Bouquet
(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo
The two-part story The Budding Garden is dedicated to Houyoku, whose story Lady of Violets not only introduced me to the complexities of the Pent/Louise pairing but is still what I consider to be the story about them.
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The Budding Garden: Nutmeg Geranium, Ivy Geranium, Purple Columbine, Red Camellia Japonica, Calycanthus, Coreopsis Arkansa, Thornless Rose
(At the meeting called at the behest of Count Reglay,
twenty women gathered so that they might be considered his bride.
Each in turn presented themselves to him,
one and all resolved to win his favor.
However, when the last of them rose, both count and maiden were struck;
he by her unpretending excellence,
she by his unassuming benevolence.
Would this be called 'love at first sight',
or rather an early attachment that watered the seeds of love
until they blossomed into a glorious garden unparalleled in the eyes of all who saw them?)
There is a time in every maiden's life when she feels nothing but the greatest despair. She is not good enough, she lacks talent, beauty, charisma--she is hopeless, a woman with no future. Color is drained from her vision until all she can see are the monochromatic tones that are the nothingness that she is and will forever be. This was the sum total of how Louise felt every time she picked up her violin to practice. With her 'talent' at the violin, Louise knew that the only look she could expect from Count Reglay was one of disgust. She knew it, she believed it, she lived it, and consequently, her ability to play sunk to the point in which everything she played was a mournful dirge, off-tune.
The truth was this: Louise was not tone-deaf. If she had been, she would have considered it to be a minor blessing. But, as she could hear every error in her playing, every instance where she lacked both melody and the grace to recover it, she understood just as frequently as the rest of the household how poor she was at such a fine art.
"It really isn't that bad," her sweet maid Celia said in an attempt to console her, but Louise knew differently; while she was playing, Celia had a most strained expression on her face, and now that Louise had lowered her violin her maid appeared terribly relieved. Insistent upon being inconsolable in the face of false words, Louise settled upon her cherrywood chaise lounge and, chin thrust resolutely onto the palm of her braced arm, stared out of the window in blank longing. It was a beautiful day, the garden below her room glorious as it was bathed in sunlight, but Louise was blind to it all.
With a muted exhale, Celia rose from the matching chair, where she had been preoccupied with her young mistress' gloves, and approached Louise. "May I sit beside you, Lady Louise?" she asked in dulcet tones.
Louise glanced at her maid and dear friend. Though she had only rarely seen Celia out of the long black dress and white apron that was de rigeur for Etrurian maids, she could see by the other girl's lovely facial features, strawberry-blond hair, and graceful way of moving that Celia would grow into a fine woman indeed. Louise was not envious when it came to appearance, as she was often told that she was already very pretty for her young age, but she did envy Celia's grace--perhaps if she herself possessed even an ounce of it, she could master a solo dance and impress Count Reglay that way, instead of relying upon her nonexistent musical talent.
Gesturing beside her, a slightly guilty Louise said, "Please do." Celia followed the command, as always, and seemed to search for something to say. In the meanwhile, Louise returned her attention to the window.
"It may be impertinent of me to ask, but why are you trying so hard to win Count Reglay's favor?" When Louise turned her head towards Celia, she saw the older girl staring down into her lap, twisting long, graceful fingers around each other. "Do you wish to leave Alloway that badly?"
"It isn't that," Louise reassured her, sitting up so that she could take one of Celia's hands in her own. "I love my home and everyone in it. Even though I have traveled to other parts of Etruria many times with Mother, I think that every other region lacks the pure beauty of our fields. But..."
"But?"
"I don't really know why, but I feel I must try to reach him...Count Reglay," admitted a pink-faced Louise. "When Mother was describing him, I was...I felt the deepest sympathy. I thought that if I were him, I would be quite lonely. Perhaps he does not even have a friend as nice and good as you, Celia. So, I resolved that I would meet him, but the only way I would be allowed to talk with him would be if I won the contest, and so..."
She felt her hand being squeezed, and Louise looked up to meet Celia's warm green eyes. "I think that is just like you, Lady Louise. Certainly, if you try hard enough, your true feelings will reach the count."
"Mm," Louise murmured, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her friend's words. "But I wonder if it is all in the trying--"
"I've wondered that myself a time or two."
Both girls looked across the room at the bedroom door, where Louise's mother stood, impeccable even in indoor dress. "Mother, g-good morning," Louise greeted, wondering frantically how much her mother had heard.
With a nod of acknowledgment, her mother glanced at Celia. "Celia, Lisette would like to see your progress with the gloves. If you're nearly done, I believe she would like you to start on the stockings next." Without a word, Celia pulled her hand from Louise's and retrieved all the work she had carried into Louise's room, bowing to Louise with a smile and a wink before leaving the room.
"Would you like to sit down, Mother?" Louise invited after they were left alone. With a gracious smile, her mother walked to the chaise lounge with nary a rustle from her long skirts and sat down.
"I thought I would see what you were up to once I realized you weren't playing any longer," her mother explained. "The sound of it went well with my new book."
Louise smiled, though the reference to her playing made her feel somewhat forlorn. "A new book? What sort of book?"
Her mother laughed behind one well-manicured hand. "An absolutely chilling horror novel."
Appalled, Louise could only stare at her mother.
"Oh--oh, Louise, don't make that face, it was only a joke. Come here, silly girl." As her mother reached out to her, Louise had a mind to resist; once in her mother's embrace, however, she found that the heady scent of her mother's favorite perfume--a gift from the queen of Bern, whom she knew to be a relation of theirs--lulled her into accepting, then sinking against her mother's full bosom. The gentle touch of soft fingers as they swept through her hair only deepened the effect, a sort of nostalgic haze from a time when she was but a child, lacking in any responsibilities more difficult than cuddling up to her mother while practicing her reading. What happy days those were--where had they gone?
"Mother," she said, her eyes closed as her senses were overtaken by the familiarity, "I feel I cannot be considered as a point of pride for either you or Father."
"Silly girl," her mother repeated, no heat behind the rebuke. "We are already so proud of you. What matters most is that you find pride in yourself."
"But how will I do that?" Louise pleaded, eyes wide open now. She thought she would like to rise from her mother's arm and demand an answer from her dear mother, but her mother had a penchant for avoiding that which others demanded of her. Instead, she laid there, head against her mother's chest, like so much deadwood. "I cannot do anything as I am. I cannot compare to the ladies that will be there. I..."
There was no response from her mother, save the soothing touch of fingertips now massaging her scalp. Then, in a very soft voice, her mother said, "Do you know, my father was said to be quite disappointed that I was born a girl. After all, in his eyes, a girl-child could never be as sturdy and unflinching as well as even the most soft-hearted boy. And when my mother died in childbirth and took what would have been my brother with her, I think my father was convinced of it. That's why he expected me to be nothing greater than a woman, just a bartering chip, and why I rebelled against him so.
"I never wanted you to live that sort of life. I remembering worrying over your father's reaction when I was told I had borne a daughter, but..." Louise felt rather than heard her mother's laughter, bouncing within her mother as much as it was. "He has always been so enthusiastic over every little thing that you've picked up, and even though he's still pouting over your willingness to perform for the lordling, he fully supports you. He really does intend for you to compete at the Festival d'Armements this autumn."
"Truly?" Louise murmured woefully.
"Truly," her mother repeated with a smile in her tone. "But please try to humor him. It's your skill in archery that he's most pleased by. And if you're to continue practicing cooking with Ellie, he'll love to try more of your creations. As will I, of course." Pushing a lock of hair behind Louise's ear, her mother sighed. "Celia is right, you realize."
"About what, Mother?"
"If you show the lordling your true heart, he will respond favorably."
"My true heart..." Louise finally recovered the presence of mind to lift herself away from her mother's soft embrace, disheartened as she was by the turn the conversation had turned. Looking away from her mother, Louise asked, "But what is that, exactly?"
Her mother clucked her tongue. "It certainly isn't in the violin, I'm afraid to say. Nor was it in the harp, or the piano before that. You simply aren't made for such things. Kindly do not give me that look, young lady."
Averting her glare, Louise gazed down at her lap. "I have no skill in ladylike endeavors, I realize this," she admitted, her tongue like lead and her heart sinking to new, unfathomable depths.
"Perhaps not, but you do have them in Louise-like endeavors."
"Mother," Louise started, newly horrified, "I cannot take my bow and present that as a womanly skill to Count Reglay! Why, to think of his reaction...it would be a scandal!"
Her mother rose from the chaise lounge, her dress shimmering like a forest on a windy day. "I know a thing or two about scandals, dear daughter," she said in an oddly grave tone, "and the thing about them is, they are inflated by the words of those who know not a thing of which they talk about. It might be a fine thing to follow the course that has been created for young ladies such as yourself, but whoever said that such a path was right has worn blinders since birth. Your father and I, we are sure, did not raise such a daughter."
"Mother..." Louise whispered, watching her mother's beautiful face darken with that same frustration she had espied a week ago, when the whole ordeal over Count Reglay's invitation began.
"The difference between what is said to be right and what actually is right can be nearly insurmountable at times, Louise. I pray that you will understand this in time." And, with such words hanging between them, her mother left her room. Louise sat, speechless for a time, letting the meaning of her mother's words sink into her. It reminded her so much of words her father had told her just a year earlier, and they mingled together until she could almost believe in them.
Worth beyond beauty. The different between what is said to be right and what is actually right.
Louise never picked up her violin again.
-0-
On the day before the potential brides were to show off their skills, Pent realized he couldn't recognize his home.
It happened suddenly, not as quick as the blink of an eye but in a fashion that seemed to defy explanation all the same, and by the day the potential brides converged on Castle Reglay--Pent refrained to think of it in the manner of locusts, but the feeling of it was there--his home had changed from a gray stone keep to a brightly-colored stone keep. This was mainly due the fact that banners in the customary blue that House Reglay claimed as its own were strewn everywhere, blaring the insignia and crest of his house from every nook and cranny. And then there was the fact that flowers seemed to be blooming from every flat surface that could be found in the castle; he didn't know what to say about it, but as the maids whose duty it was to place them in the most pleasing manner possible seemed happy to do their job, he supposed he could live with it. Far less happy were the cooks and scullery maids, and he supposed he couldn't blame them--twenty family names did not seem like much on paper, not compared to the original fifty, but to see what this entailed in real life was something else entirely.
They sort of were like locusts, he observed. Brightly-colored ones.
Because these women were arriving from all over Etruria, they were allowed to spend the night in the castle in sympathy of the distance they had to cross. But, as Pent could see very clearly, this meant that everyone was inclined to arrive a day early just so that the ones who came from afar would not hold an advantage over the ladies who lived only a few hours away. Therefore, the castle was bustling in ways it had never bustled before, because with these twenty ladies came their mothers or designated guardians as well as their personal maids. Pent wasn't sure how to feel about this, but the head housemaid assured him that all that would have to be done was to open a previously-unused wing of the castle for the duration of their stay. "And the food's nothing to worry about, milord," she had added, her Western Isles accent full of mirth. "Once you see them, you'll understand. They enjoy eating, sure, but they've got to fit into their dresses too." He was led to believe that the ladies' maids would eat in the servant's hall, but that they'd be too overworked to eat much either. So it probably was unkind to think of the eighty new additions to his home as locusts.
Possibly.
After standing for an impossible amount of time greeting his guests and having each potential bride's qualities expounded to him time and time again by their mother or guardian, all the while aware that everyone's eyes were on him and him alone, he felt claustrophobic. No matter where he went, he saw ladies bunched together in small groups like clusters of shiny, colorful fruit, their eyes peering at him over lacquered fans as they giggled in falsetto. They were all lovely ladies, to be sure, but after seeing all these women in nearly as many nooks and crannies as the house banners he was tired of the sight.
He wanted to believe there was something wrong with him, who was not pleased about being the singular point of attention of such attractive and vivacious young ladies, but he couldn't ignore the artificiality of it all. They were all here because he needed a bride; he needed a bride to maintain his good family's name. The winner, as it were, would collect a prestigious title, and his duty as head of House Reglay would be fulfilled.
Where, exactly, did he enter the equation?
That was why, after deciding he had enough of the trivialities of the day, he went to his room and changed into simple clothing, something he would wear at the academy when there was no class but he was still researching in the library all the same. As quickly as he could, he made for the castle library, where he was certain no ladies would lie in wait to ambush him. It was approaching sunset and, as the library was facing west, there was an appealing golden hue that filled the room. Smiling now, he selected a book and walked down the length of the room, hoping to hide himself at the very last table until it was time to make an appearance for dinner, where apparently no one but himself would be eating.
He stopped smiling when he saw a woman sitting at the very place he was intending to hide. The woman, dark-haired and with an eye color that he could not discern with the sunset glow bathing the room, looked up at him and he hoped she thought he was but one of the clerks of the castle. Unfortunately, he could see the recognition on her face--a small smile--as she closed her book. "Lord Pent, a pleasure to see you. You seemed occupied before, so my daughter and I elected to get settled instead."
"Oh," he uttered, unable to place who this woman was. Since she recognized his face, they must have met once before--but when? "I apologize for my rudeness, Lady...?"
"Well, there are so many women vying for your attention, my lord," the woman said, and he frowned when it seemed that she wouldn't even acknowledge his request for her name. "Certainly you are not intending to hide from them until dinnertime?" she asked, laughing behind her book when he stared wide-eyed at her. After a moment he laughed with her.
"If I was, I'll hope you'll keep my secret."
"Of course, but I would have to say that this is exactly what you deserve."
Pent looked away, smiling a little. "I do agree, but that's a little harsh."
"I know it's tradition," the woman said, speaking very familiarly to him now, something which piqued his interest even more, "but it really is rather silly, isn't it? How does one judge the entire worth of a woman by her ability to string together someone else's words?"
The smile was lost now as he nodded in full agreement, though he knew it would be folly to verbalize his feelings. "Your daughter is one of them, I take it? If you feel such, certainly you could have decided that she not attend this..." He wanted to call it 'nonsense', but instead he held his tongue.
"But she wanted to," said the woman in a tone that Pent could only call 'wistful.' "My husband is far from pleased and I am of a mixed opinion, but do you know what my daughter said once I'd described you to her? 'He sounds lonely,' she said. That was the only reason she needed to agree."
How could he describe this feeling? At once, he was both touched and very, very still, insofar that stillness could be a feeling. It was a monumental shift from his vague feelings of restlessness before, when he'd just wanted to get away from all the women who had come here to be Countess Reglay instead of the wife of Pent, a mage who just happened to be nobility. Now, to learn that there was at least one among them who could express such an observation about him, who had come here just to--to make him feel not lonely?
"Who is your daughter, if I may ask?" he requested, his words tinged with just enough emotion that the woman should know better than to avoid this question. After all, he thought, she would want her daughter to be married just as much as the rest of them, no matter her mixed feelings. And if he could just meet her daughter and find out if the words she had spoken were true, then what need was there for this whole affair?
The woman stood, her height unimpressive even for a woman. "I think not."
"Pardon?"
"To put it plainly, I won't tell you. For one, I don't find it fair to the others who have come here. But there is another, more pressing concern of mine."
"Which is?" he asked, slightly annoyed but curious. He could see her smile, a pale crescent to match the one outside.
"You are allowed to invite all these girls here so that you might judge them, and that is considered to be the good and proper thing to do in our fair homeland. I understand the necessity of tradition, and I respect it." Tilting her head just so, she seemed to be examining him from afar, as if he were a horse on sale. It made him uncomfortable, because it was not unlike the stares he had already received throughout the day. "However, why should you remain untested? To what lengths does your title vouch for your good character? Not every man with a title has been a gentleman, after all."
"So you wish to test me?" Pent realized aloud, pleasantly surprised. "I don't find that disagreeable. What would you ask of me?"
The lady shook her head. "One simple thing. Tomorrow, figure out which of the girls is my daughter. That is all."
"That's quite the request," he murmured. "There are twenty women here to perform tomorrow."
"Twenty or two hundred, I would make the same request." She bowed, though Pent felt it wasn't out of respect for him. "I take my leave, Lord Pent."
When she had passed him, he couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. "I would ask you why," he said, turning to watch her back as she headed towards the door. She stopped, then inclined her head towards him.
"My daughter is dear to us. She is putting in all the effort she holds inside her just so she can meet you, simply because she feels you need a friend. If you can't recognize a woman who does that much for your sake, I daresay you don't deserve her."
"You--you truly love your daughter," he blurted out, immediately embarrassed to make such an inadequate remark.
"We all love our daughters, Lord Pent." The woman glanced at him, full-face, and he saw that her eyes were some strange pale color, enhanced by the arrival of twilight. "If we didn't, we wouldn't be here." She turned around and continued her walk to the exit, and he allowed her to do so without further complaint.
Once she had gone, he all but crumpled into the nearest chair. He hadn't realized it while he was talking with her, but that woman seemed to exude an immense amount of pressure--or perhaps it was the pressure he had put on himself, once he realized that he had wanted her daughter. He had thought it was a silly thing to judge a woman on some delicate talent, but now that he had nearly canceled the whole event because of a girl's one observation perhaps he wasn't one to talk of silliness.
That didn't mean that he didn't want to attempt to fulfill the request made of him, of course. Not in the least.
"Perhaps I am a little lonely," he spoke out loud, placing his forgotten book on the table. It was too dark to read now. "Who would agree to such a, a farce if they weren't at least a little lonely?"
Thank God he was alone, he thought. He would have hated to hear his steward's opinion on the matter.
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As her undergarments were placed on her and adjusted, as plum-colored stockings and long under-gloves were rolled over the appropriate limbs, as her golden locks were brushed out and braided before being coiled and pinned behind her head, Louise was but a puppet, her existence fully in the hands of her mother, Lisette, and Celia. She moved and was moved by them at their discretion, her eyes closed as she tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, lest she annoy whoever was making last-minute alterations on her bodice. Briefly, her mother and Lisette held a whispered argument on how appropriate it would be to powder the flesh exposed by her décolletage, which her mother had won by commenting that she wasn't the kind of woman who laced her corset at the front, whatever that meant. To Louise it did not matter, nothing much at all really did; to be pampered to senselessness only increased the feeling that she was nothing much at all save a doll. She floated, content.
There was a knock at the door, but it existed too far away for Louise to care about. Celia was sent to answer it, and she returned not too long afterward. "They've brought breakfast," Celia announced. "The maid had a cart and everything. It seems everyone else is fussing about as we are."
"But there's no time to eat," Louise heard Lisette murmur close to her chest, very obviously fretting. It was all Louise could do to comfort her mother's personal maid, knowing that the stress was due to her and her body's inexplicable growth since the last time she had been fitted for the dress. "The showing begins at nine, and it's already one hour to the time. I'm afraid I'll need much of that time to let out the seams around her hips."
Her mother laughed. "You may consider it a bother now, but can you imagine what my daughter will look like once she's fully grown? She'll have the most fantastic body in all of Etruria, thanks to her diet. And look at these toned arms!"
"Of course it's true that Lady Louise is a very lovely girl, but her propensity for growth is quite another thing entirely," Lisette commented in a quiet voice. A needle poked Louise just above the hip, but insensate as she was she barely flinched.
"Yes, but as she's the youngest of the potential brides it can only help her. More to the point, Celia, please feed her. When she doesn't eat, she gains a most unattractive pallor. She needs some color on her cheeks to really magnify her complexion."
"I can feed myself," Louise started, quite feebly. She began to sit up in her chair, but found herself pressed back down again by an unforgiving hand.
"Celia, feed her. Mnh, I thought I had brought a necklace, but perhaps a delicate circlet would do..."
Over an hour later, Louise was allowed to stand. She did so, her steps full of tentative grace in her new short-heeled shoes. As if she was expecting the worst, she glanced at the mirror and was struck by the image presented. Her face she could almost recognize, as it was not made up too extravagantly other than a bit of powder as a finish, but the burgeoning presence of cheekbones and the slight curve of brushstroke-like golden eyebrows, both having been hidden by hair normally left loose, were as new to her as the elegant style that bound her hair up and around her head like a golden crown. Her dress was mostly created from the white silk that was her mother's gift, save for some thin golden lines accentuating her neckline and the cut-away front-and-center below the seam of her bodice, a triangle that exposed an underskirt of lavender that fluttered past the hem of the white dress and just below the curves of calves covered with plum stockings. White gloves covered her hands up to her upper arms, fastened in place by thin golden armlets her mother had been happy to supply; the plum under-gloves peeked out just past the armlets. She was grateful that her back was covered even though that went against the fashion of the season, but the combination of inventive lacing and the lowest neckline Louise had ever worn impressed itself upon her modest bust favorably--the appearance of cleavage, no matter that she was not as developed as most of the older girls she had seen at last night's dinner, was embarrassing to the young girl.
"Is that really me?" she asked breathlessly, a side effect of the tighter lacing as much as her shock at the girl who stared back at her from the mirror. She could not turn away from the mirror even as she heard the familiar sound of her mother's laughter just before she appeared behind her in the mirror, and she did not dare to once her mother fastened a gold chain along her brow, a pearl seed set in the precious metal dangling at the center.
"Who else could it be?" her mother murmured, placing her hands on Louise's shoulders after she was finished with the circlet. "Take a good look, my dear. Who knows if you'll ever wear this again?"
Once Louise was done taking in the image of her as neither girl nor woman and yet somehow both, though she knew she had to hurry as she was already late for the beginning of the meeting she held out her hand. "Celia, my bow, please." Avoiding the nervous stares from both maids, she caressed the frame with fingers covered in white silk. Made of yew wood, Etruria's vaunted holy wood from which it was said Saint Elimine's legendary staff, the Holy Maiden, was created, it was her first bow--she had been made to carve it a few years ago, when her instructor had finally decided she would not do further insult to the art of archery, despite the fact that she had been in training since she was about six years of age. For her, there was no greater comfort than to hold a bow, to wear her quiver at her hip and to know that she could defend herself if need be.
When she held out her hand again, a string was placed in her hand and, with a meditative silence that everyone within the room besides herself saw as the epitome of her feminine grace, she began to string her bow.
I will be fine, she told herself. As long as I have my bow, everything will turn out for the best.
-0-
Pent could not figure out who the mysterious daughter was, and nervousness jangled through his body even as he told himself that, with a little reasoning, he could figure out which of the ladies was her.
As the nineteenth lady sang an aria he recognized as being from a musical he had seen in Aquleia before his father's decline in health, he studied her for any telltale signs that she was the one he was looking for. Though her hair was dark, he felt hesitant in claiming that she was the one; after all, there were quite a few others who were brunettes. Who knew if the daughter resembled her mother? After all, he had never physically resembled his father.
If nothing else, he supposed he had actually been focusing his attention on each woman and their presentations. And as expected, they were flawless to a one. But none of them, not even one, seemed right. None of them seemed like a woman who had come here for his sake.
He smiled at this, though it was a grim one. How selfish his thoughts would sound to anyone else; with everything he had, how could he still ask for more?
Loneliness, he thought. How he wished he was back at the academy. Ruling a county was important work, true, but being at the forefront of all sorts of magical accomplishments was what he lived for. He certainly didn't have time to consider loneliness while buried in scrolls and tomes.
Dimly, he realized the aria had ended. All the other women and their chaperones applauded politely, and he nodded in acknowledgment of the lady's skill. His steward, who was standing to the right of his throne, lifted the parchment on which the prospective brides were named, and Pent noticed the slight frown on the older man's face as he read off the final name.
"Louise Katharina Émile...Lady Émile."
Pent couldn't help but hear the murmurs at that name. He vaguely recalled it as the not-quite-titled family, the interesting one with the gentry-born father and the mother who was the daughter of a duke. But not just any duke, the former great general. Come to think of it, was he even introduced to anyone who...oh.
The murmuring grew into discontent chatter until a hush befell the grand hall and the Émile child stepped out in front of the crowd. Perhaps 'child' was a bit rude, though it was obvious by her face and height that she was the youngest of all the ladies of the day. As they all were, she was rather pretty, enveloped within a color scheme of white, gold, plum and lavender, setting off her peaches-and-cream complexion, bright golden hair, and the most startling lavender eyes he had ever seen--a sunrise given life. Her eyes, along with her pale lips, seemed to magnify the emotions playing across her features--all at once, she seemed alert, nervous, and very determined. It was obvious to him that she didn't know how to perform like the ladies before her; she was there, all her feelings bared to him, and as someone who was still getting used to the political nuances of society it intrigued him immensely that she could willingly expose all her thoughts, her fears, her hopes.
Then she held out a bow almost as big as her small frame and suddenly he was beyond intrigued--he was downright impressed.
"I," she started, the gasps from the crowd behind her stifling her introduction. He watched her eyebrows furrow under a delicate tiara, a chain of gold with a pearl seed at the center of her brow, and even though her determination was all but flaring from her vivid eyes she had a smile quivering along her lips. "Count Reglay, my skill is with the bow," she announced to him, to everyone in the hall. He watched her with interest as her smile seemed to widen, yet her eyes were downcast in an endearing display of shyness. When she glanced at him again, he had the distinct feeling that he was the only person in the room as far as she was concerned.
Truth be told, it felt the same from where he was sitting.
"My sweet lord," she continued, a fine blush across her cheeks as she presented her bow to him, "if you should choose me, I will protect you to life's end."
...Well.
As he sat there, trying to come to terms with the young Lady Émile's words, he heard a rumble from behind her. This rumble turned into a roar, and before he knew it the grand hall of Reglay Castle was filled with the malicious, scornful laughter of people who must not have a single heart to share amongst themselves. He figured this because he could not imagine a single one offering to protect him with their life, yet they were all the more willing to laugh at the one person who could. That such behavior was allowed in highborn society was reprehensible; that they could reveal such brazen disrespect in his home made him feel as if anyone who thought otherwise from their small-minded ways deserved their mocking braying.
Well. How absolutely charming a sight.
She was still standing there, her face red with humiliation and her teeth worrying lightly along her lower lip, apparently calling up reserves of strength unequaled in those older or taller than she--like, say, the rest of the people in the room. It reminded him of the clerk who had suffered his steward's rebuke but was ultimately supported by good reasoning and proper judgment. He had allowed the clerk his vindication then and he saw no need to deny the same to her, not when she had impressed herself upon him to such a degree. A sympathetic smile from him seemed to catch her attention and hers alone, but when he stood everyone took notice. He made his way down from the throne to where she stood, as small and diminutive as a mouse and with her bow still in her grasp, and he held out a hand to her. She looked at it, uncomprehending and with a little fear in her eyes, the sight of the latter adding to his growing disgust of his oh-so-noble audience.
"I have never met a girl whose heart was so clear, Louise," he stated, deliberately forgetting to use any sort of title in conjunction with her name. She seemed to have noticed, for she lowered her bow and, releasing one hand's grasp of the weapon, slowly reached out towards his proffered hand. When he took it, he noticed that, though her hand was small to the point of daintiness, it seemed to fit his hand like nothing else.
He thought he would have it no other way.
When he smiled at her again, there was a light to her eyes--indeed, her entire face--as she shyly smiled back, and he knew he had chosen right.
-epilogue-
The guests were leaving, the maids and retainers to House Reglay shooing away even the most forthright of the many, many offended ladies and their mothers or guardians, when Pent caught a familiar face within the crowd. It was that woman from the night before, he realized, the brunette who had challenged him to find her daughter. For a second, he felt guilty at breaking his promise, until he noticed the sly smile on her face...and her bright lavender eyes, which had been obscured by the sunset when they had met.
Oh, he thought in relief, how nice that it has all worked out for the best. Then...
He looked down at the young woman by his side. Though they were no longer holding hands, they stood very close to each other, which he found to be rather nice. "Lady Louise," he said to get her attention. She gazed up at him with curious eyes.
"Mm...I didn't mind it before, when you just called me by my name," she corrected with a soft voice, a pinkness to her coloring that he thought endearing.
"Louise, then," he said with a smile. He hadn't felt this good-humored in months. "I must admit something. It is true that, for quite a while now, I have felt a bit lonely on occasion."
Surprise fluttered upon her face, then a very tender look of sympathy replaced it. "I--I thought so," she admitted very quietly, "and I think it's very sad. But, um, well..." Glancing at him from under her eyelashes, Louise looked more innocent than what should be possible until she smiled. Then, it seemed to him as if she was a sunbeam of pure happiness. "I won't let you be lonely, Lord Pent. I'll do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."
He didn't know what to say, except for the most trite and silly thing of all. "Thank you," he said, feeling strangely formal and unsure how to respond to her on her level, where even the simplest statements meant the most essential things. Then she smiled even wider, and he knew that he would have the rest of his life to reach that far.
He couldn't wait.
-end-
Whew, the clean-up of this part was fun. I would've had this up sooner if it weren't for an exam and other projects. That, and adding the description of the dress, as that didn't exist in the LJ-version for good reason--as much as I like dresses, designing one is quite different! It doesn't help that comfortable travel and battle-wear seems to be mostly mini-skirts and stockings in Elibe. I finally just adapted FE6-Guinevere's outfit as a template, since that seems more proper, and played around with that until it felt Louise-like. Sorry if I overwrote it and, well, anything else.
This is the end of available parts from my LJ and I'm currently very busy, so I suggest anyone interested in this story put it up on story alert and hope for the best...sorry.