Ziiiing! Back again, this time not with my own writing but with the copious amounts of sweet Rp written by the Player of Lady Jocelin Le Drake of Barca. To be honest I was quite surprised and happily so. Read and find out why, but I'm sure you can already guess.
Written by the Player of Jocelin Le Drake:
Jocelin rested her hands upon her head, holding her hair out of the way while her handmaid cinched her dress shut. It was taking longer than usual, and her thoughts had begun to wander when a hard jerk startled her from her reverie. She glared over her shoulder at her servant, more irritable than she had meant to be, "Be careful!"
"I'm sorry m'lady... it won't fit!"
"Won't--" She pulled away and turned in the mirror, looking at herself sideways. Normally flat in the front, the powder blue fabric lay tight over the gentle curve of her stomach. She stared for a long time, and then her eyes softened. "Fetch the green one." The blue gown was taken away, and while she waited for the other Jocelin examined herself in the mirror more closely. She lifted the front of her underdress, glancing surreptitiously to either side as if someone might see; there was no one in the room beside the maid at the wardrobe. I could be mistaken, Thinking back on her eating habits, the past few weeks had found the normally conservative Jocelin hoarding sweets to deal with the constant stress of a realm at war. But the thought of a La Pointe heir was much more appealing. Erasmus will be pleased. Did she tell him right away? It might be more prudent to wait until she'd gotten too large to doubt her condition. Besides, her husband was an observant man: he might have known before she did.
A hurried knock at the door made her turn, though there was a thick screen in place to keep intruders from laying eyes on their unprepared Queen. She was wary about letting anyone outside her closest staff see her in any sort of disarray: Erasmus had married her with that purpose in mind, though the original idea of a union between them had been hers. He was the strength of mind and will in their marriage: she was the face; the gentle influence; the one held beyond reproach. Each one worked to benefit the whole they had made to great effect.
Another knock. Her maid finished cinching her into a bottle-green gown that made the gold in her hair and eyes seem to shine. She replaced her irritated scowl at being disturbed so early in the morning with a courtier's smile and bid the source of the noise to enter. One of Erasmus' guardsmen entered, flanked on either side by the men her captain had posted outside her door. Together they bowed, and then the first spoke, "Three couriers arrived today bearing a package for Your Majesty. Shall I have them brought to the throne room?"
"No: bring them to the solar." The throne room was where Erasmus received his visitors and held court; Jocelin much preferred the high windows and glass ceiling of the solar. It was where their wedding had been held under a full moon, with Bloodmoon on their lips to make the colors shimmer. The room had since become her own, and she entertained there when she could find a reasonable excuse to. The low steps that encircled the room had made for an ideal dais, and a modest wooden throne had been crafted for the young Queen. At this time in the morning the solar was also a tactical choice: as the clouds cleared the sun would be at her back, forcing those she received to squint. Her hair would catch the light, and her eyes, and any who approached her would in later retellings refer to her as Barca's Golden Queen.
Her two armed escorts followed closely on the way to the solar, and her maid trailed behind them. Though she trusted in her good reputation and the spirit of friendship between her and Viscount Aldrakar to keep her safe from Infiltrators, that was never a guarantee, and so she remained under guard even in her own halls. They flanked the door on either side and posted; her handmaiden hustled to one side of the room, ready at a moment's notice to do her mistress' bidding. A long minute later and a trio of drenched guards came in, escorted by the most pompous of her personal guard. Jocelin suppressed a groan as he pressed them forward, and sat bolt upright when he struck one of the road-stained guards behind the knee. "Guardsman!" Everyone in the room looked up, but her steady glare was fixed on one man alone, "We have been aching for an excuse to dismiss you from our service. Do not tempt us so." She had a singer's talent for projection, having been taught from a young age how to make herself heard without shouting. As far as she could recall, the number of times in her life that she had had to shout could be tallied on one hand. Called to task, the pompous man apologized with a bow, and forged ahead as if she had not just reprimanded him.
However, there was now a subdued edge to his delivery. He presented the package that had been brought and waited for her to take it; she did not, not until she saw who it was addressed from. The Viscount?
"Show us." She was giving him permission to open it, for the package had been muddied on the way here. He opened it with so much care and delicacy that she had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes, impatient as she was. Mother would be pleased. Too bad her family had fled the continent, cursing Dwilight for the monsters that plagued it. She grew quiet as she saw the contents and read the letter Viscount Aldrakar had penned. She noted his diplomatic phrasing, but a greater part of her was touched by his seeming sincerity, and she was relieved that no looting would take place. Her good standing with the Lurians was doing more to protect Sulorte than her soldiers, held back in Aveston as she was. If we were reconciled, Sulorte would be yours again, She vowed in silence, her heart hurting yet again for the necessity that was holding Sulorte for her own. She hated the circumstances that had ignited war between them, a war that --at the time-- she'd been too young and compliant to prevent. Now that there were fewer Barcans she was a respected woman, but Jocelin often found herself wondering if that would be so if their numbers had been greater.
She bid her handmaid to fix the pin to her chest, the weight of it greater than its size suggested. While she was hidden from the rest of the room by the body in front of her she closed her eyes, working out what she was going to say before she said it. Words were not paint to her as they seemed to Sir Aldrakar, but responsibilities, weights placed on a scale opposite the gravity of what they spoke of. Too much praise and she was weak; too little, and she risked offending. Her fellow nobles rarely seem to notice (nor care) that their reputations were built on their words, even to the lower class. For someone like her her image was her greatest asset, and she cultivated it as a farmer did his crop.
"You men are from Sulorte?" She wondered if they were from the Barca-that-was or if they'd been born Lurian but suppressed the urge to ask. Such questions had become taboo among the commonfolk. Jocelin didn't wait for a response; she bid the embarrassed guard to step forward and whispered something into his ear, to which he snapped a sharp salute and left the room. Her smile brightened considerably after his departure, and she focused that golden gaze on the three knelt before her. "We would not send you back to your posts without rest nor a hot meal first. I will bid my staff to prepare hot baths in your quarters if you wish it." She looked at them all steadily, expressing her opinion that they needed them without saying as much. "We have bid our... enthusiastic... guardsman to bring us one of our clerks. We were a trader once, and still have some contacts along the coast." If these vintners are willing I would like to see their business expanded abroad. "This war may have made trade difficult with the neighboring regions, and we would like to preserve Sulorte's treasures as best we can."
"For your integrity and the obvious care you took in conveying Viscount Aldrakar's gift to us, it would please us if you would deliver a gift in return. Be here tomorrow at dawn, and you will be rewarded again for your service." She indicated that they were dismissed... and then paused. Her curiosity was burning her up inside. "We have never met Viscount Aldrakar... he seemed a goodly man?"
