’ that everyone deserves in their life.  He has an easy-going and amiable personality that adapts pretty easily to any situation.  He smiles easily, and is an impeccable gentleman.  A sweetheart.

Chretien grew up largely protected by Sabine from the worst of his parents’ nonsense.  But he’s not a fool, and like his older sister has mixed feelings about their parents.  But unlike Sabine, he hates confrontation and generally stood back whenever a fight occurred.  He harbors some guilt from this, that he let his sister take on the entire burden of their siblings and the entire responsibility of pushing their parents into occasionally acting like parents.

When Sabine got married, she was able to send him to university.  He spent some time studying economics and trade, and then took a job at an investment house despite his sister’s attempts to persuade him otherwise.  Chretien is aiming to ultimately pull the Guyenne family up by its bootstraps, and repair the estate and their reputation.  However, it puts Chretien himself in a strange spot.  Some of his noble friends cannot imagine associating with a person employed in trade.  A proper nobleman should be idle, and not work like some merchant’s son.

After Sabine remarries, I imagine Zarad will make many attempts to help Chretien out, but he will refuse of course.  So Zarad will find some ways to have proxies invest in Chretien’s company.  And his proxies will end up competing with Sabine’s.  Chretien himself will be blissfully unaware, just thinking that he’s having a lucky streak finally.

Roselin is the next child in the family.  She is altogether too much like her mother, too silly to be as pretty as she is.  At eighteen, she’s already run away from home four times.  Two times with girlfriends, two others merely because she was told off by Sabine.  She doesn’t have a spiteful temperament, but she has a terrible victim complex and thrives on drama.  She’s their parent’s favorite.

I’ve mentioned Victoire before in another ask, but Sabine considers a sister as well.  She’s a few years older than Sabine, and carefully maintains a mysterious air.  She is very good at being a lady’s maid, running a household, and digging up things that people would rather be left buried.

The others are works in progress, but imagine a gaggle of cute puppies with pretty dark curls.

16. Friends - Current

Sabine is generally close to everyone with a special fondness for Ria, Cordelia, and Penn.  She can’t help adopting the big sister role with them.  Her need to mother people is pretty irresistible.  She has had some small conversations with Clarmont about certain writers they are both mutually acquainted with.  She pretends to dislike Hamin on principle, since he and Zarad gang up on her.  The exchanges with Avalie have been terribly amusing and an enjoyable challenge; she looks forward to what their relationship will become in the following years.

She’s of course exchanging letters with her dear Victoire and Guillaume back home; she’s heartbroken that it may potentially be some time until she sees either again.

Huan let Ana down pretty instantly when they met; she’s planning to live in Jiyel forever.  But that just opened the way for them to have a great friendship wherein they try to punch each other a lot.  She and Sayra probably haven’t said more than a dozen words to each other, but they can tell just meeting each other’s eyes that they are the same type in many ways.  Zarad finds Huan’s actions incredibly amusing/admirable; Huan finds him to be a bit of a pest.

19. Rivalry - Past

Sabine first came into court with few friends.  Her now friend Guillaume Comtois hated her, but they resolved their differences.  There was a later incident in which Sabine and Guillaume had to confront a ghost of Alain’s (the Baron Namaire’s son’s) past– his once fiancee.  It’s one of those things that’s on my long list of things to write.

Huan, as a pretty devout student of the Way of the Sparrowhawk, spent a lot of her childhood getting into fights with rival schools.  Her parents would chew her out for these incidents; her grandmother would only half-heartedly scold her.  Challenges in the martial world are par-the-course, and the childhood spats are seen as stepping stones.  Huan led the other Sparrowhawk children around like a gang of little terrors.

20. Rivalry - Current

Sabine of course has the standard silly thing with Blain, and she enjoys the frenemy-ness between herself and Avalie.  She maintains a careful distance from Gisette and Jarrod, and has done her best to keep their attention from herself.

Huan has successfully pissed off Blain, Gisette, and Jarrod.  To a lesser extent: Jasper (over her unmanageable behavior), Woodly, Jaslen, and Avalie.  I’m half tempted to write some sort of incident between her and Jarrod because I know she would  d r a g  him.  Literally.  By his silly little reverse-rattail.

Surprisingly, she dislikes Clarmont.  Even if your intentions are good, she intensely disapproves of people who never say what they mean.

-

Thank youuuuu for the ask~~