#dragonsong daphne

[akindofmagictoo]

DRAGONSONG: draft 2 update: 29/11

previous word count: 123,122

current word count: 125,179 (2057 added)

notes: recovery time!

snippet 1: (Daphne is the king's eldest daughter, and i love her)

“We cannot. But perhaps in time I will have a son, and I will teach him a better way.” Daphne bowed her head to Isi. “For now, I must tend my daughter. And I hope, wherever I raise my family, that my daughter can model herself after a woman like you.” The tears in Isi’s eyes spilled over, and she smiled. Daphne smiled in return.

snippet 2: (see Jasper's fine, don't worry about him)

“Thank you.” [SB's] eyes flicked past her. “Hey, look over there.” She turned to see Henry further down the corridor, waving to her, his whole face creased in a smile. And beside him… “Jasper.” The word came out as half a whisper. She shot to her feet. He did not look fully healed by any means, but he was there, upright and arm in arm with Henry. Isi covered her mouth with her hands. It seemed so long since she had last seen him. “Heard you got rid of the king,” he said. The tiniest hint of a smile touched his mouth. She nodded. “In a manner of speaking. It’s good to see you again.” “Wish I could have been there to see it.” “There was not all that much to see.” She shrugged. For a moment, she was back in the throne room, the weight of a kingdom resting on her words. Then it was gone, just a ghost.

TAGLIST

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[hallowedhymns]

Prompt #3: Cleanse

The act of worship had been instilled into Daphne Seydoux from birth, that her mother barely cradled the babe in her arms before she'd been taken by a Priestess with cold hands and colder demeanor to see her baptized. Simple fact, that her life would be given to Halone in battle or in aid, and so it was.

By the time Daphne reaches adulthood, it is simple routine. To wake and paint her lips and eyes in darker colors, to don the white and azure colors of her Lady, to fast when the armies of Ishgard depart for battle as to share in their struggle. All comes naturally and without pomp, a given of her day to day, to ride in her carriage to the small chapel in Coerthas as to lead evening service and light the candles for the fallen Knights of the day, or the Dragoons torn from their perches.

It is not until a fateful night in the aftermath of the Dragonsong, when the chapel is emptier than usual, either due to celebrants being entirely too busy to come enjoy solemn service or too unsure after the Holy See's perfidious conduct, that Daphne's worship is brought to pause.

As usual, towards the end of her service, sermons given and guided prayer complete, she claims a large goblet in both delicate hands, the crystal-encrusted cup filled to the brim with water made from the snow upon a nearby battlefield. The devotees for the evening form a line, elderly and grieving losses, too old or upset to bother with either celebration or doubts.

She turns, and one by one, she presses the cup's rim to their lips, tilting as to allow them to drink from it. The dregs of recent combat, respect paid to Halone and a blessing to touch Her domain.

When Ser Silvers approaches, she is brought to pause. The Knight comes clad in stained armor, boots that drag melting snow and dirt upon the long, running rug that divides the pews, though her hands mercifully bear no weapons, and her helmet has been left elsewhere. She kneels, expectantly, bright eyes downcast in wait for her blessing.

Ser Silvers is not an uncommon sight, but this, disheveled in the wake of recent battle - in the absence of true enemies - is new, and enough that a ripple of whispers cuts through the zealous few.

Even kneeling, Amelia is of fearsome size, graced with what Halone demands in strength in a long, willowy frame. Head bowed and body bent, the top of her head near to Daphne's stomach still. The Priestess reaches, fingers brushing to the Knight's jaw as to urge her chin upwards.

Bright, burning fire, just beneath the surface. Impossible to go unnoticed even by the most untrained mage. Daphne pauses, and Amelia dares not lift her gaze. Aether moves regardless of will, and regardless of Ser Silvers' stoic demeanor, it roars its pleasure at whatever the source of the blood upon her armor must've been, a successful hunt, or a satisfying fight.

Daphne presses the goblet to her lips, and tilts, fingertips, soft and unmarred, yet pressed to the Knight's jawline.

That night, in absence of upcoming wars and the silence that follows the truce after a thousand winters of bloodshed, Daphne wonders how wrathful Halone must feel at her turning the sacred into routine, to send a bloody Knight to her halls.

[vellichor-virgo]

catch up tag!

tagged by @thanatostouch, thanks so much for the tag! :)

favourite colour: blush pink / rose quartz (still don’t know what it’s actually called)

last song: daphne blue (acoustic) by the band camino

currently reading: i’m nearly finished summer sons by lee mandelo! also finally reading three dark crowns by kendare blake

last movie: wolfwalkers (which i enjoyed immensely, it’s probably one of my favourite movies now)

sweet, savoury, or spicy: can i say none of them? i like salty foods the best currently working on: atm, finishing my finals (had one today, so i’ve just got two left until i’m done with my third year of uni!). more broadly: night’s daughter, the nd x dragonsong crossover (sorry zoe i’ll get to it soon i promise), and circle of hurt. plus whatever other little writing projects decide to pop into my brain along the way

now to tag 9 people! @akindofmagictoo @sleepyowlwrites @cream-and-tea @zmwrites @lanawritesalittle @rose-bookblood @chaotic-queer-disaster @ambsthom @solipsism-lemonade + whoever else would like to join in :)