Act I

[Arrows] Sir Antòni, Cpt. of The Guard


He was stood outside the smithy, right on the edge of comfort, where the ringing of the hammer against the anvils inside didn’t sound quite so piercing. Wind picked up through the bailey walls, billowing the canvas top above a pile of firewood. The sound of men’s voices coming from the wall above, where a patrol tread the distance of the Eastern section of wall. The scent of a charcoal fire and smoke rising from the slatted roof above the smithy was caught by the hands of the wind and violently blown against and over the stone walls, blackening the surface. He was leaning against a post of the enclosure for the smithy, arms crossed, watching as two boys picked through the metal brought in from the bloomeries. His head slightly tilted, he watched them inspect the ingots for forging. He’d left his charges in the capable hands of other guards, or their own bodyguard. The watch, the men at the gates, the outriders, the stations around the castle, these men he commanded. He knew their names, their virtues and their vices. He’d made it a point to eat with these men, to know how these men lived. He’d seen to it that they trusted and obeyed him. And he had, in his own opinion, done a fair job of it.

It had been quite the step. From a bodyguard - prestigious in its own way - to captaining the guard and garrison of a chateau. The responsibilities had changed. Static command was a rather different beast from leading men upon the battlefield. Training regimes, timetables, meetings with other castle bound officials, and quite a few more names that needed recognition, obedience and respect. He was now seen, rather than merely present.

The roar of the bellows, stoking the fire, snapped him out of thought, planted his feet back on the ground. He rolled his shoulders, and the chain around his body shifted, loosening from settled crooks in his tabard and padding.

He was at the smith’s to see to the replacement and re-forging of arms, lost to rust and damage when the rains had found a crack in the armory’s roofing and had poured into a poorly oiled barrel of swords. It couldn’t be helped after the fact, of course, but someone should have noticed the disrepair. Cost was now a measure he had to keep an eye on. He’d been reminded of such by the clerks on more than one occasion. Especially after he had practically demanded that the garrison be bolstered by twelve more hands. He’d gotten three, which the stewardship had assured him was generous. The coffers, though bolstered by the crown, were not bottomless, he had been told. Arms and armor for three men was quite the expense, even if all three had brought their own spearheads and padding and two had even managed to find helms.

Behind him a door creaked, but he paid it little mind over the constant roar of the fire and the rhythmic hammering of iron.


[Giinger] Anaïs, Steward of Champagne


The 'Dreaded Sweat,' or so it was being called, had proven to be the biggest obstacle the young steward had yet to encounter in his time spent handling finances. In truth, the challenge was exhilarating but exhausting all the same. Thankfully, he’d been spared the illness altogether, but the same could not be said for nearly half the clerks within his office. Those that still lived were the ones the chateau could afford to continue without, while the ones who performed their jobs well were now rotting corpses in the ground. As such, Anais was spreading himself thin to cover the slack, for even the most menial of issues could snowball into much larger avalanches if left wholly unattended. Replacements had been requested from the capital, but so were guards, servants, and the like.

All that morning he’d been receiving the complaints of the queens’ tenants regarding varying issues from leaking thatched roofs, lame horses, stolen goods, and the like. The more positive reports had been sent via script and were placed neatly beside the record books stacked upon his desk. He sat transferring information into the proper ledgers, occasionally switching between the books for the matters being addressed. “Damnit,” he swore, jumping to his feet and slamming the tome shut. Pacing to the corner of the room he reached to pull down his grey cape and slid it over his black tunic, as a royal residence the entire chateau had been consigned to wearing black mourning for the deaths of the two kings and crown prince. “I will be back, Gerard,” he spoke to the secretary seated just outside the office room, “I must take care of a matter at the smithy, please take note of anyone who might seek audience and write out their complaints. I will address them as soon as possible.” “Oui, monsieur,” the man responded as his supervisor departed through the door in a blur.

Note in hand, Anais slipped quickly through the halls of the chateau towards the exit, across the inner bailey into the outer. He’d taken the time to acquaint himself with all those employed there, and was on good terms with most; however, most knew he didn’t care to be disturbed when hurrying about to complete a task. If they wished to speak with him for more than a few moments, an appointment could be arranged—unless of course he bumped into another councilor or person of note. Only courteous greetings thus far, thank heaven. If the vineyard overseer had to remind him yet again that they were in need of more shovels or sickles he’d likely never hear the end of it. Apart from pensions paid by the crown, the maintenance of the champagne-producing grapes was the region’s greatest source of income. Without them there would be no funding to continue reparations, pay for guards, or even decent food.

Reaching the small side door, he slipped through with a creak into the outer bailey closest to the forges, catching sight of the new captain of the guard with his back turned toward him. The man was quite the sight, not particularly handsome, but looked as though he could rough fuck you through the wall any day. He had a temper to match, proven by his request to the steward’s office and only partial acquiescence from them in turn. The encounter hadn’t been particularly off-putting, it was to be expected from men of warrior backgrounds, so Anais remained indifferent. It took more than a man being diligent about his work to get under his skin. “Good day, Monsieur,” he offered courteously with a nod of recognition while striding towards the smith himself, “Bonjour Leonard, I have come to check the status of the items ordered for the vinyeyard.”


[Arrows] Sir Antòni, Cpt. of The Guard


His head raised up slightly when he was addressed, slowly rising to meet the eye of the steward. A shrewd man, very clever and dutiful. And an absolute pain, or so Antòni had preliminarily figured. Was it truly so much to ask to garrison the castle well? He rolled his shoulder in indifference and nodded his head at the man. “Morning, master Anais,” he replied in his gruff way, before setting back to his lean when the man obviously brushed past him to speak to the smith. “Seems you’re in high demand, Leonard,” he quipped with a smirk tugging at the right corner of his mouth. “Truly Ombrage’s most eligible bachelor.”

Then he pushed himself off the post and stepped into the smithy. One hand resting on the top post of one of the opened entranceways, where the doors had long been dismantled for firewood in some ancient winter. The forge usually kept the place quite toasty. “Your sheers and ploughs will have to wait, I’m afraid, master. I’ve quite stolen Leonard’s time with the maintenance of our garrison’s supply.” He then stepped in a little and his eyes darkened, if only slightly. “That leak we sprung did more damage than we accounted for on our first look.”


[Giinger: Anaïs, Steward of Champagne]


Before the smith could respond to the question at hand, the surly yet flowing baritone of the captain answered from behind him, discussing a matter of which he knew nothing about. The steward raised an eyebrow and glanced at the man with his peripherals as he continued, the tone of his voice darkening as if daring him to question the response he’d been given. Anais’s lips curled into a smirk, decided whether to be amused or turned on. He turned to face the man, scanning him from head to toe and back up again with no shame in the act at all before locking pale green irises with steadily darkening blue. “Oh dear,” he quipped while crossing his arms, “is this what rejection feels like? I wouldn’t know, you see.” Unlike the larger man, he remained firmly planted in his current position, shoulders at ease and in a relaxed stance.

“However, I am always happy to accommodate a third party, should the occasion arise.” He paused for a moment, touching a finger to his chin to mull over the situation. A report of the armory had not made its way to his desk, so one of the imbeciles under him had clearly given it the needed approval without second thought. In truth, it was a worthy cause. The threat of attack was always there, rumors of Northmen crawling about and pillaging the shores of Normandy due North of here. “What is the extent of the damage, sir?” The dismissal of his opinion was one of his greatest peeves in life, so he would not silence the words of another councilor. Like attracts like, after all, and if they were to develop any semblance of a working relationship a mutual respect would be required.

To be fair, he’d submitted his request a fortnight ago, but that was of no concern to the man before him now. The original question was, after all, directed at the smith. The season for planting grapes was early Spring, which was upon them now, and precious little time could be squandered or else the crop would suffer. The extent of the new queens’ incomes provided for upkeep had yet to be determined by the royal stewards in Paris. He himself had already spent time alongside the workers, leading to a blister that was irritating the fuck out of his right hand. Had he not covered himself in linen to protect against the sun’s damaging rays he’d likely be as ruddy as one of the plowboys.


[Arrows] Sir Antòni, Cpt. of The Guard


Antòni gave his shoulders another roll and raised an eyebrow at the tone of the young man before him, before derisively giving the man a sniff of the nose through flared nostrils. “No, I wouldn’t think you’d know. Pretty pageboy as yourself, if you permit, master Anais,” he then shook his head, with a chuckle passing his lips. It was only to last rather shortly, when the young man brought up the damages to their arms and armour. “We lost two shirts to the rust, a bunch of arrowheads… We might be able to save the blades if I put the boys to polishing, though they’ll hate it.” His accent became more clear the longer he spoke. His own tongue was close to the Frankish d’oil, but not entirely the same. And in longer sentences, his words retained that southern flare, a bit of Languedoc sprinkled here and there in consonants and vowels. “We’ve lost good shafts, though that isn’t hard to replace, per se. The maille? That’ll be more difficult. Arrowheads as well. I’ve already asked Leonard about the leather, but he’s not keen on trying to save the scraps, are you, friend?”

He shot Leonard a look, the man let out a gruff rumble as reply. “Oui. As I said.” He then clicked his tongue and looked the younger man over once more. “Add that to the cost of the garrison we’re running, and the workload of the local lads in cutting down good ash.” His foot had come up on one of the stumps that the smith used as a stool, and his elbow rested on the top of his thigh for comfort. “And we need someone on the roof, checking to see which of the slats rotted through. That won’t be a big problem, mind. Bouche had a roofer for a dad, so I reckon he can do it. And I can even climb up there to aid. It’s just… Another thing on a long list of things that apparently the coffers can’t quite carry.”


[Giinger] Anaïs, Steward of Champagne


Anaïs tilted his head, definitely amused, but allowing the man to complete his thought uninterrupted while taking mental notes of what the lackwits in his office had failed to mention. He’d need a stiff drink and an even stiffer cock to ride once the day was through, there was no doubt. The tedium of it all thrilled him, as the rush of battle would a soldier, but it was mentally and, as of late, physically exhausting to complete. Working smarter and not harder did indeed sometimes mean that one would have to dirty their own hands rather than wait around for someone else to complete the task that truly had no intentions of getting it done. While an otherwise patient individual, that tended to apply only to the grand scheme of things overall. He pursed his pink lips in concentration allowing it all to trickle in. “From a squire as large as yourself? I suppose I have no choice but to permit, Sénher Antòni.”

The finger at his chin tapped lightly upon the pale surface, “Òc, I understand the necessity of such items,” he switched to his mother tongue with a pronounced Gascon accent, having recognized the man’s own during their first interaction. “However, should we dally further in planting this year’s crop there will be no funds at all, come the first of the year, beyond their majesties’ wardrobes, and I somehow doubt they’d be willing to part with them. The chateau relies on the income provided by the grapes, as only a portion of the sum provided to the royal family here is given to our coffers to cover maintenance costs. If we are to remain self-sufficient, we must ensure a bountiful harvest.”

He cleared his throat as the man adjusted his posture, propping leg on the stool, immediately drawing the youth’s eyes to the jointure between his thighs, though hidden by uniform. “I would suggest setting the men to polishing, as you said. Their loathing of the task will be no greater than potentially perishing at the hands of our foes, should they attack, nor your time spent upon the roof and mine working at the grapes to compensate for the loss of a dozen farm-hands—forget the majority of my own staff.” He moved to rest his weight upon one leg, “The maille is a simpler fix, I will stress the fact that two princesses of the blood royale are being placed in immediate danger by the oversight and that we must rely upon His Majesty’s good graces to rectify the matter with haste. It would be so terrible should the good people of Paris hear of it, let alone the girls’ aunts and their powerful husbands. Enough armed men perished from the sweat, so there’s bound to be availability. Otherwise, let me worry about the leather, I know a man who knows a man,” he said coyly. “The arrowheads and shafts, I agree take precedence, however.”


[Doviie] Lady Cecily d'Aquitaine, Royal Lady-in-Waiting


The air smelled fresh and clean, touching Cecily's nose as soon as the doors to the main estate parted and allowed her an exit. From where she stood she could see the soft texture of the soil stretching outwards, displaying the proof of a prior rainfall that she only hoped would keep coming to ensure the crops would flourish. The raven haired young woman scanned all she could see. Only a week had come to pass since her arrival, one that had provided some manner of its own adventure due to the carriage wheels being caught in the mud, yet her introduction to her cousin was more like that of a familiar greeting. Cecily had met Alysanne previously, as the former Queen's father was, after all, her own mother's brother. Their ties were that of blood. It felt, thankfully, quite seamless when stepping into her designated role.

Already was her plate full of duties and tasks' she was aiming to accomplish. As the Mistress of Robes, Cecily's assistance to Alysanne's hand was immense, but her morning tasks were caught up for the day, thus giving her time to tend to some other matters. One such like retrieving an item from the Blacksmith that was to be fixed. Grasping a chunk of her skirts in hands, she lifted the material just enough as to not entirely corrupt the hem with filth, and began to walk over the wet grounds before her slips landed on solid stone. The path stretched out with a few trails bleeding off to other directions and in due time she had abandoned the inner bailey in exchange for the outer. Various bodies strolled to and fro; figures holding equipment, logs, tools, or food. At the sound of the clanking from the nearby smithy, her head turned towards the left, body drifting accordingly.

Fire could be seen lighting the inside of the shop as the forge was alive with heat. The Blacksmith, Leonard as she was informed, held an iron grip on a hammer. Upon each second that ticked he had clanged down, molding whatever he was crafting into the desired outcome. As she neared the entrance, Cecily caught the sight of two others whom did not entirely blend in with the occupation. One was a taller, broad shouldered man with a dark mop of hair, and another was a far more lithe figure sporting locks that matched that of the former Queen's.

"Pardon me-" She announced, her tone clipped in perfect French due to it being her native tongue. Her figure was now entirely in the confined space, her pale cheeks feeling the rise of temperature and causing them to flush a tint of rose. "Lady Cecily" She gave a brief curtsey. "I've come to retrieve Queen Alysanne's necklace, are the repairs completed?"

Her icicle eyes glanced over to the other two, giving them a momentary scan and then a nod of acknowledgement.

The Blacksmith had been relatively quiet, as expected due to it being a normal behavior. He wasn't much of a conversationalist and he hardly had the care for that to change. As the men in his place of work carried on conversation, when the Captain noted him he gave naught but a grunt for a retort. He remained silent, fixated on his current project, and only paused when a feminine voice filtered into the mix of lower tones.

Leonard turned, catching the sight of the high-born in her expensive attire that hardly blended into the current scenery. The mention of a piece of jewelry brought him to place down his hammer and manage his way over to a small box situated on a wooden shelf. Retrieving it in his rough grip, he made his way back towards his post, nearing Cecily and handing it over.

"All accounted for, my Lady."


[Arrows] Sir Antòni, Cpt. of The Guard


He stopped halfway through starting a sentence when the lady approached, standing immediately to attention with his hand defaulting to a position on the pommel of his sword. "Madame." His eyes posted over the top of her head, to the wall at the far back of the smithy. There he stood, quietly, while Leonard retrieved the asked-for item and handed it over. He then turned to Anais, rose one eyebrow, out of view of the lady and gave the ever so gentle shake of his head. As if to say 'this is what they have Leonard doing?' He ofcourse did not voice his discontent, instead turning fully to the man. "I'll be sure to get it done as you say, I understand that it is... Unfortunate should the coffers lose out on potential profits."

He then clicked his tongue. "Ni per tot, I need these things sooner, rather than later. We are on the river, and these northern barbarians do not seem content stopping at Paris when it comes to burning, looting and plundering. We are a fat pick of poultry for the heathen, even if the crown permits some to settle the banks of Neustrie."

He then cleared his throat, once more shooting a look at the woman, before finding himself once again setting into an alert stance. "My apologies, Madame. We were in the middle of business. I found it pertinent to finish. How is your day?"


[Giinger] Anaïs, Steward of Champagne


No sooner had the words left his lips than did the swaying of skirts and soft sound of a woman’s voice draw his attention to the door. Before them now stood the Lady Cecily d’Aquitaine, daughter of his father’s liege, Lord Guiscard, Duke of Aquitaine. The two of them had been friends as children, given his family had frequented feasts and other events held at the Chateau in Bordeaux. Though his older brothers were the more common companions of their father on official business, he’d sometimes bring the much younger Anaïs along to play with Cecily. Together they’d sneak sweet treats from the kitchens, play with dolls, or run about the gardens until they passed out on the stone benches.

It had been around ten or twelve years since they last saw one another, as he’d been sent off to another region of the country for a steward’s apprenticeship. Apart from the sexual maturation of their bodies, little had changed concerning their appearances. They stood at the exact same height, and as always, he weighed only slightly more due to general muscle structure. He had recognized her at once. The two would now be working closely with one another as she managed the general day-to-day of Queen Alysanne’s household, and he oversaw the administration of the estate. Thus far the woman had proven to be an able overseer, deferring minimal domestic management affairs to the steward’s office. With the addition of the Duchy of Champagne itself added to his list of things to worry about soon, he’d developed a certain appreciation for her being there.

Letters of appointment had designated him the Duchess Amicia’s own steward, as the Chateau was to become her official residence due to a reported attack on the palace at Reims by Northmen. Until the support of her vassals and the crown came to aide in this undergoing, he’d take all the help he could get. Until the records at Reims could be retrieved, granted they could be salvaged, his focus was to remain on securing the prosperity of Ombrage and making it a suitable royal residence.

Anaïs lowered his head and bent at the waist as a sign of respect to the high-ranking female, offering an amused smile to the captain as he resumed a relaxed stance. While the management and security of the fortress were of paramount importance, a request to fix the clasp of a necklace had taken precedence. Though menial in presentation, the principle of the matter was that the regent’s word and requests trumped them all. He’d developed an appreciation for such authority in his service of the nobility, but royals were a different breed altogether—they carried the weight of nations with their words. “Unacceptable, is better suited. I’ll see to it that my end of the matter is upheld.”

His eyes flitted back to the woman and he adjusted his smile, “Yes, good morrow Lady Cecily. It is a pleasure, as always. I trust you are well. Are you in need of any assistance today?” he asked following Antòni’s inquiry, switching back to the French D'Oïl. Pale hands folded politely before his waist as he spoke.


[Doviie] Lady Cecily d'Aquitaine, Royal Lady-in-Waiting


Naturally, the presence of a noble woman shuffling into the partially cracked walls of a masculine claimed shop had changed the over-all atmosphere regarding behavior for those who took attention. Leonard had seem rather unbothered, his duty having been fulfilled and then turning back to his prior engagements with no fuss or need to perform. One of the hands, perhaps the older man's apprentice, had glanced over briefly to deliver a curt nod of polite acknowledgement before he dispersed behind a storage rack further inwards. At the tone of the Captain in his address, Cecily looked to where he stood and caught just the end of a head turning back and forth. While the expression may have eluded her, she arched her own brow and followed with a hardened stare.

Cecily cared little to interject in their discussion. Instead, she just listened, watching with a look of minor interest even if the truth was opposite. 'Northmen pushing further into the rural zones of the country?' was all that she thought, her internal curiosities bringing life to a flurry of imaginative scenarios dancing in the back of her mind. Each tinged with both horror and fascination, a mark that never bode well for the Duke of Aquitaine when she lingered the halls during times of gossip.

Upon being regarded further there did a question announce itself from the Captain.
"Full of tasks that allow me a chance to properly explore the grounds. Pardon, Captain, but is there an issue with the guard regarding items for proper defensive measures? Do you imagine we are at risk?"

Such a question should be fine to inquire upon. She was a woman that often was not given the proper clarity due to men believing of 'fragile ears', but that hardly paused her pestering. Especially when it could very well mean a threat on the lives of those in the estate.

When given a moment to  pause for a retort, there did she finally turn her neck just enough to acknowledge the presence of a dearly familiar face. Upon this exchange her eye's changed, brightening at the face of Anaïs, while her lips slipped upwards on each end in a smile. "Anaïs, it is good to see you again. We have not had the time to get re-acquainted since my arrival, but you don't know how much of a relief it is to see a face that I've history with here." She blinked, ending her words with a contended sigh. She re-adjusted the container in her left hand, while the right smoothed out her skirts, her gloves pressing down upon the heavy fabric before remaining at her side.

"Leonard assisted me well enough for around here, thank you. My next stop shall be further into the village in order to send a post at the behest of the Queen. If either of you care for a stroll and have the time, such company would be welcomed. Do not feel burdened too agree, however, I know each day is full of timely tasks."

Cecily felt her smile relax while she turned towards the door, giving an appreciative curtsy to the smithy. Before exiting the main entrance and feeling the outside stone once more, the Lady would pause to ensure her current companion's knew she had the respect to wait on responses.



[CynicalLegend] Alixx, Seamstress's Apprentice


"Go then! Go sell your body for information like a common whore!" Caroline screamed at her daughter as Alixx pulled on her cloak. "I don't sell my body, mother" The words escaped her lips automatically, as if she'd said it a hundred times that day. Granted, she probably had said it at least a dozen or more in the last hour. "I coax men to loosen their lips over a few pints of ale then use what the tell me to give us a better life." Here they went, around and around in a circle of fury like clockwork. The same argument repeating itself like a broken record. The same insults flying around between them. Everyday Alixx went out, her mother would yell and scream that she was a whore. Blaming Alixx for the lack of business coming in to the shop. In turn, she'd spin it back on her mother for having a child out of wedlock.

When her mother's tirade finally subsided, Alixx rolled her blue eyes "Look, I'm going out. I heard the other day while I was down at the docks that Queen Alysanne was expecting a letter from The Queen Mother. I intend to find out whatever I can about those contents. Maybe more about the goings on in Normandy and the Duchess." That seemed to calm her mother down a notch. Without another word, Alixx spun on her heels and left the shop. "Will she ever understand? Maybe one day I'll actually find something worth reporting to Her Majesty."

Making her way down the winding stone streets, Alixx made a direct line for the docks. As one of her starting points, she realized she can just browse the stalls and overhear the juiciest gossip. As she found herself looking over the choices of fish, the words reached her ears "I hear that Dowager Queen Genevieve doesn't have a legitimate claim." The rest of the gossip was the usual rabble about the taxes raising yet again. Nothing of note down here today. Moving along after purchasing a couple pieces of fish, adding them to the basket she was carrying, Alixx made her way over to the tavern.

The inside of the building was as rowdy and rough as always. In the loudest corner, a few men harassed a waitress for more ale. Catching the eye of the barmaid, she gave a small wave and handed over the basket of fish to the chef "Good morning." "Mornin' Alixx. Another screaming match this morning?" A sigh left her lips and she shook her head "When do we not argue these days?" Sliding some coin into her hands, she smiled sweetly "Who do we have in house today?" The girl laughed softly and pushed the coin back into Alixx's pocket "Save it." She indicated the loud group of men in the corner "Those are some easy targets. Sit close enough and they will let something of note slip." Alixx glanced over and smiled even brighter "Now that is a group I can use. Thank you." She gave the girl a hug and headed over to the group of men. Well, the general direction of them anyway. A few noticed her approaching and sat up straight. At least until she found an empty table next to the hearth and sat down having not once looked directly at the men.

The conversations resumed as soon as she was seated. Although hushed now, Alixx was close enough to still hear enough details. Her eyes widened as she caught something she had not expected. Her mind screamed at her to run outside and find the nearest guard. Unfortunately, the last time she did that, she was a backhanded into a muddy puddle. Staying put for the moment, she listened closer to the men behind her. "I plan to ruin the Duchess of Normandy" One man whispered to a second. The second laughed softly "Good luck with that. She's well guarded, you'd never get close enough." "I'll get close enough. I plan to find her next travel route, crash the convoy and make it undeniable that she is unfit for the title. Rancid bitch let my wife and daughter be raped and murdered by savages. She's going to see how it feels to lose everything she cares about." What the hell? Alixx stood and left the tavern as calmly as she could manage. Once outside, she ran for the bailey.


[Giinger] Anaïs, Steward of Champagne


An urgent matter requiring the captain’s attention called him away from their conversation prior to being able to answer the lady’s question, leaving Anaïs and Cecily in the smithy. “I would urge you not to worry, My Lady. We are in capable hands.” He then followed her out of the structure and signaled towards some of the guards nearby to approach and accompany them to the village. A pair of the lady’s own handmaids followed suit, given she was an unmarried woman of such high birth she required female chaperones in the presence of men to preserve her honor. “I have business to see to in the village as well, so it would be my pleasure.” He offered his left arm in a courteous gesture, should she choose to take it.

The threat of Vikings was a very real one, the Duchy of Normandy had surrendered to their control mere days ago, but reports from the surrounding area had remained clear thus far. Outriders and scouts were on high alert, and castle was defendable. Also, it would take time to move an army of invaders across the unfamiliar terrain. Not to mention, Champagne wasn’t exactly a straight shot. Enemies would have to move past various castles and open fields to reach the wooded area about Ombrage. “Yes, I pleasantly surprised to see your name on the roster for Her Majesty’s household. Though, I recall your lady mother being of relation to the Scots royal family, so it makes sense” he sighed thinking of Bordeaux. It seemed some far place now, only existing in dreams. Apart from letters he’d not seen his own family’s faces in many years. Not to say he didn’t enjoy the life he now led, but it was lonely at times.

“I must be certain that the wine merchants sent over the proper vintages for the festival, and an order needs to be submitted to the fabric shoppe for Queen Genevieve’s wardrobe—white is in short supply. Lady Galina has been beside herself trying to make order of the mess since her arrival.” The more senior dowagers had been allotted more time to prepare for their travels than the younger, given the circumstances. A few of Queen Haunild’s gowns had been taken in and hemmed by the seamstresses, but the tiny woman could only borrow accessories and veils from the much taller Alysanne without looking like she had been swallowed whole. Before long the Duchess and she would be the same size.

As Steward he had some involvement with the set-up for the Festival of Grapes, but the locals had been doing it for so long the event practically ran itself at this point. Apart from the disbursement of funds and patronage much of it was handled by the chancellor and their staff. Following their trip into the village it would be their next destination. The captain of the guard had actually been called away to arrange the transportation of the family, as well as to review the safety plans in place and make adjustments as needed.


[Doviie] Lady Cecily, Royal Lady-in-Waiting


The hot atmosphere from inside the shop began to lower as the two individuals stepped outside into the open. Lady Cecily watched as the Captain came to excuse himself, her body stepping aside just enough as to ensure no space between them would be intruded upon. As his figure abandoned the company, her head turned back to her old friend, eyes still highlighted in delight at their interaction. The sound of a few wandering birds in song filtered through the air beyond, their petite forms somewhere concealed among a trees wooden arms. "I trust your words, Anaïs. I'm sure our current location is well fortified against any wandering beast or savage, let God protect us." Her tone was light and chipper; not extreme like that of a childs, but enough to show her disposition was quite relaxed in his presence.

As a few guards ushered over alongside her selected company of women, it took quite a bit of her to refrain from rolling her eyes. Oh how she longed to just explore without the need for a parade, surely their area did not always call for such suffocating protection. Instead, the Lady simply breathed in deep before exhaling as if she were showcasing her relaxed state. At the offer of the Steward's arm, she accepted, looping her own throughout as they kept in even pace towards the gates and into the village.

"So it appears, although I feel this choice is more due to my dear father's panic at marrying off a daughter with an adventurous soul." Her retort finished with a lighthearted laugh. "No better way to shape the mind than one surrounded by duty and a royal schedule." Perhaps she was too free with her thoughts, but she cared not for any who heard. As the scenery around them shifted from the wide estate grounds to that of the open village, her eyes explored the intimate village, watching as lowborn bodies tended to their own lives and occupations.

Hearing the demands of Anaïs' own job, her head kept forwards as they walked, being mindful of her steps and their surroundings but still attentive to the conversation at hand. "You've always been quite the hummingbird. I take it you enjoy this position? You've reminded me how I should stop off at the seamstress, for my own dress should be finished by now. Are you excited for the Festival? This'll be my first time, of course. I do hope there is music."


[CynicalLegend] Alixx, Seamstress's Apprentice


It only took Alixx a few short minutes to cross the space and reach the gates just on the edge of the village. She had bunched her skirts in her hands in an attempt to keep her from tripping over them. She wasn't the most graceful woman regardless and all of the layers did not help in the least. Rounding a corner, one of the layers caught on a crate piled against a wall and ripped just enough to be noticeable if one were to look for any length of time. Unfortunately, she was about to attempt to confront one of the noblewomen and surely the tear would hinder her already shaky credibility.

Shaking off the minor inconvenience, Alixx looked up in time to see the group of women leave the gates.  Thankfully, she knew enough of the nobility to recognize Lady Cecily being among them. Thank you, Lord. The relief that poured over her at seeing Cecily was enough to slow her run to a brisk walk. From what she'd heard over the years, Lady Cecily was kind and reasonable. Exactly what Alixx needed right now. Someone that would listen, even if it was just to humor her. Now or never, Alixx. Taking a deep breath, Alixx walked over to the group of women surrounded by guards and dropped into a curtsy "Lady Cecily, forgive me for intruding on your day but I must speak with you. I have uncovered a plot that would cause great harm to Her Majesty, Dowager Queen Genevieve, the Duchess of Normandy." She stayed down in the curtsy waiting for some sort of acknowledgement, or to be shoved aside by one of the men.


[Giinger] Anaïs, Steward of Champagne


Anaïs chuckled at the reference to her free spirit, some things never changed. He could never truly understand her plight, for regardless of his femininity he was a man living in a society that catered to the 'stronger sex.' He was free to come and go as he pleased, with or without an escort, and feared no damage to his reputation—he often did exactly that. Women were under far more scrutiny, particularly those bearing any association with the ruling class of society. Even now, the reputation of the two queens hung in a perilous balance. Given their husbands died on the same day both were required to remain under constant supervision for forty days and forty nights to ensure any potential heirs they might be carrying did not bare the mark of bastardy. The king himself wasn’t truly king and could not be declared such officially until the time was past. Those that surrounded them had to be of unquestionable morality. It was no light matter.

“There is no need to shape what has already been finely tuned. Your skill is known and being put to good use. Your lord father knows this and entrusts that you will bring your family honor. If you attract a husband worthy of you in the process, then it is simply an added bonus,” his twinkling green eyes winked knowingly. While it was true, men controlled the society in which they lived, who controlled the men? A wise woman worked the system to her advantage and twisted the situation placed before her to fit her liking. All the power and freedom she longed for lay within her, she simply needed to take it. Sacrifice was part of the process. Rome wasn’t built in a day. “After all, it is nearly unheard of for an unmarried woman to be the superintendent to a queen of Francia’s household—that is your own doing. None can claim it but you.”

Hummingbird? The alto-pitched laughter erupted from his chest and he raised his right hand to cover his lips. It was perhaps the most accurate description of his character he’d heard thus far, especially with the current staffing situation. Buzzing from one task to the next while balancing a million other things was simply another day in the life. “Yes, indeed. It brings me much happiness, to be certain. I’ve never been one for idle hands.” Being useful to others satisfied an inner longing for the approval of others. It was a dopamine rush for him.

“The festival is quite the merry occasion, the queens insisted it not be dulled down by the need for mourning. It’s a time to celebrate spring and the rebirth of the world around us. There will be music and dancing, as well as all the food and wine you can stand to consume. It reminds me very much of Bordeaux and is my favorite celebration second only to the harvest.” No sooner had they arrived in the village than were they approached by the familiar face of the young woman that operated the fabric shoppe, rather abruptly actually. The guards moved to step before their party in order to protect the noblewoman and councilor, crossing the shafts of their weapons. “Arrêtez-vous,” he ordered the men to stand down, having caught the tale end of what she was saying and looking over at Lady Cecily. Nearby he heard the sound of horns announcing the royals’ arrival to the festival.


[Doviie] Lady Cecily, Royal Lady-in-Waiting


The closer their strides got to the village, the more deeply Cecily inhaled, for the baker's was one of the buildings quite near the estate grounds. Its windows were often slipped opened, giving way to delightful aromas that intoxicated the senses with a desire to consume. A low rumble could be felt in the pit of her stomach, and it would have most likely been heard if the outdoors were not so energetic with noise. "You flatterer." Cecily retorted to his compliment, a playful lift of humour bound on each word. "You've always been so skilled at knowing just what to say. No wonder they speak such praise about the Steward on the property." Another lighthearted giggle. Her reveal was honest, of course. Since her arrival, while her status is high, she took to engaging with the servants on numerous occasions and many took to sharing details about places and people in Ombrage. One, in particular, being Anaïs himself.

Her head turned enough to catch the side of his face as they walked like two close friends, arms bound in a manner that some could consider a scandal given neither were married and of the opposite gender. Cecily dismissed numerous eyes and their prattle about protocol on the regular. "I'm so proud of you, Anaïs. If my mother were here I am sure she would remark about what a fine young man you've become and what a sin it is on how you've yet to possess a wedding band." Her words ended in a hum, for the sentence was not yet concluded as she smirked, then nudged his hip with her own in a jovial bop like when they were children. "Thankfully though she is not, therefore I may instead use this freedom to comment on how we must get you to take some time off to just enjoy the landscape. Perhaps' a luncheon in the gardens, hm? We can lounge among the petals while our eyes sparkle at any beauty who strolls along the path."

Cecily felt her mind run into a fantasy of romance already as she whispered the last bit in a lower tone. Ears were everywhere and heaven forbid a woman dared show she took interest in the visual aesthetic of unmarried, or married, wanderers. What is truly so sinful at catching the eye of strangers and acknowledging them as attractive? At the return and mention of the Festival, her momentary daydreams vanished from her mind, and as they strolled she took to nodding at his detail of the event. When her lips came to part, she began: "It's quite decent timing, to be true. A good way to highlight how life should be honoured versus wept over--" yet the reply was unable to be concluded due to the arrival of a sudden body. Cecily watched as the guards took to action, immediately going to protect since this action was spontaneous. A few of her wandering ladies that trailed behind began to peek and whisper, for as Anaïs took the moment to quell the unorthodox, Cecily heard her name and the statement that it tied into.

Both brows furrowed as her arm dropped from her companions side, body shifting away, and the back of her left palm coming to gently push at the arm of a guard to ease them further away so she could slip more into view. "This is a high claim to make. Do you have evidence to back up your words?" The dark haired Lady glanced at the outsider before turning to stare at the Steward, a serious shade coming to cast along her features. Behind them would gasps ensue from such a possibility, and while their gossip and murmuring began, Cecily quickly snapped her right hand up to silence them. Further clarification needed to be heard before any form of potential panic could come to brew.


[CynicalLegend] Alixx, Seamstress's Apprentice


Tension rose in her shoulders, a preparation to be shoved aside without a care, as the guards moved to block her from reaching the noblewoman. Thankfully, she heard the words that backed them off. Recognizing the voice, she lifted her head just enough to confirm her suspicions. Anais stood beside Lady Cecily, who had asked her for proof. Suddenly, Alixx lost her voice. She had no proof, none that was physical anyway. Speak, girl. Words. Now. Taking a deep breath, she rose from the curtsy slowly, showing the guards she meant no harm to any of them. Just below her right hip was the ripped section of skirt. It was a large enough rip to show the second layer beneath the first but still kept her modest enough. "Good Lady Cecily, you ask for proof and I have none to show. Men in the tavern spoke of the plans and I simply overheard them while I took a break from the shoppe." This was not going to go well unless Alixx was able to find proof. "Please, I beg of you. Listen to what I have to say and make judgement of your own accord."

Not one to back down easily, Alixx figured the only way to show proof was to repeat the conversation she overheard. "Two men were speaking in hushed tones in the corner of the tavern, here in the village. One spoke of the plans to ruin the Duchess' claim to the throne in Normandy. He stated that Dowager Queen Genevieve stood idly by as his wife and daughter were, pardon my bluntness, raped and murdered by, and these are his words exactly, savages. A second man asked how he planned to get close to her. What with her guards and ladies surrounding her at every turn." She paused for a breath and realized she was rambling. Calming her tone, she did something stupider than running full force at nobility. She looked Cecily directly in the eyes "He plans to use palace servants, discover her next travel route to meet with Her Majesty and attack the convoy. It was implied he would enact the same treatment his wife and daughter received."

She looked over to Anais with a pleading expression. "I beg of you both, please. Someone must see to it that the Duchess is safe and her travel plans are secured." Her gaze moved back to Cecily, "Lady Cecily, you are a kind and reasonable woman. I implore you, woman to woman, look into my claims and find the truth of them. I know I'm merely a seamstress' daughter and I have no right to ask this of you but please, I fear there is real danger here." She dropped her head away in respect for the difference in status between them as she finished recanting the day's events.


[Giinger] Anaïs, Steward of Champagne


Had there been a drink in his mouth it would have sprayed across the road from the laughter that followed her tease of marriage, no less her mother Princess Katreine, Duchess consort of Aquitaine. The look of horror upon the woman’s face forever and hilariously burned into his most fond memories as she discovered her darling son Lohier, Cecily’s older and ridiculously hung brother, balls deep in petite ginger Jew. She’d screamed what he assumed were obscenities and tried swatting them apart while making the sign of the cross repeatedly. Not long after he was sent to northern France on the apprenticeship of a lifetime. Unbeknownst to the Duchess however, was  that her sons routine visits to Paris included a detour of about fifty or so odd miles completely out of the way to Anaïs bed—it was great. “Yes, thankfully indeed, and of course. As soon as we may find the time.”

Given their current schedules and the wait for help to arrive from the capital city, and the likelihood of that happening anytime soon it was like to be a while before either could entertain the notion, but he meant his agreement in earnest. She’d always indulged his preference for the same sex, and he’d always encouraged her to look at and like whatever struck her fancy, just to be smart about it. People watching had always been a favored pastime of theirs together as children, and even now as an adult he’d find himself lost watching from the window of his office down upon the people moving below. Not everything in life had to be business.

The matter with the village girl and the moments in which he prevented the guards from doing anything drastic all happened so quickly he’d scarcely had time to process it all. Thankfully, he was a quick study and recognized her for who she was. He’d lived in the area for almost two years now, so their paths had crossed on occasion. More often than not she’d have dealt with one of his own apprentices or a clerk, but the sweat had rid them of those. The castle relied upon the little shop for the purchasing of necessary linens and fine clothing.

The implication of her accusations were grounds for high treason, for if the Duchess of Normandy were truly Dowager Queen, given the other was not pregnant, and such an event befell her person before the end of her forty-day isolation period it could jeopardize the succession. “We are listening, miss. Such a claim cannot be disregarded under any circumstances. Where are these men now?” Regardless of the validity of what she was saying, it had to be reported at once. Their own lives could be at risk for withholding such knowledge.


[Doviie] Lady Cecily, Royal Lady-in-Waiting


High above, the sky was bright and clear with only the occasional drift of a wandering cloud. Birds soared along the edge of the Heavens, embracing the adventure of the world while plenty below found enjoyment (or dispair) in their current circumstance. In this moment, for Cecily, what had been enjoyment did indeed quite shift into alarming despair. Whatever delight that had been in motion was not paused due to the claims of a wandering stranger. Her time here had only been brief thus far, and the announcement of a garment crafted was made on her behalf and not of Cecily herself, so introductions were occurring right now versus before. Her blue eyes looked down at the disheveled woman, noting the way her skirts had been torn, and the manner in which her skin held a flushed tone. The marks of pushing ones body in an act of haste.

As Anais interjected when the ramblings had come to pause, the Mistress of Robes drank in each sentence delivered, agreeing with taking this claim incredibly serious. This was a mark on the life of an important soul, and thus,  even false proclamations should be acknowledged with outright belief unless proven otherwise. The guards stood by, quiet and watching, eyes hidden beneath iron helmets but keeping glued on the girl who dared raise her gaze to another above her station. The meeting of pupils did not matter to the Lady. She took no insult in such actions, and if anything, felt that her bold move was admirable. Against the betterment of many, Cecily stepped closer, bringing her figure closer to the woman with her tone lowering as to not further incite the attention of onlookers. Some of which were already slowing their stride to peer in curiosity.

"What you speak is enough for high treason. Where did this conversation take place? How long ago?"

Her head would then turn, eyes shifting to one of the guards on the left side of Anaïs.

"Collect some more men. These proclamations are bold and should be investigated." Turning back to Anaïs, Cecily neared, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is there any knowledge regarding a recent attack? The death of someone's family must be known somewhere."

Cecily wanted to ensure all avenues could be looked at before she ran off into the estate and placed down such horrors at the feet of a woman already dealing with her own grievances. Panic would do many little good, especially if it were just purse speculation. For all they knew this was a ploy in itself to incite some sort of action to then push forth an attack during chaos.

The ladies in waiting had stood their posts with open ears, some looking to Cecily with expressions of shock. She was demanding action like that of a red blooded man.


[CynicalLegend] Alixx, Seamstress's Apprentice


Standing upright longer than she should have without speaking, Alixx blinked a few times. Did she hear that right? Were they actually going to investigate her claims? As Cecily stepped closer, Alixx had finally calmed down enough to be able to speak without losing her breath. She matched the woman's hushed tone, aware of the prying eyes and ears for the first time "From the time we've been standing here and the time it takes to cross the village from the tavern makes the event occur no more than thirty, maybe fourty-five minutes ago. If the men haven't moved, they would be in the tavern. There are a total of five seated at the back right table, loud and obnoxiously proclaiming their crude behaviors. The two who spoke of the treason are seated closest to the wall."

She glanced over at the guards nervously. She was sure she'd be arrested if those men had moved away from the tavern. False accusations made to a noble were a crime of their own accord. Continuously looking back and forth between the people in front of her, Alixx found herself gripping her skirts. That's when she noticed exactly how large the rip was. Damn it, Alixx. That's exactly what you needed today. She pulled the ripped section into her hand trying to hide it from being seen by anyone else.


[Giinger] Anaïs, Steward of Champagne


Green eyes met blue as Lady Cecily turned back to face him, speaking in a hushed tone. The sweat had killed so many in Ombrage, let alone Champagne as a whole. He tried to wrack his brain to think of any specific instance that may bear some association with Normandy, but the local body-count had been so high he could scarcely keep track of another region entirely. The two duchies were both royal holdings, and both were agriculturally based. Trade occurred between them, mainly produce exported to Normandy and beef imported to Champagne.

"Our people are farmers, that is the extent of it, really. Apart from those conscripted into military service. I can’t think of any well-born with kin there. The death toll lately has been too great for me to narrow it down—a merchant perhaps? They travel more than anyone else between counties.” He scanned back over the seamstress and her torn gown. The rip was jagged, but he’d seen her fix worse. Everyone in town knew of the shoppe’s skill at mending anything from rags to riches. “Whoever they are, they can’t be from around here; otherwise, they’d have known not to say anything in front of her. Norman refugees have trickled in since the sacking of the duchy...”

“They shouldn’t see her now, especially talking to you or me…” He turned back to Alixx, keeping his tone low, “Go to the festival, miss. We shall speak to you there, less conspicuously. Go into your shoppe and collect your things,” he pulled out the parchment with Genevieve’s clothing order on it, including measurements and other exacting details, and held it out to her. This time when he spoke he projected slightly louder, ”Here you are. Also, do check and see if you have an order ready for Lady Cecily, if so please bring have it brough to the chateau as soon as possible. Sir Alibert, please accompany the seamstress. You may go over the order in more detail regarding the men’s sizes and details than I can…for the tabards.” The guard nodded, understanding it was code for fishing out a more detailed physical description of the men she saw in the tavern.


[Doviie] Lady Cecily, Royal Lady-in-Waiting


The woman watched as the detail of these events swam behind Anais' eyes. Her ears were attentive and voice hushed as he retorted in his own lowered pitch. While it was true, death was seemingly occurring from various angles and places, Cecily could tell that this area in particular does not seem to witness much bloodshed. It was a quiet village, one specifically built for the care and relaxation of the royals from before. Guards monitored numerous passageways and walls, always being sure to keep a wide eye open in case someone even dared to look too poorly and become a suspect for malicious intent. The Steward's words regarding it being people from not around here must be a most accurate assumption. Cecily had only been here for seven days thus far, but as she took the time to look around at the setting, it didn't appear like anyone was so vexed that an action such as assault or murder would be thought of.

"Most perplexing, but not irregular. Just means the guard count should be doubled during the festival." Cecily muttered back from under her breath, then nodding and standing naturally. She glanced to the seamstress, watching her as Anais' finished their conversation as if she were just informing them about completed purchases. She took this moment to slip a smile onto her lips. "Thank you for informing us of the items being ready for collection, however next time I am sure a simple letter shall suffice." Her tone was not intended to be rude, just to mirror the normal air of how many expect a high-born to regard someone considered lower in the social hierarchy. Considering many still frolicked around them, it would be best to keep all pleasantries as one would expect them to be. Nothing out of the regular.

"I shall complete my send-off of her Majesties' letter, for time waits for no one. Save me a taste of your favourite drink at the festival?" It would be the last thing Cecily would remark as she gave a polite curtsy, then carried on her way into the village. All the while she kept her chin up as the thoughts and curiosities swam around her brain due to the situation that had just transpired. As soon as this letter is released, Cecily would head back to the estate, get ready, and hopefully witness nothing horrifying at a festival intended to bring joy.


[CynicalLegend] Alixx, Seamstress's Apprentice


Taking the parchment from Anais, Alixx dipped into another curtsy. She understood his meaning clearly, reign in the panic and act as normal as she could. "Thank you" She glanced up at Lady Cecily once more. "Again, I apologize for my brazen approach, m'Lady. I was excited over how lovely the gowns had become." She lowered her gaze as the pair moved along, glad that she had been at least humored by the noblewoman. Making a mental note to properly thank the pair at a later date, she moved her blue gaze to the guards and nodded. "Off we go, then."

Returning to the shoppe had Alixx dreading everything about the past hour or so. Her mother had grilled her on returning with the guards. She had assumed Alixx had gotten into trouble yet again. While that wasn't inaccurate, it wasn't entirely true either. She quickly explained the situation to her mother, handed off the parchment containing the order Anais had given her, then sat down and described the two men as best she could to the guards. It had taken longer than expected but finally, she was seeing the guards out. Turning around after the door closed, she let out a sigh of relief and sunk to the floor. I can't believe that just happened.

Caroline, Alixx's mother, reached down and yanked her from the floor. "Excuse you. You were just openly invited to the festival. Here..." She shoved a small trunk towards Alixx "These are the gowns for Lady Cecily. I shall get to work right away on the Duchess' order. Now get changed into something respectable and go." Alixx looked down at her tattered dress. Ripped, muddy and all around disheveled. Heading back to her room, she changed quickly into a simple light blue dress that matched her eyes. She tamed her wild hair into something of a braid, washed her face and headed back down. Hefting the trunk onto a small cart pulled by a single mule, she made her way over to the vineyards.

[Giinger] Alysanne of Alba, Dowager Queen of West Francia


Fire crackled in the hearth releasing the sweet aroma of applewood and lavender throughout the chamber while the queen looked on, resting her chin upon the curly blonde head of the sleeping Princess Bridget. Alysanne wrapped her arms about the girl and rocked slowly in the chair, humming a soft melody to no song in particular. Her focus lay in the flames, though her mind wandered deep into a happier place in her past. Pain gripped at the center of her chest as her mind’s eye pictured the smiling boy with no front teeth jumping onto her bed and snuggling against her chest. Reflexively she placed a kiss upon his head, “Mon caneton,” and a tear trickled down her pale cheek. She squeezed her eyelids and pursed her lips to brace for the impact of emotions that was bounding towards her. The young princess was a terror without a nap, so she did not wish to wake her. There was only so much she could handle in a day.

A light double-tap at the door interrupted her thoughts and provided a welcome distraction. Alysanne nodded her head in the direction of one of her ladies in waiting, of which only a few were now present scattered about embroidering or indulging in other silent tasks. Given it had not yet been forty days since the passing of Dietrich she could not be left alone without a female companion of suitable birth. The dowager queen could not even be accompanied solely by her bodyguards until the time was up, even in the privy. To most this would seem the utmost invasion of privacy, but for one bred, born, and raised in a palace it was just another day in the life of the .01%. The lady opened the door to be greeted by the queen’s secretary holding a letter bearing her mother-in-law’s seal. She delivered the parchment with a curtsy to her mistress, who released an arm from about the little girl’s body to read the scripted writing.

Unnecessarily long-winded, per usual, the queen mother went out of her way to overcomplicate what could have been written in a singular paragraph in the form of an essay. It greeted her as the 'The Most Christian Queen Alysanne of West Francia, and my beloved good-daughter,' which was merely a formality, for the two had never cared for one another. It went on to offer well-wishings and shared condolences for their mutual loss of King Dietrich, no mention of the child for which she herself mourned, as well as an expression of love towards the young duchess and her little sister. Though the woman’s face remained unchanged the annoyance in her eyes was obvious, an artform she’d perfected over the span of her ten-year marriage. In truth, nothing Queen Hildegarde had ever done pleased her so much as remarrying and moving away from court for a time. Her own husband had had a certain loathing for the woman, only tolerating her presence briefly for holiday celebrations or the christenings of her grandchildren.

Three paragraphs later the doxy had finally deemed it appropriate to get to the point. 'Please inform our good daughter, Her Royal Highness The Dowager Duchess of Normandy, that we must at this time deny her request for the widow’s jointure befitting a dowager queen. One may hardly recognize her rights to such given the length of time she might have even been considered its holder. With the simultaneous loss of Normandy, the council feels that she might only be entitled to that of a dowager princess rather than that of a royal duchess. Unlike you or I she was neither anointed nor crowned. Assure her I will everything in my power to secure her the proper inheritance, but for now she must be willing to settle for what the council will allow.' The ending nearly caused her to vomit, 'Go with God, Your Beloved Maman, The Queen Mother.' Alysanne’s mother was alive and well in Scotland, and she’d pointedly never referred to Hildegarde as anything other than ‘Majesty’ or ‘Granmaman,’ the latter occurring only in front of the children who loved the woman well enough. “Cunt,” she mumbled under her breath in Gaelic, which was thankfully too indecipherable a tongue for these Frankish hens to be bothered with learning. Switching back to the French d'oïl she addressed the lady that had risen to fetch the letter in the first place. “Send for Queen Genevieve. Inform her that it is urgent. Go yourself.” She rose to her feet, walking to place the sleeping princess upon the feather bed and tucking her between the linen sheets before returning to stand before the hearth.


[Foniia] Genevieve of Wessex, Dowager Duchess of Normandy


"You must always start from the bottom." Galina, was a much older woman, who had been a Lady in Waiting to the Lady Gwendolyn of Bedforge, Genevieve's mother. She knew how to tackle the ever growing, curly main the woman had passed down to her daughter and sat coaching the gentle ladies of Château d'Ombrage. After fleeing the Viking attack at Normandy, Genevieve didn't have enough women for a full household of her own. Temporarily, the women of the Château would have to take double duties to accommodate both Dowager Queens, one more than the other.

Galina sat in a circle of ladies, with Genevieve's floor length hair, woven like a fat anaconda on the floor and across each of their laps. She held the end of the creature in her lap and brushed through the thick curls with a course, horse hair brush whose bristles were in small bundles with a few centimeters of space between them. It was her mother's custom brush, made specifically for their hair. It would be passed down through the women, as they climbed the vine of curls to the woman's head.

Genevieve's head lay on her arms where she sat at the boudoir, numb to the world though the tears still ran from her face like an errant faucet. The screams coming from the Castle at Normandy had haunted her well into the morning and only now had the women been able to coax her out from under her down pillows, where she suffocated the sounds away, and into the day half gone. She had not eaten in two days and bright green eyes Galina remembered the woman having, were sunken pools of the River Styx.

The older tapped her Dowager Queen on the shoulder causing the younger, troubled queen to lift her head. Genevieve blinked back tears as she watched herself in the cloudy glass. Slowly, she steeled herself for the day, the rivets of moisture ceasing and her eyes growing darker, a summer forest under a crescent moon. Roughly, she rubbed her face clean and forced a smile at the woman through the glass. Galina gave a soft, saddened smile in return, gently brushing her hand over Genevieve's head. Before she could speak, one of the Ladies of the Dowager Queen Alysanne was escorted into the room. The lady curtsied and spoke quickly but softly in the mother tongue if the land they inhabited. "Queen Alysanne requests your presence. It is urgent."

Galina nodded and waved the girl to a corner to wait as Genevieve pulled her weary bones off the tufted chair and moved behind a changing screen. With her hair combed through and bond at intervals in metal clasps, it was not long before she was dress, perfumed and ready to slither down the hall to the rooms of her sister-queen.

Genevieve arrived shortly there after, led by the woman who had come to fetch and in the company of her own wearing a white velvet gown, cinched at her tiny waist with a heavy golden chain-belt speckled with emeralds. The small crown a-top her mane of dark curls was match and held her thin white veil in place. She was not in mourning though she was forced to dress as though she were. At least, she was not in mourning for her husband as the royal and noble gossip would have other believe. In fact, she had relished watching a strapping young Viking man cut him down from the ramparts before she slipped out of the side door with her small house. But now she was a scrambled mess of the screams of the innocent cut down to get rid of the retched man.

Nevertheless, now that she was up, the chilled newly spring air filling her lungs, the fog of nightmares had been pushed to the wings of her mind and she whisked into Alysanne's room, gave a lopsided curtsey, lifted the letter from the hand holding it and deflated into chair by the hearth to read. Knowledgeable of the way her mother-in-law liked to drone on and on, she skimmed down to the bottom of the letter, let out a Nordic curse, "Cunt." Before crumpling the parchment in her hand and flinging it across the room. Up and out of her chair, she turned to her sister-queen, spewing venom in a language only the three in the castle shared, Gaelic, "That frigid bitch! I suffered her ill-tempered, unweened man-child for nearly five years and she would deny me! I hope she chokes on a apricot!"


[Giinger] Alysanne of Alba, Dowager Queen of West Francia


Before her company could arrive, Alysanne poured two goblets of spiced Bordeaux red from the decanter beside the couch. The liquid had been warmed and tasted by one of her serving women, a good means of fighting off the chill that lurked within stone walls. Though her homeland was far colder than this in the dead of summer, more often than not, she’d not lived there in almost a dozen years. Her body had since acclimated to Francia for the most part; although, it was seldom that she had ever experienced a season for what it truly was, given she’d been pregnant 90% of her tenure as crown-princess and later queen. The recent frost, however, was bone-chilling even to her. At least she’d had the foresight to smuggle out her tapestry collection when fleeing from Paris, which provided some barrier.

She peered out the window towards the river below, watching as attendants unloaded what remained of their personal belongings from the capital. Each box and all its contents had been inspected before being shipped down the River Marne to Ombrage, but they’d be checked again before being unpacked. Hildegarde was unlikely to strike against her grandchildren, they were too valuable of pieces to lose, but the three queens in residence there were fair game. Much of her own wardrobe was to go into storage anyway, as she was obligated to take up the dieul le blanc (white mourning) as a widowed queen of West Francia. For now, she wore a long sleeved, hip girdled cote-hardie beneath an ermine-trimmed surcoat. The fur bodice of the surcoat had an embroidered and jeweled collar and closure, done in silver threading with pearl and jet. Wrapped about her head to cover her copper tresses was an elaborate wimple with silver threading and studded pearls beneath a floor-length chiffon veil and golden fleur de lys crown.

Her attention was drawn back to the doors as they parted to allow her sister-queen to pass through, with a nod of her head the attending women departed to leave them alone. Two matrons were not considered to be without chaperone if accompanying one another. Neither could jeopardize potential succession in only their own presences. Her ladies would await summons in the outer-sitting room that was her antechamber. The much smaller woman approached and Alysanne held out the missive with a weary look, knowing full well the reaction it would invoke—hence clearing the room. The two women had spent little time together after Vaefar took up full-time residence in Normandy, but they’d always had a certain kindred relationship, being from similar origins, demonstrated now in her usage of the Gaelic tongue. That and the other could seemingly interpret her otherwise unreadable facial expressions, which she’d found both unnerving and amusing, to say the very least.

Princess Brigid stirred momentarily but repositioned herself and remained fast-asleep against the down-pillows. This caused the queen’s eyes to go wide for a moment to warn the other of the sleeping terror’s being there, flicking her deep green irises across the room towards the bed. It wasn’t concerning that she might understand their conversation, simply that the entire castle would feel the small tyrant’s wrath should she go without a MUCH-needed midday nap. Amicia and Odo had been of a much calmer disposition as small children, but Brigid never failed to keep her on her toes—more her father’s child than Alysanne. The girl was sweet and affectionate but as strong willed and stubborn as an ox. She did not, however, understand the Gaelic tongue. Dietrich had feared that the same suspicions that had surrounded their mother in her early days at court might fall upon their offspring should they be able to speak the savage language of the Gaels and forbade her from teaching them.

“I’d like to think that once the forty days of our confinement are up, she’d have little choice in the matter, but she’s dismissed the entirety of the old council and filled it with her allies. Until then, at least, there’s little we can do to counter it.” She sipped at the warm beverage, placing both hands around its base to feel the radiating heat. “I poured you a glass, if you like.” She walked away from the window and back towards the fire, feeling a chill. “We must gain some form of leverage against her. It’s only a matter of time before she strikes again.” It would only serve to buy them some time anyway, Hildegarde wasn’t the sort to give up what she thought was hers to begin with.


[Foniia] Genevieve of Wessex, Dowager Duchess of Normandy


Genevieve's breath hitched when she heard the small child stir. It gave her more time than she needed to read Alysanne's expression, in the short tradition of their friendship, she really only needed a moment to understand the woman. She was well aware of the youngest princess' need for a midday nap and would have readily taken her punishment for disturbing the would be devil. After what seemed like forever, Genevieve let out the breath she had been holding as the child settled back into her pillows and remained asleep. Her look of surprise and horrid melted into one of apology and she settled back into her chair making a mental note to keep her temper in check, because even her emotional spasms were no match for the little princess. That little one was packed full of the Karling rage and her mother's "barbaric" roots. She was going to be fearsome, a forced to be reckoned with and bring down the hammer of the gods on any man that stepped out of line with her.

The dark-skinned dowager queen sank into the chair a bit. She had to sit up a bit straighter than even her polished posture required or her feet would dangle from the edge of the chair exposing her soft slippers and her petite feet to the chill in the air. Eventually, she chose to stand, sweeping up the spiced drink offered to her by her sister-queen. "Forty days and forty nights and we should emerge in a new world order." She said bitterly, but quietly, also cupping the goblet with both hands. Joining the woman in front the crackling fire, Genevieve let her gaze fall the dancing of the flames in thought, pondering over the sound words of her counter-part. For the moment, she had no words to the subject. Playing chess with that old wench had never been a favored pass time. At some point she would have to confront the issues before her but for the moment she had more internal grievances that clouded her judgement. These things made her so thankful that she had made in Alysanne such a good friend, as much as she could call anyone her friend.

Taking two heavy gulps of the drink offered to her, Genevieve turned from the fire and moved more to the center of the room. Her long heavy hair was a few inches behind the train of her dress but was covered by the veil that circled her head. "I am afraid I will not be much help. The campaign of rumors of my involvement at Normandy have already started to circle. I heard Galina quieting some last night." She turned to Alysanne with a wicked glint in her dark green eyes, her hands dancing in the air around her head as if conjuring. She would not be reckless enough to repeat the rumors that were quelled by her Mistress of Robes even in an empty room, but her sister-queen would understand the implication of her hand gestures. Chuckling to herself, she dropped her hands and moved slowly to the window. The carts were still being unloaded. Her own would be coming in a few days she suspected. They had been sent ahead of her but given specific instruction to arrive late to slow the suspicion that was already a shroud about her person and it would have been much less than Alysanne's even with her sister, Celestia's things in tow.

Her gaze lifted beyond the carts to the servants bustling around, preparing for the festival. It was to last several days from noon to the moon at its highest point. A point of focus to shift her mind away from her wretched mother-in-law and all her woes. Although, she was none to excited to be amongst a mass of whispers. Such was her life though, the good with the bad, in the same breath. Drinking from the goblet again, Genevieve winced. She was really looking forward to wine tasting, as spiced drinks did not sit well with her. The flames of the hearth would have to do to warm her but thirst and cold had her taking the drink in large gulps just to get through it. Sweetness, sweetness is what she craved in her life right now, even if it were only a drink.

Turning about, her eyes fell on her sister-queen again. "Is Amicia excited for the festival?"

[Giinger] Alysanne of Alba, Dowager Queen of West Francia


There was a pang of guilt in her chest at the mention of Normandy, her mind calling forth the image of her deceased brother-in-law’s face. He had been beautiful and utterly charming, only ever showing a single side of the coin that was his personality. It wasn’t until after the marriage, which she helped to arrange between he and the woman before her now, that she’d heard tale of his wildly sadistic escapades and domestic violence. Alysanne herself had always been superior to him in rank, so he had only ever shown her respect and courtesy. Of course, she wasn’t so foolish to think he’d been completely blameless, after all Dietrich wasn’t; however, apart from general insensitivity to female emotions and a taste for whoring he’d been a decent husband—certainly nothing like the abuse Vaefar had doled out upon his sprite-like bride.

For fear of damaging the carefully secured alliance with Wessex Alysanne had pressured Dietrich to intervene on the young woman’s behalf.  Genevieve’s father, King Æthelwulf, had proven over time to be deadly when provoked, a lesson the Scots knew well enough to have arranged the pervious marriage between her Aunt Mairi and Æthelwulf’s younger brother. Diplomat he was, Dietrich issued a warning to which Vaefar acquiesced, for a time anyway. The reports ceased to reach the capital for a time, regardless. Alysanne’s mind had been too distracted by the frequent pregnancies and bouts of postpartum depression that plagued her time spent as queen to even take note. It had also limited her ability to travel often. Such was the fate of well-born women, sadly enough.

Her brother’s-in-law inheritance of the throne had been the initial spur of her packing and departure of Paris, for fear his attentions might turn towards herself or the children. Had the Vikings not run him through she’d have been forced to arrange an accident for him. Adalman’s succession would almost have been a relief if it hadn’t involved the assumption of the regency by her vapid mother-in-law, whom she’d already had to rid herself of once before. As soon as her spies reported that Hildegarde was making plans to have her married off to some pillaging rapist as a means to sue for peace, it was a done deal. They’d stolen away in the middle of the night without looking back.

There was little doubt that Genevieve had played some role in the penetration of an impenetrable fortress, but it was denied easily enough by a woman of sound reputation and sufficient rank. Without hard evidence none would dare openly accuse a born-princess baptized in the light of the Catholic church of king-slaying. “I will speak to Lady Cecily and Madame Margaret on the matter. Further discussions of such within this household will incur my extreme displeasure, rest assured.” It was no new concept that servants discussed the more exciting lives of the upper class, but the fact it had reached the ears of a noblewoman was unacceptable. She was a generous mistress to serve, but only within reason. The servants of Ombrage would bend or they’d break. The same went for the gentlewomen in their employ. None would say that she harbored a murderer under the same roof as her two daughters. It went without saying that the other dowager would need to be on her best behavior until the dust could settle about them.

“Amicia was not an excitable child even before all this,” she gestured about with her hands, half smiling to hide the pain which she shared. “Perhaps being there will help to distract her.” Together the two women sat and spoke for a while longer in soft voices until a knock came from the door. With leave, her daughter’s nurse entered the chamber and curtsied low, “Your Majesty, the Duchess is prepared as you requested.” Brigid’s nurse followed behind and was directed towards the bed where she woke and dressed the freshly rested toddler in her indigo mourning gown, golden circlet, woolen stockings, and leather slippers. The whole of upper society would be wearing mourning attire, traditionally black for those who could afford it or a dark grey. Queens were to wear white and cover their faces, and the rest of the royal family would flaunt their status in indigo.

The queens’ ladies entered and helped to flip their face-veils forward and neatly arrange the trains of their gowns before the royal women were collectively escorted down the halls to the outer bailey. There they were loaded into litters, Alysanne with the Duchess Amicia and Genevieve with Princess Brigid. The noblewomen in their service were granted a litter of their own, and the others would ride on horseback. A troupe of guards surrounded the convoy and moved to lead them across the drawbridge and to the location in the vineyard where the festival was held. Trumpeters heralded their arrival as the masses swarmed about to catch a glimpse.

La Fête du Raisin was a local tradition the people of Champagne used to kick off the start of the planting season. It invited various individuals from across the country to come sample the beverage for which the region was famously known and was a great boon to the economy. Given Champagne was a royal holding and not typically separate from the crown, until now, representatives of the royal family had often attended in the past at the Chateau d’Ombrage. Dietrich had seldom missed it, though Alysanne had only attended once when she happened to not be expecting. The king and his father before him were quite the popular figures at the event, praised for their patronage, and both were known for having taken in the local….pleasures. It would come as no surprise to see Karling traits scattered about the crowd.


[Foniia] Genevieve of Wessex, Dowager Duchess of Normandy


A cold gust of wind from the window slapped across her plump backside like the cold hands of her dead husband. She winced quietly. 'I have not even spoken your name.' She thought. There was no doubt his horrid soul had forgone his descent into hell to remain wandering the earthly realms and haunt her. He was that petty. It could not have been guilt that caused the woman to think these things because she could honestly say her heart was lighter since the moment she'd watched him be run through. However, he had laid upon her such rages, that she was still fearful that every large shadow in every crevice was by some wicked means the man himself.

Genevieve almost waved away, Alysanne's mention of quelling the rumors but stopped herself. She knew well what the allowance of such things could cause. As a woman of royalty perception was a grave part of her survival. If the rumors were to swell through the common folk and turn favor from her, the wicked witch of the west that was their shared monster-in-law, could simply drum up false documents or witnesses against her and it would be her head rolling. Of course, her father and brothers would rise up and destroy her, but she didn't really want to put him through that with all the matters he was already to attention. In fact, she had been cautious about receiving her brothers in Normandy, often deterring them from even coming so they could not see the damage the man had done. The thought of writing to her father and brothers had crossed her mind on several occasions. When she finally caved and wrote to her father, the Viking horde had grown bolder by the day. The single letter that had passed between them was no doubt ash in a hearth.

She nodded in acceptance of her sister-queen's statement and put the goblet down, unable to stomach anymore of it. The two women fell into easy conversation, steering toward warmer topics and the of course, as it was between them, the subject of men and sex. Forty days and forty nights in the company of women was like to drive them both a touch insane. Genevieve truly appreciated how crude they could be with one another; how easily their company of one another had come.

Snorting quiet laughter behind a handkerchief as the Lady arrived with news of Amicia, Genevieve settled herself and rose from her chair. Her own ladies had come along from the adjoining room to fuss over her appearance and lay her view over her face. The large fur mantle of velvet cloak lay across her shoulders in an effort to prepare her for the untethered chill that would greet her as they made the small cross from the keep to the litter. In her arms she held the little form of her niece-in-law, Princess Brigid. The little girl gave her so much joy. As a woman who was blessed or cursed to not have produced her own children yet, the baby princess had become like the doll she'd had as a child, her younger sister.

Speaking of which, Genevieve had sent for Galina to find her sister, who was likely to be found with the castle apothecary, and have her join them at the festival. As a legitimized bastard of a king, Celestia was free to flitter around at her leisure, of course, within reason. Since her passion lay with healing, she was often with the ancient man that ran the castle infirmary, if she was not in town picking up herbs.

It was a short but scenic ride to the vineyards and Genevieve held the little princess on her lap and allowed her peeks behind the heavy drapes to the lands and the people gathered to see the royal procession. Once they arrived, the child's nursemaid took her and a hand was offered to Genevieve to help her from the litter. Despite the chill in the air, it was fresh and crisp with the soft scent of grapes upon the breeze. As they drew closer to the cluster of festival guess, she could smell fresh pastries and meat and hear the soft song of lutes. If only she could dance with someone. As a woman in mourning, she was allowed to have fun but not too much fun. She missed her father and protection of his castle and the parties he threw. Although, the could not rival the festivities of the Northmen. With a sigh, she supposed this would have to do.


[Giinger] Alysanne of Alba, Dowager Queen of West Francia


The Festival of Grapes was a splendid occasion to witness in the Champagne wine country. Unlike the harvest event that took place in Paris, the locals celebrated the planting season, taking the opportunity to sample previous vintages and praise the hard work of the local famers. Though there were other fairs occurring throughout the region, the one at La chateau d’Ombrage was perhaps the most famous and heavily attended. Numbers would undoubtedly be lower than in previous years, due to the decrease in overall population, but there were still enough to form a sizeable crowd. Guards had been brought in from the Duchy’s vassals to help patrol the event and ensure the safety of the visitors and high-profile attendees, keeping a present but not overwhelming profile.

The smell of sizzling meats and freshly baked goods with spices and herbs drifted through the air along with the sounds of lutes, lyres, and the patting of drums. Various forms of entertainment were scattered about on stages including singers, poets, acrobats, jugglers, and scantly clad women hanging from hoops and ribbon made of silk. Songs praising the queens’ mothers’ splendid beauty and their father’s acts of valor were commonplace, so it seemed. Vendors made use of the opportunity to set up stalls and sell their items at discounted prices, there were wrestling matches, dancing, archery competitions—everything. Tables were spread with foods of excellent quality, allowing peasants to eat like kings for but a day of their lives. They’d gone all out, despite it being a time where conservation was more advisable. However, donations had come from all over Francia, not simply the duchy. Well-wishers were also taking this as their chance to give their condolences to the young duchess, perhaps winning her family’s favor.

The royal family’s arrival was welcomed with applause and blessings as local officials and vassal lords and ladies stepped forward to offer subservience. Without need of being ushered, the little duchess stepped forward and acknowledged the onlookers with a curtsy and wave. Her posey of women trailed along behind, first her mother and aunt, then Princess Brigid and her nursemaid, and lastly the noble and gentle ladies of their court. Together they were shown around the vineyards, where Amicia ceremoniously planted seeds to commence proceedings officially. Rows and rows of green plants already existed, but it was part of the tradition for the Champagne titleholder or a representative to kick things off this way. The crowd roared its approval and then dispersed to resume their activities.

“I cannot recall, sister. Have you attended before? It’s been quite some time for myself.” Such an informality between them would not be viewed negatively, only should a lesser address either woman. She knew better than to broach the subject of Vaefar or include his name in the question, but there tended to be attractions that catered to one sex or the other that often kept husbands and wives apart for a large portion of the time, apart from the meal, unless they were just feeling exceptionally doting.  When visiting Paris, Genevieve would have been sectioned off with Alysanne and her group of women to explore rather than the men. The Harvest Festival and Yuletide were always enjoyable there.


[Diitzy] Lady Celestia, Physician's Apprentice


Some people of royalty and nobility want power and gold, others want lust and romantic courtship, and what do they all have in common? They like to talk about those wants among themselves and make sure they put you in your place. As for Celestia, she knew that her place wasn't among them, even with the entitlement of being legitimate in her father's eyes, she will always be the bastard. The entitlement came to her favorably though in this life, for moments like this. While her sister, Genevieve attended the morning agenda with the royal court, Celestia did the opposite. She slipped away to the end of the castle where the infirmary would be.

It was the time of season where the winter was over, but the harsh cold air still lingered leaving people to fall ill with coughs and sweats. The nobles had access to some of the finest medicine of this time all year around. Fresh supplies came from the farmlands of fruits and roots of all kinds. Remedies were easy to conduct as the kitchen chambers were just around the corner. The old physician, Bertrand, was in charge of the infirmary. He had a warming face with a smile of a man who once knew what he talked about. But, with his age getting the best of him he couldn't tell you how to stitch from a tiny sliver to a gaping wound, because of that he relied on Celestia solely to be at his right hand in almost everything he accomplished. She would do the work and he would take the credit. That didn't bother her too much, a woman of this time found it useful to have a puppet with strings to do what she wanted to accomplish. He must of drank too much wine from the night before, he was still at his desk with a golden goblet in hand. Celestia took the goblet from his hand and in doing so woke him from his slumber.

"Ah, my lady there you are. I was just brewing the medicine. Seems we have no more dandelion root or you misplaced it once again."

Celestia glanced over her shoulder at the shelf that stored all the herb storage. There on the top shelf labeled Dandelion Root which had an overflowing jar filled to the brim with herb. Celestia rolled her eyes and dunked the goblet into a bucket of fresh water and replaced it in his hand, supplying with a more useful refreshment. In the weeks upon her arrival, she cleaned up the mess he created over several past seasons when his dementia began. It was to the point where he just couldn't recall things even if it was in plain sight. "Monsieur, there are noblemen in the hall waiting for your remedy. Rest assured, I will go fetch some herb from the apothecary. For now drink this refreshment." As she spoke she nodded to the maids in the corner who moved through out the room making the recipe of her own design. It wasn't a moment of delay till they poured into mugs the tea that would sooth the throats of the men just outside the door. Once everything was in order, Celestia intended to leave to head into town till she bumped into Galina by accidently spilling a tray of tea upon the poor woman. "Galina! We are supposed to drink tea not wear it! Are you alright?" Celestia fetched a rag and tended to the girl.

"My lady Celestia, Her majesty, Dowager Queen Genevieve reminds you that it's festival time. You will be late to the Vineyards. She was right. We will have to gown you properly." Galina's skin had streams of pink from the heated beverage, but was not harmed. She stood and rightfully curtsied to Celestia before turning around to lead. Celestia sighed, festivals were fun but crowded with royalty and she had to be on her best of behavior in times like this to mourn. She turned and grabbed a bowl of spiced mushrooms, laced with a recipe from the homeland of her Viking tribe. She picked a few mushrooms from the pile and popped them into her mouth to chew while they went back to her chambers. Soon all the worries would fade away and even though she always enjoyed the company of her loving sister, She would find most excitement in the colors of the vines and fruit. All conversation will just go over her head and she'll find cheer in the smallest things. This will be most definitely entertaining for Celestia.

Bathed, gowned in the finest statins of black in mourn, and placed in a litter, Celestia watched the trees go by with peace. It was a short travel, but she managed to place the rest of her supply of mushrooms in a silk pouch which now rested on her lap. Just below by her feet were some pitchers of tea which were hot enough to last the travel. She planned on providing them to the royalty to protect from the cold. Shortly after her arrival in the vineyards, Galina led her to sister-in-law, Dowager Queen Alysanne and her beloved sister Genevieve. Celestia performed a courtesy with a hand raised to balance. "Your Majesties. Please forgive me being so late. Seems the cold has taken more men in the castle and I was in service to the physician. Before I knew it the sun was already chasing to the center of God's gifted sky." She found her place, while servants fetched her pitchers of tea. She opened the mouth of the pouch and showed her sister. "Just ripe for the spring. Makes everything better."


[Doviie] Sir Jean-Luc, Baron Colmar


'What a beautiful landscape' is all that Jean-Luc thought as he felt the cart roll to a stop, his honey eyes scanning the hillsides that were dotted with fresh blooms to signal spring. He had always heard that the further countryside of France was a sight to behold, but he never seemed to have much notice throughout his life due to everything being... tainted, or distracted, in some way or another. Yet, this was seemingly the moment for it all to momentarily wash away. The man left the confines of the carriage and felt the rays of sunlight wash down over his tall stature. He stood there, taking in what he could, watching the village puff with life. It appeared he came at a time while an event was occurring. While he had already gotten the lands and estate prepared none too far from here, he still had to introduce himself to the local authorities and familiars. If this is to now be considered home, it had to be treated as such.

The newly appointed Baron adjusted his attire where he stood. He did not exactly dress in a fashion that would dictate his rank, entirely. Jean-Luc was used to the weight of chainmail, for most of his memories were of battle. It felt odd - out of place - to be in anything except some fashion of armor. And thus, the man was sporting proper colours to denote nobility but blended it with the attire of a Knight. As he walked, he kept his back straight and head high, watching as the buildings shifted further off to make way for the splendor that was the vineyards.

Music could be heard none too far as many seemed to be placing the last touches. The scent of the numerous options for food rushed into his nose and he felt his stomach grumble.

He would treasure this moment, this he knew. He came with no entourage, and his family were still back at the old home as things were finalized here. The Baron turned his body to lean against a nearby pillar belonging to a gazebo that was adorned with flowers and vine. Nothing was wrong with having his family, but these moments of his own solitude, feeling at peace with his own thoughts, it was a time to cherish.

The man glanced up at the sound of more arrivals. The crowd was coming to thicken while bards took to their posts and organized another piece to play. Surely someone he needed to speak to was here, and hopefully it would be a good time to discuss. Until then, Jean-Luc found himself walking towards the lengthy wooden table decorated with goods, his mind now curious just how good the Champagne here truly was.


[Giinger] Anaïs, The Steward


As the queen’s superintendent and the seamstress left to tend to other matters, Anaïs headed toward the wine merchant’s shoppe to review the order. A singular guard was all that accompanied him, opting to leave the rest to take watch over the noblewoman and her retinue. Afterall, he wasn’t of notable birth and the local patrol was more than enough to keep vigil over a single male dressed modestly with only the silver and jade chain of office lain over his shoulders to denote any rank. The merchant was just setting out to deliver the last of the crates, which were all correct in accordance with the order, and offered the steward and his guard a ride back to the vineyard.

They arrived in no time and helped to finish setting up the bottles along the long table. Despite the fact he was still working the celebrations around were a nice reprieve from the hours he’d spent stuck in the steward’s office as of late. He took a moment to pause and inhale the fresh air, relaxing his shoulders and closing his eyes while the sun beamed down on his fair face, causing his reflective copper locks to glow like fire in the light. A passerby drew him out of the trance by calling out “Bonjour Master Anaïs!” Given his occupation his was a familiar figure among the locals, especially since he was more inclined to play an active role in the community whereas his predecessors had made frequent use of their underlings to provide inspections. Getting things done in a timely fashion were second-nature to the moderately obsessive-compulsive overseer. Not that he was uncomfortable delegating work, but the help he’d inherited was the reason there was so much work to do already.

From the corner of his peripherals, he glimpsed an approaching figure causing him to turn his head. He discreetly scanned the handsome and well-dressed stranger up and down before his emerald orbs lingered a while longer than he’d initially intended on the man’s broad chest and chiseled chin before meeting his honeyed gaze. A flush crept his cheeks, matching the hue of the pink roses decorating the gazebo. Quickly he turned back to face the opposite direction, busying himself with the bottles of champagne. “Fuck,” he mumbled in a hushed tone, though the others beside him didn’t hear, or at least they acted like they hadn’t.

The old shopkeeper patted at his arm, “Master Anaïs, we’ll finish up. Don’t worry yourself. Thank you for your help.” The knowing older woman held out two glasses of the bubbly, “here take a glass for yourself and offer one to the young lord there, if you’d be so kind,” she nodded back in the direction of the approaching Jean-Luc, garbed in a combination of noble and marshal attire. Had she been any louder the castle might have heard her, so there was no way out.

If he wasn’t blushing like a maiden before he sure as hell was now, but practiced as he was his demure expression morphed into a collected and charming smile, flashing his white teeth, “Bienvenue à la fête des Raisins, My Lord. May I offer you refreshment? It’s our finest vintage yet.” Without a full retinue surrounding him he assumed the man couldn’t be of too high of a rank, but his attire could be interpreted as nothing short of a titleholder. Anaïs’s own black tunic and grey velvet cape were richly made, but still lacked for sigils or emblems, apart from the chain of office


[Doviie] Sir Jean-Luc, Baron Colmar


As his footsteps carried him to a series of stalls set up to accommodate the influx of beverage and food choices, there did the Lord take note of others doing the same. It was not an intentional act, just an observant one. Best to be aware of one's surroundings to ensure no bumping or tripping followed. A ray of sunlight beamed down at a certain angle, hitting his eyes enough that is caused him to squint and begin to move his left hand upwards for shielding. When it finally faded after he realigned himself out of its path, by the time his hand was lowering he could hear the familiar lift of French as a figure stood nearby. Jean-Luc blinked, his vision less blurred, and glanced down to meet a pair of brilliant green eyes.

"Pardon?" Was all he managed at first, having not caught up with the actual comment made. The man couldn't help but keep looking into the stranger's irises, and if he felt he was being too invasive, it quickly hit his brain enough for him to straighten up and look elsewhere, preferably at the drink offered.

"Ah, thank you. As if you read my mind."

The Lord offered a close-mouthed smile, showcasing a dimple that pinched naturally in his right cheek. As his hand reached out to grab the drink, fingertips brushing against the beautiful man's own, Jean-Luc raised the goblet to his mouth to drink. As the taste hit his tongue, he licked along his lips then lowered the goblet.

"This is fine, indeed. The praise of Ombrage is well earned. I take it your keen eye is due to the remarkable taste?"

Perhaps it was too bold, or could just be taken as a simple compliment that showcased his new presence in an area unfamiliar. Either way, to Jean-Luc, the little voice in the back of his mind that uttered something about 'wife' and 'family' was suddenly not present at all.


[Foniia] Genevieve of Wessex, Dowager Duchess of Normandy


As they strolled through the vineyards, little Amicia already steadfast in her position as the Duchess of Champagne. She was making a beautiful stir on her appearance to the town with which she would reign. Regal as he mother, she needed little prompting and took to her duties with the ease of a duck to water. There was nothing more endearing to small population than a dainty little princess smiling and waving and gliding through her duties. She fed the fantasy of glamour around the aristocracy and because of her age, she fed it to the youngest of the attendants around. With her little sister prancing around behind her, refreshed from her nap, and her mother a pillar of beauty in mourning, they made for the perfect royal visage to be beheld by the lessors.

Adjusting the large mantle of fur on her small shoulders, Genevieve could be seen subtly, snuggling into the thick layer of white velvet that draped around her long hair and long trailed dress. During her little shuffle, protecting herself from the chill in the crisp breeze, Genevieve shook her head at her sister queen's question. "I have never attended the festival." While her husband was a living pouch of ale and wine, he insisted that the festival was simply an orgy draped in wine and the highly sought Champagne the region was known for. Yet, he never missed the festival with his brother and father and refused to allowed her to attend in his presence. Her father had returned from the region during a festival and told a different story of his time there when she was younger, so being barred from it under the rule of her husband had been quite disappointing. Here now, alive and mostly well, in the absence of her husband, something he dreaded, she felt a bit of petty pride and couldn't help but smile in the secrecy of her veil.

Though she was amongst the crowd and part of the royal rank, Genevieve lingered even a little behind her sister queen. Her green eyes, shaded by her veil, darted about them at the people in the vineyards. There were awkward little pockets of nobles already there, some still arriving and you could tell the truly posh as they tried desperately to separate themselves from the townsfolk that came with awe upon their sun ripened faces. It gave her the urge to take off her veil and turn her face to the sun, a deity she thrived on almost as much as the moon. Alas, she could not. At least not until she found herself sufficiently alone which was hard to do during these times.

They strolled along behind Amicia making pleasant conversation with the nobles that came up to great them and offer Amicia their fealty in one way or another. Condolences were offered and Genevieve appreciated the white shroud for its covering of her wince each time one was extended to her in reference to her husband. She tried to seem as gracious as she could. The cracking of her meek little voice would seem to be a widow with tears still in her heart. It worked in her favor.

There was a brief reprieve from all the formality when her sister showed up. Genevieve lifted her arms, the floor length funnel sleeves of her gown fluttering in the breeze and wrapped them around her sister's narrow shoulders. Pressing her cheek to the bare cheek of the other woman, she whispered in her ear, "Thank the gods for you, sister. How am I to bare this without you? I shan't. For you are here! My darling." Through the soft fabric of her veil, Genevieve pressed her mouth to the cheek of her dear little sister. Despite the fact that many of her ladies-in-waiting were familiar to her, and some of them even distant relatives, none were as close to her as the one that bared her no resemblance at all.

In response, Celesita opened the gisper, the small silk pouch she had tethered to her girdle, giving her access to the shrooms she often had on her person. Still within the confines of their hug, Genevieve slipped her fingers into the pouch and was able to take a few stems of the plants and place them on her tongue. She gave the woman another squeeze before finally releasing her. The effects of the shrooms would take at least an hour to take hold in the minute amount that she just consumed.  Of course, she planned to imbibe so that would push her high to the forefront that much quicker.

Her hand passed through, the length of blond hair on Celestia's head before falling to her side as she looked about them. A little ways off, Anais was speaking to a man she had never seen before, causing her to gently elbow Alysanne, her chin jutting subtly in their direction. New meat was always nice. Also they had drinks and Anais would have been the one to procure the past vintages for tasting. She had not interacted with the man much, but she found comfort in a shallow resemblance that he shared with Alysanne, it made him non-threatening to the damaged queen, though she was aware he could be quite feisty.

There were many new faces about, a few brought themselves to her perimeter but she was restless, antsy, wanting to move around. If it wasn't toward Anais and this new face, it would have been with her sister toward something more likely inanimate but beautiful, perhaps the music.


[Giinger] Anaïs, The Steward


Time stood still as the two men stood locked in one another’s gazes, unable to process complete thoughts or utter intelligible speech, that is until the honey-eyed stranger broke the silence by calling attention back to the drink clutched in the young steward’s hand. Demurely, he leaped at the opportunity to lower his eyes as soon as the man had done so, only to witness the gentle caress of fingertips along his own. His breathing froze as a tingling sensation crept up his arm and followed the path directly to his groin. It was all he could do to allow the air to release from his lungs without audibly shuddering like some common whore. He swallowed to respond, “My pleasure…mon Seigneur,” the voice flowing from his lips in a sultry alto-tone, the southern accent apparent in his otherwise flawless French.

The man was particularly comely, not like some aloof and polished prince carved from marble, but earthy and natural, warm to the touch. Anaïs felt like a moth drawn to a flame. The dimple that formed on the man’s right cheek caused his own rose-colored lips to part, revealing the tips of white upper incisors. Then the beguiling aristocrat licked his lips and all was lost, Anaïs could scarcely recall his own name let alone that they were standing in a crowd full of people. His hand had returned to rest on the chain of office that lay draped about his shoulders, just over his now-pounding heart. ’What in hell has come over me?’ he wondered to himself. He had been somewhat of a strumpet since he’d been turned loose from Bordeaux, but most of the men he’d taken to bed paled in comparison to this one. There was a subtle masculine and husky confidence to him—more a warrior than a nobleman.

The compliment paid his administration bore an alluring undertone that had not gone unnoticed, causing his golden-red head to tilt slightly in bemusement. He smiled wryly, the natural lop-sidedness of the expression giving him a mischievous smirk. “Ombrage aims to please, my lord. I do have a certain eye for the…finer things in life, or should I say tongue?” The glint in his eyes matched the playfulness of his simper. The sophisticated art of painting an obscure picture to convey one’s true meaning was the steward’s mother tongue. His father was an expert salesman and his mother could manage the running of an estate blindfolded with both hands tied behind her back. Wheeling and dealing was in his blood, the one truly blurred line of the elite and the merchant class. Sexually driven as he was, Anaïs often twisted the skill to suit his needs. If the recipient wasn’t inclined they could simply interpret the statement at face value, if they were offended he could plead innocence in good faith and ignorance.


[Diitzy] Lady Celestia, Physician's Apprentice


It wasn't long before her sister, Genevieve tangled her arms around Celestia's larger frame. The bastard girl was just a few inches taller, but still felt so small to the beloved majesty, the Dowager Queen. Her long arms draped her silk sleeves around the tiny woman, tugging her close for the brief moment. All of her focus was placed upon Genevieve, even with the loosen mind from the shrooms. She knew all too well how much it meant for herself to be physically there in flesh to be by her side. With all that has happened recently, now is the time that Genevieve needed her more than just a loving sister, she needed the healing hands of Freya in this time of grief and stress. The woman pressed her lips to the clothed jaw of her sister. "No matter where you are, I am surely to follow". Her whisper trailed back in her ear before they released each other.

Standing beside her sister, her eyes gazed to afar passed the heads of which took her sister's attention. Her thoughts lingered about the mention of gods as the simple word brought her homesick of what was beyond these vineyard gates. When was the last time she spoke to the gods? Is Odin aware of how much she missed his signs of wisdom? Does Thor know of her appreciation for the strength he's given to Genevieve through the loss of her deceased husband? What of Freya and all that she has blessed this bastard soul with the gift of healing? Celestia wondered as she lowered her head in prayer with her eyes closed. For a perspective of any other one would believe it would be in the Catholic God's good grace, but only should her sister knew the very truth. For the moment she carried the wishful messages hoping they would catch their Gods' good ear.

In shift of movement from her sister, the woman opened her eyes and lifted to the voices being carried in conversation. In the distance the musical percussions were carried to their location and with the eyes dosed in shrooms even the vines that carried lushing grape fruit were dancing to it. "Sister, I hear music. We should go find a place to dance". The blond hair girl leaned into her sister, and laced her fingers to hers ready to tug her in that particular direction when she was ready to move.


[Giinger] Alysanne, Dowager Queen of West Francia



Apart from getting her swollen with-child every time he so much as looked at her, Dietrich had done very little to limit his wife’s personal freedoms, apart from the occasional opposition to her intervening directly in matters he’d prefer to handle himself—namely his brother. However unalike king and prince may have been, their fraternal bond remained unbroken until their shared dying day. The younger had been the elder’s shadow and constant childhood companion, and their love was unconditional. There were few matters he’d turned a blind eye to, but Genevieve had clearly been one of them. Personally, Alysanne would have poisoned or pushed him from the battlements after the first blow had been struck.

“Ah, I see,” another of the man’s diplomatic follies. Public appearances were a necessity for the aristocracy. The people would not love what they could not see, and it was irresponsible and plainly stupid to keep a barren wife out of sight and reach. A highborn woman’s position was determined by her ability to produce heirs, and her popularity would suffer without them unless the public was given some other reason to love her. Not taking advantage of any and all opportunities to be seen was a direct tactical decision, or an unintelligent miscalculation. Either way, the fool was dead, and Normandy was lost to foreigners with a taste for slaughter and rape—'quaint.’

Their party was then joined by the lady Celestia, natural daughter of King Æthelwulf of Wessex, who offered her courtesies and greeting then diverted her attentions back to her sister. “Greetings, Lady Celestia. Worry not, we are happy you’re here. Are you finding yourself at-home in the physician’s tower? I am told master Bertrand has a wealth of…literature to draw from.” The royal physician in Paris could not exactly be recruited to accompany them without just cause, his place was pre-determined. Their midwives and nurses were all that had traveled with them, that much they could not be denied.

Genevieve’s elbow and chin redirected her attention in the direction of the steward Anaïs and an unfamiliar noble, a particularly handsome one at that. The two men seemed intently focused on whatever it was they were discussing, and she cared not to draw further attention to it. The boy was a sword swallower, that much she deduced the moment she first lay eyes on him, but it wasn’t an uncommon thing in Francia, or anywhere else for that matter they just did less to conceal it there. So long as he was discreet in his affairs and continued to perform his duties to her satisfaction, she cared little for what he put where—it didn’t concern her. The corners of her lips tugged into a grin, “Let us hope the harvest is fruitful, no?” She heard Celestia’s suggestion and nodded to them both, “Yes, do go and enjoy the music. I’m going to look around for Cousin Cecily and speak to a few of the local magistrates. Come along girls.”


[Doviie] Sir Jean Luc, Baron Colmar


Minutes had turned that showed itself to do great wonders in regards to the party and its population. What felt modest now bridged close to that of one of the Parisian nobilities soirée's, where the air smelled rich of perfume and oils, and the main battles caught were that of trying to impress the hungry eyes looking for wedding bands and substantial dowries. Jean-Luc held onto his goblet then felt a light nudge from behind as a person brushed past, unintended to push but causing so nonetheless. A quick apology rushed out of the hurried mouth and Jean did not get a chance to even see their image, but instead felt his form having been tipped in the direct of the man who had given him his drink. Jean raised the goblet, ensuring it would not spill, and drank the rest before lowering.

"Apologies." His eyes showed light alarm, looking downwards and catching the intimate proximity before shuffling back after a solid six seconds had passed. Jean raised one hand to rub along his freshly shaven jaw, a nervous little act that was an unintentional behaviour. After getting the slight whiff of some sort of enjoyable scent, he glanced once more at the man, then looked away to scan the growing numbers of people. Upon hearing a reply to his former statement, he held the nameless figure's vibrant gaze and responded in kind: "I shall believe your words." His own sight seemed playful; bold. The words came out lower than normal, as if it were a secret between them both, to which Jean finalised with a partial grin before clearing his throat. A grin in which could both just show itself as kind, and easy to approach, or a bit more... interesting.
"Ah, my manners. I am Jean-Luc of Colmar. Knowledge of my arrival is probably unheard of for many, but I do know I am supposed to announce myself to the local Steward and those of proper authority." Jean extended his free hand. His grip both a bit larger, and slightly calloused in certain areas due to his days wielding a sword and learning to fight. If his companion offered his own hand in return, Jean would hold it for two solid shakes before forcing himself to drop. He could feel eyes on him, on them both, and worried on which one's were far more willing to be uncaring and dismissive versus those who tend to fill their boredom with malevolent and invasive intent.


[Doviie] Lady Cecily, Royal Superintendent


While the initial beginning trip to the village had been spontaneously filled with news and action that made Cecily's heart almost thrum wildly in her chest, what pushed her into hurrying all the more was the time remaining in order to get ready and establish a dignified arrival. The dark haired woman had aided her cousin, Queen Alysanne, in the morning, and knew she had time to complete other matters while the ladies in waiting would finalise the rest. Now, given the letter had been properly released for delivery, the woman found herself getting ready in one of the royal suits of the Ombrage Inn. It did not take long, thankfully, and she had the assistance of the barmaid, a woman who Cecily already came to think of as quite a lovely soul.

All in all, timing stretched up to an hour before she found her feet finally pressing on the grounds of the vineyard. Music lifted into her ears and she felt the edges of her plump lips slip into a smile, her icicle eyes glinting with excitement to explore and interact. Grasping a section of her skirts, she lifting them up just enough to manoeuvre, and found herself drawing further into the setting. The Lady wore a gown of black, as many people did here, for only white were for the Queen's themselves and purple for actual royalty. Given Cecily was but a branch of the royal family on her mother's side, she was resorted to the black tint itself, but that did not matter to her. In fact, she quite preferred the darker tones.

As she slipped between figures and swept further into the masses, Cecily finally saw her dear cousin further up, more towards the actual social building that was on the vineyard grounds. There were two main buildings on the lot. One for actual business and manufacturing of the beverages, and another for living, which was predominately used for social events or those who wished to stay in Ombrage as direct guests of the royals.

"Queen Alysanne!" Cecily waved up right hand up, her fingers fluttering in her own make of a wave. "Oh, don't you just look beautiful. I know it is a time to mourn, surely, but we should still celebrate how darling that gown looks on you." A lighthearted laugh ended the sentence as she patted down her skirts, fixing herself up proper after having just walked so much to arrive at this point.


[CynicalLegend] Alixx, The Seamstress


It was a good while before Alixx had finally left the table of food. Once she did, she found herself wandering about the festival dragging the mule and cart along. How am I ever supposed to find Anais or Lady Cecily in this crowd? Her thoughts slammed into her chest like a battering ram. Maybe she wasn't actually being believed and this was their way of distracting Alixx. No. If she wasn't being taken at least sort of seriously, Anais would never have sent a guard with her to get the men's descriptions. Still, she had to located one of them sooner rather than later.

Catching sight of Lady Cecily first, she started for her then realized she was surrounded by nobility and royals. Nope. That would not go over well a second time. A commoner walking right up to the royal family was way more than frowned upon. She had gotten lucky with Lady Cecily being an understanding woman. Queen Alysanne would not take as much pity on her. Regardless of her being much more presentable this time. Shaking her head, Alixx turned as if she'd simply made a mistake in heading towards some festivities. Stupid girl. Not the ladies. Find Anais, that'd be much more appropriate.

The trunk rattled as the cart rolled over the stones slowly. Where could he be? As soon as the question crossed her mind, she found him. Anais was talking to another man. She had caught the small stumble when a person bumped into him. She also caught the demeanor of the pair changing while they were barely a breath apart. Unable to help it, a smirk crossed her face as understanding flooded into her mind. Still, the awkward attraction between the two men was missed by many passersby. A fact, Alixx was sure the pair was thankful for. Okay, Alixx. Stop gawking at the cuteness and get over there.

Urging the mule on, Alixx headed over to the men as casually as she could manage. Her nerves were still riled but calmed as she realized she had an actual need to speak to Anais. The trunk of clothes for Lady Cecily rattled just then as if to prove the point. She stopped a few feet away and offered a small curtsy "Excuse my interruption, sirs, I have a delivery for Lady Cecily from the seamstress. I believe we crossed paths in the village and I was asked to bring it along?" She lifted her head and smiled softly at both men.

[The Dredge] Davinia, Brothel Madam


The Festival of Grapes had to be one of the grandest festivals that the Chateau D’Ombrage held for its citizens every year.  For Davinia, it marked her anniversary of arriving at this place several years ago, for she had arrived here just at winter’s end and it was this very festival that had been the root of her desire to find her own place here.  It had been some years now since her humble beginnings.  Now she had a name for herself.  A house and land title for herself.  Everything she had ever dreamed of and lusted for had come within her grasp and she had clutched every single opportunity with ruthless claws… but had she found contentment?  Or were her dreams just too big to realise?

Davinia arrived with the whores of her house in tow, all of them wearing the mourning black.  The Mistress may not have been nobility but she was wealthy enough to enjoy finer dress, though in public she knew better than to look too extravagant, especially in attendance of royalty.  Choosing to downplay her attire rather than flaunt the fineness of silks she often wore in her own bath house was a wise choice in the presence of those with real status. Thus she was wearing a gown of black linen with a fine crocheted black lace lining over the hem of her sleeves, the bottom of her dress, and along her neckline.  The top of her sleeves drooped off her shoulders to her biceps along with the black fox fur that was draped along her back and below her shoulders, looping elegantly over her arms and baring her shoulders to the brisk, early spring air.  The darkness contrasted with the milk of her skin, which drew even more attention to the parts uncovered, particularly her exposed neck, chest and cleavage.  Especially since she was also wearing a short, sheer veil that hung over her upper face from a clasp dug into the crown of her head, pinning her hair back and leaving it to ruffle its organised chaos of carefully tended curls down her back.  The delicate veil darkened her eyes but left her painted red lips revealed, adding an air of mystery to her beautiful appeal.

The girls in her wake would fan out after they entered, breaking off to enjoy the festivities and perhaps drum up some business for themselves, whilst Davinia elegantly moved through the crowd, enlightening her hand with a goblet of the fine wine that was being offered and taking a generous sip.  The woman was not one to cause a scene or get into the spotlight, preferring the trouble she caused to go unnoticed.  Like the way that she would catch the gaze of married men that she’d slept with using an alluring, inviting glance over her shoulder with shielded eyes.  A look of knowing would pass between them right in front of their oblivious wives. An acknowledgement of unspoken hours of lust and sin… and that they’d do it again in a heartbeat.  Poor souls- if only they knew.

Despite the occasional looks of her veiled, predatory eyes stalking for a strapping man or lovely lady she might wish to strike a conversation with, Davinia was looking for nothing in particular.  She was just here to enjoy herself… and to see for herself the dowager queen that she had heard so much about already.  There were many rumours already flying around about her.  She knew that Genevieve had earned the ire of more than one mouth whispering in her ears late at night, whilst she was subjugated in the name of the illustrious fantasies that would be acted upon the Queen if she ever found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person.  Davinia didn’t yet have a face for the name, but she was sure that her eyes would gaze upon it sooner or later.  For now though, the Mistress of Secrets wound her way toward the source of the music which called to her like a binding spell, humming the melody softly to herself as she wandered with occasional sips of her wine along the way.  Her light fingers would pluck at food that she passed, taking the time to enjoy the other earthly delights presented here at the festival every time she put something in her mouth, savouring what her senses brought her from the atmosphere.

After finding her way nearer to the band she sidelined herself to some nearby shade, sensually swaying to the music and generally just enjoying the atmosphere.  Her hidden eyes continued to scan the crowds, catching glimpses of people she knew and people she didn’t.  Nearby she glimpsed the steward, Anais, talking with another handsome man, but she was too far away to be able to sense the chemistry between them.  By the time that Alixx had announced her arrival to them her sight had wandered on, glimpsing through moving bodies as she moved her own, slowly turning on the spot and angling her head to see new views.  It didn’t take long to spot the Queens in white.  Davinia recognised Alysanne, the woman with the ginger locks standing tall and regal amongst the flock of people around her.  Although having never met her and only seeing her a handful of times over the years of being here, Davinia felt nothing else but a sort of admiration for the widowed queen that she viewed from afar.

The whore’s dark eyes wandered on, seeing Celestia, the physician’s apprentice.  A woman she recognised, having gotten herbs from her recently to reinstate her missing period... on those odd occasions her occupation got her knocked up with an unwanted child, she would resort to such methods.  Which Davinia refused to be the woman that her mother was, to which the only gratitude she owed her was being born.

With Celestia was the other woman dressed in white, which Davinia had to simply assume was Genevieve.  Her dark eyes lingered on the queen with the beautiful brown skin which seemed so foreign in these fair lands.  So, this was the queen that people had a problem with?  The one being blamed for the misfortune of Normandy?  The one who let the families of others succumb to rot and rape whilst she ran with her own life intact?  With all the negativity she had heard from the travellers and refugees fleeing Normandy, who had taken sanctuary in her bed, she had expected to lay eyes on her and feel something akin to hatred.  Instead, Davinia just saw another woman like herself simply trying to survive in this male dominated world.  It was more of an empathy, than a kinship though.  After all, their lives were likely so far apart that they could not possibly relate over anything.  The thought crossed her mind to go and introduce herself, but she found that her feet didn’t move.  Pandering to royalty had never been a thing that she had done and she wasn’t about to start.  She didn’t want to be another common person trying to get close to royalty as though it might rub off on them, instead, simply content to dance on her own and perhaps lure someone into a conversation with her that might give her some fun.


[Giinger] Anais, The Steward


Just as he’d managed to gain some self-control Anaïs found himself drowning in the golden pools of nectar that graced the other man’s face yet again. The line of his jaw and evidence of recent and crisp shaving were enough to make a boy go weak in the knees. For a moment he’d nearly forgotten who or where he was. West Francia, especially in the North, was heavily influenced by the Catholic church, and local laws were in place to prohibit male-on-male relations extending beyond the platonic, considering it an offense against the "natural order” intended by God. Politicians were using such accusations against their rivals to condemn their careers and scoop up any fortune they might leave behind. The church itself wasn’t as strict, giving only a penance, but it was harsher for those on the receiving end of things rather than those who might penetrate. While not so common-born as many present now, he still lacked for an actual pedigree, and had non-Christian family origins. There could be those that might envy his position and seek to usurp it, including this handsome stranger. If he were to say Anaïs had extended “unnatural sexual advances” towards him the cost could be dear, no matter how innocent his actions might be.

Before he could enact further restraint and seek escape the man drew perilously closer to his face at an alarming speed, and the soul his ginger body wasn’t supposed to even have completely left the building. Thankfully he was frozen in fear, or he’d have fallen backward and knocked over an entire display table with more champagne than he could rightly afford to replace. The only physical reactions he could manage were gasping for air and lifting his palms upward, nearly laying them against the man’s chest, hovering less than an inch away. His eyelids shot open even wider than before, and his pupils grew large as saucers. Upon inhaling he was hit with the intoxicating scent of masculine fragrance, a contrast to the lavender and clove he wore himself. “Fuh…eh, pardonnez moi seigneur,” he exclaimed nervously. Thankfully, he was extremely soft-spoken or else it would have attracted even more attention.

“Errrr, uhhmm…Anaïs…of Bordeaux, I am the steward…of Champagne. Pleasure, to umm, meet you, Lord Colmar.” Jean-Luc of Colmar! The man’s late kin looked nothing like this. He’d heard the title had passed to some indirect family member, a young man maybe some cousin or a nephew, but there had yet to be any formal correspondence between them. After all, Ombrage had only recently become the seat for the duchy since Reims had been the target of an attack. What remained of the records there were on a cart  en-route to the chateau now. What he did know was that the estate was a bountiful one, and whoever controlled it was a major supplier of beef and other produce in the region, especially since what had transpired in the north of the kingdom. Hopefully he didn’t sound like a complete and total bumbling idiot to one of his overlord’s direct vassals.

He extended his own hand to return the courtesy, feeling the battle-hardened callouses against his own delicate skin. The life of a steward was one of privilege compared to others who worked with their hands for a living. Until recently and occasionally in his childhood, Anaïs had undertaken minimal physical labor, and when he did it was nothing that would cause his skin to harden like so. Furthermore, he had found it useful to moisturize with various oils and creams to keep from feeling an odd brushing of dry skin against the papers that constantly crossed his desk. His hands were, like the rest of him, comparable to a lady’s. The breath caught in his throat as he fought against the dizzying and electric sensation that was their combined touch, at least until he was startled once more by the village seamstress. In truth, he was both relieved that she’d rescued him from making a fool of himself and moderately annoyed all at once, but thankfully the former was displayed on his expression. “Alix, oh! I did not see you there.” He glanced back at the cart drawn by the beast of burden, turning to his left he motioned for one of the servants helping with the display to approach. “Boy, have this taken up to the chateau, inform Marguerite that it is to be placed along with The Lady Cecily’s other belongings. You may return the cart to the village after, go.”

The boy nodded his assent to the councilor’s demand and took the reign from the woman to lead the animal and chest up to the castle. “Everything went well, I assume. Did you require further assistance from me, miss? The details of the order were passed along, so I’m told.” He referred to the guard questioning her further about the men who’d threatened to harm the duchess of Normandy. The matter had been handed off to the marshal and his men to handle. It wasn’t advisable to discuss such things in the open air, lest an associate of the perpetrators overhear them and change plans. “There goes Lady Cecily now, with Her Majesty. It would err…be more apt for her to pass the message along to the queen than you or I.” Without the proper escort Alixx would be cut down or at minimum knocked off her feet and face-planted into the dirt if she ran up to Alysanne of Alba and the two princesses. A certain process had to be followed, and he as steward could no bypass the marshal; however, Lady Cecily was not bound to such etiquette, given her position as the superintendent of the queen’s own household and her kinswoman.


[Foniia] Genevieve, Dowager Duchess of Normandy


Music swept through the rows of tables and half budded vines. Each rise and fall of the harmonized melodies fell insync with the soft ebb and flow of the crisp breeze creating a dome of enchantment around the vineyard strong enough to call forth the fae folk from their humble little homes to peer about in search of handsome first borns for the company of their king, Oberon. Oh, and what a sight to behold on this day! Many of the men around were young, fresh, and handsome. Some of the were not so fresh, a bit battle hardened but who didn't like a man with a few scars and a bit of dirt? Genevieve the unpolished to the polished, partly because she had always had a soft affinity for Viking kinsmen of her half sister and partly because polish and pomp reminded her of her husband and she had been working very hard to reassociate everything to do with royalty back to her handsome brothers and father. Perhaps her wild heart was using Vaefar to push her closer to wilds in which she always felt more at home. Whatever it was, Vaefar was never really far, always lurking in the shadows and the darkest parts of her mind which were consuming her waking life to the brink of madness.

The dowager exhaled softly under her veil hoping her breath would chase away the darker thoughts. She wanted a clear and happy mind for when the mushrooms brought to her by her sister began to take hold. It would make for a much more enjoyable experience. As would the drink of the evening which she plucked from a tray as servant wandered by. Handing a brimming goblet to her sister, Genevieve went to sip the drink only find soft cloth between her lips and the liquid. A giggle emerged from her long throat, fingers dancing under her chin to lift the veil just enough to slip the fabric over the top of the goblet and fill her mouth with the fluid. It was sweet! And she thanked the Lord, for this was his land to watch over, with a little tip of her cup to the clear skies.

The small woman's free arm disappeared under her long, heavy cloak but she kept the goblet to her lips even has her eyes drifted back toward Alysanne for a moment. The nod, "good bye for now", was the smallest of tips. The veil then fell back to place as she looped her arm through her sister's and started away. The nearest gazebo had a small band playing a whimsical theme and she deduced these were the soft but lively tones of which her sister had taken interest. The area before the gazebo would serve as a little dance floor, flat earth where the grass had been worn down; a place used time and time again for similar purposes. A few unknown faces were already upon the makeshift dance floor, freeing the dark-skinned girl of royalty from being the first to liven up the festivities. Just before entering the ongoing dance, Genevieve finished the contents of her goblet and left it on the nearest table edge. They were then upon the dancefloor in a swirl of contrasting mourning colors and there they would remain for the better part of an hour, as the band indulged the two with upbeat tempos.

The hour passed quickly, blurring into vibrant colors and echoing sounds as the psychedelic fungus began to take hold leaving her with a dry, cottony feel in her mouth. Sweeping herself off the dancefloor in a graceful twirl, the little dowager brought herself back to the nearest table in search of wine. The object was not hard to find but a single serving did not quench her thirst. It was not until the third that she seemed satisfied and lowered a half full goblet between her breasts. By this time, Cecily had found her cousin and there was a striking woman nearby with dark hair and pale skin, her mourning attire stitched to distract from mourning with desire. The visual brought with it a twinge of envy. What the 24-hour queen would have given to flaunt her petite figure in such a way. To return to being desired and sought after. The feeling was fleeting, removed from her by the bleeding colors of a butterfly fluttering across her vision. Whether the creature was really there, visible to others in her proximity, she may never know, however it mattered little. The Absolum, in shades of sharp blue and black danced high enough for the small queen to tilt her head up, sunlight pooling on her veiled face, and away through the caressing breezes which had taken on an opalescence in her drugged vision.


[Diitzy] Lady Celestia, The Physician's Apprentice


Celestia lifted her head to Alysanne, who asked about her settling arrangements in the tower. The silver hair apprentice smiled warmly. "Oh, her majesty is far too kind with the arrangement. The Doctor is blissful and brilliant in his own accord. I am truly forever grateful for this awarding position you have placed me in." Her fingers wiggled through the air dancing in the soft breeze before folding them together in a prayer clasp. Her head slightly bowed in appreciation. Sure, he was brilliant when it came to his numerous books that had his letterhead ensealed. In physical company, however, he was losing himself day by day. Truthfully she did find herself well at home in the royal physician tower by pretty much being in control of it.

The dowager queens gestured to each other as if their attention was redirected to the men that were close. For that moment the bastard who is high from shrooms couldn't tell you what her attention was at this time. Perhaps the blue moth that fluttered by or the talking chicken that ran passed in the bushes, there was even a hare that came around the corner with one of her tea jugs that looked at her pointing her attention back to her sister and cousin that were departing from one another. Celestia shook her head for a moment in realization and lightly lowered her head. "See you soon, your majesty" Before she knew it there was a goblet placed in her hand, the younger sister looked down seeing her reflection. Wondering if it would be wise for her to cross two powerful substances together shrooms and wine probably wasn't the greatest decision. However, Celestia held it to her chest as she was pulled by her sister in another direction.

By following her sister who was moving towards the sound of music. She felt at her feet the musical vibration under the gazebo. The unfamiliar faces were gathering in dance and there was a vacant spot beside her, seems she already lost her sister in the dancing crowd. Celestia chuckled to find the little brown hair bobbing through the towering shoulders. She knew her sister couldn't resist when it came to dancing. Celestia preferred listening to the different types of instruments and even knew how to play some of them, but nothing compared to the pounding drum from the festivals back at her true homeland north of the sea. She waited till her sister twirled in her direction till she joined the dance. Always to stay close to her sister, Celestia did not want to lose her to the crowd again.

The sun moved quite the distance across the sky by this time, they decided to pull away from dancing. Genevieve was in search of something to clench her thirst. The wine was easily accessible, but the little physician herself made sure to sneak in a few goblets of water in her sister's line of pours. She watched as her sister's attention was direct to a woman that seemed to turn her sister's joy into envy. Celestia hooked her arm with Genevieve's and whispered in her ear. " All butterflies have their own colors, not one shares the same pattern as the next one in cacoon, my beloved sister. Sure some may seem more beautiful than others, but it's the ones that are rarest to see.-" She placed her finger tilting Genevieve's head in her direction, having her attention briefly. "-are the most exquisite and breathtaking of them all are the ones worth knowing. One like you." Her fingers moved from her sister's chin to taping her nose, nearby she plucked a nearby flower from one of the decorations and folded it into the palm of her hand. Celestia knew her sister all too well why she reacted the way she did but at the same time, she only wished she could give her sight just for a day to her sister. Just so for one day, she knew exactly how beautiful she was among the rest inside and out.


[Giinger] Lucrezia, Duchess of Berry


The trip to Reims from Bourges by carriage was moderately quick, granted one traveled light and sent necessary items ahead, and the duchess of Berry and her party were making excellent time. The only inconvenience thus far had been denial to enter the château’s harbor due to the royal family officially taking up residence there, but it was a fast enough trip to the next suitable exit. There was little in the world that could rival the beauty of spring in West Francia with flowers blossoming all about and green covering the landscape as far as the eye could see, which had made the entire journey more tolerable and so Lucrezia didn’t mind. She’d had half a mind to skip the festival this year, but upon hearing that three of the nation’s four queens had fled there with the two young Karling princesses in-tow the decision had practically made itself. The duchess smiled fiendishly upon the growing crowd inside the vineyard up ahead, spotting the white of the women’s veils in a sea of black, “Poor dears,” she spoke to her noble serving women, who all nodded and chuckled in agreement.

As the carriage came to a halt two footmen hopped down from their horses in order to open the door and place a stool on the ground while the other held out a hand for the contents to exit. Velvet skirts died the deepest and most ostentatious shade of black available cascaded to the ground as the Duchess of Berry made her arrival on the scene. Her gown billowed from an empire waist where the bodice began just below her breasts, the neckline was a deep square shape and revealed her top of her linen chemise which had been dyed to match the gown. The mounds of flesh were boosted by the gown’s support, in the Italian fashion, revealing her décolletage where a cross of studded jet and rubies dangled upon a dark chain. As an unmarried woman she wore her hair unbound, but an opaque silk veil fell from a jeweled pin to cover the back of her golden head and curls. Her accompanying women wore a slightly lighter shade of black in various materials determined by the wealth. One of them stepped forward to lay a sable stole about Lucrezia’s pale shoulders, “Merci ma chérie.”

Together they trapsed through the throngs of people, stopping to view various entertainments and sample the available wines, some of which had been sent up from the lower regions of the country, to include her own—it was the festival of “grapes” after all, not simply champagne. Her personal favorites had always been Italian whites or Bordeaux reds though. With a glass of the latter in-hand she made her way over to where a musical band was captivating its audience with familiar tune, hummed in the throats of nearly all in the vicinity. Fair as she was the shade of a nearby tree offered the best vantage point for one not wanting to be burned by the sun, so she took her place beside a pale woman in well-made but not flamboyant attire. *‘Hmm,’* Lucrezia studied her appearance a moment before deducing who or what she might be exactly…the redness of her lips was more than suitable evidence to decide that the woman was likely a courtesan, not to mention the exposed shoulders and delightfully low neckline.

“Lovely, is it not?” off in the distance she spotted the little brown skinned princess of Wessex turned queen—bitch. Genevieve’s presence alone had been all the convincing she’d needed to make the journey. It was so seldom she truly got the chance to play a proper game of cat and mouse, and the dowager duchess of Normandy was in a precarious position. The white-haired girl alongside her was remotely familiar, but how she couldn’t necessarily recall how. There had been so little information to escape Normandy since Vaefar had placed in under lock and key, apart from spies in brothels or alehouses where a proper princess could not risk being caught. On the rare occasion that they’d visited court the woman had been hidden behind the protective veil that was the Scottish cow’s protection, “What is your name?”


[Andromeda] Alysanne, Dowager Queen of West Francia


There was no illusion in her mind that Bertrand, the castle physician, was still in control of his faculties. Actually, she’d been aware of it for some time, it was the reason he was in Reims and not Paris. He’d proudly served the royal household for more than half of his long life, but his memory had begun to fail him not long after her arrival in Francia. Dietrich had loved and respected the old man for his kind demeanor and wealth of knowledge, so it was decided he’d be placed at a lesser royal holding and placed in the hands of caregivers to help uphold his sense of dignity and allow him a quieter and more comfortable end to his days. Genevieve had explained to her in times past that her younger sister, King Aethelwulf’s illegitimate offspring, had received formal training in medicine, so it was only natural that she be placed in the apothecary with access to all of Bertrand’s notes and supplies to draw from. Furthermore, the concept of a female medical practitioner simply made sense. She’d been horrified that such a horrific undergoing such as childbirth had been unattended by anything more than other women who’d experienced it and lived to tell the tale. What use was a man who couldn’t even enter the room while a woman experienced the most excruciating process known to mankind?

The queen nodded farewell to the two sisters and urged her own daughters forward to set about the task of socializing. As she’d said before, Alysanne took the time to get better acquainted with the local leaders and nobility that were the direct vassals of her daughter’s domain. The locals had been charmed by Amicia’s mannerisms, and it was good to make her known to them from an early age and to demonstrate that she was being involved in the governance rather than simply being handed control with no experience on her eighteenth name day. While tedious to some, such interactions were what made the duties of queenship bearable to her. Hearing the problems of others and offering solutions or recommendations showed others that those appointed by God to lead them had their best interests at heart. Earning the peoples’ love was essential to have a safeguard in the event tragedy struck. People that loved their leaders would help them escape harm should it come their way, rather than allowing them to take the blow. The little duchess took to the task so naturally it made her mother’s heart beam with pride. As her sister’s shadow, Princess Brigid mimicked Amicia’s every action, and conducted herself with a childlike poise.

Much time had passed since the beginning of the event, but soon enough the familiar tone of her cousin’s voice rang out among the crowd calling to her. Alysanne turned to face Cecily with a smile, “Sweet cousin, many thanks. Your own gown is cause for celebration; I think! It suits you well. You must give the seamstress my regards, the needlework is splendid.” Once the other lady curtsied and expressed the proper etiquette, she’d kiss both her cheeks though the veil touching lightly at her shoulders. The queen fidgeted a little in her own gown, having grown slightly uncomfortable. “I fear the handmaids laced my back too tightly,” she whispered, “I fear my breasts might burst if I sat down.” Since the passing of her husband and the loss of her precious little boy, the queen may have overindulged a little on the sweet meats and pastries, not to mention wine—which was uncharacteristic of her normal habits. The loss had been extreme, and her emotions were all over the place. Food was comforting, so long as she didn’t overdo it. It was perhaps brought on or enhanced by the overall restlessness it was all causing, she’d had to request sleeping drafts every night that week.


[TheDredge] Davinia, Brothel Madam


Music was her delight; her joy.  The rhythm of each song seemed to flow through her body and pull it into sensual and alluring dance like a siren's song made physical through enchanting and captivating movements.  Davinia was aware of eyes upon her.  Gazes that came and went as interest swelled and waned among patrons who became curious but quickly decided she was too far above their pay grade to afford.  Or simply knew who she was and knew that only the largest sums of money bought a body like that if you had no juicy gossip worth offering.

Davinia's own eyes grazed the crowd, but once again it was in observance rather than a will to hunt in this particular moment.  On and off she had been watching Genevieve, observing the woman's movements in the crowd and those around her.  That's when she wasn't people watching others, at least.  Every time she found herself looking at the dark skinned woman, she found herself thinking that she wasn't in her soundest of minds.  Was she already drunk off her ass, or was it something else?

Celestia seemed to hang close to her, she thought, but she had already found out that they were sisters through the 'grapevine'.  The white haired one certainly seemed to watch out for her sister, noting the way that she had given Genevieve a goblet of water between her wine guzzling.  Davinia's gaze moved away again then, noting the arrival of more folks arriving fashionably late to the party, before feeling eyes on her.  Casually she searched the crowd and caught sight of the dark dowager queen looking over at her.

Both women wore veiled eyes, but Davinia knew what eyes of envy felt like.  Which made her curious as to what a Queen would have to envy over a common Establishment Owner like herself.  Did Genevieve not have everything that a woman could want practically at her disposal?  Honestly speaking, Davinia didn't well know all the rules and restrictions of royalty, even if she knew of them.  So her cunning mind was left wondering... Why?

Her eyes moved again, but her mind began inflecting her thoughts, trying to form a string of logic together to make sense of the behaviour she'd just witnessed.  It was then that she felt the presence of another joining her under the tree.  The draw of their eyes along her exposed shoulders sent pleasant chills through the seductress, hearing the woman before glancing toward her address.

Her hidden eyes fell upon another beauty in her own right.  The questions being asked were nothing but small talk; probes for a bored mind who just so happened to find themselves in her company.  Turning herself in Lucrezia's direction, her red lips formed into a delighted smile, "a day almost as lovely as you", came the flattering remark.  Truth be told Davinia had absolutely no idea who she was talking to, so polite flattery was always a safe route to take.

Davinia didn't stop her dancing as the other woman asked for an introduction, smiling in pretty seduction at her.  "I was blessed with the name of Davinia", she replied politely with a voice which practically oozed sensuality.  The woman quirked a brow as her goblet was brought to her painted lips, her playful smile flashing teeth before it disappeared at the rim and the seductress drank deep of her wine.

Pulling it away with a refreshed exhale and purse of her lips, the dark eyed beauty looked the Duchess up and down.  "May I know your name, darling?" came the unsurprising question.  It seemed only fair that if one was to ask her name that she would get an introduction in return.


[Andromeda] Lucrezia, Duchess of Berry


The little temptress continued to sway to-and-fro as she was addressed, simultaneously enjoying the celebrations and advertising her assets to the visiting aristocracy and wealthy merchants. Lucrezia respected the hustle. It was no wonder her clothes were as finely spun as they were, she likely cost a pretty penny. They sipped wine in unison, though the duchess remained serenely still, a calculating smirk gracing her pouted lips. Chasing was for the lowborn, attraction the high, but both achieved similar results.  As a peeress in her own right it took minimal coaxing to lure people to her bed, but the risks associated were higher. The cost, however, was hers to pay, and hers alone. One traded privilege for freedom.
 
“Charmed,” she responded to the flattery with a faux kiss to the air in her general direction. The exchange of pleasantries set Davinia apart from other whores she’d dealt with. It was warm, inviting, and sunny—decidedly more eastern than western. Given her own mother was Italian, she recognized the nature of such in others. While these mannerisms were beginning to spread into Francia from Iberia and Byzantium, they were still far more austere than this one, at least for women.  “Tell me, Davinia Darling…where did you come by such a moniker? I’ve never encountered another in all of Francia—it's rather…exotic.”

“My name is Lucrezia,” she lowered the goblet to rest just between her bosom, “of mixed Italian and French origins, though my heart belongs to the latter, of course. Whether it is a blessing or a curse remains to be seen,” she winked. The hand on her cup was adorned by various silver rings, a golden signet ring, and another with a large ruby that matched the ones hanging from her earlobes and the cross about her neck. The time was apt to establish better connections in Champagne, and who better than ones who received intel and cock from both the elite and the rabble? Bordellos were a better source than castle servants. The intimate tongue was far looser than the commanding. Nuns and priests were useful too, but less so than prostitutes and courtesans.


[Doviie] Sir Jean-Luc, Baron Colmar


To those with trained eyes and apt perception, notice of blush across the alabaster cheeks of the steward would have been caught. The mannerisms of a flustered young man could be regarded, and some thought could have been placed to the situation. Unfortunately, if it were considered a matter of unfortunate, Jean-Luc was not one of those with said perception. He could distinguish certain body languages when he was forced to look for it, like when on a field of battle, but when it comes to the art of conversation and matters of charisma, the man was at a loss. Especially if it pertained to him in specifics. Instead the former Knight took the actions of Anaïs as a simple blunder of sudden alarm in proximity and rank, and made sure to position himself a bit further away in distance as to not disturb him.

The slightly older gentleman cleared his throat and offered a heartwarming smile, his eyes alight from the chatter. When their hands grazed one another, the soft texture of his palm and fingers made his mind suddenly roll on thoughts one would consider highly inappropriate. This spontaneous pervasion of imagination  made his own cheeks deepen, pupils dilating when he turned to look at the ginger, before shifting away elsewhere as he aimed to alter focus. Try to rid his brain of thoughts that could have the both of them condemned.

At the mention of his name, and title, Jean-Luc snapped back with a modicum of surprise. "The Steward, you say? Well, I shall consider this a fate set forth by God." His lips turned at the edges, the dimple pinching once again.
It was only after he finished his sentence that he noticed they were still joined in a handshake. Although now it was less of a shake, and more of a hovering hold. Jean-Luc's thumb had run along Anaïs's hand, an action unconsciously made. Upon his realisation he would quickly release, then drop the grip, resorting to keeping the hand at his side before he searched nearby for another glass of something potent enough to try and forget what just transpired.

At the sudden interjection of another face, a young woman, it was here he felt the release of oxygen that apparently had been withheld. Had he been holding his breath due to nerves? For how long? Jean-Luc blinked, shifting his attention to the newcomer and giving a polite tilt of his head, watching as a boy was informed to take a completed order and carry off with the contents in a cart.

"Pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle. Aside from a delivery, I hope you are finding time to enjoy the festivities?"

A waft of baked goods would have come to pass the nose of the Lord at this time. He turned his head to the right, catching some of the servants stroll out with fresh baked goods that were being arranged on a wooden table covered by a cloth of white lace.

"Pardon me. I'll just be over there, in fact, indulging myself. Feel free to join me after if you would like." The honey eyes of the Colmar native would glance back to the company, aiming to speak as if it were a simple gesture of good will and making friends, but would most likely show a flash of betrayal due to further interest hidden in his gaze; his eyes lingering more towards those of emerald. Giving a polite nod to the woman, Jean-Luc would drift away, inhaling the aroma of the goods before grasping one of the danishes that caught his eye.


[Emerge] Genevieve, Dowager Duchess of Normandy


Genevieve blinked at the muddled visage of her sister, the full face veil and mushrooms making the woman a series of pale lights, her voice the crackling of winter leaves breaking from dead branches. The dowager giggled at that, the confidence boosting speech settling somewhere deep in her subconscious, stored for later, for a time when it was truly necessary. Her sister thumbed her nose. The petite queen returned the gesture with a lopsided grin and another giggle.

Music swept over them, the constant joyful chatter a musical of its own. Yet, under the blissful wave of the mushrooms, Genevieve could still feel the slight tightening and pinching within her abdominals. This had been going on for nearly a week now, growing steadily worse as the sun set leaving her curled into the fetal position at night whimpering quietly to herself. The woman's monthly blood letting had always been painful and drawn out but there was something ominously different about this time, especially... since it was late. Very late. Nearly four months so to be exact. A fact she had kept hidden from nearly everyone. She was able to speak with her sister in many languages, even a made one up one they shared since childhood and her correspondence with Alysanne was often coded. However, now, she was starting to feel those dreaded cramps again only this time they were spread out, spasming in her gut as if she were being donkey kicked from the inside, a few times nearly knocking her down a flight of stairs; a fate she was not entirely opposed too. In fact, it was something she had contemplated while her husband still lived.

Right now, a mild wave of pain started on one side of her slim abdomen and moved slowly, torturously across to the other side causing Genevieve to take a deep breath and let it out slowly, her hand spreading across her belly with a subconsciously maternal softness. The small hand swept down her thigh, smoothing out the soft fabric of her crisp white dress and her green eyes cast over the crowd once more. At this point the object of her momentary envy had been joined by a familiar face. Though her eyes were shadowed in lace, Genevieve had a memory for the beautiful shape of mouths. The Duchess of Berry had a rather ripe mouth set against pale flesh, shapely, perhaps to make room for the snake she carried therein. Genevieve was only vaguely aware of the tension between herself and the other woman, having been distanced from most in one form or another since leaving Wessex -- so this should prove entertaining.

Giving a glance back to her sister, the petite queen strode toward the pair of women keeping her gaze diligently upon the brothel master. For a taller woman, the lifted chin upon the oncoming queen would have been strictly a mark of stature but for one so small as Genevieve it was more of a bridge between heights. Sweeping an arm free of her heavy cloak, Genevieve's voice would fall upon both women and purposefully address the lower of the two.  "You must forgive! I pray that you will, lovely one, but I could not help but admire the trim of your garment! Do you, too, employ Madame Caroline? If not you must tell me who procures such shapes for you!" With barely a turn of her covered head, Genevieve allowed her eyes to flit upon Lucrezia. "Oh, my word. Your Grace, I did not recognize you. Bienvenue a la Fete du Raisin. Of course, you must be far more familiar with this festival than I, a free woman as yourself, in the company of kings."


[TheDredge] Davinia, Brothel Madam]


A light chuckle graced the air following the woman's faux kiss as Davinia likewise took the graces well.  Looking over the Duchess of Berry again, it was easy to tell that whoever 'Lucrezia' was, she was of some kind of class.  Decked out in jewelry like that, it would be practically impossible for her not to be someone of some importance.  Except that Davinia knew a snake in the grass when she saw one, being that she was that type herself and it takes one to know one.  Even if they were different species of snake.

The Mistress listened to the introductions with a patient politeness that came with years of listening to people talk without having much of a voice to speak back with, deciding to push back the answering of her question until Lucrezia was done.  Davinia found it interesting what Lucrezia said about herself, and being a reader of the body, she knew what the wink meant.  One could take it as flirtatious, though she personally felt that it was something more than that.  It was something that she felt she didn't have the right word for in the moment.

Davinia's eyes were drawn briefly down to the goblet resting upon her breast as she kept listening.  It may have been taken as ogling, but really she was noting the rich red of the wine.  A choice much different to the familiar Champagne flavour the region was known for and that she personally found the most enjoyment in.  If it was simply a case of not enjoying the flavour of the region's wine, then why come to a festival centred upon it at all?  Another reason could just be a social one, or perhaps she was here for political business, but nevertheless, it did make the witty Davinia ponder.
 
Keeping her thoughts close to her heart, Davinia followed the conversation with a pleasant smile.  It was true that she was cut from a different sort of cloth than the usual riff raff that shared her profession, but it was certainly a two-faced aspect of the woman that most were not privileged to see.  After Lucrezia finished speaking, Davinia was intending to answer her honestly with as little information as possible. It wasn't often that anyone feigned an interest in her origins.

With another light chuckle starting her off, the Mistress spoke eloquently in return, with a bemusement to her face "Lucrezia~ That’s certainly a beautiful and exotic name in it’s own right.  It suits you".  A flirtatious wink of her own followed, but as she opened her mouth to follow up with an answer to the question that was earlier posed, the presence of another caught her attention.  A flutter of white dress contrasting with darker skin as though the approaching company were Davinia's negative caused the Mistress to shut her mouth and tilt her slightly head in curiosity.  Even her illustrious swaying ceased momentarily as she was completely caught off guard by this turn of events.  For reasons unknown, it would seem that Queen Genevieve was to grace them with her presence.

After a dumbfounded second, Davinia remembered her manners and gave an elegant courtesy to the dowager queen as she began to be lavished in compliments.  Welcome ones, as the queen appeared to gush over her attire with genuine appraisal that was just as honestly appreciated by the Mistress, as unexpected as it was.  “Of course, your highness.  It’s my pleasure”, Davinia purred in delight, obviously flattered by such high compliments, her free hand coming to rest upon her own exposed chest, “there is no finer seamstress in all of town, than Madame Caroline.  Her eye for detail seems to have no equal”.

No sooner had she answered Genevieve when the queen had taken note of Lucrezia.  Unlike the genuine tone the queen had taken with herself, Lucrezia appeared to be regarded with an icier veneer that caused a curiosity to brew within the sharp eyed Mistress of Secrets.  Did they know one another?  The skeptical quirk of her brow was hidden by her veil and stifled by her will as Davinia couldn’t help but turn her head to regard Lucrezia and view her reaction.


[Cynical Legend] Alixx, The Seamstress


Alixx inclined her head in a soft bow and smiled sweetly "Oh yes, the order is fully taken care of." She turned and made a similar gesture of respect to Jean-Luc. "Very much. The food is wonderful and the decorations are simply divine." For a common village girl, Alixx was proud of her education. She needed to understand how to speak and act properly if she was to make it as a seamstress to nobility. As it stands, her mother built a reputation that Alixx had yet to live up to. She dropped into a small curtsy as Jean-Luc excused himself to chase down some pastries.

Spinning her attention back to Anais, Alixx wrung her hands nervously. Making sure that no one of import was in ear shot, she spoke softly "Can we be sure that Lady Cecily will convey the troubles in time? I don't know when, only the how and who. I worry that there won't be enough men to protect the Duchess." Lines of worry crossed her face for barely an instant before she masked them. "I don't know what was done to that man's wife and child but the pure hatred in his voice back in that tavern tells me it may be much worse than I could imagine."

Alixx glanced over her shoulder to the group of ladies crowding around the Queen and Duchess "They've been through enough strife. My only goal is to see them safe so that we commoners may be safe as well." Her hands fisted in the waistband of her dress "I'm powerless to stop the treachery myself. I'm glad it was Lady Cecily today. She kind and listened to me. If only to humor me at the time. I was sure I'd be smacked away as soon as she saw me." She looked up with a smile at Anais "Thank you both for at least considering I may have been truthful." She spared a glance over a Jean-Luc. She had picked up the sideways glances Anais gave as he chased the desserts "He's very handsome. Perhaps I should leave you to get some desserts of your own. They look delicious." With a sly smile, she dropped into a final curtsy and left to find someone else to bother with her presence.


[Doviie] Lady Cecily, Chief Lady-in-Waiting


God was kind today with the forecast, for little in the means of rain or cloud coverage was spotted. The sun beamed down upon the Ombrage vineyard with music filling the air and numerous bodies flocked too and fro, some dancing alongside the music of a jovial lute. Cecily could feel herself aching for the delight of footwork, her dreams already consisting of a handsome suitor whisking her into their arms as they spun into their own world of romance and longing with nothing but the music to intrude. Upon the proper recognition of her cousin, however, those dreams were put to the back of her mind as she politely smiled when Alysanne pressed her soft lips on each cheek in greeting.

"Such a flatterer, you are. I see those years of etiquette classes have done you well."

The raven haired woman stifled a giggle as she opted to wink at the dowager. Noting her companions appearance and dress, she did catch the pull of her midsection and the risen announcement of her bustline. To Cecily, though, it was but a magnificent display of her assets and thus she commented as such.

"What a marvellous show that would be, hm?"

This time she did not hold back in her laughter. Instead, she let it ring while her one palm rested on her chest, feeling the quake of her torso and shoulders due to her inappropriate joke. One that would have earned her quite a stare from her mother if she were present.

"Would you like me to adjust it, however?-" Her tone was of inquiry, and true concern for her wellbeing, but the reminder of what had gone down in the village earlier sprung back up in her head causing a darkened cast to overshadow in her eyes. As if the playful banter was too childish and ill-used given what was necessary to discuss. "Come with me, your highness. I actually need to discuss something increasingly important with you. It is of absolute urgency."
Lady Cecily's voice was a bit lower, hushing down into the pinch of a whisper as she leaned close to the veiled Queen so her ear could pick up the pitch. From there her pale hand would extend, fingers grasping around her cousins' own right, before going to guide her into the stone walls of the vineyard's main craft building. Once upon a time it had been a set home, however now it acted purely as the headquarters for crafting their various drinks and dishes, most particularly the renown champagne of Ombrage.

The noise from outdoors would begin to quiet down as they stepped past the opened doors, footsteps padding along the hardened grounds of a freshly cleaned floor. The walls were high with more tapestries and decorated text describing the beauty of the areas main source of income. A few servants eased through the halls, many taking items in her hands due to ensuring the festival was well stocked, meanwhile Cecily herself found a more isolated room, one that acted as an office.

As soon as they were inside she took to closing the doors, her back resting against the hardwood, chin cast down and eyes staring at the ground. Taking a few breaths, her blue gaze swept back up to catch Alysanne's and said what she never hoped to say in her life:

"I was informed of a plot of assault on the Duchess while in the village. The time and location is not yet certain, but it was overheard while in the tavern." From here she smoothed out her skirts, palms suddenly becoming a tad bit clammy, before stepping closer and beginning to pace. "Anais was also present and took to directing some guards to inquire, but I am not yet sure of the outcome from such a choice. All I know is the information appears to be sincere and from a worried voice, but I did not wish to frighten the Duchess yet on uncertainty, so opted to inform you, first, in private."[/b]


[Andromeda] Alysanne, Dowager Queen of West Francia


Despite having known one another personally for so short a time, the two first-cousins had fallen in-sync with one another rather quickly. Alysanne was very particular and required a certain level of organization and structure in order to function properly, and Cecily delivered those things quietly and efficiently. Furthermore, she was of sufficient rank and relation to behave less formally with the queen and not attract negative attention. This was a relief she’d found only in her husband and Genevieve thus far, so it was a relief to have one so proximal that could provide the same. She jokingly rolled her eyes at the mention of ‘etiquette’ classes, of which she’d had to endure an entirely new course upon arriving at French court all those years ago.

“I believe the current entertainments are sufficient,” she smirked at the jest, though she was genuinely uncomfortable in the new fashion. She nearly lept at the offer to have the stays loosened, but Cecily also required her attention for some other matter. Nodding in acquiescence, the lady took her hand and lead her into the large stone building nearby. Her two daughters remained with their nursemaids and other ladies, as well as bodyguards with the understanding of not wandering away. Typically, she liked to involve the girls with such matters to prepare them for their future roles in society, but she only did so with matters that were screened ahead of time in order to preserve some semblance of a childhood for them. Her own mother had done the same for her, though could only manage up to her mid-teens before she’d been handed over to West Francia and bred like cattle.

The women’s slippers were nearly silent against the hardwood floor therein, but the guards’ boots alerted the servants buzzing about of their presence. A path was cleared and heads lowered in bows and curtsies, arguably less elegant than the practiced courtesies of the courtiers outside. Knowing that not all ears were loyally her’s, Alysanne turned to the lead bodyguard that had accompanied them indoors, “See to it that we are not disturbed, unless it pertains to their royal highnesses.” The man saluted in response and he and his companions took up defensive positions about the office that the two women disappeared into together. Funnily enough it was not her first time entering the small room, and a blush burned across her cheeks at the memory. Something had stirred her husband’s arousal at the same festival one day and he’d taken her on the desk twice, nine months later she’d had twins. It was also the last time she’d ever attended the festival of grapes.

It took a moment for her to recompose herself, in part distracted by the stricture of the gown. Cecily’s next words nearly knocked her breath away and she felt the muscles in her neck tighten, “Which duchess? My Amicia? Or do you mean my sister-in-law?” Her heart was suddenly racing, knowing that both were outside at that moment, and though they were not alone maternal guilt made her feel as though she’d left them that way. Not that either answer was better than the other, but a mother’s love for her children was arguably in a category of its own compared to other loved ones. She paused for a moment to clear her head and allow time for Cecily to reply. “Tell me everything you know, starting with who told you and what the threat is, exactly.”


[Andromeda] Lucrezia, Duchess of Berry


They’d barely done more than exchange names before their little tête-à-tête was intruded upon by the pièce de resistance herself, Genevieve of Wessex. Lucrezia offered the respective curtsy owed a member of the royal family on instinct, before raising back to her full-height, which was the same as the little duchess-turned-queen. Truth be told, the women were of a similar build, though the duchess of Berry was only slightly more voluptuous than Normandy. Men seldom had very differing taste when it came to women anyway, the thought crossed her mind causing her to grin through pressed lips like a Cheshire cat. As if making a spectacle out of herself in public less than a fortnight after the death of her husband wasn’t enough, the trollop then proceeded to address a whore first. She’d have almost been offended if like didn’t attract like. Who was she to defy the laws of nature?

Again she sipped at her wine before lowering it back to her breasts, savoring the velvety beverage on her tongue before allowing it to slide down her slender throat. She looked on at the pair with polite interest, patiently awaiting her turn to be addressed with no sign of irritation. In truth, she appreciated the time it allowed her to study the woman. Was she inebriated? Not likely with grief. Vaefar had informed her of the true nature of their marriage, and how little the princess of Wessex had appreciated everything he’d done out of love for her. She’d bewitched him, nearly made him go mad with lust, and then once they were wed, she’d turned her back on him. Nothing he had ever done was good enough for the spoiled little bitch. Her depravity extended so far that she’d even taken her own brothers to bed rather than him, but he loved her so he could not bear to accuse her. The look on Lucrezia’s face was one of appraisal rather than general disdain or outright repugnance. There was only one person’s satisfaction she cared for, and it was her own. Genevieve of Wessex had taken enough from her already.

“Your Royal Highness, or Majesty... is it? I can’t keep up. Things happened so quickly. I shan’t fault a widow for being blinded with sorrow for the loss of one so beloved as your own lord-husband, may God rest his soul. Never was there one more beautiful than Vaefar Karling, the goodliest of princes. Do allow me to offer my most sincere condolences on your loss, Madame.” She leaned her head slightly to the side and offered a kindly concerned smile before responding the part about the festival, “Ah, yes. I have many fond memories with the two kings at Ombrage. It’s always been one of the favored social events of the season, after all. Pity your highness was not able to attend this past year, the Duke seemed rather distressed.”