#ManorHouse

[greysmycolor]

📍 Manor House, Castle Combe, Wiltshire, UK

[photo-snap-stories]

PL:

Zespół pałacowo-parkowy, Ciechanowiec - Nowodwory

Został wybudowany na przestrzeni lat 1875-80 dla hr. Michała Konstantego Starzeńskiego i jego żony Elżbiety z Ożarowskich. Projekt sporządził Julian Ankiewicz. Wcześniej w miejscu obecnego pałacu stały dwa dwory, najpierw drewniany, później zastąpiony przez murowany.

Pałac został spalony w roku 1941. Powojenna odbudowa nastąpiła dopiero w latach 1966-69. W latach 90. XX wieku pałac pełnił funkcję siedziby Muzeum Rolnictwa im. Krzysztofa Kluka. W otaczającym pałac parku urządzono skansen.

EN:

Palace and park complex, Ciechanowiec - Nowodwory, Poland

It was built over the years 1875-80 for Count Michał Konstanty Starzeński and his wife Elżbieta née Ożarowska. The design was prepared by Julian Ankiewicz. Earlier, in the place of the present palace, there were two mansions, first wooden, later replaced by a brick one.

The palace was burnt down in 1941. Post-war reconstruction took place in the years 1966-69. In the 90s of the twentieth century, the palace served as the seat of the Krzysztof Kluk Museum of Agriculture. An open-air museum has been arranged in the park surrounding the palace.

[simon-the-stuffa]

New statue for the front garden. #RegencyManorHouse, #ManorLife, #RegencyStyle, #HistoricHomes, #EnglishManor, #ElegantInteriors, #LuxuryLiving, #ManorHouseLuxury, #ManorDreams, #RegencyEra #statue #manorhouse #regency #georgianhouse (at London, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co2tvqfKBHi/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[jerez72]

[arunsilva]

Nice afternoon out having some Afternoon Tea with the parents @barnetthillhotel 😊💜. Do love a great afternoon tea with a wander of the grounds after 😊 #Estate #Surrey #BarnettHillHotel #ManorHouse #Gardens #SurreyLife #AfternoonTea #Fun #Outing #CountryLife #IgersSurrey (at Barnett Hill - A Surrey Hills Destination) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqOJlwQIGA4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[renehorstmanndesign]

Today we had a long business meeting at the Castle Marienburg near Hannover. It is always an experience to visit this impressive cultural monument. #monument #castle #hanover #manorhouse #château #chateau #businessmeeting #project #projects #schloss #schlossplatz #hannover #interiordesign #interieur #intérieur #design (hier: Schloss Marienburg) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpNw6PoNa5s/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[kramies]

While Im here helping Sting move into his new place… guess who made the final “Top 200 radio of 2022” charts with Adele, Post Malone, Lizzo and my favorite Aurora… so I’m retiring.. just kidding.. Now, I need to help Sting carry his couch in… 2023 is already looking cool.. I need new friends…. . . . . . . . #castle #castles_oftheworld #castles #castlesoftheworld #manorhouse #manor #manor_n_castle #castlesoffrance #beautifuldestinations #beautifulhomes #homesabroad #castlehomes #europeancastles #kramies #kramiesmusic #kramieswindt #sting #postmalone #edsheeran #aurora #aurorarunaway #auroramusic #lizzo #taylorswift #taylorswiftfan #adele #bestmusic https://www.instagram.com/p/Co7kAstLjmK/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[beatrixiv]

@bafta @itv #ManorHouse @pbs TV show COBRA on @masterpiecepbs AARON MONTGOMERY WARD https://www.instagram.com/p/Clg4ZBOPuSz/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[stochastique-blog]

Cool

From Longtown the route takes you through a single track road to Hay-on-Wye and another Castle. This one is complete with medieval scaffolding and looks like it’s been that way for a year or two.

#hayonwye #hayonwyecastle #powis #castle #castlesofinstagram #castlesofengland #medevial #medievalarchitecture #building #property #architecture #fortification #ruins #château #estate #history #historicsite #facade #palace #manorhouse #arch #ancienthistory #statelyhome #middleages #historichouse #house (at Hay-on-Wye) https://www.instagram.com/p/CDV_mX-DGdp/?igshid=124gwzx7wudb2

[falderaletcetera]

today i'm thinking with sudden fondness about how my old guilds on a roleplay site I no longer frequent used to handle players that just stopped logging in. (this post is pretty much just me talking to myself 'cos I remembered a thing and started giggling about it, apologies.)

my second guild is the one I normally remember for this - its hall and home was this open-to-all sprawling manorhouse with mad extra bits added basically wherever we wanted. it had tea shops and gift shops; it had a bloody great hole someone had dug in the main room, branching off into underground tunnels; it had two seperate quaint english villages with their own peculiarities; it had a chapel to david bowie accessible through a magic book in the library that led, of course, to an oubliette.

you know. normal manor stuff.

(I had a tent up on the balcony probably because the guild leader thought it was funny. I also got a corner of my own in an old map room when I decided to buckle down and map the place out, which I only found while exploring and mapping that godsforsaken place, which I assume he also found funny. bless him.)

when players went in there and just timed out, in the early days, their names would be left as "ghosts" even when the account was automatically deleted. so the first time that happened we kept that player/character as a hatstand. it was a thing. he was a beloved part of the culture at the time, once got stolen and once briefly turned back into a Real Boy (though I forget how that arc was resolved), and I still think of him with great affection.

but I'd forgotten until today that my first guild, with a hall for members only, had sentient beanbags. which, saying that now, seems like I'm going to segue into "the resident wizard turned timed out players into beanbags to add to our neverending horde" and honestly that would have made more sense. maybe that was the story for some of them! they already existed when I arrived, and I assumed they were just one more strange phenomenon in a Place of Strange Phenomena. but when players joined and then promptly went inactive we acted like they very unwisely decided to have a nap in a pile of sentient carnivorous beanbags and were never seen again.

this only ever really happened to players who didn't make an impression, who didn't establish their characters and would be vanishingly unlikely to return, yet alone under the same name, and who thus wouldn't have much right to be upset that we'd established their very funny and probably horrific demises without them present.

we had fun.

[ringleaderising]

my lore context now revealing "you can store raw magic within specific containers for later application" actually makes another part of my lore make sense.

A handful of hatchlings unattended in a grand, old manorhouse converted into an orphanage.

A handful of hungry hatchlings with odd, hollow bodies and too-sharp teeth.

[deepdeanvsweston]

Sorry if this is an unwelcome ask, but would you tell us about ur new OC? (no pressure!!)

NOT an unwelcome ask!!! I love this ask!!! My previous post was literally just me shamelessly fishing for someone to ask me about her :)

I've thoughts lots about her!!! She's currently called Theodora Dupont, though liable to change because I am unsure about her surname and I can't decide between Theodora and Isadora (so uhhh. please weigh in team on what we like best)

I always thought it to have been hilarious for Beanie to have had a gf and just having a completely chill time while everyone else had a menty b about their sexuality. Daisy's on her third summer lez breakdown meanwhile Beanie's out here skinny dipping with her gorgeous French gf without a care in the world

She's been in my head for a while, and was originally called Elderflower. She lives in a manorhouse in Nice, France. Their families are old friends because their fathers know each other through their button business (I think that the Martineaus are in the button business? Anyway they are now). When Beanie was 4, they went to visit the Duponts' factory in France to trade, and set up a partnership. Beanie ofc was put with Theodora for the duration of the trip, with a nanny to look after them. They pretty much became best friends immediately.

Theodora was delighted to have a female friend because she has 3 older brothers, and so always felt slightly left out - especially being homeschooled. Beanie was just glad to have a friend at all.

Very slightly inspired by Irene in the Malory Towers series, and so is very scatterbrained and always forgetting where she put anything. When it's windy, her mother will say to her 'look! There goes your mind'. Often speaks to her mother, and has even rung Beanie up occasionally, to tell them she's going put something down and will ring to ask where she put it when she needs it for later. Her forgetfulness makes her upset sometimes because she can forget that she said she'd do a favour, or someone's birthday.

Theodora's generally pleasant, though can be very cynical about things she doesn't like, though at root of her cynicism she's simply fearful to try new things and get out her comfort zone. Exceptionally judgy about Kitty when Beanie talks about her (though it's very likely it's just jealousy 👀). Contradictorily, can be very idealistic and when she wants to do something (ie. convince Beanie to go swimming with her in the ocean at midnight) she will take an 'it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission' approach. Her idealism makes her very happy go lucky and optimistic as her plans do go right (most of the time).

Theodora used to be taller than Beanie (only by about an inch thought) but since Beanie's growth spurt, she's shorter. She has dark skin, and curly hair that reaches about a quarter of a way down her arms; Theodora doesn't like her hair in her face but enjoys having it down so will often be in a half up half down hairstyle.

Desperately desperately desperately wants to be a ballet dancer and dreams of being a prima ballerina, though her parents are trying to push her towards something they deem more realistic. Her governess has noticed she loves animals and is trying to get her to foster an interest in that. She'll grow up to be a vet and does like her job, though confesses to Beanie she still dreams of sparkly tutus and pirouettes and floating on air.

This turned out SO long,,, genuinely had no idea all this was stacked up in my mind about her. If you want to know anything else, please ask!!!

[racefortheironthrone]

Did all the medieval nobles in real history have castles like in ASOIAF

All? No.

Castles were very expensive to construct and the right to crenellate was jealously controlled by the monarchy, so it was generally the wealthiest and most powerful among the nobility who had them.

However, a little bit lower down the rungs of the nobility, you had noblemen who could afford to build a castle, but not the crenellation tax that the king collected as his fee, and thus you got "adulterine castles." (To use a modern consumer goods analogy, these are knock-offs compared to the "Gucci" of a licensed castle.)

Yet further down, your broad middle of the nobility would most likely have a fortified manorhouse - which is taking the manor house, the one thing that pretty much all medieval nobles had by definition, and essentially building a thick walled extension and other defenses (like moats or ditches) around the manor house that let the residents withstand a bandit attack or brief siege.

So it's more a spectrum than a binary of castle vs. no castle.

[simon-the-stuffa]

Chandelier now hanging in the drawing room. Thanks to @lewisbc97 #manorhouse #drawingroom #regency #chandelier #lighting #regencystyle #interior #myhouse (at London, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn5IMucqint/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[jadewing-realms]

one day, i will write an astarion origin novel.

it's in the universe, it is a goal for my future, I call dibs, look out wotc and larian, I'm coming for your boy.

aka my brain wouldn't shut up yesterday and now I have a vague plot concept and an imaginary trailer that won't leave my head.

the trailer opens with a fancy carriage with a personal entourage rumbling down the road. a shot of well-adorned wrists, pale hands turning the pages of a book, voice-over of Astarion describing a city, building up with a sense of intrigue until the footman goes "City ho, my lord!" and one poised hand parts the curtains over the windows to reveal a young Astarion with moon-green eyes peering out. his expression goes from curiosity to his signature smirk before there's a sweeping shot of the city itself, as the monologue culminates in its name.

Baldur's Gate.

we get a montage of shots of exciting things happening across the city, bright lights and bazaars and dances and clubs, then we watch the carriage stop in front of a grand manorhouse, where awaits an elf with longer silver curls and matching green eyes, who addresses Astarion with handsome head high and a familial grin. "Well, if it isn't our newest magistrate. Vianavia, baby brother."

"Solaire."

some glimpses of this guy in regalia, on a judge's seat, High Justice Solaire Ancunin. voiced over with something like "Mother thinks the city will ruin you. I, on the other hand, think you have what it takes to make it yours. Just follow my lead; I'll teach you everything you need to know."

the two brothers traversing the city, from business to leisure, ending at a gala, where solaire catches astarion by the shoulder to subtly murmur to him, naming the most crooked political figures in the room, ending with some big crime boss or something who he describes as someone who thinks himself Untouchable. then solaire gives stari a smirk. "And we're going to ruin him."

escalating montage of legal drama, noble finery, cloak and dagger shenanigans, glimpses of slums, solaire clapping astarion on the back, toasts with the crooked politicians, the two pouring over documents, solaire demonstrating a spell bc wizard, stari escaping out a window with someone in pursuit, a gur settlement in the city… ending with stari delivering a final, condemning statement in court. then a few more rapid-fire clips, including one of a group of gur with weapons drawn, before we cut to black and a dramatic pause.

then the darkness blinks groggily away before we get a shot from the ground, looking up at the city night sky, where an out-of-focus cazador leans over, looking smug. "poor little boy. i told you this city would eat you alive."

End.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

(Angst and fluff and fluff and angst)

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

or read chapter two below the cut

Elves didn’t sleep, and didn’t dream. Isolde didn’t know for certain if the ‘new monster’ that the elf Astarion had become could dream, but she had to assume that no, he didn’t. In the six months since he’d let her go, he wouldn’t have dreamt of it. 

But, Isolde did. 

Not every night, but often enough that she was sure she needed to address it, with someone. A cleric, maybe. Or an herbalist, or an alchemist.

The dream was a jumble of twisted representations of what had really happened, and what she imagined could have happened, and impossible, absurd things that would never happen on any plane of existence.

The party had still been going on when she left his chambers. Music and laughter warbled from the ballroom and light danced from under the doorways. The halls were deserted and dark, however. 

Perhaps, the darkness was an attempt to deter the Lord’s guests from venturing into other parts of the palace, but if that was the case, it hadn’t worked. She’d passed at least four different couples, and a rather involved group of three scarcely making themselves out of the way of any potential traffic.

No one stopped her, no one hardly looked at her. She made it outside and then the darkness and the indifference of Baldur’s Gate struck her like a cold threat. 

She ran. As he ordered.

She didn’t know where she was going. She couldn’t go back to the Baron’s manorhouse, couldn't go anywhere near her old masters. The void in front of her was so overwhelming, the despair of her fall so profound, that for a moment she had earnestly wanted nothing more than to find the vampire lord at her back. Maybe it was just a ploy, something he did for fun. He could still chase her down.

But he didn’t, and with time and reflection, she was glad to be alive. Eventually.

She remembered it all so vividly, and the dreams never got it right. Not all at once. Sometimes the palace filled with rivers of black water, and she couldn’t find the way out. Sometimes both her legs were broken and she got lost in the dark, crawling one fistfull of black silk at a time over the uneven breathing ground. 

Sometimes, Lord Astarion did chase her down. The streets of Baldur’s Gate were empty and he charged, or flew, took her to the ground, then he held her as sweetly as he’d done when she asked. She always woke up here, to her immense frustration; overwarm, ashamed, the afterimage of his beautiful face burned behind her eyelids. Somehow more alive than anyone, those red eyes delving deep as his kiss. 

If she could scare up a little privacy in the middle of the night, she’d try to take care of her needs, without waking anyone else in the servant’s quarters, but Baron Horrold didn’t provide for more than a few feet of space per servant.

She hadn’t gone to her old master’s enemy right away. She’d had to make herself presentable first and that took a few days. She robbed a collection and a careless merchant, and some clothing that just so happened to fit, after she couldn’t find a tailor who would let her into their establishment in her state. What friends she’d had would be better off assuming she was gone for now. No doubt, Baron De Cloyo had some yarn to spin about his horribly disloyal scullery maid who up and abandoned the household, thus sparing him the trouble of sacking and humiliating her.

Baron Horrold’s Household was better. It was difficult not to be. But in many ways, the families felt oddly interchangeable. The Barons had both grown up in the same circles, sons of wealthy merchants, married imported daughters of important dignitaries and had three rather loud and sensitive children who they neglected in every way but the material, and who would probably grow to be insufferable sometime in their twenties. They had both risen to power just in the last few years, after the wicked but brief Archduke Gortash culled the patriars and caused a mass reorganization of the Court, and the claiming of new titles and new opportunities. 

But, there was one crucial distinction between the families; the Baroness Horrold rather liked Isolde. She found her pretty in a nonthreatening way, and enjoyed watching her—she heard the Baroness say that to one of her sisters after they inquired why the scullery maid was now a housemaid, and finally a lady’s maid after just a few months of employment. Unheard of.

It helped that Isolde had a great many secrets about Baron De Cloyo to share. She hadn't said anything about Astarion. Horrold didn't know for certain that the Lord was a vampire, he just knew that De Cloyo claimed he was, and Isolde thought it was better to preserve that ambiguity. Instead, she simply told Horrold that De Cloyo had gotten upset with her and tried to kill her, so she'd fled. No need to mention Astarion at all.

And Horrold wasn't interested in details about that night anyway, but he was interested to know about De Cloyo’s business dealings and what lengths he went to in order to keep his affairs secret and his wife loyal.

Isolde wasn’t exactly proud of what she’d done to carve out a safe place for herself in Baldur’s Gate, but she did feel some satisfaction in her success.

She’d thought her life was over that night. She had every reason to believe she’d never see another sunrise.

And, honestly, she didn’t need a cleric, herbalist, or alchemist to tell her why she was having those dreams. She didn’t even need them to tell her why she enjoyed them. Why every night she had them, she hoped it wasn’t the last time. She’d already been traumatized long before Ferdinand Joerum, better known as the Baron De Cloyo, gave her to a self proclaimed monster to destroy her; to someone who carried that kind of pain, further trauma sometimes felt so right. Familiar. Cathartic. It was evidence that she saw the world as it was. She was right not to trust a safe place, or a kind word, or a promise.

Of course, she also liked the dreams because it was such a vivid way to recall Astarion. He’d been an unexpected fixation, for all the opposite reasons that she felt some familial peace of mind at her dark dreams. Astarion was so… wrong. Such a contradiction. A little evidence that maybe she was wrong, actually. Maybe there was still some sliver of hope in even the darkest soul?

Or, perhaps, she was just desperately lonely and a bit sick.

In any event, six months was a long time to think about one night, but she did still think of it, every day. For at least a moment. Sometimes, only a moment. Often, she thought of it just long enough to dwell on the memory of the strange, sad vampire who was never true.

On the morning of Baroness De Cloyo’s birthday, the Lady was in rare form. Not in a wholly positive way, unfortunately. A summons to Wyrm’s Rock had gone out to the nobility. Duke Ravenguard was still away, but Court business could not afford a delay. It was a distraction from the Baroness’ birthday, as was an engagement ball for one of the surviving Eltans, happening later that week. All things considered, the Barnoess ultimately had to graciously express a desire to have a quiet, modest little party with immediate family only. It would never have been her first choice, but to demand anything more would have been to “overburden the social calendar” as her husband put it.

The Baroness huffed and pitied herself as Isolde and her other Lady’s Maid, Mayrina, arranged her hair into an attractive pile of curls and braids wound through a silver circlet. “This will be your first day in Court, won’t it Isolde?” said the Baroness

“Oh, am I coming?” Isolde dropped a hairpin at the pang in her chest. Maybe she should have prepared herself for that possibility.

“You’d hardly abandon me when I’m so fragile,” the Baroness tsked. “You and Renald will accompany the Baron and I.” 

“As you say,” but Isolde was thinking of what could possibly keep her away. It needed to be something outside of both her control and the Baroness', so they could lament her absence together. Their youngest son had said he wasn't feeling well at breakfast that morning, perhaps Isolde could encourage him to confirm an illness.

“Dear Hywel will be there, and you know he’s quite fond of you.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Isolde abandoned her unformed plans of escape with an internal sigh. Hywel Dlusker was another of the surviving patriars from before the big cull. As far as people to be fond of her went, there was nothing really horrible about him. He came by the house fairly regularly, so she knew that he and the Baron had some business, and that was why his fondness of her felt suspicious. Hywel couldn’t possibly be serious about her. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready to resign herself to just being a bit of fun for the young patriar traded for favors.

But, if the Lady was encouraging her to accept Hywel’s pursuit of her, she didn’t really have much of a say. It also meant that her attendance at Court would be a priority, for the household, if not for anyone else. She obviously wouldn't be allowed to participate or even be on record as an attendee, that wasn’t why the nobility brought their servants—but still, the Baroness needed her there. And if Hywel was there, then the Baron needed her there too. They maybe even needed that above leaving someone competent and unburdened with other duties to watch over a sick child.

Her anxiety grew as she saw what the Baroness had picked out for her to wear. It was too fine for a Lady’s maid, even one who needed to blend in at Court. It wasn’t conspicuous, exactly, but the gown was well-made, from more than decent material, and tailored to fit her as snugly as her uniforms, though none of her uniforms had a decolletage quite like this.

The one thing that made wearing the fine dress tolerable rather than embarrassing was that it was a muted gray, rather than something more ostentatious.

The Baroness clearly wanted it to be received as a gift, and so Isolde thanked her profusely, but as Mayrina helped her lace up the bodice, she couldn’t help but see it as silken wrapping paper.

To confirm this, the Baroness smiled and put a hand on her shoulder as she inspected her appearance. “He’ll like it.”

Having spent her entire life in the city, Isolde wasn’t familiar with Wyrm’s Rock, besides one rather melancholy memory from childhood. Before she’d lost her family, she’d made a friend who tried to take her into Rivington through Wyrm’s Rock. Her parents had both come after them and she was punished. She didn’t understand why they were so angry—generally speaking, she was free to run quite wild with the other children. Her mother seemed to think she wouldn’t be allowed back in, and her father humored that paranoia. She wished, as she’d gotten older, that she’d thought to ask more questions about that—about why it made her mother shake with rage and cry all night.

Long after everyone was gone and Isolde was on her own, she had seen Wyrm’s Rock become a barrier to the outside world. The kind her mother feared. But, that hadn’t lasted. It was just an old, imposing gateway again. Close up, the interiors were smaller than she’d imagined—or maybe just filled with hidden passageways. She lingered behind the Baroness and the Baron, Renald was old hat at this, so she watched him for her queues, anticipating where to step and how quickly, how to stay out of the way. But, even Renald commented on how crowded it was.

Isolde wished again that she could have found some avenue of escaping her obligation to be here. It was almost guaranteed that De Cloyo or his people would be present, and she’d so far managed to avoid revealing her miraculous survival to her old master.

Maybe the fancy dress and well coiffed hair would fool him into thinking she was someone else?

Could she claim to have a twin sister? She didn’t bother to bring this concern to Horrold’s attention, because he already knew all about it, so felt the conversation would probably just annoy him. 

He wasn’t worried about it, so she shouldn’t be—that would be his stance.

Then again, it was always possible he just hadn’t thought about it, because he didn’t think about her, at all. Gods, it was impossible talking to nobility. You could never tell them anything and expect them to take it well, unless you tricked them into thinking it was all their idea.

The Baroness and Baron stopped short as they entered the audience hall, and Isolde saw why with a sinking in her stomach.

De Cloyo was perched at the head of a small gathering of his friends nearby, and he’d looked up the moment they entered, right past the nobility, to the Lady’s Maid.

So much for not being recognized. But what made her blood ice over was the fact that he didn’t look remotely surprised to see her, instead, he wore a smirk. A little grin, prompted, she feared, by whatever expression she wore on her face.

To her immense relief, Renald stepped forward, placing himself very casually in front of her to block De Cloyo’s eyeline. She’d never talked to Renald about her time before coming to work for the Joerg Household, but Horrold must’ve told him, because he met her eyes and nodded curtly in solidarity. “You’ll be fine,” in spite of the protective gesture, his words were almost dismissive, like the matter was little more than a bit of vicious gossip, rather than the truth of having to confront someone who had wanted her dead.

Baron De Cloyo knew she was alive, and no one seemed surprised by that. With a little spark of rage she realized that the most likely reason was that Horrold himself probably told De Cloyo. The two of them had a similar, bad habit of using information they knew would upset the other in their little arguments. Even when giving that information away wasn’t safe, or wise. That was how she’d known about Astarion before meeting him, after all.

As their arrival was noted and the way shifted so they could make their way deeper into the audience hall, bodies rotated just enough that Isolde found De Cloyo again, still watching her openly, still smiling.

A high, hearty laugh drew her attention, in fact, half the chamber shifted their necks. She’d never heard Astarion laugh, but she somehow knew it was him before her party walked forward enough for her to see him there. Her heart leapt and slammed into her ribcage. She hadn’t even considered that the vampire lord might come. She assumed his dealings were more clandestine, by nature. Then again, he probably knew everyone in the Baldur’s Gate elite, so maybe his appearance was expected socially, if for no other reason.

Pointedly, she was sure, he stood under a shaft of sunlight coming in through the window. He was dressed like a prince, in gold and silver brocade with pale silk. He was apparently quite amused by something; he spoke to a most unexpected companion—not a patriar or one of the new nobles of the city, but a slight half-elven woman with sandy hair and a flaming fist’s uniform. 

The flaming fist’s warhammer clung to her back, but her stance gave no mind to the extra weight. She looked decidedly less amused than the vampire lord, though perhaps like she was fighting quite hard not to let the corner of her mouth turn up.

“Your friend is here,” the Baroness deigned to lean back and snag her attention. It took Isolde perhaps a beat too long to realize that she was talking about Hywel. Hywel stood far enough away that they couldn’t greet him casually just yet, not with the room as crowded as it was. He was with the other Dluskers who were keeping to themselves for the moment. “I don’t think I have to tell you to be very demure, and discreet.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

The Baron and Baroness took advantage of their early arrival to mingle with the other elite, while Isolde looked for her opportunity to be a dutiful servant and fulfill her Lady’s wishes. It wasn’t appropriate for her to approach Hywel, he had to come to her, but she knew that if he didn’t—even if he was explicitly prevented from doing so by outside forces, or seemed to be actively avoiding her—it would still be her fault if she missed the intended encounter.

She grew a little anxious as the minutes stretched on and he didn’t part from his peers or even look over in her direction. It couldn’t be too long before the Duke’s representative made themselves known and revealed the business at hand. Would she get the chance to speak to him later? Did the Baroness like her enough not to hold it against her if she did miss her chance? She doubted it.

At her back, a sunlit warmth brushed against her, and she turned to find the vampire, Lord Astarion.

“Hello, my dear,” he inclined his head, and to her surprise released a sheepish sigh. “I do hope it’s not too uncomfortable seeing me again, after all that unpleasantness.”

“You? No,” her chest fluttered a little again, she tried not to look too delighted at his approach. Surprise would be more demur . Isolde tilted her head in the direction of De Cloyo.

“Ah,” Astarion pulled a slight frown that somehow turned back into his crooked smirk by the time he met her eyes again. “Right. I did try and make up a nice gory retelling of your tragic demise to sate his imagination. He was rather disappointed to have missed it. About a week later he came barging into my private boudoir quite furious that you were still alive. No idea how he found out.”

“I have some idea,” Isolde took a quick moment to check the glaring corners of the audience hall around them. The Baron and Baroness hadn’t looked at her in several minutes. De Cloyo kept her in the corner of his eye. Hywel seemed to finally be growing bored of his little flock, but hadn’t moved away from them or looked at her.

“I’m surprised you stayed in the city.” Astarion was different from how she remembered him. She should have expected that. In the months since their brief, bizarre encounter, she was sure she would have imagined an idealized, and perfectly fictional version of Astarion to embelish a dark fantasy, and admittedly, to comfort herself. But in person she found that there were some enticing details she hadn’t remembered. 

His eyes were even more piercing in the daylight, somehow. His manner, more graceful. The way he spoke to her, fully engaged and focused, as though nothing else could draw him away. If she wasn’t careful, her delicate mind would take every soft look he gave her and dwell in the light of him. She already had to contend with the dangerous and admittedly warped vision of him as some diabolic angel who’d saved her, rather than a self-proclaimed monster, who simply hadn’t ended her life when given the chance.

“I wouldn’t have anywhere to go,” Isolde confessed. “But, all the same, I did consider it.” She’d also considered throwing herself in the Chionthar and breathing in.

“No distant relatives? A stately aunt with a little cottage and waterfalls of wisteria?” The way he said this struck her as odd, compared to his usual brash and insensitive insights and violent musings. Saccharine. Then again, perhaps he was being sarcastic. It was a little difficult to tell, as his mood was so changed from when she’d last seen him.

He seemed… maybe not happy, exactly, but energetic, in a way he hadn’t been the night they met. It might be a mask, for the public appearance, but if so, he wore it well.

“Nothing like that, no.”

“Pity.”

“But, I’ve never been anywhere. I think I should like to travel. Waterdeep. Neverwinter. Cormyr.”

“You’re clearly resourceful enough to make your own way,” Astarion gave her more credit than she was due. Why bother flattering her? It couldn’t be a genuine observation. Then again, maybe he was reading too much into her appearance at Court, her nice clothing, the image must be quite the contrast from the memory of her.

Isolde turned a little, to subtly gesture towards the Baron and Baroness with a slight bow. “I am not so much resourceful as aware of my very limited value, to a small number of people who may choose to help me. And I did need help.”

“So? You did what you had to. No shame in that.” Even the way he said it told her he wasn’t convinced of the truth of that statement, but still, when he flicked his eyes away from the nobility to look back at her, he softened. For a moment she was spinning in his bedchamber all over again. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually fallen over multiple times, but it had felt like she had, like she had to steady herself on every piece of furniture within reach. Her feet continually crashing out from under her—but she’d been coming off a sedative, mixed with wine, overwhelmed and facing doom. 

Up against his smile, even in a sunlit, crowded tower full of fine manners and tight sensibilities, she felt her knees buckle. 

His approval was a potent thing. 

She had to change the subject. They couldn’t keep talking about her, giving him opportunities to pay little compliments that she would wonder at the sincerity of for the rest of her life. “How’s Alice?”

His smile loosened and he let out a soft exhale, “she’s a spawn now.”

“You gave in?”

“I did indeed,” he sighed and rolled his eyes. “I thought about what you said. I was refusing to give Alice what she wanted, precisely because she wanted it. But. There is much more satisfaction in receiving obedience from one who properly worships me and doesn't need to be compelled in all things.” 

That was his takeaway? Alarming. And, they were talking about Isolde again which wasn’t her intent.

“In any case, it’s going rather well. Compared to past attempts.”

That could mean anything less disastrous than having to destroy Alice, but Isolde tried not to be too morbid. Maybe it was fine. “And what do you compel her to do for you?”

“Nothing,” he raised and lowered one shoulder, the picture of innocence. “I haven’t had to yet. But it’s an important tool to keep in reserve, and I will use it when forced. One day.”

“Really?”

Astarion faltered just slightly under her gaze. She didn’t even think she was giving him more than a slightly skewering look, but with a narrowing of his eyes he conceded. “Well, it’s a passive thing. To an extent. I speak and she reacts. But, I’m careful what I say. Nothing more demanding than the occasional request for a fresh quill or clean towels.”

Did she believe him? Isolde studied his face. He really did look better. She wouldn’t have thought that was possible. But. There was still something like sorrow lingering over him. Or, apathy, perhaps. She did believe him, but it made her a little sad to realize that it was only because a moment’s consideration led her to the conclusion that he wouldn’t bother to lie about this. He didn’t care what she thought of him, or of Alice, or of any of it. He couldn’t. 

Some of that aura of tragedy ebbed, the longer she stared and he just stared back at her, content with the silence. Was that amusement growing in the suspended air between them? She must be so obvious, she must be a lurid shade of red. He wet his lips and she felt the slightest tremor through her core as she caught a glimpse of his fangs again.

“My Lord—I wanted to say,” but she stopped herself to take a sustaining breath. She never thought she’d get the chance to say anything to him again, so she hadn’t really considered if what she wanted to say was wise. Or even true. “Thank you,” she finally managed. “Thank you for sparing me—and, I wanted to explain. When I asked you to…” Gods this was difficult. Was anyone looking at them? Was anyone listening? She could hardly tear her eyes away to check. “When I asked for that , I was just so very frightened and I thought if I could only pretend for a moment…”

“You don’t need to explain.” Astarion’s voice was warm. His smile was still as cruel as ever, especially with just how amused he seemed at her growing discomfort. But in contrast, his tone stayed gentle, his eyes resting on hers, without digging. “It’s alright, Isolde.” He gave a slight incline of his head, and to her immense disappointment she realized he meant to step away.

Then she realized that while they’d been speaking, the rest of the room had started to hush and orient themselves around the very end of the audience hall, where the Duke’s representative was standing, in anticipation of receiving the attention of the crowd.

When she looked back, Astarion was gone, leaving a space that she instinctively filled, like she was following after him, for just a step.

“Isolde?” a hand touched her bare shoulder and she turned to find Hywel.

In that exact moment, the Duke’s representative began to speak, but Hywel didn’t seem to care, he leaned in and whispered into her ear so she couldn’t hear a thing the representative was saying. “The Baroness certainly seems to enjoy having a life-size doll to adorn.”

“Anything for the Lady’s birthday,” Isolde forced a smile, but couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Hywel. The Duke’s representative offered a natural spot in the distance to fix her gaze, and she resisted the urge to search for Astarion in the crowd.

“Such a dutiful little waif, aren’t you?”

Isolde didn’t see Astarion again that day. She told herself that it was for the best. That she shouldn’t feel disappointment that he didn’t seek her out again. Instead, she ought to feel relieved that their conversation had been so brief that her Lady didn’t pay any mind, even to mention it. The focus was all on Hywel and what he wanted and how Isolde might go about giving it to him discreetly and demurely.