oh my god who is even still reading this and why ( im sSORRY! i have a bunch of drafts written i just can't ever bring myself to edit them orz this one is a prime example of why i am bad at writing )
"How are you?" he murmured.
"Terrible," she breathed, seeming to gasp for air.
He ran his hand down her back to try and offer some condolence, yet after the gesture was done he understood nothing would be enough and pulled her tightly to his chest. Ria was shaking extremely hard. Larsa hated it.
"I'm sorry," she told him with a tremble in her voice.
"No, don't - it's your first time in front of a crowd. It's terrifying, really, but I'll be standing next to you and, eventually, you'll acquire a taste for standing up in front of people and looking pretty," he rambled quickly, trying to get every comforting word out of his mouth before she had a complete emotional failure.
"H-hold my hand," she ordered, cutting him short of his mindless succors. He grabbed both her hands within his without questions, yet she still gave an excuse. "If you hold them, they won't shake."
Larsa nodded. "Of course, love."
A lesser judge entered the hall and told them their time to enter was here and exited after. "No, no," she moaned.
Larsa pulled her closer and towards the doors. "Just hold my hand," he said. "Squeeze it harder the more you're scared. When you break the bones we'll leave."
The only reason it was held was to celebrate the union between Larsa and Ria. That was the official reason - the real one was because of the social judgments that absolutely had to be made about her. Neither of the couple made any sort of speech, but the room did silence when they entered.
She choked out a laugh as he pushed through the doors, into a room where she was known as Empress Solidor for the first time in her life.
She nearly yelled when she saw the room. A thousand nobles standing around, waiting to judge the new Solidor: she stifled her cry by holding his hand tighter, behind their backs, unseen to the others.
They moved from person to couple to family, making idle chat and introductions. She was terrified, and couldn't produce more than a brief smile for each newcomer; and when she looked up at him, every minute he had a diplomatic, calm, happy expression on his face: a front she wished she could put on, for the sake of Larsa's reputation amongst the high classes.
Larsa felt her palm sweating against his, and only when the night was half over did he feel her fingers relax their death grip upon his, but she never let go, not once at all.
When the people scattered out, she pushed her forehead against his shoulder and asked to leave. "Gladly," he replied. Larsa escorted her down hallway after hallway, leading her to their room.
She nearly collapsed inside, trying hard to get the imperial robes she was stuck in off – an identity she didn't yet fully understand herself as. He helped her get them off until she was standing in her chemise, sobbing and shaking again.
"Ria, love, what can I do?" he asked as he pulled her closer to his chest.
"I can't do it, Larsa, I can't do this every day of my life, I love you so much but I can't ever be married to the emperor -," she talked fast and stumbled over her choked sobs, but he cut her off.
"No, honey, no, you did just wonderfully," he cooed into her hair.
"No, no, no, no," she cried, holding him tighter.
He sighed and thought the only way he could make it better presently was to at least have her lie down. "Ria, love. Let me change. You and I change clothes and get a good night's sleep, yes?"
She unlatched herself from the front of his robes to look up at his face. He was concerned and sad, trying to decipher some the unknown message of what to do and how to make it better.
They sighed again at the same time as she headed to bed - only the third night in that bed - and he gathered her robes from the floor and dumped them in the closet, along with his, before joining her underneath the blankets.
"I'm sorry," she apologized again.
"Don't."
"I overreacted."
"No, you didn't. You did perfectly. You looked beautiful and every woman was wonderfully jealous of you."
"Would you stop saying that?"
"No, love; no woman would have done better as empress." She scooted closer to him, folding herself to fit into his front. He held her with one arm, wiggling the other around and under their heads into a mildly comfortable position.
"A socialite would have."
"You'll get better at it. Really, truly. There's a point where it's numb anymore, and it doesn't give you such a scare."
"I know." A bitter sob almost escaped from her throat once more.
"We'll do them all together, if it makes it easier."
"All?"
"Yes, all," he said, if maybe a nit reluctantly, hesitant to lie to her.
Years later, many years; she had to do a presentation alone. It wasn't her first, no; she had by now been able to go without Larsa – something she was equally grateful for and nervous about - but it was her first without the emperor alive to calm her down afterwards. It was Larsa Solidor's eulogy, and she couldn't stop herself from shaking and crying after that one either.
