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I wrote this to [livejournal.com profile] aldersprig's tenth prompt "More Rune."


“You and my Uncle Caliburn have a very similar taste in cars,” Rune smiled at her new husband.  He was driving them to their honeymoon location in his red, Milanese-built sports car.  Rune was glad it wasn’t a convertible, otherwise it would have been completely unsuitable for much of the year and Franz seemed to enjoy his car very much.  She wasn’t sure how it would handle snow though, it seemed very low slung.

“Yes, we talked about cars last night at the reception.  He’s owned a couple I wish I’d had the chance to drive.  Where to at this intersection up ahead?”  He changed gears.

Rune consulted the map.  “We need to go right and then left at the next turn after that.”

“Okay.  Why did your uncle lend us this place?  It seems to be a long way from anywhere.”  Franz kept his eyes on the road.

“I think he thought we might need to keep the media at bay, some of them were being very intrusive in the lead up to the wedding.”  Her forehead wrinkled for a moment, “I think he said something about if we liked it, he’d give it to us for a summer home, but that was at a family pre-wedding dinner and I was a bit confused at that point.”

“Confused?”  He spared her a glance and gave her a smile at the same time.

“I’d had Olvera, wine, Douro, a nip of plum brandy and quite a lot of sugar.  My attention to and my comprehension of what was said to me were not up to scratch.”  She smiled.  “I’m still not used to dinners that are that…extensive.”

“I’ll keep that list in mind in case I need to get you sweetly muddled.” He squinted at the road ahead, “Is that a driveway or the turn.”

“A driveway,” Rune confirmed.  “Why would you need to get me muddled?”

“Well, nothing happened last night-“

“Except exhausted sleep and some very nice cuddling that was interrupted by someone with no sense of timing,” Rune almost pouted.  “I think I’d rather have my wits about me, thank you.”

“Oh,” He sounded like he was filing information away for future reference.  “Why?”

“Because I think you’re worth paying attention to.”

“Ah.”  That got his interest.  “Hold that thought, please?  I think you’re worth paying attention to too.”

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I wrote this in response to [livejournal.com profile] aldersprig's prompt "The night after the wedding."  It follows on from Scenes On A Wedding Day 4.


“So, where are we going?”  Archduke Dionysus was holding hands with his wife in the back of the official car while the chief bridesmaid, the senior groomsman and an interpreter sat opposite them.  There were a driver and a security man in the front of the car.  The interpreter was along because the chief bridesmaid had only a few words of Terrencian and the rest of them in the back of the car spoke about that much of the local language.  In fact, the best language the four of them had in common was Russkiy but none of them spoke it fluently, unless the senior groomsman was holding out on them.

“To propitiate the lesser gods on behalf of the bride and groom.”  The chief bridesmaid spoke directly to Dionysus, a fact which impressed him.  He had no idea what she did for a living but the bride’s friend with a conjunction for a given name handled the etiquette of needing to rely on a translator with an ease too many people he dealt with lacked.  “It’s one of the duties of the best man and the chief bridesmaid in our culture.”

“What are the lesser gods and how are you going to propitiate them?”  That was the Archduke’s wife, Countess Francesca.

“The lesser gods are what’s left of the religion we had before the Church arrived up here,” explained the chief bridesmaid, And.  “They’re the little gods who look after roads and rivers, that sort of thing.  We propitiate them by giving them wedding cake,” she indicated the napkin wrapped parcels in the flat basket on her lap.

“I thought the Church would have put a stop to that sort of thing,” went on Countess Francesca with a puzzled expression.

“They tried to, of course,” agreed And, “but the second bishop, Bishop Ioannes, tried to tell King Ragnar that his only heir was the son of his marriage, which would have disinherited his six older, acknowledged sons.  Then the bishop made the mistake of saying the boy would automatically be the next king which angered all the other Ruhtigs because the King was elected in those days, not inherited.  The Church had to concede ground or get kicked out of the country in a vicious fashion.  That incident is why we do church differently to other people.”

“It sounds very political,” commented Archduke Dionysus.

“Oh, it was,” agreed And, “and it has been every time it’s come up since.”  She looked out the window as the car came to a stop.  “Ah, we’re here.”  She waited for the security man to open the door and then she led the other four out of the car.

They found themselves on a street corner.  There were trees planted down the street on their right but not the one on their left.  The amount of street lighting said that the neighbourhood didn’t see much night time pedestrian traffic.  The street names were marked on a sign post at the corner and the buildings around the intersection were dark.

“Why here?”  That was the senior groomsman who’d taken a quick look around and didn’t seem to like what he saw.

“Rune let me pick where to do this because she doesn’t have a place that’s particularly significant to her and this is where I was found.  This is where I come from,” And pointed at the sign post, “and that’s where I get my fancy-sounding, double-barrelled surname from.”

“You were abandoned?”  Countess Francesca was horrified.

“Yes,” agreed And, “before I was found.  Let’s do this.  One piece for the little gods.”  She walked to the corner of the building and set down a wrapped piece of cake up against the brick.  “The rest…”  She turned and walked, heedlessly and carelessly in the opinion of at least two of the men in the group, towards two homeless men camped at opposite ends of a loading dock door.

“I should go with her,” said the senior groomsman and he broke into a lope to catch up with her.

Archduke Dionysus asked the translator, “What’s she saying?”

“Excuse me sir, one of my friends got married today.  Would you like a piece of wedding cake?”  The translator’s expression didn’t change.

“But why?”  Countess Francesca asked as And moved on to the second man.

“It came out of feeding the beggars at the kitchen door on the trenchers and other remains of the wedding feast,” the translator was smiling now.  “These days it’s traditional to hand out twelve pieces of cake that have a token wrapped up with them.  In this case the token can be redeemed at any bank, but usually it’s for a meal at a café or a night in a hotel.”

“So this is charity?”  Archduke Dionysus seemed more comfortable with that.

“It’s part of gaining the little gods’ grace and favour for the bride and groom, yes,” agreed the translator.  Down the street And had moved on to an alley mouth, shadowed by the senior groomsman.  She handed out three more pieces of cake, listened to something one of the men said and then walked over to a parked car to knock on the window.  Four pieces of cake went in through the window.  And looked around, saw three men heading towards her from another alley across the road and met them halfway.  Having handed out all the cake, she started back to the car and the archducal couple.  The senior groomsman fell into step beside her and started talking.

When they returned to the others it became clear that he had resorted to Russkiy to express his feelings on the subject of her behaviour.  Archduke Dionysus thought they both had better accents and vocabulary than they had been able to demonstrate earlier when they’d been worried about being correct and polite.  And sounded like a proletary from the northern soviets while the senior groomsman had the soviet soldier’s accent.

You could have at least told us what you were doing,” he was saying.

So you could stop me?  That would have defeated the purpose of this trip, wouldn’t it? And was swinging the empty basket vigorously.

So we could keep you and the Countess safe,” he said firmly back.

I don’t need keeping safe,” she snapped back.  I know what I’m doing, and here I was thinking I might have walked you back to your hotel after the car drops us off.”

I’m not the one who needs protection.  It would make more sense for me to walk you home.”  That reply was stiff.

But I’m the one who knows where your hotel is compared to everything else,” she retorted.  I’m sure that with your three guns and whatever it is down the back of your neck, we’d be perfectly safe, even on the streets of the Terrencian capital.”

My three guns?  He looked at her sharply.

We grew up in an orphanage three blocks in that direction,” And pointed.  I could pick when someone was carrying a weapon by the time I was thirteen.  If you behave and you’re nice to me, I might show you where I carry my knife.


 
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I wrote this to [livejournal.com profile] aldersprig's sixth numbered prompt, "Someone else in the royal family. "  It follows straight on from Scenes On A Wedding Day 3 and is followed by Scenes On A Wedding Day 4.


As the bride came down the aisle her cousin, the Princess Isadora stood at her seat in the pews to watch.  She was flanked by her consorts, Hass and Weld, who were known officially as the Princes Isadora.  Isadora’s hands rested comfortably on her baby bump and she was smiling contentedly as she looked on.  “Are you sure you didn’t want this for yourself?”  That was Weld whispering from behind her.

“Marriage to a Terrencian Archduke?  Isadora was whispering back.  “No, thank you.”

“I meant the big ceremony with you at the centre of attention,” he whispered back.

“No, I’d rather have the two of you,” she answered, still whispering.  “Besides, all of this is more for the Terrencians than it is for us.  If you want a big ceremony, we can go all out on the namings for this one,” she rubbed the side of her bump.

Princess Alexandrina, the first cousin once removed of both the bride and Princess Isadora was surrounded by her three sons as she watched her two copper skinned daughters make their way down the aisle among the flower girls preceding the bride.  The elder, Princess Arabella, had shaved her hair a few months earlier and the short, black, fuzzy result let a wreath of flowers sit neatly around her head like a halo so that she looked like a solemn, twelve year old angel.  Her ten year old sister, Princess Ingeborg, had much longer fuzzy hair and a wreath wouldn’t have stayed on her head so flowers had been braided into her hair and the effect made her look like a vibrant flower fairy.  Their mother beamed with maternal pride.

Princess Citrine, former First Counsellor of the Realm and Princess Alexandrina’s mother, was watching the wedding on the television from the manor house of her estate near Kobolgrad.  Her only companion in the minor sitting room was one her ladies-in-waiting cum wardens and constant companions.  She was beginning to appreciate how much the living conditions her actions had imposed on Princess Dagmar must have irked.  “I would never have let Constantine’s daughter anywhere near a Terrencian match,” she said sourly to the room because she knew the other woman would not respond to her, “but he’s a younger nephew and, given his lack of military instincts, the Imperial family probably think this is far enough away to stash him.”

The lady-in-waiting continued to knit and watch the television.

Citrine pursed her lips judgementally, “And I would never have let Arabella do that to her hair but,” she added with a touch of malice, “Alexandrina’s daughters do make some of the others look positively insipid, don’t they?”

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I wrote this to [livejournal.com profile] aldersprig's fifth numbered prompt, "Rune."  It follows on from Scenes On A Wedding Day 2 and is folloed by Scenes On A Wedding Day 4.


The car pulled up outside the cathedral with the rear door exactly on the end of the red carpet.  The precisely placed trooper crisply opened the door and Constantine Sjeldnjar emerged, unfolding his full length to the cheers of the crowd.  Ignoring them he turned his beautifully suited and white haired person in place to help Rune emerge in her turn, the previously disembarked bridesmaids darting forward to help her with the skirts and train.  When her skirts were straight, Rune took her father’s arm and with the bevy of bridesmaids and flower girls proceeded in loose order along the red carpet to the cathedral steps where they were greeted by the rector.  Rune expected him to spout some religious homily but instead he smiled kindly, welcomed her warmly and advised, “Just remember to keep breathing and you’ll be fine, Your Highness.  Keep it slow and down to your diaphragm and you won’t get into trouble.”

“Thank you.”  Rune smiled at him from behind her veil.  “Do you get many fainting brides?”

“Groomsmen are more of a problem,” the rector admitted, “but I shouldn’t keep you or the Archduke will think you’ve changed your mind.” 

The bridal party went up the steps and in through the doors.  They paused there to get into their formal order, flower girls deployed to the front and bridesmaids arrayed behind, then the bride’s father gave a nod to an attendant who spoke into a neat little phone or radio and then a fanfare of trumpets and other horns rang out.  The bridal party started down the aisle.

“Her Highness has just entered the nave of the cathedral,” a commentator told the television audience.  “She’s wearing the same veil of Bruniton lace that Queen Galina, her grandmother, wore for her wedding.  That’s being held in place, as you can see in the close up, by the Princess Gudrun coronet – one of the four made for the daughters of the last elected Sjeldnjar King and kept in the Sjeldnjar vaults ever since.  We had thought she might wear the Princess Dagny coronet she wore in her official portrait but Ruhtig Algernon has obviously given the first Sjeldnjar princess since those times her choice of the four Sjeldnjar coronets.  Her dress-“

Rune was spared the commentary but she was feeling very glad of her veil.  Everyone was looking at her, but at least they all looked pleased.  Old friends from the orphanage and newer work friends on her right.  On her left were a lot of military-looking men and their wives who should be the groom’s friends.  Beyond them she could see dignitaries and beyond them again the Imperial and Royal families.  The Emperor, Queen, Empress and her grandfather all smiled benevolently.

Then she saw him at the far end of the aisle, beyond the congregation.  Steady and solid with his broad shoulders and neat, unfashionable beard.  Dressed in a dark but beautifully cut suit livened up only by his tie and a Terrencian order he would have gotten for being an Archduke who’d reached his majority alive.  He smiled and he was the only solid ground for miles, and she was going towards him.

rix_scaedu: (Default)
This is the first piece I wrote in response to [livejournal.com profile] kelkyag's first prompt "Rune and Franz."  The problem is it has no Rune and very little Franz.  It happens after Scenes On A Wedding Day 1 and is dollowed by Scenes On A Wedding Day 3.

Archduchess Marina was slightly and embarrassingly lost.  She had no sooner reached the cathedral for her nephew’s wedding and she’d had to use the bathroom.  The problem was that now she couldn’t find her way back to the main body of the cathedral.  Who would have thought the back corridors of the place could be so confusing?  She was standing at a corridor junction trying to work out where she should go when a dark-skinned boy of about eight came around the corner on the far side of the intersection.  He walked up to her, bowed correctly which made his tight, dusty copper curls bounce, and asked in good if accented Terrencian, “Archduchess Marina, may I be of assistance?”

She curtsied in return.  “I’m afraid that I am lost.  Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Prince Terje du Barbaigos, a second cousin of the bride.  I am at Your Imperial and Royal Highness’ service.”  He bowed again with a certain flair, both grave and with a smile as if this were a game they were playing together.

The Archduchess smiled back.  “Prince Terje, could you please escort me back to the main body of the cathedral?”

She wondered for a moment if she had outrun his Terrencian vocabulary but after a second’s thought he replied, “You would like me to take you back to your seat?  I can do that!”  He went as if to offer her his arm but realising the difference in their heights gave her his hand.

With an expert guide it took her only a few moments to return to her seat.  The trick, she discovered was a shadowed section that appeared to be a dead end but was really a tight corner.  Prince Terje answered her words of thanks with, “It was my pleasure and an honour,” bowed again and went to a pew on the other side of the aisle where he sat with Alexandrina, one of the queen’s nieces, and two other boys enough like him to be his brothers.

Her sister-in-law, the groom’s mother, turned discreetly in the front pew and asked, “Who is your young gallant?”

“Prince Terje du Barbaigos, one of Princess Alexandrina’s sons.”  Archduchess Marina smiled.  “He’s going to be a real heart breaker when he’s older.”

“I heard that his father had a great deal of charm, certainly he had no family background as we know it.  Speaking of which, have you seen the Princes Isadora?”

“Princess Isadora, the pregnant one in lavender?”

“Her consorts, they were ushers but they’ve just taken their seats beside her.  They're her official consorts, both of them.”  The two Imperial and Royal matrons turned their heads to look.  “Have you ever seen such extraordinary moustaches?  But beautifully turned out and they tone so well with her outfit.”

Marina regarded the lavender and purple clad trio.  “You do realise they’re both helots?  They might be descended from King Phillipe’s knights but I’d bet my best diamonds on them being helots.”  She sighed a little wistfully, “Our family would never permit some of the options these people seem to think are normal.”

Her sister-in-law squeezed her hand consolingly then said brightly, “Look, Franz and his groomsmen are coming out of their hidey hole.  The Emperor and the Queen must be about to arrive.”

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This is the second piece I wrote to [livejournal.com profile] kelkyag's first prompt "Rune & Franz."  It is followed by Scenes On A Wedding Day 2.
http://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/117430.html

Rune had spent the night before her wedding in the spare room of her parents’ apartment, the only night she had ever spent under their roof.  After an early breakfast she had jogged to the back entrance of the Sjeldnjar townhouse and slipped in, completely avoiding the press camped out the front of the building.  Once inside she’d gone straight to the suite she called ‘the wedding ready room’ in her head to shower and then submit to hairdressing and makeup.

He bridesmaids and flower girls arrived from wherever they’d stayed for the night and were submitted to the same routine of beautification.  Heiress-presumptive to the throne, Princess Silvana, age seven, was the youngest of the bevy of flower girls that were going to precede Rune and her father down the aisle.  Rune’s friend from the orphanage, And, tried to explain to the Terrencian bridesmaids why her name was a conjunction.

Rune simply tuned it out as background hum and floated through the morning.  She didn’t even look at herself in the mirror until they settled the antique silver Sjeldnjar coronet on her head to hold the veil in place.  It was like the formal photograph, someone had worked magic and she actually looked like a princess.

Archduke Franz had won the argument over what his half of the wedding party was wearing and only his brother and best man, Archduke Dionysus, was in military uniform.  The groom and the other groomsmen were wearing dark, tailored suits without a medal or decoration in sight.  Franz thought he was doing fine until he ruined his tie three times and one of his former squad mates took pity on him and tied it for him.

All too soon it was time to get in the cars to be driven to the cathedral.  One of the groomsmen, Berthold joked, “If you’ve changed your mind, we can take the drivers and make a break for the border in the cars.”

Franz looked around.  “No,” he declared.  “If I miss this appointment it will just upset her.  To say nothing of annoying my uncle and her aunt.  I think we should go to the cathedral.  Besides, Berthold, if we don’t go to the wedding, you won’t get to dance with the bridesmaids.”

“There is that,” conceded Berthold as he opened a car door.  Then they were in the cars and on their way.

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