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runicloreTitle: Lapis Rose [3/?]
Author: Amber Michelle
Rating: PG (at most).
Setting: The official IoM whatthefuckverse
Previous installments: Chapter One, Chapter Two.
Judas didn't visit her again for quite a while. Raeger knew the number of days, down to the hour; her visit to the shrine was noon, an hour before the midday meal that she forced herself to eat so her mother and Bertha wouldn't pry into her affairs. She made sure to eat an acceptable portion of every meal placed in front of her, though she tasted none of it. Even the chocolate, rich and dark, sent from Flenceburg with a note in Marie's graceful handwriting, could not summon up an ounce of eagerness from her appetite.
The days passed in epochs. Two long, excruitiating days until the first correspondence from the Millais patriarch reached them from Lawfer's current station in Camille Village. They are quite taken with young Lady Etherell, they say, and would be pleased to begin negotiation for her hand in marriage. Raeger's mother wrote a response that she was not privileged to see, and another era of endless days proceeded to stretch out before them.
Word reached the estate that the outpost north of Camille was attacked by Villnore mercenaries, and her stomach froze. The Etherell estate was closer to the border than was strictly wise in such troubled times, and the page from Lord Millais urged them to travel to the safety of the capitol, where he understood they had adequate properties to house family and staff. He assured them the royal army was not so slapdash that it would let Villnore invade their land, but the effectiveness of their line could not be guaranteed; the enemy general had spies in his employ as well, and covert units that were too dangerous to be ignored.
Her father refused to move. This was a natural reaction, when one recalled that he was a man renowned for his stubbornness. And lucky to be alive, too. The story was still told today - that he had faced down an overwhelming force in the pass into Crell Monferaigne, that he held it three days, fifty men to three hundred, until reinforcements arrived.
A few Villnore mercenaries, he said, were no trouble. Raeger's mother rallied the maids and planned a trip to the capitol anyway. There was a wedding dress to be ordered, after all. Her daughter deserved nothing but the best Artolia had to offer.
In translation: she would not be embarassed by a low class, provincial wedding. If her Lord Husband wished to remain at the estate, so be it, as long as he sent the money with her.
So it was that Raeger found herself crowded into a carriage with her mother, younger sister, Bertha, and another handmaid, the rest of their personal staff sent ahead with their trunks and other luggage. It was an uncomfortable ride. The roads were scattered with rocks, and she swore she could feel every one of them. The jumping, swaying motion made her feel a little bit ill, but she stared determinedly out the window, parting the curtains just enough to breathe in the fresh air. When they stopped for meals, Bertha gave her a tincture of peppermint with a glass of water, which helped to settle her stomach.
"Don't make such a face!" Bertha scolded her when she tried unsuccessfully to swallow it without grimacing. "You can't put on a show like that for your husband, girl, and you'd best remember."
If indelicacy was the deal-breaker for a marriage, Raeger thought as she climbed back into the stifling confines of the carriage, then she didn't know why Lawfer's father still wanted her to marry his son. She'd tripped over her own skirt at least twice during their visit, and nearly choked on her wine when one of the maids suggested she tug her bodice down a little, just to get the young lord's attention with her 'lovely apples.' Her face still burned to think of it.
They spent their first night in a small town called Tolone, a little over a day's travel from the estate. The place had only a small, nameless inn, but the beds were clean and the food, while plain, was at least edible. They ate quietly in the common room, enduring the stares of the hired help, and Raeger retreated upstairs as soon as it was polite to leave the table.
The little brat would be sharing a room with her mother, and Raeger was to room with Bertha and the other maid. Their room was cramped, with two single beds and a large armoire that left only a little space for walking. She had to change without the benefit of a screen - a nerve-wracking process, when the door could open at any minute - but didn't go to bed right away when she'd finished.
The lapis rose hid beneath the embroidered linen of her nightgown. Light as a feather, warm to the touch, it reminded her in a way of Judas's visits to her. While uncomfortable, there was a certain heat around the edges of the memories - the implications of his visits, and the mysterious offer she hadn't yet heard. And yet they were fleeting. Neither encounter had lasted more than ten minutes.
She extinguished the lamp and opened the shutters to peek outside. The necklace, she drew out from its hiding place, and, turning the rose over between her fingers, stared out at the night sky. The gold flecks glinted teasingly. Like their master, she thought.
"You make promises you don't keep," she said to the rose, cupping it in her hand. The chain pooled like a silver river, not as shy as the lapis in catching the moon's light. Raeger closed her hand over it and pushed the shutters open farther to look down into the yard. It was empty, as she knew it would be, though she couldn't keep her heart from sinking just a little. What did she expect to see? A slim shadow, maybe, or a pale face turned up to the sky. It was the habit of lovers to serenade in this manner, wasn't it, with their ladies sighing in their windows, and the threat of discovery adding excitement to the affair?
Her hand closed hard over the rose, until its softened edges marked her skin. She dropped it beneath her nightgown and pulled the shutters closed without a care for how much noise she made, yanking the covers back on her bed and making herself lay down. Bertha was right. With her head in the clouds, she would never be happy.
And Judas, whatever he might be, was no courtly lover waiting to serenade her out of her mother's arms.
Sleep was uneasy that night. Her dreams faded upon waking, like the morning fog burning off under the heat of the sun, and left her with an uncomfortable feeling between her shoulderblades. She was glad to climb into the carriage again, if only because the curtains hid her from the world and whatever might be watching her.
They reached the Artolian capitol after five days of travel. The house was still a little musty when they arrived, but dinner was prepared, and their rooms were ready for them. The candles were lit, as the day in Artolia was dimmed by heavy cloud cover, and the servants had annointed them with oils to overpower the scent of dust and neglect that clung to the furniture.
It wasn't as fine as the family manor, but Raeger found it more comfortable. Her mother never entertained in this place; most nobles sought out the palace, if they wished to meet acquaintances or handle business, and it was only courteous to center all society around the royal family. So the current queen thought, according to Bertha. And her little daughter seemed to be cut from the same mold.
"Your mother will surely insist on taking you to the palace at least once, miss." Bertha gave the laces of Raeger's bodice a good yank. She winced. "I expect she'll have the seamstress over first. We don't have anything suitable for a royal audience."
Raeger clung to the four-poster to stay on her feet. "You don't have to pull it so tight," she gasped out. "We're not going anywhere--"
"Best get used to it," Bertha interrupted sharply. She tied the laces and turned Raeger around to face her. "I won't be here to indulge your complaints forever. We've been too easy on you, let you get away with too much. From now on you'll have to live up to expectations, and you'll be doing it without my help."
Raeger opened her mouth to retort, and the reply stuck in her throat. What do I care if you're around to help? she would have liked to say, but instead her eyes grew hot and her teeth snapped shut.
She couldn't remember a day of her life that didn't involve Bertha - or, if she wasn't there, the knowledge that she would be back.
Now, in the wavering light of the candles, she saw how lined her nursemaid's face had become, and noticed the wings of gray in the hair at her temples. She seemed smaller, shorter, or maybe just bonier, without the plumpness Raeger remembered from childhood. How often had she rested her head in that lap to hear a story, or cried into that shoulder when her mother said or did something particularly vicious?
Away from home, closer to what she'd come to see as a blank wall in her future, she saw the time that passed, and her throat closed around that unpleasant revelation. There was no going back.
Her thoughts must have been plain on her face, because Bertha's expression softened. "Come on now," she said in a more kindly tone, breaking the pause. "You're expected at the table."
Raeger nodded dumbly and followed her out of the room, tottering down the stairs to join her family for the evening meal. The vice around her throat didn't loosen, anymore than did the corset squeezing the air from her lungs. She said nothing to contribute to the conversation, which revolved around her sister's aspirations to the Princess Jelanda's inner circle, and what she could possibly wear to impress her peers. Two courses later in the meal, their mother promised Elise a new dress to go with the wardrobe she intended to commission for Raeger, along with - of course - a lovely dress for the wedding. They had both decided on the details of that event already, and so she saw no reason to force her way into the conversation. At the end of the meal she made her escape, plate still mostly full. She felt dizzy and knew it was unwise to refrain from eating, but she couldn't bring herself to swallow another bite.
Her room was empty when she returned, and Raeger stifled the flutter in her stomach when she peered behind the screen, into the wardrobe, and even pulled the curtains aside to check the window. She had to lean on the casement to catch her breath, and let her forehead rest against the cool glass. The garden below was dark and overgrown. Ivy dangled before her window, drifting lazily on a nighttime breeze, like another layer of curtains to protect her from what lay outside. The capitol and its denizens were more distasteful than whatever could be hiding among the flora.
Did she want to be a part of the glittering bustle out there? To seek favor with a noisy princess and her arrogant mother, and compete with their stuffy, overly-made up hangers on? That had never been her dream. Raeger wasn't sure what her dream was, or what it could have been, but it would never have her stuck in this place, unable to breathe deeply of fresh mountain air, or see the graceful vista of the countryside. Though her father was more distant than her mother, his taste in living comforts was far preferable.
She tried to take a deep breath, until her lungs hurt and the bodice refused to expand. She fumbled with the laces, eyes closed and still a little dizzy, and managed to pull the tie loose. Another pair of hands stopped her, and she clung to the window frame gratefully to let someone else loosen the vice around her lungs. She sagged against the window when the pressure was released, and would have fallen to her knees if someone hadn't caught her and held her upright. Too late Raeger recognized the touch of sharpness on the air; she would have screamed, but didn't have the breath to do so.
Frankincense, the druid had told her, back home. A luxury, a substance so hard to obtain that only the wealthy temples of Crell Monferaigne could afford to burn it for service. A myth out of Egypt, that figured in many of the old stories that had reached Artolia in the form of travel logs and research papers.
Judas bid her quiet with a soft "shhh," whispered over her ear, and she listened, and kept silent when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed to lay her down. He made no other move toward her, except to sit down at the corner of the mattress, near her feet. Her hand found the rose and clutched it tightly.
His face could have been marble; it was cool and expressionless, as his hands had been cool and dry, but when he spoke she had to suppress a shiver. "I only make promises I can keep, my lady." She tried to sit up, and he pushed her gently down again. "Do not strain yourself. You need rest. It has been a long journey."
"And..." She swallowed, and wished for a glass of water. "You have been following us."
"Drawn like a moth to flame." Her stomach fluttered. He tilted his head. "Would you like to hear a story, my lady?"
The question should have seemed absurd, but Raeger was too conscious of his presence and the danger it presented to worry about how much sense he was making. "They'll find you--"
"They will not." He appeared very sure of himself. "Unless, of course, my lady would prefer to be interrupted."
She shook her head before she could stop herself, and bit her lip. No, she didn't want Bertha to run into him. She didn't want-- well, there were a lot of things she didn't want. "I have a name," she said, finally, at a loss for a better reply.
Judas smiled slightly, the shadows softening the harshness of his pallor. "And shall I use it?"
She was about to say that yes, of course he should, when her voice caught in her throat again and she had to pause. It felt as if giving him permission, of any kind, would open a door to something she didn't quite understand. Every time he made an offer, he also sought her permission for something, as if in exchange or payment, or maybe some kind of necessity. He watched her intently, and she knew the sensible thing to do would be to refuse, and tell him to get out.
"Yes," she said instead. "I told you, I'm not a lady."
His smile deepened and glinted in his eyes - or it could have been the guttering candlelight - and he began softly, "High in the mountains in northern Artolia, beyond the paths of men, lies an ancient city hewn from the heartstone of the earth by human and elvish hands. It was once called 'Lorien'..."
* * *
Bloody pacing. I guess that'll have to be fixed later. I had the urge to write, and it's best to obey that sort of thing. :p
Augh, why am I not in bed? The inspiration to write always hits when I should be sleeping. -_-;
Author: Amber Michelle
Rating: PG (at most).
Setting: The official IoM whatthefuckverse
Previous installments: Chapter One, Chapter Two.
Judas didn't visit her again for quite a while. Raeger knew the number of days, down to the hour; her visit to the shrine was noon, an hour before the midday meal that she forced herself to eat so her mother and Bertha wouldn't pry into her affairs. She made sure to eat an acceptable portion of every meal placed in front of her, though she tasted none of it. Even the chocolate, rich and dark, sent from Flenceburg with a note in Marie's graceful handwriting, could not summon up an ounce of eagerness from her appetite.
The days passed in epochs. Two long, excruitiating days until the first correspondence from the Millais patriarch reached them from Lawfer's current station in Camille Village. They are quite taken with young Lady Etherell, they say, and would be pleased to begin negotiation for her hand in marriage. Raeger's mother wrote a response that she was not privileged to see, and another era of endless days proceeded to stretch out before them.
Word reached the estate that the outpost north of Camille was attacked by Villnore mercenaries, and her stomach froze. The Etherell estate was closer to the border than was strictly wise in such troubled times, and the page from Lord Millais urged them to travel to the safety of the capitol, where he understood they had adequate properties to house family and staff. He assured them the royal army was not so slapdash that it would let Villnore invade their land, but the effectiveness of their line could not be guaranteed; the enemy general had spies in his employ as well, and covert units that were too dangerous to be ignored.
Her father refused to move. This was a natural reaction, when one recalled that he was a man renowned for his stubbornness. And lucky to be alive, too. The story was still told today - that he had faced down an overwhelming force in the pass into Crell Monferaigne, that he held it three days, fifty men to three hundred, until reinforcements arrived.
A few Villnore mercenaries, he said, were no trouble. Raeger's mother rallied the maids and planned a trip to the capitol anyway. There was a wedding dress to be ordered, after all. Her daughter deserved nothing but the best Artolia had to offer.
In translation: she would not be embarassed by a low class, provincial wedding. If her Lord Husband wished to remain at the estate, so be it, as long as he sent the money with her.
So it was that Raeger found herself crowded into a carriage with her mother, younger sister, Bertha, and another handmaid, the rest of their personal staff sent ahead with their trunks and other luggage. It was an uncomfortable ride. The roads were scattered with rocks, and she swore she could feel every one of them. The jumping, swaying motion made her feel a little bit ill, but she stared determinedly out the window, parting the curtains just enough to breathe in the fresh air. When they stopped for meals, Bertha gave her a tincture of peppermint with a glass of water, which helped to settle her stomach.
"Don't make such a face!" Bertha scolded her when she tried unsuccessfully to swallow it without grimacing. "You can't put on a show like that for your husband, girl, and you'd best remember."
If indelicacy was the deal-breaker for a marriage, Raeger thought as she climbed back into the stifling confines of the carriage, then she didn't know why Lawfer's father still wanted her to marry his son. She'd tripped over her own skirt at least twice during their visit, and nearly choked on her wine when one of the maids suggested she tug her bodice down a little, just to get the young lord's attention with her 'lovely apples.' Her face still burned to think of it.
They spent their first night in a small town called Tolone, a little over a day's travel from the estate. The place had only a small, nameless inn, but the beds were clean and the food, while plain, was at least edible. They ate quietly in the common room, enduring the stares of the hired help, and Raeger retreated upstairs as soon as it was polite to leave the table.
The little brat would be sharing a room with her mother, and Raeger was to room with Bertha and the other maid. Their room was cramped, with two single beds and a large armoire that left only a little space for walking. She had to change without the benefit of a screen - a nerve-wracking process, when the door could open at any minute - but didn't go to bed right away when she'd finished.
The lapis rose hid beneath the embroidered linen of her nightgown. Light as a feather, warm to the touch, it reminded her in a way of Judas's visits to her. While uncomfortable, there was a certain heat around the edges of the memories - the implications of his visits, and the mysterious offer she hadn't yet heard. And yet they were fleeting. Neither encounter had lasted more than ten minutes.
She extinguished the lamp and opened the shutters to peek outside. The necklace, she drew out from its hiding place, and, turning the rose over between her fingers, stared out at the night sky. The gold flecks glinted teasingly. Like their master, she thought.
"You make promises you don't keep," she said to the rose, cupping it in her hand. The chain pooled like a silver river, not as shy as the lapis in catching the moon's light. Raeger closed her hand over it and pushed the shutters open farther to look down into the yard. It was empty, as she knew it would be, though she couldn't keep her heart from sinking just a little. What did she expect to see? A slim shadow, maybe, or a pale face turned up to the sky. It was the habit of lovers to serenade in this manner, wasn't it, with their ladies sighing in their windows, and the threat of discovery adding excitement to the affair?
Her hand closed hard over the rose, until its softened edges marked her skin. She dropped it beneath her nightgown and pulled the shutters closed without a care for how much noise she made, yanking the covers back on her bed and making herself lay down. Bertha was right. With her head in the clouds, she would never be happy.
And Judas, whatever he might be, was no courtly lover waiting to serenade her out of her mother's arms.
Sleep was uneasy that night. Her dreams faded upon waking, like the morning fog burning off under the heat of the sun, and left her with an uncomfortable feeling between her shoulderblades. She was glad to climb into the carriage again, if only because the curtains hid her from the world and whatever might be watching her.
They reached the Artolian capitol after five days of travel. The house was still a little musty when they arrived, but dinner was prepared, and their rooms were ready for them. The candles were lit, as the day in Artolia was dimmed by heavy cloud cover, and the servants had annointed them with oils to overpower the scent of dust and neglect that clung to the furniture.
It wasn't as fine as the family manor, but Raeger found it more comfortable. Her mother never entertained in this place; most nobles sought out the palace, if they wished to meet acquaintances or handle business, and it was only courteous to center all society around the royal family. So the current queen thought, according to Bertha. And her little daughter seemed to be cut from the same mold.
"Your mother will surely insist on taking you to the palace at least once, miss." Bertha gave the laces of Raeger's bodice a good yank. She winced. "I expect she'll have the seamstress over first. We don't have anything suitable for a royal audience."
Raeger clung to the four-poster to stay on her feet. "You don't have to pull it so tight," she gasped out. "We're not going anywhere--"
"Best get used to it," Bertha interrupted sharply. She tied the laces and turned Raeger around to face her. "I won't be here to indulge your complaints forever. We've been too easy on you, let you get away with too much. From now on you'll have to live up to expectations, and you'll be doing it without my help."
Raeger opened her mouth to retort, and the reply stuck in her throat. What do I care if you're around to help? she would have liked to say, but instead her eyes grew hot and her teeth snapped shut.
She couldn't remember a day of her life that didn't involve Bertha - or, if she wasn't there, the knowledge that she would be back.
Now, in the wavering light of the candles, she saw how lined her nursemaid's face had become, and noticed the wings of gray in the hair at her temples. She seemed smaller, shorter, or maybe just bonier, without the plumpness Raeger remembered from childhood. How often had she rested her head in that lap to hear a story, or cried into that shoulder when her mother said or did something particularly vicious?
Away from home, closer to what she'd come to see as a blank wall in her future, she saw the time that passed, and her throat closed around that unpleasant revelation. There was no going back.
Her thoughts must have been plain on her face, because Bertha's expression softened. "Come on now," she said in a more kindly tone, breaking the pause. "You're expected at the table."
Raeger nodded dumbly and followed her out of the room, tottering down the stairs to join her family for the evening meal. The vice around her throat didn't loosen, anymore than did the corset squeezing the air from her lungs. She said nothing to contribute to the conversation, which revolved around her sister's aspirations to the Princess Jelanda's inner circle, and what she could possibly wear to impress her peers. Two courses later in the meal, their mother promised Elise a new dress to go with the wardrobe she intended to commission for Raeger, along with - of course - a lovely dress for the wedding. They had both decided on the details of that event already, and so she saw no reason to force her way into the conversation. At the end of the meal she made her escape, plate still mostly full. She felt dizzy and knew it was unwise to refrain from eating, but she couldn't bring herself to swallow another bite.
Her room was empty when she returned, and Raeger stifled the flutter in her stomach when she peered behind the screen, into the wardrobe, and even pulled the curtains aside to check the window. She had to lean on the casement to catch her breath, and let her forehead rest against the cool glass. The garden below was dark and overgrown. Ivy dangled before her window, drifting lazily on a nighttime breeze, like another layer of curtains to protect her from what lay outside. The capitol and its denizens were more distasteful than whatever could be hiding among the flora.
Did she want to be a part of the glittering bustle out there? To seek favor with a noisy princess and her arrogant mother, and compete with their stuffy, overly-made up hangers on? That had never been her dream. Raeger wasn't sure what her dream was, or what it could have been, but it would never have her stuck in this place, unable to breathe deeply of fresh mountain air, or see the graceful vista of the countryside. Though her father was more distant than her mother, his taste in living comforts was far preferable.
She tried to take a deep breath, until her lungs hurt and the bodice refused to expand. She fumbled with the laces, eyes closed and still a little dizzy, and managed to pull the tie loose. Another pair of hands stopped her, and she clung to the window frame gratefully to let someone else loosen the vice around her lungs. She sagged against the window when the pressure was released, and would have fallen to her knees if someone hadn't caught her and held her upright. Too late Raeger recognized the touch of sharpness on the air; she would have screamed, but didn't have the breath to do so.
Frankincense, the druid had told her, back home. A luxury, a substance so hard to obtain that only the wealthy temples of Crell Monferaigne could afford to burn it for service. A myth out of Egypt, that figured in many of the old stories that had reached Artolia in the form of travel logs and research papers.
Judas bid her quiet with a soft "shhh," whispered over her ear, and she listened, and kept silent when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed to lay her down. He made no other move toward her, except to sit down at the corner of the mattress, near her feet. Her hand found the rose and clutched it tightly.
His face could have been marble; it was cool and expressionless, as his hands had been cool and dry, but when he spoke she had to suppress a shiver. "I only make promises I can keep, my lady." She tried to sit up, and he pushed her gently down again. "Do not strain yourself. You need rest. It has been a long journey."
"And..." She swallowed, and wished for a glass of water. "You have been following us."
"Drawn like a moth to flame." Her stomach fluttered. He tilted his head. "Would you like to hear a story, my lady?"
The question should have seemed absurd, but Raeger was too conscious of his presence and the danger it presented to worry about how much sense he was making. "They'll find you--"
"They will not." He appeared very sure of himself. "Unless, of course, my lady would prefer to be interrupted."
She shook her head before she could stop herself, and bit her lip. No, she didn't want Bertha to run into him. She didn't want-- well, there were a lot of things she didn't want. "I have a name," she said, finally, at a loss for a better reply.
Judas smiled slightly, the shadows softening the harshness of his pallor. "And shall I use it?"
She was about to say that yes, of course he should, when her voice caught in her throat again and she had to pause. It felt as if giving him permission, of any kind, would open a door to something she didn't quite understand. Every time he made an offer, he also sought her permission for something, as if in exchange or payment, or maybe some kind of necessity. He watched her intently, and she knew the sensible thing to do would be to refuse, and tell him to get out.
"Yes," she said instead. "I told you, I'm not a lady."
His smile deepened and glinted in his eyes - or it could have been the guttering candlelight - and he began softly, "High in the mountains in northern Artolia, beyond the paths of men, lies an ancient city hewn from the heartstone of the earth by human and elvish hands. It was once called 'Lorien'..."
* * *
Bloody pacing. I guess that'll have to be fixed later. I had the urge to write, and it's best to obey that sort of thing. :p
Augh, why am I not in bed? The inspiration to write always hits when I should be sleeping. -_-;
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Date: 2006-03-02 12:29 pm (UTC)This chapter's particularly poignant, because it dwells more on Raeger's thoughts than ever. There's a different quality to the tone of it, too, because of the nature of the subject: it's the first time the story really looks at the way Raeger interacts with her mother and sister, and reacts to her expected role in society (how she feels she falls short of that expectation, and that in the end, she doesn't really want to meet that expectation. That sort of thing).
She really is a kid, you know, though she's starved more for affection than attention. Even the very idea of Bertha leaving makes her waver. The question is, now, whether Judas sees her as a child like his IoM incarnation does, or no. XD (Well. The way he treats her should make this patently obvious, but you never know. Maybe he's buttering her up to convince her to sell him her soul~ D:)
You managed a mention of 'lovely apples'. XD That alone wins you, like, ten thousand props.
I don't know whether it's because of the inherent softness of my girlish heart, or the fact that someone's actually writing about my character, but I'm always reduced to a pile of quivering goo at the end of every chapter of Lapis Rose. Perhaps it's a combination of both, but in any case, from the point where Judas unlaces her bodice to the end of the chapter? Nonstop aww'ing from this end of the interweb, yo. I'm so easily sucked in. XD I also aww'd horribly whenever her thoughts turn to him (which is, ahaha, often!). Perhaps it's because I feel empathy for how hopelessly stranded she must be. It's no wonder the poor girl's so bespelled by him; he's one of the few people who seem to genuinely take what she wants into account.
This is actually rather different from the way you write most IoM fiction, which tends to focus from Judas' point of view. It's interesting, because you're building up his character from the opposite direction -- the reader only has what Raeger observes herself to build an impression of him from. To her, at least, he's this dark, mysterious stranger whose intentions are... she doesn't-know-what. XD He still hasn't actually told her. I wonder if he's waiting for her to ask him, or if he's waiting until she's softened some more to his (mot inconsiderable) charms.
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Date: 2006-03-03 07:53 am (UTC)Now, see, most of our IoM GAIDEN stories can be written from either point of view with relative effectiveness - you know, because both characters have equal POV - but in this story, Judas simply wouldn't work as a POV character. To be honest, I'm kind of worried every time that I'm writing a new character, and not really 'Raeger', because I feel like I'm making up too much about her.
But with a story in this style, nothing else would be appropriate. I suppose it's a bit cliche on one hand (young maiden objecting to an arranged marriage, pushing against the constraints of her position, yadda yadda), but I also started it with a sort of Victorian slant to the story in mind. Which is, by the way, what I associate with most fiction cliches people complain about. :p
I'm glad you like it. It's fun to write, even though I have that little bit of insecurity about her character.
I have an odd visualization of the ending. Odd because, with non-AU Judas in mind, this plan would feel vaguely wrong. XD More cliche ahoy, but that only makes it taste better.