Gadge April Prompt: Promises
"Gale!" Seated at his desk, Gale turns to the sound of his sister's sing-song voice. He's looking over construction plans to build a wide bridge across a dangerous river. It's an ambitious endeavor and he needs to make sure all of the plans are feasible.
"Yes, Posy?"
"Letter for you!" His little sister says, nearly skipping in. Their mother has been trying to cure her of the 'unladylike' habit for years now, but the eight-year-old refuses to be swayed. Gale admires her defiance, even if he agrees with his mother that perhaps there's a time and a place for skipping.
"Thank you, Posy," Gale says as he takes the letter. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, but it's definitely female—although, he notices with relief, there's significantly less whorls and intricate swirls than what other young women tend to favor with their handwriting.
"Who's it from?" Posy asks.
Gale raises an eyebrow at her nosiness. "That's for me to find out," he tells her pointedly, to which she huffs and stalks out.
He has many things to do today and no time to read correspondence, yet curiosity gets the better of him, too. He turns the letter over—the seal of Merchantra: a mockingjay mid-flight, clasping wildflowers in its beak.
Gale grins, knowing who the writer of this letter is. He should wait until bed to read, should get everything else done, but he can't help himself from delicately breaking the seal and unfolding the letter hungrily.
Dear Prince Gale,
How are you on this fine day? Well, it's fine here, anyway, considering that it's nearly winter—I'm not familiar with the weather patterns in Seamlyn, although Katniss assures me it is not that much different from ours. I hope your journey back to Seamlyn from Merchantra was an easy one; I've heard the mountains can be quite unforgiving.
Well, this feels odd, doesn't it? I don't think we've ever been so civil to each other, in person or otherwise. Perhaps this correspondence will be an exercise in restraint, at the very least.
Your cousin Katniss is doing well. I'm not sure how frequently your two correspond, but if her verbosity on paper mirrors real life, then I daresay you probably haven't heard from her since her wedding.
I think she's taken my words to heart, as did Peeta. They certainly seem to both be in better moods, as opposed to that awkward circling around that you witnessed while you were here (imagine living with that for several months! I was almost tempted to lock them in one of the scullery maid's closets and be done with it.)
Give my best wishes to your family, and to Katniss's.
Your friend,
Madge
"Post for you, Your Highness," Delly says, curtesying deeply as she holds the letters out to Madge.
"Will you never call me Madge, Delly?"
Delly looks up from her lashes as she stands, smiling impishly. "Perhaps we can compromise and I shall call you 'Margaret'."
Madge makes a face—she doesn't care for her given name, though that's how she's addressed in public. "Hmph," is all she says.
Madge looks at the seal of the letter—Seamlyn: a wolf emerging from a flame. With a seal like that she understands the fierce nature of Katniss and Gale. She smiles.
Delly gives her a look. "Have you been expecting this, Margaret?"
Madge almost starts to respond but stops. She loves Delly dearly, but the girl is a notorious gossip, and Madge doesn't want news of her correspondence with the Prince of Seamlyn to get around the castle, especially not to her aunt, who would no doubt deem the letters 'improper', especially between two people who had no intentions of marriage.
Her aunt obviously didn't understand what a friend was, Madge thought with a frown.
"Just a friend," Madge shrugs, hoping Delly didn't see the seal.
"I'll leave you to your letter, then," Delly says, excusing herself before Madge can, although she gives her another curious quirk of her brows before she leaves.
Madge barely waits until the door has closed before she nearly rips open the letter.
Dear Madge,
I'm doing well today, although it is far from fine. We have very wet winters here in Seamlyn, though our summers are relatively dry, and today the rains have returned with a vengeance.
I suppose this does feel a bit odd, being so polite to each other, and I must confess, I was wondering if you would actually correspond with me. You certainly seemed taken aback when I suggested it. I am glad you decided to write me, however. It is a pleasant surprise.
Another surprise? The fact that I miss our face-to-face spats. It's certainly a refreshing change from many other young women who merely simper and agree with my every word—well, if they can even understand what I'm saying, anyway. I normally talk about politics and weaponry and hunting so that they'll tire of me quickly and leave.
I'm sorry. That was unkind. I'd cross that last paragraph out entirely but I do not see what the point is when you've called me 'unkind' before—along with several other unsavory names, if I remember correctly. There's no point, I believe, in trying to fool you into thinking I'm someone other than who I am.
I'm glad both Katniss and Peeta are doing well. Watching them together was painful, almost, in the awkwardness, both so careful around each other. If that's not love, I don't know what is—that sort of all-encompassing consideration they have for each other. And, of course, I don't think I've ever so aptly witnessed the whole 'love is blind' concept.
And it's too bad you didn't suggest that plan to me. I would've helped make it a reality.
I wonder, has anything I've said shocked you yet? Or are you sitting there, shaking your head and trying to hide a smile?
And Madge—if we really are friends, you can drop the 'Prince' and just call me Gale, you know. And before you get up all in arms—yes, we are friends.
Your true friend,
Gale
His father raises an eyebrow when he sees another letter come for Gale. "I didn't know you were such an avid writer," he remarks, as Gale accepts the letter from the servant with a grin.
"New habit," Gale says off-handedly.
"I'm sure it helps when you like the person you correspond with," King Asher suggests.
"Certainly," Gale agrees, although the question barely computes with him, as he's already wondering what Madge has written.
"It will have to wait, though," Asher says, still peering at his son intently. "We have a meeting with our advisers in five minutes."
A flicker of disappointment, a downward twist of the lips, runs across Gale's face for a moment before it smoothens out. He's long learned to seal his emotions away behind a stony mask.
"Yes, sir," he says readily, although his eyes flicker back to the letter he leaves behind on his desk as they walk away.
Dear Gale,
I am almost offended that you thought I wouldn't write to you! I promised I would, didn't I? And, well, perhaps that promise wasn't so explicit, but I gave you my word and I wouldn't go back on that.
Furthermore, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I have long ceased to be shocked by you, sir. Your assessment of my reaction was partially correct: I was sitting here, in the same little cove you saw Katniss and I speak in, shaking my head. However, I did not try and hide a smile, instead letting it beam across my face, for there was no one near me to hide such a smile from.
Perhaps your sentiments were unkind, but I've employed similar tactics against the many young men my aunt tries to pair me with. I talk about politics and economics and anything remotely educational and most men move on quite quickly. Apparently making conversation with a woman smarter than they are is distasteful. Not to mention embarrassing.
While you were very off base in regards to your opinion of Merchantra's women, I must confess our men, with the exceptions of my cousin and uncle, are rather lacking. They strut around like peacocks and expect the women to fan their egos with cloying words and simpering smiles. Although perhaps it sounds like they should go to Seamlyn if they want that sort of thing?
The idea of having such a husband makes me nauseous—but the time hasn't come for me, yet, so there's no use worrying over it, I suppose.
I'm curious, will your parents make your match for you, as Peeta's did, or do you have any autonomy over your fate?
And I wonder if anything I've said has shocked you yet? Is your brow furrowed, as it seems naturally to do around me, or are you learning new expressions? Will I win a smile out of you yet?
Curiously,
Madge
"I do declare, Margaret," came a voice that would have sounded suspiciously like her aunt's, if the falsetto wasn't so—well, false, "it seems all you do these days is write letters and read them."
Madge looks up at her cousin, makes a face. "That's not true," she says crossly. "I've got my studies, and of course I'm teaching your wife about Merchantra history, and then there's the meetings I try and attend with you and your father, not to mention all of those odious court duties your mother assigns me. I'm quite busy, you know!"
Peeta holds up his hands in surrender, but he's grinning. "Does the lady protest too much?"
Madge glares at him. "I knew I shouldn't have lent you my copy of Shakespeare," she mutters.
"But really, Madge, to whom are you writing?" Peeta wants to know.
"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Madge says, and Peeta's truly surprised now.
"I'll get out of you some day, Madge," Peeta sing-songs, even when he leaves her alone.
Madge rolls her eyes, but tears open the letter, anyway.
Dear Madge,
Likewise, my lady; I highly doubt you will ever shock me as much as you did during our cousins' wedding in which you interrogated me over the contract between our countries. And clearly your memory is shaky, if you do not remember all the times I smiled at you during my visit. Or are you playing your hand at being coy, Princess?
And I promise I won't tell your cousin that you prefer Seamlyn men over Merchantra men. I can't say I blame you; we are a superior bunch. Furthermore, any man who doesn't want a smart woman for a wife isn't a smart man himself. If anything, men should want wives smarter than they—it makes their lives infinitely better. I'm convinced that my father wouldn't know what to do without my mother—you know the saying, I'm sure: "Behind every great man is an even greater woman." Knowing you, I'm sure you have it embroidered on a pillow in your chambers.
You deserve someone better than the brainless men your aunt insists upon. And I sympathize—one of my greatest fears is that I will marry a woman I can't respect.
In terms of your question, my parents are kind enough to take my preferences into consideration, and would try their best not to put me in an intolerable match, but as king and queen their hands are tied. If there's an alliance to be made that would benefit the country greatly, then they would have no choice. It's what happened with Katniss, after all. I can only hope I will be as lucky as she.
But, like you, hopefully marriage is a subject I will not have to think of yet. My parents haven't mentioned anything to me, anyway. Whoever you end up marrying, I'm sure Peeta will come to visit you and ensure that you are happy.
Empathetically,
Gale
"This must be a good friend," his mother says as she watches her son eagerly accept an envelope, one of many he's received over the past few months, "for you to write to them so often."
"It is," Gale says after a moment, startled to realize that it's true. Madge's letters are the highlight of his day and he will gladly stay up late into the night composing a reply to her. They speak of many things—Gale tells her about the state of the farmers' crops and various infrastructure projects; Madge tells him about the public response to a new tax and stories about Katniss. They tell each other problems and offer solutions, and the majority of the time the solutions are so insightful that they pass them along to their respective kings, who usually end up implementing them.
They also try and give each other advice on how to handle advances from the opposite sex, but oddly this doesn't work well. When Gale tells Madge to act in a way that he finds repulsive, the Merchantra men respond enthusiastically, to Madge's horror, and when Madge tells Gale to act in a way that she hates, the women fall all over themselves to speak to him, to his disgust.
It occurs to Gale that perhaps their tastes in the opposite sex differ from the norm—and Gale wonders if behaving like other men is so repulsive to Madge, then what sort of behavior makes her smile? The exact opposite? Because if so, then that means she might like—
The thought is too dangerous to finish.
The winter months pass, as do dozens of letters. Delly, Madge's lady-in-waiting, and Thom, Gale's man-servant, are incredibly discrete, so the letters don't fall into prying, suspicious eyes and except for their closest friends and family members, no one else at their respective courts is even aware of any sort of correspondence. Only Delly and Thom, however, know who the recipients are (no matter how hard Peeta tries, Madge won't tell him anything, which worries and intrigues him, but Katniss insists to let Madge have her privacy.)
Madge and Gale, blissfully unaware of their cousins' scrutiny, continue on. It's on a sunny day—one of the first in a long while, hopefully an indication of spring on its way—that Madge realizes that she's happy. Very much so. She sits, idly fingering Gale's latest letter and realizes that her life is good. It's a lovely day and she has the afternoon to herself: Katniss is with Peeta, travelling the countryside and meeting the rest of her new people, now that the weather is better; her aunt is visiting her sister for several weeks; and even her uncle is in high spirits, with fewer meetings today, meetings she decides not to attend, for once.
Madge is happy with her correspondence with Gale. His friendship is something she never expected, or even wanted, perhaps, but now it's something that she knows she needs. She wishes she could write to Gale forever, that things could carry on forever exactly as they are now. Madge knows that this won't happen—eventually Gale will become king, she will get married, and they'll lead completely different lives and will be unable to correspond. It would be completely socially unacceptable and potentially incredibly scandalous if anyone found out. But for now, they don't have those problems, those worries, those restrictions. And besides, Madge doesn't like to think of the future, not lately, but in the present she's happy.
Dear Madge,
This letter may coincide with the more official one that is going to your uncle and cousin, but I have the feeling that you would enjoy knowing how such a thing came about.
If you have no idea which letter I speak of, let me rectify this immediately:
When I visited your kingdom several months ago on the basis that I was concerned for my cousin's well-being—namely, the state of her marriage to your cousin—I may have told my parents a falsehood concerning the circumstances of my visit. Mainly that I was actually invited there.
Your cousin and uncle were generous enough to keep this secret and not view it as a grave offense, something that I took for granted at the time. Now, I understand what a costly political error I made, but I suppose I've always thought with my heart over my head, no matter how hard I've tried to correct it.
Regardless, my parents learned the truth of this matter over a stupid slip of my own tongue. Needless to say, they were livid.
My mother, mortified at my behavior, insisted that we host your family in a celebration of a year of peace and of Katniss and Peeta's marriage. So a letter from my father should be making its way to your uncle, alongside this letter, as we speak.
Promise me that you will attend? I was hoping we could see if our civility on paper could extend to in person. It has been a year, after all. Or will we revert to our spats immediately?
I must admit, if all of my political errors resulted in seeing my cousin and you again, then I shall gladly commit them regularly.
Eagerly,
Gale
Gale still flushes at the thought of his bold words to Madge in his last letter. He all but begged her to come and then essentially told her he would behave like a fool if it meant he would see her again.
What is wrong with him?
He certainly feels like a madman when he all but tears open her letter a week later.
Dear Gale,
Your poor parents! All this time, they had no clue about the true intentions of your visit. If it gives you any consolation, I highly doubt it crossed my uncle's mind that they sent you there for nefarious purposes—he and Peeta are the same sort of man, the kind who believes the best in everyone.
It sounds like a lovely time and I know Katniss is eager to go back and show Peeta her homeland. He is nervous, I think, for he has only been to Seamlyn once or twice before, and never as long as he will be next month.
This letter is very short, I know, but I thought it best if I save some tidbits of information for when I see you next month.
I promise.
Yours,
Madge