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monabela · 5 years ago

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@aphyuriweek2019? @aphyuriweek2019! This is the first semi-substantial thing I’ve written since like February or something... Medieval lesbians! It’s for the prompt historical, though it’d also work for family I guess. It’s sort of important. Whatever the case, I won’t pretend it’s totally historically accurate if only because it’s set in a fake country and also I’ve been watching Merlin again. So there you have it, but at least I now know all the courtesy titles for nobility.

as I am

pairings/characters: Belgium (Manon)/Hungary (Erzsébet), Netherlands (Maarten), Czechia (Kveta), Estonia (Eduard), Finland (Tuomi)

word count: 6730 summary: Erzsébet is about to meet her promised husband, a marquess from far away, but it turns out his sister is far more interesting than the man himself. It might not be smart, but that’s never stopped Erzsébet before.

“My Lady!”

There is a slam on the doors of her chambers, because Erzsébet’s maidservant is a terrible woman without a sense of propriety, and Erzsébet grunts when she comes in to throw open the window shutters.

“My Lady. The envoy will be arriving soon.”

“You think I’m not aware, Kveta?” She sits up in her bed, sighs, and swings her legs to the ground.

“I wouldn’t presume to know what you’re aware of, My Lady.”

Erzsébet narrows her eyes at Kveta while she lays out her breakfast and her clothes. The gown is, of course, one of her best, with layers upon layers of green velvet and brocade, and laces she’ll have to ask one of the other maids to loosen at some point during the day after Kveta does them up.

It’s already a busy affair around the castle; Erzsébet rushes through a throng of servants and knights to get to the hall while Kveta trails behind, pretending to be useless as always. (Apart from the continued insolence, she’s a good servant, but Erzsébet doesn’t think today will be a good day so she deserves to be snappy.)

“Erzsébet!” her brother greets with a smile. He’s tall as ever, decked out in green as well, and is even wearing a cloak with their house’s crest on it in silver and black.

“You look like an idiot,” Erzsébet informs him. He blinks, light eyes on her.

“I come all the way back home to see you off and this is what I get?”

She smiles despite herself. It’s good of Eduard to come—see her off—but she does think he’s missed how much she really doesn’t want to go. He did, of course. Want to leave, that is, because he got to have his own land, and marry one of the princesses. As long as King Ivan continues not having children, any children Eduard has are in line for the throne. Erzsébet, meanwhile…

The trumpets sound. For a second, she hopes that they’re announcing the arrival of her youngest brother, Tuomi, but that’s quickly dashed when a page sprints into the hall and yells, “The Marquess of Baselot is arriving!”

Erzsébet’s parents will presumably already be out on the steps to greet the visiting nobility, so she sighs again, as much as the dress will allow her, rights her shoulders, and goes there as well, Eduard next to her.

They watch while the envoy comes up the bridge and across the courtyard. It’s not too large. According to the messages, the marquess will bring only his sister, some lower nobility, and some servants from Baselot.

Erzsébet’s mother gently squeezes her arm when the little procession has reached the bottom of the steps to the main entrance and halts, the marquess holding up a hand in front to signal a stop. He rode himself rather than being in one of the carriages, which Erzsébet will take as a good omen, a sign that the man is not completely useless by himself, and may not be useless as her husband.

Her father, the Duke of Ungrica, greets the man on the steps while servants rush all around, getting the horses, the luggage, and Erzsébet is trying very hard not to look at the marquess, which is why she notices when the door of the first carriage is opened. Curiously, she keeps watching to see what the Lady Baselot looks like—if she’s as tall as her brother, who is even taller than Eduard, if she holds herself with the same confidence.

The answer to both those questions appears to be yes.

The woman is decked out in shades of red and yellow, with light brown hair tucked into an elaborate adornment on her head that has multiple pearls stitched on. Baselot is by the sea, of course, so pearls might be common there. She catches Erzsébet looking, and Erzsébet inclines her head, a gesture that is returned with a small, curving smile.

“Manon of Baselot,” Kveta hisses from behind her.

Of course.

This is why she keeps Kveta; she never forgets anything even when Erzsébet got distracted halfway through and stopped listening.

“My Lady,” someone is saying right in front of Erzsébet now, and she quickly snaps her attention back to the marquess, now close to her at the top of the steps.

She curtsies hastily, feeling ridiculous because her father is the duke and mostly people bow for her. (She’s technically supposed to curtsy to Eduard now, but she taught him how to read, so that’s not happening.)

“My Lord,” she returns. She probably remembers his name. It seems rather dumb to have forgotten her future husband’s name, after all. Did it sound similar to his sister’s—ah, yes, of course. Maarten. Maarten the marquess.

He is handsome, really. At least she remembered that right from that one time she’s seen him before, years ago when his late father visited and he had come along as his squire.

It could have been worse, she has been telling herself. Tells herself again as the company make their way inside, where all the servants have mysteriously disappeared into the shadows as they always do when the duke is around. Maarten could have been thrice her age, rather than only ten or so summers her senior. Baselot could have been one of the swampy counties by the lakes in the middle of the kingdom. Her father could have made her marry him when she was years younger.

Really, the only problem with the whole affair is that she just… Doesn’t want to marry. Tuomi doesn’t either, she suspects, but he’s probably going to get away with it, being the youngest son and with Eduard having got them into the Royal Family. Erzsébet knows she doesn’t have that luxury. She understands. That doesn’t mean she has to like it.

Once everyone is in the great hall and seated at the tables—the marquess at her father’s left hand and Eduard (Earl of Jarva) at the right—the steward announces a musician, and food is served.

“Hey, remember to leave some for me,” Kveta says when she leans over to attend to Erzsébet.

“Shut up,” she hisses in reply, although she can’t stop a laugh from escaping.

And then Lady Baselot, sitting next to her, stifles a laugh as well, surprisingly. Erzsébet quirks her eyebrows at the woman, who shakes her head and turns to eat, biting her lower lip.

She is very beautiful as well, Erzsébet thinks. She’s blushing a little, coloring her round cheeks, and the colors of her dress bring out the gold in her hair. Erzsébet turns towards her. Might as well talk to her future sister-in-law.

“Did you have a good journey, My Lady?”

Manon turns to her and smiles. “Quite alright. We’re not used to the mountains, but we had no difficulties. It’s beautiful along the way.”

There’s a melodious quality to her voice that Erzsébet doesn’t think is a Baselot accent, but sounds very light and interesting. Her eyes are green.

“That’s good to know. If you’d like, we could go riding tomorrow. I don’t imagine they have much need of us here.” And, when Kveta groans ostentatiously behind her, “Please excuse my maidservant, she was raised by feral dogs.”

Manon lets out a surprised laugh at that while Kveta gasps indignantly.

“Well, I’d love to go out, My Lady.”

“Please, Erzsébet is fine. We’ll be sisters, won’t we?”

Lady Baselot cocks her head. “That’s true.” The interesting, almost mischievous curl is back to her lips, and Erzsébet smiles again.

Most of the afternoon is spent listening to various men talk about politics, only interrupted when Tuomi arrives, announced as Lord Ungrica so absurdly loudly that Kveta swears audibly, which makes Manon laugh another time.

Erzsébet doesn’t even get a chance to speak to her wayward youngest brother until everyone starts leaving the hall to prepare for dinner. There is a feast being organized, of course, in honor of the delegation from Baselot.

“How are you finding your betrothed?” Tuomi asks, while one of his servants starts busily gossiping with Kveta as if they aren’t there and Eduard waves, trying to make his way over.

“I have barely spoken to him,” she replies, rolling her eyes. And, as Eduard reaches them, “Eduard, did you speak to your wife at all before you were wedded?”

“Me?” He thinks for a moment, righting his hat on his pale hair. “Yes, I did, but the king was always hovering. It was a bit intimidating, to be honest. Should we hover over you while the marquess is here?”

“Oh, please don’t. If anything, as the older sibling, I should have hovered with King Ivan.”

Eduard pulls a face. Tuomi laughs. He looks good. Healthy, with color on his cheeks and his sandy hair longer than when he left last time. Erzsébet reminds him he needs to tell them of his adventures soon, but then quickly rushes to her chambers to prepare for the feast.

“Weren’t you having a good time with Lady Baselot,” Kveta comments while she straps her into another dress, this one a lighter green.

“Well, it’s good to have a confidante there, I think. She isn’t married, is she?”

Kveta huffs. “Not anymore.”

“Oh?” Erzsébet turns to her, intrigued. “Is this something I should have known?”

A vague hand wave. “Why know things when I can know them for you, My Lady? She was Countess of the Isle of Karja. The earl died shortly after their marriage, and Baselot found a way for her title to transfer to her younger brother. They are very good at that sort of thing over there.”

That’s unconventional, but very smart. It’s no secret that the Mark of Baselot is more powerful than it reasonably should be (one of the reasons Erzsébet’s father would choose for her to marry its marquess) but she supposes it’s less prowess in battle and more clever political thinking. She’s never been very good at that sort of thing, herself, but thinks it’s impressive how the nobility are always pulling the wool over each other’s eyes left and right.

“How did the earl die? Please, Kveta, not so damn tight.”

“Now, that’s the real question.” She tightens the laces further. “My Lady, you’re ready for the feast.”

“I’m so glad you’re coming to Baselot with me,” Erzsébet mutters. “I wouldn’t miss you for the world.”

The marquess is waiting outside her chambers to accompany her down to the hall. They exchange stilted pleasantries.

“I saw that you were getting along with my sister,” Maarten says while they walk through the drafty corridors. The sun is setting, and through the battlements, the light casts sharp shadows on his face that make him look older than he is. His eyes are the same color as Manon’s.

“She is good company, My Lord.”

“I’m glad. Manon is important to me.”

Erzsébet nods, folding her hands across the front of her skirts.

“I told her I might show her around tomorrow. By your leave, I could take her riding and explore some of Ungrica before we leave for Baselot.”

The marquess smiles, rather unexpectedly (he seems serious and staunch, from what she’s seen of him) and stops walking.

“Erzsébet—My Lady—we aren’t married yet, you don’t need my permission. I do not intend to keep you locked away from the world, let alone from my sister. Spend your remaining time here as you’d like.”

She takes a deep breath, or attempts to, and bows her head to hide the grin from her soon-to-be husband. It might not be so bad.

“Thank you, My Lord. Maarten.”

His eyebrows quirk minutely (there is a thin but prominent scar running just into the highest point of one of them, she notices) but he doesn’t seem to mind being called by his name. She’ll take that as another good omen.

At the feast, they are seated apart again, but Manon is next to Erzsébet once more, so it’s quite alright. They agree to ride out in the morning, if the weather permits.

“I do look forward to it,” Manon says with a smile, while her eyes glimmer in the candlelight in the hall. Erzsébet can’t help but smile back, and she’s probably looking forward to it a bit too much, but that’s for her only to know.

Kveta nags her as she goes to bed because Kveta doesn’t like riding, and it will be her last day at Ungrica too.

“Who said you were coming?”

Erzsébet’s maidservant stops, her mouth still open.

“Your father won’t let you go on your own, certainly not with Lady Baselot.”

“We’ll ask Tuomi to come. I’ll just need you to prepare some food and tell the stables to ready the horses, and then you can have the day off. I’m sure you have other people to annoy.”

That gets her a flat look, although Kveta curtsies at the same time.

“I’m ever so grateful, My Lady.”

“Oh, get out of my room.” Erzsébet shoos her away, pulls her covers up, and falls asleep nearly instantly. She dreams of her wedding, and that Baselot is an island floating in the sky over Ungrica like a storm cloud.

It’s about to fall down when she is woken by a rather chipper Kveta, and after eating the breakfast she’s brought and being hoisted into a more comfortable dress fit for riding, Erzsébet wanders down to Tuomi’s chambers. Well, the chambers where he lived growing up and now stays in when he’s at the castle, which isn’t very often these days. She does miss him.

Although grumpy about being woken on his first day back, Tuomi agrees to come down and accompany Erzsébet and Manon into the mountains.

By the time Erzsébet is in the courtyard, the place is already bustling with activity. She greets people left and right, from minor nobles to young squires, helps a woman catch an escaped chicken, and buys a few apples from a merchant on his way to the lower town. The people of Ungrica are used to her milling about. That will be different in Baselot.

When she reaches the stables, she feeds some of her favorite horses the apples before finally meeting Kveta and the stable boy on duty, who are both talking to Tuomi and Manon.

“Oh, look who it is,” Kveta says, rolling her eyes. The stable boy bows.

“Feral dogs,” Erzsébet reminds Manon. “Good morning. I hope you’ll find my brother a good escort.”

“We’ve met,” Manon replies. “I have no doubts.”

Since Kveta is already trying to shuffle away, the three of them decide to leave quickly. Tuomi rides in front, on a different horse than the one he rode in on yesterday—and that wasn’t his old mare either. While the path still allows it, Erzsébet keeps her horse next to Manon’s. It looks unfamiliar, so it must be one of Baselot’s.

“I hope you slept well,” she says.

“It was fine.” A shrug of shoulders draped in a red cloak. “I never sleep well away from home.”

Swallowing, Erzsébet nods.

“Neither do I. Tell me about Baselot.”

Manon looks over at her, shaking her curled hair out of her face and using one hand to tuck it into the simple hood she is wearing today.

“Well, most of the mark is quite flat.” She gestures at the country road ahead of them. “I’ve hardly seen hills before, let alone mountains.”

“Does the Isle of Karja not have mountains?” Erzsébet asks, unthinking, while they exit the settlement near the castle and enter the woods. The trees are resplendent in their colors, from the last green vestiges of summer to the deepest reds and browns of the settling autumn. Manon sighs.

“Karja is one mountain, I think. It’s difficult.” Her voice sounds flatter all of a sudden, and Erzsébet immediately feels guilty. Although she hasn’t retained her late husband’s title as Dowager Countess of Karja, that doesn’t mean she’s no longer grieving him.

“I’m sorry, Manon. I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t know anything about your time there.”

It’s quiet for a while, just their horses’ steady step on the dirt road, the rustling of dry leaves, and the birds busily tweeting at each other before most of them leave the kingdom to go south. Tuomi is humming something the bards played last night.

“You must be one of few nobles who don’t,” Manon eventually says. “It was a long time ago. And—well, don’t tell anyone, but I feel as though I could trust you—”

“Of course.”

“I don’t grieve my husband. He was old, and Karja isn’t an easy place to live. I always knew we wouldn’t be married long. We both did. It bothers me, though, that so many rumors are circulating about how the earl died. That I had it arranged, or my father.”

“That’s fair,” Erzsébet says. “For what it’s worth, I tend to miss everything. I only heard you were married once yesterday, and had no idea how long ago it was.”

She smiles softly into the distance, or maybe at Tuomi’s blue-clad back.

“I’m happy to be back in Baselot. I hope you will like it.”

Erzsébet looks down at her horse silently, laying her fingers on the mare’s warm neck. She really hopes that she will like it as well.

They venture into the woods proper after about an hour of riding at a slow pace, following the hunters’ trails along now-gentle brooks and around large outcroppings of rock. Manon is silently looking around, mossy green eyes wide with wonder. Tuomi is now singing something, not stopping as they reach a clearing where Erzsébet and her brothers have been known to rest before, and he jumps off his horse, patting it on the neck after tying it loosely to a tree.

He gestures Erzsébet and Manon over, helping Manon off her horse while Erzsébet is left to jump to the ground herself. When she raises her eyebrows imperiously, he shrugs, grinning.

“I’ve only got so many arms.”

They have lunch listening to Tuomi telling them where he’s been over the past few months, about the people he’s met and been inspired by.

“I haven’t been to Baselot,” he confesses, “but the sea is beautiful, Erzsébet.”

“I have seen the sea before, you know. Eduard did get married at the Royal Palace.”

“That sure was something.”

When the food is gone, Tuomi is announces he would like to take a nap, spreads his cloak on the mossy ground, and lies down it.

“Well.” Erzsébet looks down at her brother for a long moment, then over at Manon. “Do you mind walking for a while? There’s a place I’d like to show you.”

She shakes her head, and so Erzsébet takes a dagger from Tuomi’s saddlebags, just in case, and leads them out of the clearing to a narrow, rocky path down to the brook. She’s done this many times before, ever since she was a child, so she knows exactly where to put her feet to be sure the leather of her shoes doesn’t slip on moss or wet rocks. When Manon says the path looks dangerous, she tells her that. The woman bites her lip.

“Well, guide me, then.”

“Of course, My Lady.” Erzsébet reaches up from her lower rock, holding a hand out until Manon takes it and uses it to balance herself when she carefully steps down as well, holding her skirt up with the other hand.

“We’re almost on a high point where you can see nearly all of Ungrica,” Erzsébet explains, as she steps down another set of rocks. She’s still holding her hand, Manon’s fingers warm and dry between her own. There are no rings on them, the only jewelry on her right now a pair of pearl earrings.

“Oh, I’d love to see that—oh!” Her grip tightens when her left foot slips the smallest bit, but she holds herself up. “Will we have to cross the water?”

Erzsébet blinks. “Ah, yes. But it will be especially shallow now, it hasn’t rained a lot lately. It should be fine.”

“I don’t mind either way.” Manon’s gaze finds hers, and Erzsébet swallows when she smiles softly again. The expression seems so quiet, so honest. It’s not something the nobility is very good at showing most of the time. “I trust you, Erzsébet.”

She squeaks something like a reassurance in reply, and then descends as quickly as the path allows—so quickly that she nearly pulls Lady Baselot straight into the water. Manon yelps, then laughs melodiously, threading her fingers through Erzsébet’s as they reach the brook. It’s very small. They’re in luck.

Still, despite that, Erzsébet has a hard time trying to think of how they’re supposed to cross it again, her mind flying in all directions but the right one.

“Erzsébet?”

She looks over. Blinks.

It’s not as if she doesn’t know—doesn’t know that some women find women attractive instead of men. Not as if she doesn’t know that she finds women attractive. She’d be lying if she said that, at least subconsciously, that might be one of the reasons Kveta is still in her employ. When it’s just servants, or a merchant or an entertainer that comes to visit, that’s alright. Erzsébet won’t ever have to see them again, and even if they were a man, she couldn’t be with them. But to be attracted to her future sister-in-law… That’s a whole damn problem in and of itself.

Maarten can never know. No one can, but especially not Maarten, and definitely, definitely, not Manon.

“Erzsébet?” She squeezes her hand gently.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

“That happens to all of us sometimes,” Manon jokes. “Even my brother occasionally thinks. You must have a lot on your mind.”

At the mention of the marquess, Erzsébet abruptly lets go of her hand and gestures expansively at the trees on the other side of the brook.

“Let’s go!”

Although Manon seems puzzled, perhaps even a little hurt, she is quick to follow Erzsébet’s lead in taking her shoes off and tucking them into her skirts, and then in walking into the cold water. Erzsébet hisses between her teeth at the cold, and Manon says, “Remind me to take you to the strand in Baselot in winter.”

“At least there won’t be any avalanches,” Erzsébet replies distractedly, trying to remember where she’s supposed to put her (slowly getting numb) feet down. “Ah, I’ve got it. Follow me, My Lady.”

They pick their way across the water with relative ease. Erzsébet’s dress only gets a little wet at the bottom, and Manon seems to have come out completely unscathed but excited, her eyes sparkling with mirth. She is beautiful, and Erzsébet wishes she were a peasant sometimes instead of the daughter of a duke, with no responsibilities to her family other than taking caring of them, and no obligation to marry a man she not only doesn’t now, but can’t ever love.

“Are we going this way?” Manon asks curiously, already with her shoes back on and following the trail up the slight slope on this bank.

“Yes. Wait just a moment!”

“Of course.” She inspects something in the undergrowth but discards it—there are a lot of berries around here, but almost none of them are edible, so it’s probably for the best.

After a short walk, they reach the little plateau that Erzsébet knows Eduard has only brought his wife to, and Tuomi probably no one at all, just like Erzsébet until now. Manon doesn’t know that bit of significant information, of course, but it still feels as though this is suddenly a bad idea.

The Lady of Baselot has no idea the damned future Marchioness of Baselot would rather be a simple lady herself if it meant she’d get to be in her orbit instead of her brother’s.

“Oh, look at that! You really can see very far from here.”

Erzsébet walks over to stand next to her, her nose up to her chin because of their height difference, and Manon grips her upper arm, leaning over.

“Is that the castle of Jarva, all the way near the horizon?”

“It must be.” She imagines Eduard’s wife rattling around in there by herself, and huffs a laugh. The princess (well, Countess of Jarva, and when she thinks about it, Lady Baselot isn’t the first noblewoman she’s been attracted to after all, but that’s a different train of thought) definitely knows how to handle the proceedings herself.

“A shame you can’t see Baselot from here.”

“Maybe from higher up you could, but it’s nearly impossible to get there unless you’re a mountain goat.”

“I never thought I’d be sad I wasn’t a mountain goat,” Manon muses. She tucks her arm through Erzsébet’s. “The castle looks so small already. You have to wonder how important we all really are in the end.” And, after a small pause and in a soft breath, “I’m glad you’ve brought me here, though. Men are terribly boring.”

At that, Erzsébet can’t help but laugh. If only she knew exactly how boring she finds men. Well, on many levels.

“I wonder if Tuomi would agree with that assessment,” she just says instead, and Manon laughs as well.

“Oh, don’t tell him. He seems very nice.”

“He’s awful, but he’s my brother, so I’m allowed to say that. I presume that the princesses can even say that about the king.”

“You’re right.” Manon tilts her head, brushing her curls, dappled gold with sunlight falling through the multicolored leaves, against Erzsébet’s hat. “Although telling you Maarten is awful seems like a bad idea, considering. He’s a good man. More considerate than anyone would give him credit for.”

And, when Erzsébet just jerks involuntarily, “I’m sorry. I’ve noticed you don’t like to talk about the betrothal.”

They’re not supposed to talk about this. No one, Erzsébet thinks, is supposed to talk about things like that. She chews on her cheek.

“I don’t mind,” Manon continues. “I understand. Do you think I really wanted to marry the Earl of Karja? It’s just a part of life.”

“It doesn’t… It hasn’t got anything to do with your brother. If anything, I’m glad it’s him, if you’ll be at Baselot—” Oh, no, why would she say that? The Kveta-like voice at the back of her head is telling her to stop overthinking things, that Manon absolutely won’t take it the way she means it.

“I’d be more than happy to keep you company,” she says, the softness back in her voice and the curve of her lips.

“Thank you.” Erzsébet swallows hard.

Slowly, Manon threads their fingers together again, and they look out over the valley for a long while. Erzsébet will leave for Baselot tomorrow, to be married within the month, and it might be years before she returns to Ungrica. At least Tuomi will probably visit. At least Manon will be there. Not to mention—

“I do hope Kveta won’t alienate every servant in Baselot from me,” she says absently. Her arm shakes when Manon bumps her own into it.

“I’ll put in a good word for you. They like me more than Maarten.” There is a mischievous curl to her lips that Erzsébet wants to taste, and a matching spark in her eyes when she looks up at those abruptly.

“Thank you, My Lady.”

“My pleasure, Erzsébet.”

The accent, giving her name a slightly different stress, must be Karjan, then. It’s charming. Erzsébet smiles and looks down at Ungrica for the last time in the foreseeable future.

By the time they make their way back to the clearing, it must be nearing evening, and Tuomi is calmly carving something into a bit of wood with a small knife.

“Ah, there you are,” he says, unconcerned, when he spots them. “I was about to go and look for you.”

“Of course you were, Tuomi.”

“I was! I’m hungry.”

That does sound like him.

So they agree to ride back to the castle, and Erzsébet helps Manon get on her horse before Tuomi can even offer, which he looks rather confused by.

Well, confused, yet knowing at the same time. Tuomi likes to pretend he’s slightly dim, but Erzsébet knows that people underestimate him because of that, which is exactly what he wants. Hell, even she still does, sometimes. Although they haven’t talked about it and probably never will, she suspects their reasons for not wanting to marry are quite similar. (Also quite opposite, by definition.)

The journey back to the castle is without incidents, with Tuomi regaling them with more tales of his adventures on the way.

In the castle, the preparations for the second feast are already nearly finished, and one of her maids has drawn Erzsébet a bath and helps her change into appropriate clothing. The girl is respectful and reverent as servants should be, and Erzsébet regrets giving Kveta a day off already. The woman is the easiest person in the castle to confide in, if only up to a certain point. Maybe she should talk to Tuomi.

But, no, what good would it do?

So Erzsébet just sighs and sits on her bed for some times before going out.

This time, it’s her mother waiting for her, and she hugs her briefly before they walk to the hall.

“You will be a wonderful marchioness, dear,” she tells Erzsébet—and that’s the one part of the whole operation she never doubted. As daughter of a duke, she’s more than prepared for life as proper nobility.

“Thank you, Mother,” she says nonetheless, because she knows her mother means more than just that, as nearly always. That is also part of being nobility, and how she managed to raise three children who are all terrible at that will always be a mystery. Erzsébet is the worst at it, though. Probably always will be, by now. That’s alright. She has other qualities.

Like making Lady Baselot laugh beautifully and melodiously multiple times throughout the feast, getting bolder with her commentaries on the entertainment as the evening wears on and the servants keep refilling her goblet without being ordered to.

“You know, I’m glad Kveta’s coming to Baselot even if she does pit everyone against me,” she eventually tells Manon, looking rather forlornly at her once again full goblet.

“I told you, I would protect you,” Manon replies, brushing her fingers across the back of Erzsébet’s hand almost distractedly. When Erzsébet turns her hand over, she rests her fingertips on the palm. They’re warm. The whole hall is warm, but Erzsébet shivers.

“Protect, yeah. Like a knight.”

“Hmm. Maarten is planning on letting you have your own chambers, you know,” Manon is saying, leaning over until her capped sleeve nudges Erzsébet’s shoulder. She smells like flowers.

“Why?”

Manon bites her lips when she looks over, restlessly pressing her fingers to her hand.

“He values his privacy. But he can explain that better.” She pushes a finger over Erzsébet’s wrist, under her trailing sleeve. “I’m sure he won’t mind Kveta.”

“Well, I hope not. She’s a servant. I know the whole insolence thing is—”

“No, I mean…” She leans even further in until her breath is warm on Erzsébet’s face and she wouldn’t have to do more than whisper to be heard over the din. “If she’s in your chambers at night.”

Erzsébet jerks back, cursing and knocking over her goblet, and there must be a servant rushing over clean up her spilled wine, and maybe people are looking if they heard the clatter on the flagstone floor over the musicians and the chatter, but she doesn’t notice. She only notices Manon, whose expression is unreadable when Erzsébet fixes her gaze on the woman.

“What?” she asks, the word barely a wisp.

“I must have misunderstood.”

“No—yes. Kveta wouldn’t. I need to—” Erzsébet gets up from the table and rushes out of the hall, through the silent corridors and into the darkened courtyard, letting the cool air hit her face.

How could she just say something like that? She knows it happens, that some nobles have servants warm their bed, men and women both, but it’s not something you talk about, like so many other things you don’t talk about.

“Aw, and it looked so promising.”

Kveta, of course, behind her as always. Erzsébet sits down on the bottom step of the castle, and her maidservant sprawls out next to her.

“Promising?” Erzsébet repeats. It’s an interesting choice of words. Kveta plucks some invisible dust from the velvet of her dress.

“You and Lady Baselot. It’s always good to have allies in a new place.”

“Allies,” she mumbles.

“Friends? Confidantes, like you said? People who care for you out of more than obligation.”

“I suppose that excludes you, then.”

Kveta huffs and kicks her in the ankle as if they’re equals, as if she’s Erzsébet’s sister instead of her maid.

“Keep telling yourself that, My Lady. You’re stuck with me.”

She sighs. Maybe she overreacted. Manon didn’t seem to be implying she had a problem with—she glances over at Kveta. No, that’s strange. Despite acknowledging her attractiveness, it doesn’t go beyond that.

“Don’t make that face at me, Erzsébet,” the woman complains.

“Kveta, who gives the orders here?”

“Well, you certainly try, My Lady. What just happened?”

Shaking her head, Erzsébet folds her hands together. The air is cold out here, and it has cleared her head quite thoroughly.

“I’m glad you’re coming to Baselot with me, Kveta.”

An ostentatious sigh, and Kveta is standing up, brushing the dirt off her dress. “That’s not what I—”

“Erzsébet?”someone calls from by the doors. Manon.

“She’s here, I hope you can do something about this,” Kveta replies. “My Lady.”

And up the steps she goes, back towards the faint sound of the feast. Manon comes down in her place, the fabric of her gown rustling as she walks. The courtyard is silent.

A rush of air floats out when Manon sits down heavily, and then she is silent for a long moment, her breathing audible.

“I’ve known Kveta since we were girls,” Erzsébet says. “Her parents were my teachers. If I had a sister, she’d probably be a lot like her.”

“I’m sorry,” Manon breathes, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the evening chill. “I thought…”

“Is… Does that happen often at Baselot?” Erzsébet asks, intrigued despite herself.

“It hasn’t for a while, as far as I’m aware.” She shuffles her feet on the cobblestones of the courtyard. “And I should be aware.”

Erzsébet takes a deep breath, as if trying to inhale those words, that inflection, to inspect them more closely. When she turns to look at Manon, the woman is giving her a rueful smile that pulls at her eyebrows, at the corners of her eyes, with her hands clenched together in her lap. Erzsébet reaches for them. Her mouth would taste like wine now.

“Well, it’s not as if I haven’t thought about it,” Erzsébet hears herself mumble, and Manon’s face morphs into the very picture of relief, with arched eyebrows (the same shape as her brother’s) drawing together, and her mouth opening and closing a few times. She sways towards her, the smell of flowers in her space and her fingers loosening their grip.

“Erzsébet, when we get to Baselot, we can—”

“My Ladies!” Tuomi exclaims at the top of the steps. And, before Erzsébet has even fully turned to glare at him, “Father is on his way, so I’d stand up quickly.”

They both leap to their feet, letting go of each other’s hands, and Erzsébet tries not to look guilty of anything when her father appears, frowning.

The duke just sighs, shaking his head almost fondly.

“Come inside, Erzsébet. Lady Baselot.”

The remainder of the evening consists of people giving speeches about Baselot and Ungrica and how Erzsébet will be a great marchioness, and when she looks over at Maarten just the once, he catches her eye, raising one eyebrow as if in question. He looks towards his sister, then back. She wonders if Manon has talked to her brother about… Such things. She looks away.

Exhausted, Erzsébet barely notices that Kveta is the one helping her get ready for bed. When she does, she bristles halfheartedly.

“I gave you the day off!”

“Evidently, you can’t function without me. There better be a raise for me when you become marchioness.”

“I really doubt a marquess will pay as much as a duke,” Erzsébet mumbles back, already half-asleep and tucked into her own bed for the last time. And, “Go to sleep, Kveta. It’s a long day tomorrow.”

Curtsying, somehow sarcastically. Kveta leaves her chambers, and Erzsébet falls into darkness.

By the time morning rolls around, though, she has already been awake for some time, mostly just thinking. In two days’ time, she’ll be at Baselot. In two weeks’ time, she’ll be married. But most importantly; what was Manon going to say?

When we get to Baselot, we can…

It’s almost scary to think about.

Erzsébet decides to walk through the castle a last time before breakfast instead of wallowing in bed, greeting the bakers and the retiring night guards, running into a bleary Eduard (he hugs her and tells her to take care of herself until he sees her at her wedding), then an already harassed-looking Kveta, who complains she’s been looking for her everywhere and to put on her traveling cloak because they’re leaving for Baselot in two hours.

After doing just that, and inspecting her chambers for anything important she might have forgotten, Erzsébet goes down to the hall to say goodbye to her parents. Maarten is waiting outside the double doors, hands clasped behind his back and wearing bright green, which makes her smile.

“Good morning, My Lady,” he greets, inclining his head.

“My Lord.”

They enter the hall together and bow to the Duke and Duchess of Ungrica, before they both come over to hug Erzsébet and bestow their best wishes upon them both. It’s simple, but Erzsébet will see them again soon, at least.

After some more formalities, which leave her restlessly fidgeting with her dress, they are set to leave. Maarten leads her outside, where a carriage is waiting at the bottom of the steps. It’s an overcast day, but the roads should be fine as long as it doesn’t rain.

“I…” He looks over his shoulder at her parents, who are staying at the top of the steps. “I trust you won’t mind sharing the carriage with my sister.”

Something in his voice makes her look up sharply, but his green eyes are unreadable, and nothing else has changed.

“Of course not, Maarten.”

So he lets go of her hand to let her enter the carriage, bowing as the door closes, taking most of the light with it, as the shutter is closed. Erzsébet lets out a long breath.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Manon asks from the opposite seat. Her hair is loose, a pearl headband lying next to her. There is a hesitant note to her voice.

“Quite something,” Erzsébet echoes. She runs a hand across her face when the carriage begins to move. “Your brother seems… Well-informed.”

Manon pulls an almost apologetic face. “Yes, he does tend to be, whether I like it or not. But as I said, he places a high value on privacy. That includes mine.”

Suddenly, she’s tired of talking around it. They’re alone in here, will be for the coming two days, and she knows almost certainly that they both know what’s going on even if it feels impossible.

“What did you mean to say yesterday? What can we do when we get to Baselot?”

“Oh, well.” She presses her lips together as if trying to hide a smile, but then gives up and smiles widely, beautifully, at Erzsébet. “Anything we want.”

“Anything?”

Manon reaches for her, and Erzsébet lets her take one of her hands, chewing on her lip when she bows her head and kisses the back of it. Her chest feels light and heavy at the same time, and she can feel herself starting to smile when Manon’s soft lips touch her skin, when she murmurs against it.

“Everything.”

#Hetalia #aphyuriweek2019 #hunbelg #aph hungary #aph belgium #my hand hurts because I wrote this all down once again like an idiot #aph netherlands #aph czechia #aph estonia #aph finland #u: historical #u: human #fin #fun fact there's another fic I've got half finished when czech is the royalty #modern royalty in fact #it's very hysterical #poland is a duke #w: 10000

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