#featuring una briar

[mamabear-elinor]

THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

VIII. Your Own Fate December 17, 1994

[cw -- abuse (physical/emotional), shitty parents being shitty]

“Can I talk to you?” Fergus asked, sidling up to Elinor with an expression on his face that Elinor could not read. “You look lovely, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Elinor replied automatically, smoothing a hand over her dress. She was allowed to choose it this time, as long as she chose something fitting. Her mother had fussed about the color, green for Christmas was so cliche, after all, but Elinor looked good in green. (And, yes, maybe she chose it to annoy her mother in particular.) “Is something the matter?” 

“No, not--not really.” 

“Alright, then. How can I help?” 

“Not here.” Fergus reached down to grab her by the elbow gently. 

Elinor should pull away but she didn’t, still looking up at him with a baffled expression. She allowed him to lead her through the throngs of people and down a hallway. It was one that was familiar to her, as was the room that they stepped inside. She walked further into it, her brow furrowed as her gaze moved over the heavy green curtains that hadn’t changed in two years. The balcony doors had been opened and a cool winter’s breeze swept through the room, making her shiver.

Behind her, the door clicked shut and she turned to look at Fergus. Her cheeks heated slightly and for a moment, she wondered if she had made a horrible decision. Fergus was her best friend’s brother, so she had trusted him but she wasn’t supposed to be alone with a man. And Fergus was certainly that. He was broad and tall. Elinor had never noticed before, because he had never appeared threatening to her, but now she took in these details and felt uneasy. 

He smiled at her, looking uncertain himself. It did not soothe her uneasiness, but it made her shoulders relax slightly. “What is this about, Fergus?” she demanded. It was her only weapon now. That sharp tone of hers that she had already perfected. The one that could even shut her parents’ up on occasion. 

“Just gimme a second, woman,” Fergus grumbled as he moved past her toward the balcony. She couldn’t see, but it looked as if he’d taken something out of his pocket, turning it over in his big hands. 

Some of her caution gone, she watched his shoulders, silhouetted against the moon light. She didn’t move closer, though, still wondering what he could possibly want with her. Why he had brought her to the room where he’d shown her how to throw a punch a few years ago on one of the most embarrassing nights of her life. 

After a few moments, it seemed as if he remembered she was there and he turned to look over his shoulder at her. “You coming or not?” 

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” Elinor told him with a purse of her lips. 

“Ach. Git yer ass over here. Dinnae know you needed an invitation.”

It should annoy her, his crass way of speaking. The demand. But, something tugged the corner of her lips. She had always found Fergus so refreshing that way. He had always been exactly who he was. Men were allowed to do that, of course, but even they had certain rules. Once that Fergus rarely listened to. 

She slunk forwards. “You know, most people would say please.” Elinor stopped on the balcony wishing she had her fur coat with her. It was freezing, but she didn’t necessarily mind. The crisp air was much nicer than the stuffy air in the ballroom. She heard Fregus snort at her quip, but he didn’t say anything. Elinor smoothed her hands over the stone railing before turning and leaning against it. 

“What is this about?” 

“I want to ask ya something,” Fergus told her. She saw a flash of blue as he glanced at her and away again.

Her eyebrows rose. “Well, ask me then.” It was her turn to demand, though she wasn’t impatient. Just curious. 

Fergus shook his head once and then moved in front of her. His broad shoulders blocked out the orange light of the lamp in the room behind them. She looked up at him and then she looked down at him as he fell to one knee. 

For a moment, the stood frozen like that, Elinor trying to understand. The stance was familiar to her, but this wasn’t how it was done, so it couldn’t be right. 

“Elinor--” The box that Fergus had been holding in his hands popped open. Against the velvet green cushions, a diamond ring winked up at her. 

“What are you doing?” Elinor asked, alarmed. Her thin heel scraped against the concrete as she stood up properly. 

“Just lemme finish,” Fergus bit out. “Elinor Aisling--” 

“How do you know my middle name? What are you doing?” She tried to move passed him, but his big hand shot out, catching her by the hip and pushing her back into place.

“Dammit woman,” he growled as he tilted sideways, almost losing his balance. “Just stand still and be quiet.” 

“I will not--” Elinor tried to move around him again.

This time, Fergus stood and Elinor stopped in her tracks. He was far too big for her to get around, her eyes darted past him and she knew it was fruitless. So, instead, she crossed her arms and glared at him.

“Are you trying to piss off both our parents?” 

“No. Well, just yours.” Fergus’ teeth flashed white in the moonlight. 

“Agh!” Elinor threw her hands up. “I can’t marry you!”

“Why not?” Fergus asked. 

“Because--” 

The DunBrochs were at the lowest rung of the Order totem pole. Of course, they more or less shared it with the Briars. That would make their union a lateral move, if that. Which wasn’t what her family wanted. They had wanted her to marry one of the Golden Trio. To elevate their family. Or maybe the Anderson boy. They didn’t want her to marry a DunBroch. 

“You know I can’t. B-besides, we haven’t even courted!” 

“Ach. We have. Well enough. And what does that matter? I know I’ve wanted to marry ya since I saw you punch Smith in the face. I’ll be a good husband to ya, Elinor. You can be as wild as ya like.” 

“I’m not wild,” Elinor protested hotly, her face flushed. 

Fergus just chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Think for a second what I’m offerin’. We’d be good for each other. I am an heir. You’d be Lady of Cawdor, with run of the castle. I know I ain’t got much more than that but I won’t ever hurt ya. I respect your spirit and I dunnae want to see anyone else break it.” 

Elinor regarded Fergus. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty. Her thoughts were whirling. She had never considered Fergus. He was her best friend’s older brother. He was a DunBroch. He was not who her parents wanted. Was that reason enough? No, but he was giving her more than that. The title of Lady, nothing to stick her nose up at. And what was more: she believed him. She believed that he wouldn’t treat her the way a man like Smith would want to treat her. 

Elinor had always been told that her sharp tongue and her hunger for knowledge would get her in trouble with her husband. Marriage was the only other inevitable thing in her life besides death. She had always seen marriage like a tomb: where she would go to die in spirit. 

But with Fergus, she saw marriage like an open moor, stretching out before her, the fog hanging heavy, obscuring how far it went, but promising adventure.

“We’ve never even kissed,” Elinor argued anyway, though she sounded more uncertain now. 

“Can fix that,” he said with a smirk and stepped up to her. His big hand cupped her cheek, she could feel his rough callouses against the delicate skin. 

Elinor didn’t move away, even if there was part of her that wanted to. Fergus leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. His lips were rough and chapped, but the kiss itself was soft. He tasted of wine and red meat from dinner, his beard tickled her face. Her brow furrowed and then smoothed as she reached up to put her hand on his shoulder. His other wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He was warm and solid. She found herself smiling into the kiss as it deepened. 

When it broke naturally, softly, Elinor’s heart was screaming in her chest--but she didn’t know if its beat was a warning or an urging. 

“Now, are you gonna interrupt me this time?” Fergus asked her softly, his breath warm against her face.

Elinor shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. 

Fergus stepped back, though this time, he held onto her hand as he got down onto one knee, like he needed to steady himself too. 

“Elinor Aisling Briar, will you bloody marry me? Christ.” 

Elinor laughed. “Why not?” She smirked at him, feeling a thrill at the words. 

→ → →

“Why, Elinor?!” Una Briar’s shrill voice was enough to shake the chandelier hanging from the ceiling of their hotel room.  

“You wanted an engagement, so here you go!” Elinor snapped, her engagement ring flashing on her hand as she waved it through the air.

“This isn’t how it’s done,” Una wept from the chaise lounge she had thrown herself onto. 

Elinor stood with her arms crossed, looking down at her. “Ach! Mother. It’s not so different.”

“You didn’t court! Are you even still a virgin?”  

“Ma!” Elinor barked, blushing bright red. “‘Course I am.” 

Una sat up now. “Then why? This isn’t how it is done. If he wanted to court you, he should’ve done it the proper way. Like your father did to me.” 

“You didn’t even know Da when you accepted his courtship. At least Fergus is my friend! You and Da don’t even like each other.” 

Una slapped Elinor across the cheek. The same one that Fergus had held so gently an hour earlier. It stung, and it should’ve surprised Elinor, but it didn’t. This wasn’t the first time it had happened. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Tears stung at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. 

“Do not ever,” snarled Una. Her own face was twisted in a way that Elinor had never seen before and it almost made her hesitate in her fury, but her cheek was hot now, the pain burning. 

“I don’t need to follow stupid traditions. The family is going to stay where we are. No one else wants me!” Her voice trembled, but she refused to cry. 

Una was silent for a few moments but eventually she reached up to play with a clip in her hair. The nervous habit did not go unnoticed, but it also did not soothe Elinor’s own wounded anger. 

“You will court for a year, as your father did to me. Things are not so different from when we met. Our parents arranged it and, you know, I realize now that I should have done the same for you. I was too lenient with you, clearly. The tradition of the Order is important. A courtship is so you can determine if it is a good match.”

“So you can determine if it is a good match,” spat Elinor. 

“Yes, so we can determine if it is a good match, just as my mother did for me. You will do as your father and I did. We will pick a match for you and you will meet with them under our supervision. There will be no silly hormones involved. None of this new age independence. This is how it has been done for hundreds of years!” 

“Yeah, dunnae ya see? That’s the problem!” Elinor shouted right back. “I am not going to sit through painful dinners with some stuffy arsehole--”

“Elinor--”

“--who is only going to see me as something to wet his dick on and who will just toss me away as soon as I’ve given him a son!” 

“Elinor Aisling Briar! You apologize for that language at once!” 

“At least Fergus cares about me!” Elinor continued, her voice raising louder than her mother’s. The chandelier’s diamonds thundered like a stampede of horses. So did Elinor’s heart. 

“Is that what you think?” Una scoffed, cutting across Elinor’s righteousness with a decisive slice. “That a rushed engagement is love? You’re a child.” 

“I am old enough to know what I want! Who I want! Or would you rather I break off the engagement that was already announced to the entire Order?” 

Her mother stared at her with cold, stony silence. Elinor knew that there would be no coming back from this betrayal in her mother’s eyes. And Elinor found she didn’t mind. She felt the steel in her spine. She could still feel Fergus’ hand on her waist, as if he was standing next to her now. 

Elinor lifted her chin. “That’s what I thought.” 

Turning on her heel, Elinor swept out of the room. Her hand immediately went to the ring on her finger, turning it anxiously. Had she just made a huge mistake? Or did freedom always feel like falling backwards after a rope had been cut?

[mamabear-elinor]

BDRPwrimo Day Six – Family Ties

The Forging of Bitter Bonds

Write a one-shot revolving around your character’s family, include 3 family members minimum. (This can include whatever your character’s definition of family is.)

VIII. Off to the Races Late June, 1994

“Did you hear that the Knightley boy will be bringing a girl to the Summer Promenade?” Elinor’s mother mentioned casually at dinner one night in late June. 

The dining room suddenly felt much smaller than it was, the walls closing in. No one said anything for a few moments and the air filled with the sound of cutlery scraping plates. 

“Oh, no I didn’t, Mama. Who is she? What family is she from? Is she that de Chateaupers girl?” 

“She isn’t from the Order,” Una sniffed.

Elinor’s head jerked up, startled, and she could see the glint of displeasure in her mother’s eye. Elinor felt like a deer who had just heard the braying of a hound. Her muscles tensed and she felt like if she moved a single one, her mother would hunt her down. 

“Not an Order girl?” came her father’s gruff voice. Elinor didn’t want to turn her head to look at him, knowing she would only find disapproval hanging from his brow. She already heard it in his voice. And while much of that was probably directed at the Knightley boy, she knew it would only be a matter of time before it swung back around to her. It always did. 

“No. Apparently he met her at Oxford. They have been seeing each other for over a year now, if my sources are correct.” They usually were. Una just liked to pretend to be aloof about these things. 

Collum shook his head and stabbed at his steak, blood oozing from the meat. “A shame.” As he chewed, his gaze swung towards Elinor, who was eating dainty, slow bites. She did not look at her father, deliberately keeping her eyes focused on her plate. “Soon, all the eligible men will be snapped up.” 

Elinor kept eating.

“Elinor,” her father demanded.

Reluctantly, she raised her gaze and turned them towards her father. Her focus fell on the juices dribbling from the corner of his mouth into his grey beard, staining it dark. She would rather look there than the rest of his face. 

“Do you understand the gravity of what your mother is saying?” 

Elinor’s cheeks heated with embarrassment and she wanted to be angry. To yell at them and say: no, I don’t. Why does it matter?

But Elinor knew why it mattered. Because her grandfather had brought shame to this family. Because her father, the eldest son, only had daughters. Useless, beautiful daughters whose only purpose was to marry. If Elinor didn’t do well for herself, she would doom her sister too, then her father’s family line would cease to exist. 

Shannon sat across the table from Elinor, watching her too with a curl of her lip. Elinor wanted to slap her. Shannon had always been good with words and insults, but when they had been younger, Elinor used to pinch her until she cried, used to smack her and push her and steal her toys. Now that they were older, she couldn’t do those things, so she sharpened her wit instead. 

That wit was useless against her father and the heavy burden of expectation. 

“That I will be told to marry the first man you see fit to marry me.” All Elinor had was a weapon of truth. If she said it first, her father could not use it to hurt her.

“Yes,” Una cut in, unwavering. “We will.”

-> -> ->

The first day of the tourney was always the most exciting in Elinor’s opinion. Everyone was seeing each other for the first time in months, there were reunions and rivalries. It was a whirlwind of excitement. Though, it was not Elinor’s favorite day. That was always the second: the women’s race. There was nothing much to winning, just bragging rights, but Elinor loved it anyway. It felt like the only time she was able to show off her own skill. And this year, it was especially important that she do well. Winning the race might catch the eye of an eligible bachelor.

Elinor twirled through the crowds. Several tents had been erected on Lindisfarne, the Harrington family hosting this year. Which was excellent, considering their ability with horses. Elinor had brought Dawn along, of course, but it meant the track they’d be using would be tough, and many of the daintier horses of the other women would not know what to do with the terrain.

“Marigold!” Elinor called when she finally spotted her friend.

“Ellie!” Marigold beamed back and tackled Elinor into a hug, squeezing her tight. Marigold had been in the middle of a conversation with a few others, but Elinor hadn’t even taken them in. She knew Marigold wouldn’t care if she interrupted, and it was clear that she hadn’t. Elinor chuckled as she squeezed her friend back just as tight. It had only been a month since school had gotten out, but they hadn’t seen each other since and after spending nearly every day together in their little apartment, it was weird not to have her right next to her every moment. It felt like there was so much to say.

“Who is this?” came a voice that Elinor didn’t know, which was odd for the Summer Promenade. Everyone knew each other here. They had grown up together, their parents and grandparents had grown up together. The woman standing in part of the semi-circle that Elinor had just interrupted was beautiful, with strawberry-golden hair, but also a stranger to Elinor.

“Oh, right,” Marigold said, slipping her arms from around Elinor, though she held her hand as she drew her into the circle.

Now that Elinor saw the other faces, she realized she’d just walked into a nightmare: Tom Harrington was standing on Marigold’s other side. Next to Elinor was Fergus. They weren’t the problem. The problem was Francis and his wife, a ring glittering on her finger. This wasn’t new and Elinor was no longer upset (she hated him but that was different.) It still was not ideal, considering Francis seemed to have memory loss when it came to their relationship. Next to Francis was Hubert Knightley and clinging to his arm was the woman who spoke.

The new girlfriend. The not an Order woman. The woman that Elinor’s family felt she had lost out to, even though Hubert had never spared her anything but a passing glance.

“Elinor, this is Edelgard. Edelgard, this is Elinor Briar. Her family has a seat in Scotland.”

“Oh, it is so nice to meet you,” Edelgard said, her dazzling smile a weapon as she held out her hand. “I have heard so much about you. Francis, is this the same Elinor you went out with a few years ago?”

Elinor felt her stomach curdle as she dropped Edelgard’s hand as if it had burned her. The woman might not be Order, but she would fit in. Elinor wanted to speak first, but she was sure whatever she would say would only threaten Francis’—and the Smith family’s—precious ego. She held her tongue.

Though, it wasn’t Francis who spoke, but Fergus.

“Aye, and she’s also an excellent horsewoman.” His big, warm, heavy hand came down on her shoulder. It felt as if she had just sunk down into the mud beneath her boots. She felt steady. “She came in second in the woman’s race last year,” Fergus said, as if it was a brag that he was proud of.

Elinor blushed. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t have time to address it. She realized that Fergus had given her an opening and she was going to take it eagerly. Her chin lifted slightly. “That’s right. I did. And this year, I plan to win,” she announced confidently. “Will you be participating this year, Edelgard?”

“Oh, am I allowed?” And Edelgard, acting as perfect as any Order girl, turned to look up at Hubert.

“I don’t see why not. I am sure one of the women can let you borrow their riding gear, and the Harringtons have a whole stable of champion horses for you to pick from,” Hubert replied.

“Excellent,” Edelgard smiled sharply again and looked at Elinor. “It seems you have new competition.”

Elinor’s own gaze sharpened, and she opened her mouth. A threat on the tip of her tongue. Fergus’ hand on her shoulder squeezed slightly. She blinked and glanced towards him, but he was looking ahead, smiling pleasantly at this arrogant newcomer.

“It seems I do. Good luck then,” Elinor managed to grit out and then dropped her shoulder so that Fergus’ hand slipped off. “I think I heard someone call me, so I will see all of you later.”

Turning on her heel, Elinor left in a huff, her braid whipping behind her. She stepped back out into the corridor of tents, a sharp breeze blowing in off the ocean and funneling through the makeshift buildings. Shivering, she headed in the direction of the wind, wanting to walk along the ocean and cool her head before finding anyone else and only digging herself deeper.

She thought she heard someone calling her name for real this time, but she did not slow her gait and soon hit the shore and began to pick her way over black stones sure-footed. For once, the sun was bright, the clouds moving quickly through the sky, the day was warm, but the breeze was still biting.

“Jesus, woman! Hold yer horses!” Fergus called behind her, making Elinor stop in her tracks. He was picking his way towards her over the slippery stones. Her eyebrows raised as she watched him teeter and swing an arm out before he managed to make it to her.

“What are you doing, Fergus?” she raised her voice over the roar of the ocean and the wind.

“I just—” As soon as he stopped in front of her, he looked confused. As if he wasn’t sure how he had gotten there.

Elinor’s eyebrows rose further and she crossed her arms. “I want to be alone.”

“I know. That’s why—I mean...you aren’t mad at me, are ya?”

Yes, Elinor thought to herself.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Beats me, but I got a funny feeling ya were.” It was odd to see him squinting against the sunlight to look at her, his shoulders rounded slightly as he tried to keep his balance. For a moment, he didn’t look like the warrior that Elinor knew him to be. (She had watched his tourneys too and knew that he could hold his own even against the Golden Trio.) He looked like an unsure boy and there was something sweet in his face that endeared Elinor.

But no, she was annoyed at him.

“You—held me back,” she accused. “I don’t need your help! I can handle myself just fine.”

“That’s what I was worried about.” Fergus straightened up slightly, a twinkle to his eyes. “Thought that punch I showed you might come in handy and I figured you didn’t really want to give that Sassenach a black eye.”

“Aye, I did,” Elinor admitted forcefully, without meaning to.

The two of them blinked at each other, both shocked at the honesty in the words. And then, after a moment, Fergus laughed, and Elinor blushed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elinor sniffed, lifting her chin. “You don’t get to decide—or pick my battles for me. As if you wouldn’t challenge someone who was challenging you.”

“Aye, you’re right about that. Difference is: you’re a woman.”

Elinor bristled, even though it was true.

Fergus continued. “And ya’re better than throwin’ a punch at every slight.”

“What if I’m not?” Her arms around herself squeezed and she suddenly felt tears in her eyes that she couldn’t blame on the wind.

Fergus shrugged. “I know ya are.”

Elinor glanced away and took a breath, though it was more shaky than she wanted it to be. “Right, well—I am not going to say thank you, if that’s what you want.”

That caused Fergus to laugh again. “Naw, you just beat the stuck-up outsider at the race tomorrow. That’ll be all the thanks I need.”

Elinor looked back at Fergus sharply. “If I win tomorrow, it won’t be for you.”

-> -> ->

Dawn snorted and stomped a foot, shifting beneath Elinor, who was poised atop of the chestnut mare. She reached down and pat her horse’s shoulder lightly, steadying her. They stood at the starting line of the race, waiting for the gun to go off and announce the start. The silence was loud with anticipation. The waves crashed and gulls cried overhead, but Elinor could only hear the pounding of her own heart as she crouched and gathered Dawn’s reins, adjusting them in her sweaty hands.

The gun fired. Its echo was drown out by the thundering of hooves as about twenty horses took off. The crowd gathered by the start line (which was also the finish line) cheered rancorously as the herd galloped by. Dawn surged forward, following the horses around her and Elinor let her. This was a distance race, twelve furlongs, as opposed to the average six, and many were going to forget that. As they made their way towards the ocean. Half the race would be run along the shoreline and then back over the fields to circle to where they had started again.

As they settled into the ride, Elinor pulled up Dawn slightly. The mare snorted in protest, grabbing the bit between her teeth, but Elinor just curled her fingers on the left rein, then the right, seesawing the bit gently from between Dawn’s teeth.

“Gotta conserve our energy,” Elinor murmured to the horse, as if she would understand. But Dawn was just as competitive as Elinor and she felt her straining against the tails of the horses in front of them. Elinor tried to focus on just the sound of her own breathing and the rhythm of her horse. Her heels pushed down to keep her balanced as Dawn picked her way over the terrain, familiar with uneven ground, as Elinor often rode her across the moors and near the lake. Elinor trusted the horse to know the best path and didn’t correct her when they took the long way around a fallen log instead of jumping over it.

Even still, they managed to pass several people within the first three furlongs, who had burst out of the gate in a sprint and were now falling behind. By the time they got to the halfway marker, they had passed a solid chunk of their competitors who were only used to running so far. Elinor silently thanked the Harringtons for making this more challenging. Their own horses were distance runners, so it made sense.

They bided their time until they hit the grass again, 9 furlongs to go, the crowd and finish line in the distance through the haze. The ground smoother here, even if Dawn’s hooves sunk into the mud with every step. Pushing her heels against Dawn’s side, she let the reins slip through her fingers somewhat. Dawn understood the signal and picked up the pace.

They came upon Edelgard easily, who was just ahead of them on her borrowed horse.

Elinor clucked her tongue and sank lower over Dawn’s neck, spreading her body weight and resisting the sharp wind. “Let’s go!” she encouraged Dawn.

She didn’t know if it was the sound of her shout or Dawn’s quickening hoofbeats that made Edelgard look over her shoulder, but Elinor knew they had them beat that moment. She stayed focused and when they passed the woman, she didn’t even glance in her direction. Her eyes were focused on the two people ahead of them.

“Come on,” Elinor urged, giving Dawn her head and feeling as Dawn’s neck stretched with the freedom of it, her stride elongating. They crashed by the eleventh furlong marker in the same moment that they passed the person who had been in second place. Elinor thought she saw a flash of red hair but was too focused to notice if it was Marigold.

They came up parallel against the final horse just as they heard the cheering from the crowd. The bay’s coat was lathered with sweat and Elinor could hear it snorting as it strained. Dawn had no such trouble. The chestnut pulled ahead easily, with energy to spare and shot over the finish line a whole body’s length ahead of the horse that came in second.

It took several strides for Elinor to slow Dawn down. They ran all the way through the crowd before she managed to settle the horse into a brisk trot and get her turned around. It gave the organizers enough time to stand at the finish line, holding the silver cup that was passed from family to family every year and a garland of roses to drape over Dawn’s neck.

Elinor’s fingers blackened from dirt as she rubbed them against Dawn’s sweaty shoulders and kissed her horse’s mane. “Oh, you were brilliant,” she cooed at her horse as they stopped in front of the family who had won last year. They gently laid the roses over Dawn’s neck and handed Elinor the trophy which she hoisted into the hair, flinging her sweaty hair back from her face as Dawn walked in a circle, cooling down after the run.

Her mother and father had pushed their way to the front of the crowd and Elinor stopped in front of them so that she could lean down and let her mother kiss her cheek and take the trophy from her. Elinor didn’t protest this, as it gave her a hand to pat Dawn’s shoulder with again as they made another lap, the final horses pulling over the finish line.

Marigold trotted over on her horse and threw an arm around Elinor. “That was bloody brilliant,” she laughed breathlessly.

“You were too.”

“Guess third is my place,” her friend joked good-naturedly.

Elinor laughed too and her eyes scanned the crowd again. This time, she saw Fergus, clapping along with everyone else. Their eyes caught for a moment and Elinor didn’t know why she did it, but she winked at him. The gesture made him throw his head back and let out a laugh that she could hear, even over the cheers. Her cheeks flushed and she sat a little straighter in her saddle, feeling as if, perhaps, she had won more than one thing today.

[mamabear-elinor]

The Forging of Bitter Bonds

I. The Parting Glass July 28, 1992

[cw -- men being shitty idk]

According to the vanity in her bedroom, Elinor thought she looked rather pretty. Her mother had pleated her long, dark hair and twisted it up into an intricate hairstyle at the nape of her long neck. The green silk of her dress made her eyes bright. Her cheeks lively with blush. 

So, why did she feel so nervous? Her hand reached up to touch the silver charm on the necklace around her throat. It didn’t bring her the comfort she hoped that it would. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“What?” called Elinor. 

“Francis is here,” sing-songed her sister back. 

“I’m coming.” 

Elinor did up her strappy sandals (Francis didn’t like it when she wore heels, it made them the same height.) She took one last fleeting look in the mirror, smoothing down the front of her hair, then the front of her dress. She had to look presentable. Well-put together. That was how a woman of the Order of the Prince was always supposed to look and Elinor was a woman of the Order now. Even if she still felt awkward and gangly in her too-tall body, better suited to horse rides than wearing heels anyway. 

When she opened the door, her sister was still standing in front of it. Elinor wrinkled her nose on instinct. Shannon wrinkled her nose back. Without speaking, Elinor turned on her heel and strode down the corridor. She heard her sister follow behind.

“You have hay in your hair,” Shannon quipped.

“No, I don’t.” Elinor’s hand reached up to touch the silky tresses. There was no way their mother would have missed something like that, but she had been out for a ride on Dawn earlier that day. Not that Francis would mind, would he? He had told her he liked that she was wild. This was an important day, though. She didn’t want to embarrass him. 

“So, do you think he’ll do it?” Shannon asked as they headed down the stairs.

“Do what?” Elinor feigned ignorance, even as she felt her heart jump in her chest, as if she had missed a step. 

“Propose. It’s all Ma and Pa can talk about. Oh, I can’t believe our Ellie is going to be married to a Smith! You know he’s already a Prince. It bodes well, it bodes well,” Shannon quoted, as if reading from a particularly funny book. 

Elinor blushed. “I don’t know.” 

“You’re dressed like you know.” 

“Well, I don’t. He said he had something to talk to me about. That’s all I know.” 

Elinor hoped it was a proposal. She was dreaming of a proposal. She was planning for it to be a proposal. It would be perfect, wouldn’t it? He would come here, to Edinburgh, with her where he was already enrolled. They would plan the wedding in between classes. Get married the summer that they graduated. Have a strapping baby boy a few years later. As many kids as they wanted after that and the Briar’s reputation would be lifted, esteemed even. And, most importantly: they would be happy. With a husband she loved. She wouldn’t be confined to the house, Francis had promised her as many horses as she’d like and to teach her more swordfighting. 

“He’s totally going to propose.” 

Elinor blushed beneath her make up, but she didn’t say anything, as they were drawing close to the grand foyer of the seat of Clan Sinclair, her family’s stronghold since before the battle of Craigh na Dun. It’s walls echoed something dreadful and she knew exactly where to stop speaking so that their voices would not carry down into the hall below. 

When she hit the top of the stairs, her mother turned as if sensing her presence. Her smile was wide and gracious. “Ah, there you are, Elinor. You mustn’t keep young Master Smith waiting for you.” 

She nearly tripped on the stairs. Nearly. Not because of her mother, but because Francis had turned to look at her. Even from here, she could see the blue of his eyes. He wore that thin smile of his that she had come to know so well, as if he was tucking a secret away in the corner of his lips. She knew those lips well too, though she blushed at the thought. It wasn’t proper for a young lady.

“Apologies, Mr. Smith,” Elinor said when she reached the bottom stair. 

“Don’t think of it,” he told her in that charming accent of his, words smooth as silk. He had approached the bottom of the stairs and took her hand as it left the banister. She blushed again and tore her gaze from him as her father spoke.

“Have her back by nine,” he said in his gruff, thick brogue. 

Francis nodded once, seriously. Always respectful. “I will have her back before then.” 

Elinor hoped not. 

They left the castle, and Elinor’s family behind. She didn’t let out a breath until their feet started crunching over the gravel. Then, she leaned slightly against Francis’ arm, her shoulders relaxing. 

“Hullo,” she said to him shyly, tugging him to a stop behind the tall stone steps, where she knew no one could see. She popped up onto her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I missed you.” 

“It’s not been so long.” 

Only a month, it was true, but it had felt so much longer to Elinor. The summer promenade had allowed them plenty of time to see each other, as the festivities generally went on for a fortnight, but that had only made it harder to exist on phone calls and letters in the between. 

“I cannot wait until we get to see each other every day at school,” she said then, smiling brightly at him. 

“You look beautiful,” Francis told her, which felt oddly clumsy for him to say. His eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers. Elinor’s smile flickered, but then brightened again. She knew what this was. It was just nerves. He was just nervous. 

“Thank you,” she kissed him again.

“We will miss our reservation,” Francis said stiffly and pulled her to the car.

The restaurant was in Edinburgh, not far from the university campus. It had chandeliers sparkling from its ceiling and the waiters were dressed in stiffly pressed suits. Everything looked so clean, all straight lines and hard edges, Elinor was so nervous, she thought she might bump into something and pop like a balloon. The maître d' led them to their table and Francis pulled out her chair for her. She sat down in it.

They hadn’t spoken much on the drive to the restaurant. Well, that wasn’t completely accurate. Francis hadn’t spoken much. Elinor had felt like there was so much to fill each other in on, but now that they were here, she found herself suddenly quiet. Unsure of what to say. So, she fell back on the manners her mother shoved down her throat. 

“This is a lovely restaurant,” she complimented as she took a sip of her water.

“Yes, it is.” 

“I don’t think I’ve been here before.” 

“No? Your father recommended it.” 

He had spoken with her father. Elinor felt her heart start racing again. 

“Oh, well. I am sure I will like it.” 

The meal passed somewhat normally. Elinor kept trying to guess the moment. When would it happen. Should she ask first? Say: you wanted to talk about something? But no, that was too bold. Her mother always told her not to be bold. To let men lead the conversation. Or think that they were, at the very least. Elinor had never quite figured out what that meant. How did you make someone think they were leading the conversation? 

It seemed silly to her and like too much work, to be honest. She would rather be straightforward. Bold.

“You said you had something to talk to me about?” Elinor finally blurted as their champagne glasses were set down in front of them. 

Francis looked mildly startled, but his expression smoothed over rather quickly. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” He chuckled once, dryly and shifted in his seat. “Elinor.” He laid his hand on the table and she slipped hers into his. It was her right. She wondered if it was supposed to be her left. It was too late to switch them. Francis didn’t seem bothered.

“This last year and a half has been--wonderful. You know I care about you a great deal.” 

“Yes,” Elinor said, a little breathless. She blushed. “Sorry, go on.” Was her hand sweaty? It felt sweaty in his. She wanted to jerk it away. 

“I know we had plans for Edinburgh in the fall, but I don’t think I will be attending school here in Scotland. With you.” 

Elinor’s face fell. She couldn’t help it. Her emotions were always worn plainly. “Well, that’s--that’s alright,” Elinor said as she tried to shuffle the plan around in her head. They could plan a wedding from a distance. Plenty of people had done it before. Besides, men hardly did more than submit a guest list and choose the place (their family’s seat, usually.) She could do it. “We can--we will still see each other.” 

“No.” Francis squeezed her hand once and sat back, withdrawing his hand from hers. “I am sorry, Ellie. You’ve got to understand, my family has put a lot of pressure on me. My father was an Oxford man. Smiths are always Oxford men.” 

“But you said--”

“I know what I said and it was--it was foolish. I shouldn’t have made promises I couldn’t keep. We--well, we both knew that it would end like this eventually, right?” 

No, Elinor thought to herself, but she couldn’t find her tongue in that moment, feeling as if he had forcibly pulled it from her mouth. 

“I have to think about my future.” 

“What about our future? My future?” Elinor hissed, feeling tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She so hated crying. Instead, she bit into her tongue. 

“What do you mean? Why is that my concern what your future is? I have to--I have to go to Oxford, continue my family legacy, marry well.” 

“Marry well? Am I not good enough? Is that it?” Elinor felt her heart split open, but instead of a hurt, something hot burst out of it. Anger. And it had teeth. 

“No, that’s not--Ellie, don’t make a scene.” He reached out to try and grab her hand again, but she wretched it away. “There are people watching.”

“Let them,” Elinor hissed and pushed her chair back from the table. “So, what was I? Some sort of--of practice?” She had heard of boys doing that, but she hadn’t imagined Francis...he always treated her so well. He was going to give her a stable full of horses and not expect her to sit in a house. They were going to wait to have children… 

“No, Ellie, it wasn’t like that--”

“Stop, stop calling me that.” 

“Ellie--Elinor. Please, sit back down, love.” His hand grabbed her wrist and when she jerked, he gripped her tighter. “Just sit down.” His face flashed now, the blue in his eyes like gathering thunder clouds. 

“No.” She grabbed the champagne from the table and threw the whole glass at him. It hit him in the chest and splashed up into his face, before the flute rolled harmlessly onto the floor. She wished that it had shattered across his handsome features. At least it had done what it needed to do. He released her, spluttering. 

Without looking back, she turned on her heel and fled the restaurant. As she turned, her hair fell from its updo, the braid thudding against her back. She paused only at the front stand, dropping a few pounds as a tip. “I apologize for the mess,” she told the flustered maître d' before heading out into the muggy Scottish air. 

It had started to rain. She felt the drops kiss her shoulders. They spread along the fabric of her dress, until the fabric clung to her and she knew it was ruined. That was all her mother would see when she arrived home, her ruined dress and her ruined daughter. 

It was well after dark, well after nine when Elinor finally made it home. She had walked most of the way, until a farmer out late chasing down a stray cow came across her and offered her a ride to the castle. Elinor slipped in through the kitchens. The cooks had already gone home for the evening. There was no one awake in the castle.

Or so she thought. 

When she crossed through the grand foyer, her sandals in her hand, the end of her braid dripping onto the oriental rug, she saw the warm glow of a light.

“Ellie?” It was her da’s voice. 

Tears burned in the corner of her eyes at the nickname, but she swallowed them down. She crossed into the drawing room, slinking in like one of his hounds when it knew it was bound to get in trouble for tracking its muddy paws over the floor. 

“Da,” she croaked when she appeared in the doorway. She wrapped her arms over her chest, partially out of a modicum of decency, and partially because the castle was drafty, despite the warm summer air. Her father was a big man and cast half in shadow from the lamplight, he looked twice his size.

He looked up from the paperwork on his desk, but he did not look at her. Just to the clock above the doorframe. “It is almost midnight.” 

“I know.” 

It was then that he looked at her and his brow furrowed. “What happened to you?”

“Francis, he--well, we--” her breathing hitched.

Her father glanced away again, shuffling the papers on his desk. Her tears made him uncomfortable. That hot feeling was back. She wanted to scream at him. Look at me! Instead, she just swallowed. “He broke things off with me.”

“Hm?” That caught her father’s attention.

“We’re not getting married.” Despite herself a tear rolled down her cheek, then another and she felt her lip wobble. How small she felt. Her toes curled on the cold stone floor. 

“What did you do?” 

The question made Elinor blink, a few more tears tumbling down her cheeks. “What? I--I don’t know. Nothing, I didn’t--I didn’t do anything.” She reached up to scrub at her face, trying not to let the sob clawing at her throat out. She had not thought of that. That she--that somehow, this was her fault. But her father’s question was so simple. It made it so obvious. 

“Well, you must have done something,” he continued and put down his pen, folding his hands together on the desk. “I am disappointed and I know your mother will be too. This will be difficult for her.” He shook his head. “Do better next time, Elinor. I need you to make a good match.” 

Elinor did not know what to say to that. She would not be any more speechless if he had struck her across the face. “Yes, Da.” 

“Now, off to bed with you. Good night.” 

“Good night,” she replied stiffly and turned to leave, that same stiffness still in her shoulders. 

Perhaps her mother was right and men did not like women with hay in their hair and awkward colt legs. Maybe wild things were only exciting if they could be tamed. 

[mamabear-elinor]

THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

IV. The Winter’s Ball December 19, 1992

[cw for a comment on weight/body image, blood, violence (just a punch)]

“Mother, I cannot wear this,” Elinor wrinkled her nose in the direction of the dress bag that she was holding in her hands, a monstrosity of ice coloured lace and tulle spilling from it, as if the bag could not contain its contents. 

Elinor was standing in the middle of her mother’s suite at their hotel across from the ballroom that the Order always rented for the Winter’s Ball. It should be noted that she was barefoot. Una Briar sat at her vanity, looking at her eldest daughter in the mirror with a pinched expression.

“Why are you not ready?” she asked, as if she had not heard Elinor’s protest. She probably hadn’t. Una never heard anything that she didn’t want to. It was what made her so impossible to argue with. So hard to rile. Elinor was convinced her temper was all Briar. Her mother was as unfeeling as stone. 

“I can’t wear this!” Elinor repeated. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, unless you’ve gained weight since starting university. I had you measured on fall break. The tailor is never wrong.”

“No--I don’t--I mean it’s hideous. I won’t be able to dance in this! I’ll look like--like an icicle.”

Una stood from her vanity and moved towards Elinor, taking the dress bag from her and pulling the dress out. “Undress,” she commanded.

“Ma--” 

“Do you want another chance with Mr. Smith or do you want to disappoint me? Your father? Your sister? Again?” 

Elinor’s cheeks flamed red and she reluctantly dropped her robe and pulled her shift up over her head. Her mother held out the gown expectantly and Elinor stepped into it, letting the itchy fabric be drawn up over her thighs, scraping at her stomach. It felt like rolling in a patch of nettle. She reached over and adjusted her bust as her mother tugged at the zipper. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and sucked in a breath, trying not to cry. 

It wasn’t that Elinor hated dresses. She just hated this one. And she--didn’t want to go to the ball. The expectations her family had were as constraining as the tightness around her ribs as she was stuffed into the dress.

“There,” Una hummed, coming around to Elinor’s front and brushing some of her hair back from her face. “You look beautiful, Mr. Smith won’t be able to say no.”

Elinor was not as confident, but she allowed her mother to fuss over her for a few moments more and then watched as she pinched her own cheeks in the mirror and they headed out of the door. 

The ballroom was painted in low light of orange and blue. Real candles flickered and cool tones from the decor gave the whole thing a cool, hushed atmosphere. There were several people already mingling and men in waiter’s suits who stepped up to take her fox fur coat. She drifted behind her parents and sisters, fiddling with the silver necklace around her throat. It was one that Francis had given her. She hadn’t taken it off since then, even after they had broken up. Part of her still clung to a bit of hope, not matter how she argued with her parents otherwise. How could she not? They were so insistent that she just needed to find him. Talk to him. Tell him about how she would be transferring to Oxford--

“Ellie!” A flash of red and someone slammed into her side, grabbing her arm. “Gosh, I missed you so much. You look amazing!”

Elinor snorted. “Goldie, I just saw you on Thursday.” She felt a warm rush of affection for her friend, though, and clung back to her. If she had Marigold at her side, then she wouldn’t be alone in this. Though, she felt guilty, because she hadn’t found a way to tell Marigold that she was not going back to Edinburgh in the spring. She hadn’t told Sorcha either. Or her professors. Or anyone else. It would have ruined it. She had just wanted to enjoy what she had left. 

“So? I know you missed me too.” Goldie tossed some of her hair.

“Yes, alright. I did.” 

“Good, now let’s grab some champagne.” 

The girls made their way around the room, chatting with their peers, catching up with everyone. The Order only gathered together like this twice a year or during Christenings of new sons of the Order. Or for the King’s Melee. The women did not spend much time together otherwise. The men trained together as squires. Went on hunts together. Their bonds were always much stronger. That was, until you married into a family. Then those women became your friends. Elinor and Marigold were so close because they had always felt like kindred spirits, and made sure to keep in touch outside of these other events. Now that they went to school together, they were closer than ever.

Which just made Elinor feel worse about keeping her silence. As they made their way around, Elinor sticking quiet and close to Marigold’s shining aura, she felt awful. Her champagne bubbling uncomfortably in her gut. 

They were standing with a group of girls, Marigold’s head thrown back, laughing loud and bold enough to draw a few eyes when someone approached, attention clearly caught. Thomas Harrington. Elinor knew him, of course she did. He had already completed his Blood Hunt and was a proper Prince. He was also Francis’ best friend. 

“Marigold DunBroch,” he said, his voice a bit too soft. He cleared his throat. 

Marigold’s head whipped towards him, eyes sparking. “Marigold DunBroch is what my Ma calls me when I’m in trouble.” 

“Marigold, then.” 

“I suppose.” Marigold took a drink, but her blue eyes hadn’t left Thomas’ face, though his own eyes darted around a bit. When he looked at Elinor, standing at Marigold’s side, she lifted her eyebrows.

“May I--may I have this dance?” 

A few girls around them tittered. 

“Sure,” Marigold, shrugging a shoulder coyly, though Elinor could tell she was pleased. 

Elinor tried to be pleased as well. If Marigold and Thomas danced and became something and Francis took Elinor back, they could all be the greatest of friends. It was a fantasy, long reaching, but it comforted Elinor just the same. 

“Here, Ellie.” Marigold held out her glass for Elinor to take and slipped her hand into Thomas’, so he could lead her out onto the dance floor.

“I can’t believe he asked a DunBroch to dance,” one of the girls, a de Chateaupers, if Elinor remembered correctly, sniffed. 

Elinor cut her eyes towards her. “Maybe because he doesn’t want to dance with someone who looks like they ran face first into a wall,” she snapped viciously at the blonde and then moved off in a huff. 

“What’s her problem?” Elinor heard as she moved away. She whipped through the crowd, though not as fast as she liked, her dress trailing behind her like a ball and shackle. Its train was heavy and cumbersome. She looked over her shoulder to tug it out from under the foot of a large man, causing her to bump right into someone. 

“Oh, I am so sorry--Francis.” Elinor would recognize those blue eyes she was looking into anywhere.

“Elinor,” he greeted her back, his shoulders straight as she stood tall. “I hope you are well.”

“Well enough,” she told him, trying to remember how she was supposed to be acting. For all she wanted to do was slap him across the face. The urge rose suddenly and she curled her hand into a fist. “And you?”

“Well, thank you.”

There was an awkward beat. Francis looked out to the dance floor. “Would you like to dance? I--think we have a few things to talk about.”

No, Elinor wanted to snarl, but she did as she always did--as she had always been taught: she took a breath and smiled. For just a moment, she wished her teeth were fangs. She wanted to be the thing that frightened men. “You honour me,” she told him. Her voice sounded robotic, but she kept smiling graciously and took his hand. 

He led her onto the floor and placed his hand on her waist. Last year, at the Winter’s Ball, his hand had strayed below where was appropriate and she had stepped on his toes in return with a laugh and a blush, before he’d pulled her into a darkened corridor and stole kisses from her lips.

Since then, he had stolen much more from her. Elinor hated him. Being in his arms now, it made her feel as if she was going to explode. Still, she smiled. “How is school?” 

“Good, thank you.” He told her with a nod. “And you?”

“It’s wonderful. I am having a marvelous time.” This was easy to say. It was the truth and she wanted him to be hurt by it. 

He nodded, still not quite looking at her. “Elinor, I have something to tell you.”

“Alright, tell me then.” Her voice had an edge to it, even though she kept smiling. She tried to remember what her mother taught her: a lady does not frown, a lady always smiles, a lady defers to a man’s wants, a lady dances smoothly, a lady can do all of these things no matter what. The world could be ending, but a lady never has a hair out of place or anything but a smile. 

“I am engaged.” 

Elinor’s feet stopped. She planted herself on the floor and felt as if she had become one of the ice statues that were sweating on the edges of the ballroom. “What?” 

“I am engaged to be married. I need my necklace back. It’s a family heirloom, you know. I need to give it to my bride.” 

Elinor didn’t think, she just reacted. Let her heart guide her.

And her heart told her to punch this bastard in the face.

So that was what she did. The crack of flesh hitting flesh was the loudest thing in the room. Something crunched and Elinor’s hand began to throb, a sharp pain shooting all the way down to her elbow. She hissed a breath and stumbled backward the same time that Francis did, holding a hand up to his nose. Elinor saw a flash of bright red amongst the twirling blues, whites, and golds. 

“You bitch!” Francis shouted, but it came out slurred from behind his hand as he tilted his head forward. 

Elinor didn’t know why, but she started to laugh. 

“Shut up!” Francis snarled at her. 

Stumbling backward again, she tripped on the train of her own dress and then fled, turning down the very same corridor that Francis himself had led her down a year ago. She moved through the hall before opening a random door and shutting it behind herself. Once she was alone, the laughter turned to a sob and Elinor’s eyes began to burn with tears. She crossed the room, throwing open the double doors and stumbling out onto the balcony, catching herself on the railing. She wanted to scream, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. 

Instead, she pressed her head against the cool marble of the railing and sucked in the cool night air. 

“That was the worst fookin’ punch I have ever seen in me life.” 

Elinor whirled around at the sound of a gruff voice behind her, reaching up simultaneously to scrub at her cheeks. “Fergus, go away,” she hiccuped, trying to look as vicious as she had felt just minutes before when she had punched Francis. The fire had gone out, though, and the humiliation smarted something awful. Especially now that her best friend’s older brother had found her and was probably going to drag her back into the ball kicking and screaming. Or worse, go and get her mother. 

He did neither of those things. Instead, he just chuckled and held his hands up in surrender before moving towards the balcony railing. “I am just sayin’ you clearly haven’t ever punched anyone in your life.” 

“Of course I haven’t,” Elinor scoffed, her voice wobbling. She watched him wearily as he moved to lean against the railing. He didn’t seem perturbed by her tears, she supposed she was grateful for that. 

“You have a good reason?” 

“Of course I did,” Elinor snapped before turning slightly so that she could wipe her eyes with her fingers. Fergus, notably, did not offer her a handkerchief. Instead, he just cocked his head at her, red hair washed out in the dark light. She stuck out her chin and took a deep, steadying breath. She didn’t want him to know that she was nervous. Elinor had only been alone with one boy--man--before and when she had darted her eyes about, he had stepped closer. What had been a reckless, fluttering, foolish heart, now felt somewhat sturdier, thanks to Francis. 

“How did you find me?” she demanded when she looked back over at Fergus. 

“The breeze.” He shrugged.

“What?” 

“The windows let in a draft. No other drafts in the hallway except the one coming from this room.” 

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” 

He nodded as if this was obvious. “Your hand alright?” 

“What? Oh--” Elinor looked down at her hand, flexing it once. It smarted, but she didn’t think there was any permanent damage done. “I think so.” 

“Good.” Fergus stood up to his full height. He was not much taller than her, but he was broad enough that he blocked out the light of the moon. His own fist raised between them. “Next time--”

“There won’t be a next time,” Elinor protested, her cheeks heating. 

He held her gaze for a moment. “Next time, put your thumb over your fingers and squeeze down on your middle finger with it. Hit with the knuckle of your middle finger, aye?” 

Much of its own accord, her hand made a fist, copying his and then raising it up for approval. Fergus stepped forward and reached up to adjust her fingers. His hands were big, warm, and calloused, but they moved gently. “There ya are. Now, I’ll give you a few minutes. If I were you, I’d sneak out the back and head to the hotel. Your ma is on a warpath. I’ve seen men quiver less in their boots when facing down a Fear Gorta.” 

That surprised a laugh out of Elinor. She reached up to put a hand on her chest. Her fingers brushed the cool tip of metal from Francis’ necklace. Slipping her hands behind her neck, she unclasped it and then weighed it in her hand for a moment before turning toward the balcony again. She tossed it into the darkness. When she turned back, Fergus was staring at her again.

“What? Are you going to criticize my throwing arm now?” The words were between a challenge and a tease. 

“No, no. That, uh, was an impressive throw. I’ll...take my leave of ya now, lass. Good luck.”

Elinor smiled a bit and it was her first true one of the night. “Thank you. Good night.”

[mamabear-elinor]

THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

VIII. The Tradition June 18, 1996

[cw – panic attack mentions]

Tradition was how Elinor was raised. Tradition was the skeleton upon which the muscle of Elinor’s life was shaped. Tradition was a template. Tradition was a charter, a contract, an inescapable truth. 

Something old…

Elinor was given a necklace of sapphires to wear. Her great-great grandmother’s. It was heavy and cold when it was fastened around her neck. The jewels sparkled and winked in the low light. They were beautiful and old. Elinor felt like, if she listened closely, she could hear them whispering to her. She didn’t know what they were saying. What wisdom was trapped in the beautiful facets of the cut stone. 

Her mother’s cool fingers tilted her chin up.

“Wear them with pride,” she advised.

→ → →

Rain on your wedding day is good luck because it signifies that your marriage will last…

All around her, women flit back and forth. They are like bees. Working diligently to pin her hair back tightly. To button her into her dress, put on her shoes, powder her nose. It is quiet, for the most part, as each woman works diligently on her task. Even Marigold, usually loud and boisterous, is focused. It makes Elinor nervous. There is only the rustle of fabric, the sound of her heart beating, and the rain pattering against the window pane.

“What is the point of doing my hair?” Elinor huffed while her mother combed it through and ran the straightener over it, pulling it back tight enough to make her wince. Her unruly curls did not take kindly to being tamed. “The storm will just ruin it.” 

“Rain is good luck,” Marigold chirped pleasantly. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Shannon scoffed.

“She’s right,” Una agreed, still pulling Elinor’s hair. “Rain makes the wedding knot tighter, so a marriage will last.” 

Elinor didn’t know why that made something twist nervously in her stomach. Of course she wanted her marriage to last, but talking about it, before it had even happened like it might not felt more like bad luck than anything could. She glanced out into the gray fog beyond the window. Her mother tugged her head back into position with a click of her tongue. 

→ → →

Something new…

The wedding dress was lovely and expensive. With miles of satin and lace from France. Wearing it, Elinor felt like a princess of old. It had all been part of the negotiation. Elinor had wanted to be married last year, a six month engagement, but her parents refused to pay for it. 

“It just isn’t done,” her father had said. 

“What does that matter?” Elinor argued. 

“Our traditions bind us,” Collum told her, “they keep our honor intact. Without them, we would not have a way to guide ourselves.” 

Elinor did not believe that. Wasn’t her heart enough? But--Fergus didn’t mind waiting. He told her he would wait for an eternity, if it meant at the end they could be wed. She’d told him that, factually, waiting for eternity meant they would never marry and Fergus had just laughed that booming laugh of his and told her not to worry. She had to finish school anyway and planning a wedding was difficult enough on its own. And he wanted a big wedding. A proper wedding.

“I may’ve proposed to ya unconventionally, but I wanna do right by ya,” he had told her, taking her hand in his. Elinor had sighed. 

“Alright, fine.” 

“Donnae act like I’m forcin’ your hand,” Fergus chuckled. “You want a proper wedding too.” 

Elinor had looked at him doubtfully, but he had been right in the end. Frustratingly.

She could admit that the traditions were helpful. Elinor liked a list. She liked having a plan. And the wedding had given her something to focus on after school had ended. Her degree sat in its pretty wooden frame in her bedroom while she toiled away at floral arrangements. Soon, she would be living in a historic  castle and Fergus had promised her that she’d have run of the place. Her degree would be put to good use, soon. Perhaps, she could even have an office in her new home…

→ → →

It is considered bad luck to cross a nun’s path on your wedding day…

The wedding was in the chapel across the courtyard of the old cathedral. The bridal party had gotten ready in the chapter house, which meant parading through the cloister into the nave of the cathedral and up to the altar. It was covered, but the rain still bounced off the old, worn stone and splashed onto Elinor’s skin, raising gooseflesh on her arms.

She could taste the warm summer air on her tongue. It was sweet and fresh and cleared her head as she breathed it in and tried not to trip on her dress. Olivia and Eloise, Marigold’s daughters, laughed and giggled as they trotted ahead, spilling flowers all over the place in their pretty white dresses. Little Jacquline, Shannon’s daughter, was too young to be part of the bridal party, so Elinor’s best friend’s and Fergus’ nieces were chosen instead. 

Shannon and Marigold held up the train of Elinor’s wedding dress so that it would not sweep the moss covered stone of the old cloister. Elinor’s mother strolled ahead, her chin up as she swept through the doors. Out of them walked a pair of nuns, who were hurrying towards the chapter house--most likely to clean up after them. 

“Go the other way, sisters,” snapped Una at them quietly. She was smiling, but her voice had cracked viciously. 

The sisters stopped in their tracks, offended and shocked. 

“I am sorry about her,” Elinor stepped forward, curtseying a little to the sisters, bowing her head. “She is just nervous.” Elinor smiled graciously. “Please, continue on your way. I hope we did not make too much of a mess.” 

“Bless you, child. Congratulations.” One of the nuns held out her arm and crossed Elinor, before the two hurried on their way. 

Una scoffed. “It is bad luck to cross paths with a nun on your wedding day.” 

Elinor rolled her eyes. “Which is it? Rain is good luck? Nuns are bad luck?” 

“Maybe they cancel each other out,” Marigold suggested helpfully. 

Una simply shot her a look before looking back at her daughter. “Chin up,” she commanded.

→ → →

Something borrowed…

They entered the transept, still out of view of the guests. Elinor could hear the murmuring and shuffling as everyone took their seats and waited for the bride. Waited for her. She felt her breath catch in her throat and she suddenly felt like crying. Or running. 

Neither of those things she could do. She was going to ruin her make up. There wasn’t time to leave again. Fergus was waiting for her. Fergus was waiting for her because after this, she would be his wife. She’d not go home again. She’d go with him to his home. The castle she had run through during her summers as a young girl, never imagining that one day--

She didn’t feel ready. It didn’t matter that her sister had done this already. That Marigold was trying for her third child. She wasn’t ready. 

“Oh, honestly, Elinor,” Una turned back to look at her daughter and rolled her eyes. She reached into her pocketbook and grabbed a cream handkerchief. She shoved it at Elinor. “Pull yourself together.”

Elinor hadn’t even realized that, despite herself, she’d begun to cry. 

Shannon stepped up and took the handkerchief gently from their mother and then reached up to blot the tears off of her sister’s face. Her lip trembled and she wanted to pull back, as if Shannon’s touch burned, but it was surprisingly comforting. 

“It’ll be fine,” Shannon said. 

“My brother’s not so bad,” Marigold ribbed her gently, though her lips were puckered in a small frown.

“I know--I-I know,” Elinor said and breathed in deeply. “I’m fine.” She snatched the handkerchief and clutched it tightly. 

→ → →

And sixpence in her shoe…

Elinor’s father appeared in the shadows at Elinor’s side. Marigold and Shannon took their places between Elinor and Una--who would lead the procession down the aisle. Her father’s hands were big and warm  as he gripped her elbow. 

“I’ve got something for you.” 

Elinor glanced at her father, who was smiling gently at her. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him questioningly. 

Collum nodded and then knelt on the stone. “Give me your foot.” 

“Wh--what?” 

“Quickly, the organ will be starting in a moment.” 

Elinor lifted her skirt enough that her foot appeared and she slid it towards her father. He took her ankle in his large, warm hand and pulled her shoe off by the heel. He slipped something into it. It flashed silver in the low light. Then, he slipped it back onto her foot. She could feel something near the ball of her foot, like a pebble. Her weight shifted as she tried to dislodge it.

“A sixpence, for wealth,” Collum said gruffly as he stood and kissed Elinor’s forehead gently. Then, he took the white veil and placed it over her face, obscuring her view. The tightness in Elinor’s chest came back but before she could say anything--

The organ began, vibrating through the old walls, drowning out Elinor’s ragged breaths. 

→ → →

Something blue…

The ceremony passed in a blur. They’d done this in rehearsals yesterday, but that had felt so differently. For starters, Elinor had been in a short, knee length white dress. Fergus in his jeans. It had felt like--two friends. Like they were children on at recess, playing at getting married. They hadn’t said the words. Or recited the vows. Just stood there whilst they were directed, as if appearing in a play. 

Now, she was wearing a heavy dress, the tulle of which was scratchy and hot. She felt like she was going to overheat. The deacon droned on and Elinor just tried to--not faint. 

Fergus held her sweating hands without flinching. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if it was her sweating or him. He looked nervous too, but also--steady. As Elinor fidgeted from foot to foot (feeling that damn coin), he stood still, looking straight at her. Even in the low light of a stormy cathedral, his eyes were bright, brilliant blue. 

Elinor just wanted to focus on them. 

“Let’s run away,” she wanted to tell him. 

She wanted to run away.

Elinor could not do that. Her family was depending on her. She did not want to disappoint them. What would she do anyway? If she were on her own? Elinor didn’t know. She knew that this was her purpose. To be married. To run a household. She would be good at it. Even if, for her whole life, it had only ever been dress up. A rehearsal. 

This was the real thing. And she felt as if she was going to faint as Fergus slipped her wedding band onto her finger. 

The metal was cool against her skin. For the first time, she glanced away from Fergus’ blue gaze down to the band. She had forged it herself. It was--uncommon, but not, necessarily against tradition. She had made Fergus one too, at his behest. Men of the Order did not wear wedding bands. They wore their family signets on rings on their pinkie fingers. It was only women who were bound by metal to them. Men were bound to their families. 

When Fergus had requested one for himself, Elinor had decided she had made the right choice. 

The bands were made from the same metal as the sword she’d made him--as tradition. 

She slid that ring onto his finger now, it fit perfectly. His eyes were brilliant blue. She recited the traditional words. 

"In the name of God, I, Elinor Aisling Briar, take you, Fergus Hamish DunBroch, to be my wife/husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death.”