Regrettably, death did not find Weiss in her slumber, as she would discover, and an infernal ringing noise was piercing through the peaceful veil of sleep. She summoned every ounce of power left in her mortal prison of flesh just to pry each crusty eyelid open, revealing, to her disappointment, that life still clung to her bones. She groaned. She could hear the servant right outside her door, ringing that damned bell with that twice-damned smile on her thrice-damned face. If she had a javelin at her bedside, she would chuck it directly through the door and finally get that hag. Unfortunately, the only thing at her bedside was her mother's necklace, which she managed to scrape together enough wherewithal to throw around her pale neck.
The bell-ringing hag opened her door— without Weiss' permission, of course— and stuck her wrinkled turkey-neck through the gap. She locked Weiss down with those hawkish eyes and affixed her with a smile so bright it made her want to pluck her eyes out with a hairpin.
"My lady!" She greeted Weiss, her voice loud enough to split mountains, "goodness, I was beginning to worry you would not wake up!"
Weiss threw her legs over the edge of the bed, pulling most of the blanket to the ground with them. She looked at the fallen duvet, then back at her servant. "Sssuh…" Weiss' voice was like gravel, and clearing it did little to help, "someone will need to get that."
The bog witch looked down at the comforter, then back up at Weiss. "Yes, I imagine so! But first, we must get you dressed, you've got a busy day ahead of you!" She foolishly approached Weiss, placing the bell on the heiress' nightstand so she could help her up with both hands.
Spotting the mistake, Weiss willed the magic in her veins to coil around that accursed implement, chucking it into the opposite wall hard enough to crush the metal to the point of uselessness.
"Aaahh," Weiss feigned horror as poorly as she could, "a Geist has possessed your bell."
The hag's smile finally fell, and for the first time today, Weiss felt a little warmth enter her soul.
Exceedingly proud of her impudence, Weiss shrugged off the woman's help and stood on her own two feet, cold tile greeting her sensitive soles. When the servant tried to help her disrobe, she pushed her away. "I can make myself as the gods did without any assistance, thank you very much. Now, find your way from my chambers, return with something… mobile. If I have to wear more than one corset, I will skin you alive and fashion a passable dress myself." Weiss imagined she might even have a good deal of material left afterwards, what with how wrinkled the woman was. Under her breath, she added, "and perhaps some boots. I've always wanted to wear those."
The woman appeared aghast, but Weiss knew she was unfazed on the inside. She had tortured Weiss for long enough that she really should be used to the barbs. Regardless, she made herself scarce, finally giving the heiress some time to herself. She shut the thick door to her room and strolled to her mirror, where a gangly creature— more akin to a pale ghoul than any kind of human— stared back at her. She tried to ignore the way its piercing blue eyes bored into her own, the way it mimicked her every movement, and the fact that it was a perfectly fine mirror that reflected her form just as well as she should expect.
She found herself wishing to be in her sister's shoes. Would joining the Knights Imperiale put some meat on her bones? She closed her eyes, both to spare her eyes from gazing upon her own naked form as she disrobed, and to imagine her rapier in her hand, fighting to protect the realm instead of just providing her a means of recreation that nobody could begrudge her.
Her hag of a servant, Hulda, returned before long, a long grey dress pinched between her bony fingers. Donning her clothes was its usual affair, with slightly less seething hatred towards her servant than after she had been freshly ripped from the embrace of death's warm cousin. Before long, she found her unsightly frame hidden by the form of the dress. Hulda finished the fit by placing a navy corset around the grey dress, then scowling as she pulled it tight.
"So much give, my lady!" She crowed, intensely stoking Weiss' ire once more. "Have you lost weight? We will have to have these refit."
Weiss scowled. Truthfully, the corset looked no different from the last time she wore it. "Will it suffice for the day?"
Hulda looked like she was going to say no, but the withering look Weiss gave her told her to bury those words deep. "I suppose it could," she spoke carefully, eyes pleading towards the heiress, "though the fit will not attract many suitors."
Weiss rolled her eyes. No, not the suitors, she would die if she didn't have a gaggle of pimply, powdered boys in noble cloth orbiting her at all times. Truly, she couldn't bear the thought.
"My lady?" Hulda spoke up, as if she had expected Weiss to be urgently listening to her cawing.
"Yes, I'll be in the dining hall in a moment. Go." She dismissed her with a wave of her hand, the servant hesitating before finally leaving her alone again.
Ugh, if Hulda spoke true, her fit would do little to deter the line of boys she would have to indulge today. It was the only thing she was ever actually busy with, especially since her studies had been put to an abrupt halt with Winter's defection from the family. Somebody had to bear the entire burden of the Schnee line, though Weiss didn't understand why it couldn't be Whitley who father relied on for that. Though, with how little she actually got to see her brother, she couldn't be sure that wasn't the case.
Dreading the endless line of identical pasty faces, she wished they had a way of sorting themselves out rather than washing upon her as an unfiltered mass. Alas, Jacques Schnee was apparently too busy to be selective in who he wished to bed his daughter.
When Weiss arrived before the dining hall, she groaned. She could hear voices within— unfamiliar ones. It would be one of those days, she supposed, not even her breakfast would be free of suitors to entertain.
Hulda met her at the door, hiding her strain as she pushed the heavy oak open. Weiss didn't even bother looking about the rest of the table as she took her seat, hopeful that it would send the intended message: 'if you want me to entertain your whelps, wait until after breakfast.'
Weiss tore into the meal set before them as ravenous as she would be allowed— that is, not at all. She daintily lifted a tiny piece of honeyed ham, gently placed it in her mouth, and carefully chewed it like her teeth were made of fragile glass. The boys at the table watched with rapt interest, nearly foaming at the mouth as she chewed her food. If her rapier were at her hip, she would kebab their leering eyes and cook them for her breakfast. She stopped chewing. Perhaps that was a little far for breakfast. She would simply kill them. That was a notion with which she could break her fast.
She could tell they were getting bored of staring at her, because when they finished gorging down their meals like hogs, they began to oink at one another, talking about things Weiss could not care less about. Stupid, boyish things. Who won that duel, that race, that joust, that… tourney?
Tourney? Perhaps it was her relative freshness to the dialect of Vale, being from Atlas herself, but the word was entirely unfamiliar. She couldn't stop herself from asking. "Tourney?"
The boys all shut their maws at once, heads whipping to give attention to the young woman they had actually come to see. Only a beat of silence passed before they began gushing about it, emphatically speaking of the events before trying to boast how well they would've done if they'd been allowed to go.
Weiss shook her head, annoyed. "No, what is a 'tourney'? I do not know the word."
They shut up again, then let loose a field of 'uh', 'um', and 'ah' that could rival a prairie full of dumb cattle.
"Nothing to concern yourself with." Jacques, her father, asserted from the head of the table. His deep voice made the boys jump as if they had forgotten his presence. "It is in the domain of men."
Weiss fought tooth-and-nail to keep her eyes from rolling out of her head. "But it is clearly so interesting to my suitors, I would simply wish to know what brings so much elation to the hearts of my suitors."
Jacques could clearly see through her game, but he did not let that show on his face. "It is a low word," he said with a side eye at the blushing suitors, "for a tournament."
Weiss cocked an eyebrow— the most interest she could express while remaining ladylike. A tournament? She was still unfamiliar. "I assume that is a contest of some kind?"
Jacques frowned. "A contest of arms, yes, usually with noble houses competing for fame, a prize, or both."
Contest of arms? A prize? "That sounds interesting."
Jacques shook his head with a look of utter revulsion. "It is not for you to be interested in."
Weiss huffed, but returned to her meal. She barely got one more piece of ham into her gullet before it struck her. She turned to her father once more, loudly putting her fork down to get his attention. "I think it could be very useful."
Jacques swallowed his food before acknowledging her with a side-eye.
"It could be a fun way to ingratiate ourselves with the local nobility— we are still quite new here, after all— and could also serve to… process my suitors better." Weiss tried to propose nonchalantly, as the idea was actually sparking quite the fire in her belly.
Jacques frowned, but actually turned to fully address her. A good sign.
Weiss tried to look sheepish. "Well, father, you spend so much of your own time arranging these meetings without any guarantee of quality or success."
Jacques looked like he was going to object, so Weiss continued quickly.
"So, hosting a tournament would be a good way of finding the best of the best! It would be less work for you, all the locals would love it, and it would guarantee a batch of promising suitors!"
Jacques eyed his daughter. He could see something in her eyes, some kind of plot forming, but he couldn't object to her plan. It was very tedious to arrange so many meetings with this soggy lot, so perhaps some filtration would be a good idea. He hummed. "I… will consider it."
Weiss suppressed a smile. "Thank you, father." Internally, she was jumping for joy. Less suitors meant less time entertaining them, and more time for herself! She could finally get some reading done, or practice more with her rapier, or do a dozen other things ladies did when they weren't burdened with an endless line of identical juveniles!
And when the tourney was over, she would entertain the suitors just long enough to be promising, then drive them all off and start the cycle all over again! She wanted to laugh. It was an impenetrable plan, proofed against any and all fools!
Right?
AN: i actually love this chapter so much, ive never had so much fun being so mean