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Realistic or Modern ;;a marriage of inconvenience
NickNacks
Zoinks
The Grey Estate, April 24th
The cold, coastal air of the Kent estate drove through his lungs with an unwanted sharpness, a stark difference from the thick winds of the castle city. Malcolm had travelled many a place in his years, from the bitterly cold climates northward to the sweltering islands south, and he had quickly found that cold air didn't agree with him. He drew his cloak closer around his shoulders, his legs having gone numb from the long ride. Cadoc, his horse, was holding up without much complaint aside from the occasional snort, which betrayed the very same reluctance that Malcolm was feeling.
He didn't want to be here any more than Cadoc did.
When the prospect of marriage had crossed his mind in the past, which wasn't often, it was readily dismissed with the assumption that he would be long dead by the time anyone would express interest in the idea. But, after twenty-odd years had passed and he had yet to die, he had begun to wonder whether or not he needed to fulfill that particular obligation. When it came to the prospect, he was by no means enthused. Marriage, when he considered those of his friends who had lived long enough to be married, resulted in a scowling woman waiting your return home with an armful of screaming brats, so that you were effectively leaving one battlefield for another. And, as the large and imposing tower that marked the watchmen of the Grey Estate came into view, Malcolm wondered if he wouldn't rather be charging into the foul-smelling barracks of enemy territory. At least there, he would know what to expect.
He dismounted several yards from the gate, eager to regain use of his legs, and was startled when a sharp pain rain upward from his right knee to his hip like a sudden bolt of lightning. His hand caught on to the saddle, holding himself upright as his jaw clenched. Slowly, he put weight on the leg again, forcing the pang down to a dull, ever constant ache. Though the Frenchman who had driven a spear into his knee hadn't claimed his life, he had certainly made his disdain for the English known.
A gruff, muttered curse word left him as he began the short walk.
Captain Malcolm was, by all accounts, not a bad looking man. His unpopularity came from his demeanor. Even as he approached the relatively quiet lands, his blue eyes darted sharply from left to right, as though scanning for some invisible assailant. His brow was constantly furrowed, as though deep in troubling thought, and there was an ever present scowl upon his face. A broadsword remained strapped to his back at all times, with minimal exception. For a man somewhat young in years, his posture and manner of speech made him look far older, particularly given the distinct limp on his right side.
"State your business."
The call from the tower was clear, but the man who spoke looked weary as Malcolm craned his neck to get a good look at him. And it was no wonder why. The tumultuous weeks following the late Earl's attempt at treason must have weighed heavy on the lot of them, and even the servants were no exception.
"My name is Malcolm. I was meant to arrive yesterday, but bad weather delayed me." Came the even measured response.
As soon as his name was uttered, a flicker of recognition and understanding crossed the guard's features. "There's a stable inside that will take your horse, Captain."
"He'll appreciate it." As though aware of being mentioned, Cadoc nudged Malcolm's cheek with his nose in a demanding gesture that his master recognized too well. Rather than obliging, however, Malcolm shoved the horse's head aside. Cadoc was liable to eat him out of stock at this rate. At least marriage would secure a steady influx of grain for the animal, far more than Malcolm could provide in the battlements.
....Two months since a wedding arrangement and he was more concerned with his horse's inheritance than his own.
Though his expression remained stoic as he entered the raised gate, a flutter of nervousness began in Malcolm's stomach. The last time he'd dressed a woman in formal setting was...He had to think back. Had it been a few weeks ago, during one of the annual meetings? Yes, that must have been it, and she'd been old to the point of ancient, sacking on rouge to hide the lines in her skin. Malcolm snorted at the memory. Apparently the eldest daughter of Earl Ambrose was young, so that needn't be a concern.
Cadoc was guided into the stables without protest, Malcolm giving him a fond pat farewell as he turned to enter the building proper. It was only after his boots clicked onto the stone floors that the thought occurred to him that no servants had arrived to show him to where he was meant to go. There were several rooms, with one bearing the faint sound of voices held in conversation. Supposedly, he would need to go there, but instead of following through, Malcolm found himself remaining in the hall and listening.
He couldn't make out any words. A sudden, paranoid thought arose that this was all an elaborate trap, but he quickly dismissed this. It was too elaborate, and besides, he was hardly valuable enough to make sure a political statement.
Waiting seemed like his best option. Maybe not the best option. But it was his best option.
Asteria
⚔️
Her mother’s eyes were clear that early morning, Magdelyn could tell. She had learned to read them over time, more out of a sentimental necessity than a true need. It was easier that way, to recognize the frequent moments in which her mother was unwell, rather than let the bitter pain overcome her. That pain had led to anger and resentment many times over and it stemmed from the harsh realization that all she had left of her mother were bits and pieces that would rarely come to the surface.
At least the loss of her father and brothers had been quick and permanent – all she had left of them were cruel memories of happier times, empty chambers that she hadn't dared to touch and an unbearable responsibility that tasted like duty. The loss of her mother was neither of those things. It wasn’t quick, nor permanent. Magdelyn had been, was, and would continue to be reminded of that loss for as long as her mother lived.
It felt like defeat all over again. Magdelyn felt powerless and small, and so weak. And perhaps she was. ‘This is why I need you,’ she thought as she looked at her mother’s form laid on the bed, hidden underneath heavy furs, ‘to keep reminding me that I am neither of those things. I can’t seem to remind myself of that, not anymore.’
She left such thoughts aside, however. Her mother’s gaze was expectant as Magdelyn remained in the doorway, yet the corners of her lips rose and her features softened with each step the young woman took towards her bed. When Magdelyn sat down, the older woman reached for her hand without hesitation. Her heart soared at the familiarity of her touch, but it brought her little happiness. Tomorrow she might confuse her for a long-gone sister and the day after she might not remember her at all.
“It’s a heavy burden, that mourning gown,” her mother was the first to speak. “I am at peace knowing that you will not wear it anymore.”
Magdelyn only smiled. She had heard these words before. It wouldn't be the last time she heard them. ‘The gown is gone, mother, but the burden is still there,’ she had told her many times over. And setting the mourning dress aside hadn't been much of a choice, in truth – her father and her brothers had been traitors. Mourning them for longer than the Crown deemed necessary could be interpreted as an upfront act.
Silence reigned over the two women, yet none dared to speak. The older one reached forward, fingers grazing the dark curls of her daughter. Magdelyn allowed it. It had been her mother’s wish, for her girls to have long hair that she could brush and braid herself. Magdelyn had thought of cutting it, as it hung far too low on her back, but the image seemed to enchant her mother. It was for her that she no longer kept it tightly braided; that morning she had simply caught some rebel strands at the back so they would not fall on her face.
“I like it this way,” she murmured, hand lost through the curls. “It suits you better.”
“I think this has been your plan all along. You wanted my hair to grow so long that I and our servants will tire of braiding it all the time.”
Her mother’s laugh filled the room at her affirmation. “You never liked it so long, no.” The laugh rested into a smile then. “Well, you did once. When you were young. You used to walk these halls proudly, your hair free. Edmund used to jape and say that you will suffocate your husband in his sleep with it.”
‘And Nicholas used to braid it,’ Magdelyn continued the memory in her mind. ‘Only if Edmund knew that I would marry… he’d warn the poor man to run away and never look back.’
The memory of her brothers had a sour taste. So did the mention of her husband. Captain Malcolm…
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It unsettled her at first. The servants knew to not disturb her at such a time and her younger siblings were not fond of knocking at all – whenever they wanted to see their mother, they would barge in without further warning, despite her several attempts to stop them from doing so.
“Yes?” She heard herself asking.
“It’s Sir Robert, my lady. It’s urgent.”
Magdelyn looked at her mother. She understood. With a kiss atop the hand she held on to during all this time, she broke away and headed for the door.
When she exited, it was Sir Robert that greeted her. She had grown fond of the sight of him during the last few months. He was a bear of a man, taller and older than her father had been and just as serious. He was as loyal as a dog and always ready at her heel. Each time he saw her, he bowed enough low enough that Magdelyn felt as if she were taller. While he did the same now, she felt that something was different.
“What is it, Sir Robert?” she inquired before he could rise to his full height.
He didn't hesitate. “Captain Malcolm is here, my lady. The guards informed me. The bad weather delayed his arrival, just as we presumed.”
Magdelyn felt a pit forming in her stomach, but, before letting the nerves overwhelm her, she simply asked: “Where is he now?”
“The main hall, my lady.”
‘We haven't greeted him properly.’ It was easier to think of formal details than the reason of his arrival just then.
She simply nodded at Sir Robert’s answer, before turning to the two men that guarded her mother’s chamber. “If anything happens, send for me.” Her request was met with deep bows of their heads before she departed from them and the door, Sir Robert following closely behind.
She was quiet, but she thought of little. She had come at peace with the idea of marriage in the past two months, and yet, now that she would be faced with the other part of this arrangement, her certainty was suddenly replaced with wariness. She concerned herself little with her fate, but she worried for her family, for her people, for her land. It was their mistreatment that she feared more than her own.
“Is there anything I have to see to this morning?” she asked.
“The usual, my lady. A wrong that seeks justice, a quarrel over a piece of land. And if I may…”
Magdelyn furrowed her eyebrows. “You may.”
“There’s unrest among the farmers and the merchants. You’ve seen to their needs in the Earl’s stead, but they believe the situation will change once you are married to Captain Malcolm and he becomes Earl. They believe that taxes might grow; he might not pay them the fair price for their work and their products...”
It was one of her worries too, but she also knew she wouldn't allow it. “Everything will change, Sir Robert, but to their benefit. You have said yourself that he is a good man, I am certain–“
“I did not say that he is a good man. I said that he is an honourable and experienced man, and that is when it comes to matters of the battlefield. And men would follow him for that. Today he might be just an honourable man and a Captain, but tomorrow he will be a Captain, as well as an Earl. That’s no simple man.” Sir Robert stated simply. Too simply. But that was his way of being, stating truths as if they were nothing at all.
“He will become an Earl through me,” Magdelyn retorted, but her voice wasn't as loud and strong as she intended it to be. She knew that it didn't matter. He would be the husband, she would be the wife. It was a tale as old as time. Sir Robert easily reminded her of that through his next words.
“He will become an Earl by the choice of the Crown.”
Magdelyn didn't respond as she noticed him then, around the corner. He was alone, looming in the hall, and she chastised herself for the current situation – she should have been there ahead of him, with her siblings and her servants. That would have been a proper welcoming for her husband-to-be, of a man loyal to the Crown. That was the sort of welcoming she would have wanted the Crown to hear of.
She didn't stop, even as she felt the tension growing. She moved towards him with calculated steps and only when she reached an appropriate distance did she stop. She averted her eyes downward and bowed her head lightly. So did Sir Robert.
“Captain Malcolm,” she was the first to greet him. “I am Lady Magdelyn Grey of Kent. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and welcome you into our home.”
“Captain. It’s good to see you in good health.” Sir Robert greeted him as well, yet when he raised his head, it was Magdelyn that he looked to. “My lady, I will see to the matters at hand. If anything shall require your attention, I will let you know.” And with another curt nod, he moved for the grander door of them all. His entrance seemed to silence the voices from behind it before the conversation began again.
And Magdelyn looked at Captain Malcolm for what seemed to be the first time. Her hands unconsciously pulled at the skirts of her dress. He was older than her, by eight years, that she knew, yet she wouldn't consider him old, not in the true sense of the word. Only older than his years, perhaps. War could do that to a man. That was what they all said. She had seen that in her father, in her brother, in Sir Robert, in their men – it was a never-ending cycle. And Captain Malcolm was a man of war, a man of strategy. Her father had considered him a promising young man, Sir Robert respected him enough to say that her men would follow him if he asked for it. But there were others, others who thought him stubborn and ill-mannered, cold, and distant, and unapproachable. Always in a bad mood.
What could she do with that sort of man? And what could that sort of man do with her?
‘It could have been worse,’ she reminded herself. ‘It could have been much worse.’ This was meant to be the least wrong from all the wrongs.
Magdelyn brought her hands together, clasped them in front of her. “I feel like I must apologize to you, Captain. I haven't welcomed you properly. You were expected yesterday… but that is no excuse on my part. I apologize.” It was the right thing to do, after all. “I hope that the road hadn't been too much trouble, at least, despite the delay. And that you've found pleasure in what you've seen so far.”
Her lands. His lands. Their lands. She took pride in them, in all of them. And there was yet so much to see…
At least the loss of her father and brothers had been quick and permanent – all she had left of them were cruel memories of happier times, empty chambers that she hadn't dared to touch and an unbearable responsibility that tasted like duty. The loss of her mother was neither of those things. It wasn’t quick, nor permanent. Magdelyn had been, was, and would continue to be reminded of that loss for as long as her mother lived.
It felt like defeat all over again. Magdelyn felt powerless and small, and so weak. And perhaps she was. ‘This is why I need you,’ she thought as she looked at her mother’s form laid on the bed, hidden underneath heavy furs, ‘to keep reminding me that I am neither of those things. I can’t seem to remind myself of that, not anymore.’
She left such thoughts aside, however. Her mother’s gaze was expectant as Magdelyn remained in the doorway, yet the corners of her lips rose and her features softened with each step the young woman took towards her bed. When Magdelyn sat down, the older woman reached for her hand without hesitation. Her heart soared at the familiarity of her touch, but it brought her little happiness. Tomorrow she might confuse her for a long-gone sister and the day after she might not remember her at all.
“It’s a heavy burden, that mourning gown,” her mother was the first to speak. “I am at peace knowing that you will not wear it anymore.”
Magdelyn only smiled. She had heard these words before. It wouldn't be the last time she heard them. ‘The gown is gone, mother, but the burden is still there,’ she had told her many times over. And setting the mourning dress aside hadn't been much of a choice, in truth – her father and her brothers had been traitors. Mourning them for longer than the Crown deemed necessary could be interpreted as an upfront act.
Silence reigned over the two women, yet none dared to speak. The older one reached forward, fingers grazing the dark curls of her daughter. Magdelyn allowed it. It had been her mother’s wish, for her girls to have long hair that she could brush and braid herself. Magdelyn had thought of cutting it, as it hung far too low on her back, but the image seemed to enchant her mother. It was for her that she no longer kept it tightly braided; that morning she had simply caught some rebel strands at the back so they would not fall on her face.
“I like it this way,” she murmured, hand lost through the curls. “It suits you better.”
“I think this has been your plan all along. You wanted my hair to grow so long that I and our servants will tire of braiding it all the time.”
Her mother’s laugh filled the room at her affirmation. “You never liked it so long, no.” The laugh rested into a smile then. “Well, you did once. When you were young. You used to walk these halls proudly, your hair free. Edmund used to jape and say that you will suffocate your husband in his sleep with it.”
‘And Nicholas used to braid it,’ Magdelyn continued the memory in her mind. ‘Only if Edmund knew that I would marry… he’d warn the poor man to run away and never look back.’
The memory of her brothers had a sour taste. So did the mention of her husband. Captain Malcolm…
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It unsettled her at first. The servants knew to not disturb her at such a time and her younger siblings were not fond of knocking at all – whenever they wanted to see their mother, they would barge in without further warning, despite her several attempts to stop them from doing so.
“Yes?” She heard herself asking.
“It’s Sir Robert, my lady. It’s urgent.”
Magdelyn looked at her mother. She understood. With a kiss atop the hand she held on to during all this time, she broke away and headed for the door.
When she exited, it was Sir Robert that greeted her. She had grown fond of the sight of him during the last few months. He was a bear of a man, taller and older than her father had been and just as serious. He was as loyal as a dog and always ready at her heel. Each time he saw her, he bowed enough low enough that Magdelyn felt as if she were taller. While he did the same now, she felt that something was different.
“What is it, Sir Robert?” she inquired before he could rise to his full height.
He didn't hesitate. “Captain Malcolm is here, my lady. The guards informed me. The bad weather delayed his arrival, just as we presumed.”
Magdelyn felt a pit forming in her stomach, but, before letting the nerves overwhelm her, she simply asked: “Where is he now?”
“The main hall, my lady.”
‘We haven't greeted him properly.’ It was easier to think of formal details than the reason of his arrival just then.
She simply nodded at Sir Robert’s answer, before turning to the two men that guarded her mother’s chamber. “If anything happens, send for me.” Her request was met with deep bows of their heads before she departed from them and the door, Sir Robert following closely behind.
She was quiet, but she thought of little. She had come at peace with the idea of marriage in the past two months, and yet, now that she would be faced with the other part of this arrangement, her certainty was suddenly replaced with wariness. She concerned herself little with her fate, but she worried for her family, for her people, for her land. It was their mistreatment that she feared more than her own.
“Is there anything I have to see to this morning?” she asked.
“The usual, my lady. A wrong that seeks justice, a quarrel over a piece of land. And if I may…”
Magdelyn furrowed her eyebrows. “You may.”
“There’s unrest among the farmers and the merchants. You’ve seen to their needs in the Earl’s stead, but they believe the situation will change once you are married to Captain Malcolm and he becomes Earl. They believe that taxes might grow; he might not pay them the fair price for their work and their products...”
It was one of her worries too, but she also knew she wouldn't allow it. “Everything will change, Sir Robert, but to their benefit. You have said yourself that he is a good man, I am certain–“
“I did not say that he is a good man. I said that he is an honourable and experienced man, and that is when it comes to matters of the battlefield. And men would follow him for that. Today he might be just an honourable man and a Captain, but tomorrow he will be a Captain, as well as an Earl. That’s no simple man.” Sir Robert stated simply. Too simply. But that was his way of being, stating truths as if they were nothing at all.
“He will become an Earl through me,” Magdelyn retorted, but her voice wasn't as loud and strong as she intended it to be. She knew that it didn't matter. He would be the husband, she would be the wife. It was a tale as old as time. Sir Robert easily reminded her of that through his next words.
“He will become an Earl by the choice of the Crown.”
Magdelyn didn't respond as she noticed him then, around the corner. He was alone, looming in the hall, and she chastised herself for the current situation – she should have been there ahead of him, with her siblings and her servants. That would have been a proper welcoming for her husband-to-be, of a man loyal to the Crown. That was the sort of welcoming she would have wanted the Crown to hear of.
She didn't stop, even as she felt the tension growing. She moved towards him with calculated steps and only when she reached an appropriate distance did she stop. She averted her eyes downward and bowed her head lightly. So did Sir Robert.
“Captain Malcolm,” she was the first to greet him. “I am Lady Magdelyn Grey of Kent. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and welcome you into our home.”
“Captain. It’s good to see you in good health.” Sir Robert greeted him as well, yet when he raised his head, it was Magdelyn that he looked to. “My lady, I will see to the matters at hand. If anything shall require your attention, I will let you know.” And with another curt nod, he moved for the grander door of them all. His entrance seemed to silence the voices from behind it before the conversation began again.
And Magdelyn looked at Captain Malcolm for what seemed to be the first time. Her hands unconsciously pulled at the skirts of her dress. He was older than her, by eight years, that she knew, yet she wouldn't consider him old, not in the true sense of the word. Only older than his years, perhaps. War could do that to a man. That was what they all said. She had seen that in her father, in her brother, in Sir Robert, in their men – it was a never-ending cycle. And Captain Malcolm was a man of war, a man of strategy. Her father had considered him a promising young man, Sir Robert respected him enough to say that her men would follow him if he asked for it. But there were others, others who thought him stubborn and ill-mannered, cold, and distant, and unapproachable. Always in a bad mood.
What could she do with that sort of man? And what could that sort of man do with her?
‘It could have been worse,’ she reminded herself. ‘It could have been much worse.’ This was meant to be the least wrong from all the wrongs.
Magdelyn brought her hands together, clasped them in front of her. “I feel like I must apologize to you, Captain. I haven't welcomed you properly. You were expected yesterday… but that is no excuse on my part. I apologize.” It was the right thing to do, after all. “I hope that the road hadn't been too much trouble, at least, despite the delay. And that you've found pleasure in what you've seen so far.”
Her lands. His lands. Their lands. She took pride in them, in all of them. And there was yet so much to see…
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NickNacks
Zoinks
The silence was what struck him the most. Spending much of his years up until his twenty-first birthday in a communal living space meant that there was rarely a dull moment, and certainly never a quiet one. Wherever you went, you'd be able to hear the noise of chatter, or shouting and carrying on as drinking contests were held in the kitchens. After a while, it all dissolved into a faint drone, and now that it was gone, Malcolm felt unnerved. His own breaths seemed too loud, his footsteps too sudden. He wondered, briefly, if these halls had been as loud as the barracks at one time. Indeed, they'd not long ago housed a full family, and it had been halved twice since then.
He shuddered. The whole damn place was full of ghosts.
The prospect of becoming an earl was something Malcolm had tried his best not to consider it too deeply. It couldn't be all that much different than his current duties, which included what he assumed was the same amount of overseeing. Sure, there might be more petty disputes to settle, but Malcolm was certain that a strong dose of realism would be just what was required to break those arguments. Of course, there may also be the possibility that he would become fat, lazy and out of touch...But he doubted that. At least for the time being.
When he heard a voice behind him, he turned with a start, one hand reaching instinctively for the hilt of his sword. He didn't recognize the man who addressed him, but quickly took inventory of the man's large stature, and the size of his muscles made Malcolm certain that this was a man who had seen battle before. His brows raised in question, and when the man introduced himself as Sir Robert, Malcolm assumed he was affiliated with the late Earl Grey, maybe part of his army. Which meant that he would technically be answering to Malcolm now. That was a bit of an odd thought.
The man excused himself soon after, only to re-appear again. This time he wasn't alone.
The woman was young, but not so young as to make things uncomfortable. He was accustomed to appraising people as either threats or not threats, and when it came to her, he found himself doing no different. In terms of appearance, he had no complaints. Still, there was something in her expression that came to his notice, a kind of solemn air that reminded him that this wasn't a joyful occasion, for either of them.
He inclined his head somewhat, remaining silent in regards to the greeting offered. It wasn't long before Robert excused himself, and Malcolm was left alone with his betrothed. Already, he was uncertain as to how best to conduct himself. Under inspection, it was easy-stand up straight and don't talk. That wouldn't do here.
He was already shaking his head in regards to Lady Magdelyne's apology. "I'm not accustomed to extravagant greetings, and I'm not particularly fond of them to begin with." He replied, eyes still scouring over the stone walls, the arched ceiling. His hands moved to clasp behind his back. For a moment, Malcolm wondered if he ought to express condolences for her loss, then thought better of it. It seemed like an odd time to do so, and it didn't seem appropriate for their first meeting.
"You have good fields. Well. I assume they're yours. Just south of here." That seemed like the only thing he was knowledgeable enough to compliment her on. Complimenting her appearance seemed like too much of a cliche.
He shuddered. The whole damn place was full of ghosts.
The prospect of becoming an earl was something Malcolm had tried his best not to consider it too deeply. It couldn't be all that much different than his current duties, which included what he assumed was the same amount of overseeing. Sure, there might be more petty disputes to settle, but Malcolm was certain that a strong dose of realism would be just what was required to break those arguments. Of course, there may also be the possibility that he would become fat, lazy and out of touch...But he doubted that. At least for the time being.
When he heard a voice behind him, he turned with a start, one hand reaching instinctively for the hilt of his sword. He didn't recognize the man who addressed him, but quickly took inventory of the man's large stature, and the size of his muscles made Malcolm certain that this was a man who had seen battle before. His brows raised in question, and when the man introduced himself as Sir Robert, Malcolm assumed he was affiliated with the late Earl Grey, maybe part of his army. Which meant that he would technically be answering to Malcolm now. That was a bit of an odd thought.
The man excused himself soon after, only to re-appear again. This time he wasn't alone.
The woman was young, but not so young as to make things uncomfortable. He was accustomed to appraising people as either threats or not threats, and when it came to her, he found himself doing no different. In terms of appearance, he had no complaints. Still, there was something in her expression that came to his notice, a kind of solemn air that reminded him that this wasn't a joyful occasion, for either of them.
He inclined his head somewhat, remaining silent in regards to the greeting offered. It wasn't long before Robert excused himself, and Malcolm was left alone with his betrothed. Already, he was uncertain as to how best to conduct himself. Under inspection, it was easy-stand up straight and don't talk. That wouldn't do here.
He was already shaking his head in regards to Lady Magdelyne's apology. "I'm not accustomed to extravagant greetings, and I'm not particularly fond of them to begin with." He replied, eyes still scouring over the stone walls, the arched ceiling. His hands moved to clasp behind his back. For a moment, Malcolm wondered if he ought to express condolences for her loss, then thought better of it. It seemed like an odd time to do so, and it didn't seem appropriate for their first meeting.
"You have good fields. Well. I assume they're yours. Just south of here." That seemed like the only thing he was knowledgeable enough to compliment her on. Complimenting her appearance seemed like too much of a cliche.
Asteria
⚔️
Captain Malcolm found Magdelyn’s apology unnecessary. That much was rather clear, from the slight shake of his head to the words that followed her own – he wasn't used to, nor fond of what one would consider an appropriate greeting. His denial, while welcomed by Magdelyn with a nod of her own, also served as a pointed reminder: her husband-to-be was a simple man. As far as she was aware, Captain Malcolm hadn't been born amidst the riches that this world had to offer. He had been born and raised as a simple man, amidst the common folk and their poverty, with no name to himself, and with little to no perspective for his life. With that in mind, it was no surprise on Magdelyn’s part that he had chosen to join the royal army – that was one of the few rare chances in which a man like himself could prove his worth.
And he had proven himself many times over, enough to be named Captain of the Crown’s Militia. Captain Malcolm was a self-made man and Magdelyn did wonder, briefly, if she should fear him or respect him in that regard.
But there was a more burning question that plagued Magdelyn’s mind, a question that twisted her stomach in anger and shame: which one of them had the Crown sought to humiliate further? Him, for rewarding his loyalty with a treacherous bloodline, or her, by marrying her off to one of their hounds?
She had tried to find a common ground between the two of them – she had tried, desperately so, to view him as her equal. They were not marrying for love; they both had their own reasons for agreeing to their current situation. She would marry him to protect what was left of her family, he would marry her for her name and her wealth. Yet, she felt as if she was winning and losing all at once while he was… winning all the same. Was that right? Was it wrong?
Magdelyn didn’t allow herself to appear uncertain in front of him. She straightened her back, dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palm, and swallowed the pain, the anger, the shame. She just chose to watch him then, as his gaze took in the grandeur of her family’s estate. Whether he did it out of sheer curiosity or the need to assess his future home, she didn't know.
It was her lands that he chose to compliment first. Magdelyn found some solace in that, at least. “Yes, they are ours. This time of the year is quite calm, in truth,” when it came to agriculture. Kent had rather experienced some unsettling events for the past few months. “Most of the sowing has been done in March, yet there is still much to do – weeding the lands, pruning the trees.” There was a sigh in her words. “If I think of it, it is not calmer at all. It is easy to sow a seed; it is hard to make sure that it flourishes.”
That was a belief that could apply to life itself – to a name and its legacy, a family, a child. She did wonder, briefly, if the seed of her own marriage would flourish at all.
It was with that question in mind that she let her own gaze roam the stone walls, the archway. It got lost in every crevice, in every curve. “And much like the land it is built on, one's home must also be maintained. It is beautiful. And grand. But also… old.” Older than its current residents. When she was younger, Magdelyn had thought that their home was older than time itself. It had seen love and hatred, laughter and tears. Life and death. “It has been in my family for six generations, but it has also seen many others – the Nevilles, the Hollands, forgotten names in the wind.”
The ghost of a smile teased her lips. Yet, it didn’t come to the surface. “When you are a child, everyone keeps telling you that the world is too big for your understanding. However, I believe that it is rather small – or a child believes so, at least. Once he conquers everything in his close proximity, he feels as if he had conquered the world itself. I found this estate too small when I was young. Now I feel as if it has grown overnight.” There was a heaviness to that thought. She felt as if it could swallow her whole if it wished to do so.
But perhaps he found it too small. Her watchful gaze returned to him. “Though, I imagine that the courts feels much larger.” While she had visited the courts on several occasions, she hadn’t lived there herself to know what it was like.
And he had proven himself many times over, enough to be named Captain of the Crown’s Militia. Captain Malcolm was a self-made man and Magdelyn did wonder, briefly, if she should fear him or respect him in that regard.
But there was a more burning question that plagued Magdelyn’s mind, a question that twisted her stomach in anger and shame: which one of them had the Crown sought to humiliate further? Him, for rewarding his loyalty with a treacherous bloodline, or her, by marrying her off to one of their hounds?
She had tried to find a common ground between the two of them – she had tried, desperately so, to view him as her equal. They were not marrying for love; they both had their own reasons for agreeing to their current situation. She would marry him to protect what was left of her family, he would marry her for her name and her wealth. Yet, she felt as if she was winning and losing all at once while he was… winning all the same. Was that right? Was it wrong?
Magdelyn didn’t allow herself to appear uncertain in front of him. She straightened her back, dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palm, and swallowed the pain, the anger, the shame. She just chose to watch him then, as his gaze took in the grandeur of her family’s estate. Whether he did it out of sheer curiosity or the need to assess his future home, she didn't know.
It was her lands that he chose to compliment first. Magdelyn found some solace in that, at least. “Yes, they are ours. This time of the year is quite calm, in truth,” when it came to agriculture. Kent had rather experienced some unsettling events for the past few months. “Most of the sowing has been done in March, yet there is still much to do – weeding the lands, pruning the trees.” There was a sigh in her words. “If I think of it, it is not calmer at all. It is easy to sow a seed; it is hard to make sure that it flourishes.”
That was a belief that could apply to life itself – to a name and its legacy, a family, a child. She did wonder, briefly, if the seed of her own marriage would flourish at all.
It was with that question in mind that she let her own gaze roam the stone walls, the archway. It got lost in every crevice, in every curve. “And much like the land it is built on, one's home must also be maintained. It is beautiful. And grand. But also… old.” Older than its current residents. When she was younger, Magdelyn had thought that their home was older than time itself. It had seen love and hatred, laughter and tears. Life and death. “It has been in my family for six generations, but it has also seen many others – the Nevilles, the Hollands, forgotten names in the wind.”
The ghost of a smile teased her lips. Yet, it didn’t come to the surface. “When you are a child, everyone keeps telling you that the world is too big for your understanding. However, I believe that it is rather small – or a child believes so, at least. Once he conquers everything in his close proximity, he feels as if he had conquered the world itself. I found this estate too small when I was young. Now I feel as if it has grown overnight.” There was a heaviness to that thought. She felt as if it could swallow her whole if it wished to do so.
But perhaps he found it too small. Her watchful gaze returned to him. “Though, I imagine that the courts feels much larger.” While she had visited the courts on several occasions, she hadn’t lived there herself to know what it was like.
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NickNacks
Zoinks
There was something strange about the woman which Malcolm had a difficult time pinning down at first. The more she spoke, the more it became clear, and by the time she got to the point of the world feeling both too large or too big, that he understood.
Magdelyn Grey was in pain.
At first, he'd assumed the shallow conversation might be due to nervousness, or a reluctance at meeting a man she hardly knew, yet was expected to pledge the rest of her life too. Fundamentally, Malcolm understood that he was the one in power, and that was why he had been given to the house of Grey-to keep an eye on them, to ensure that they were kept in check, even if there were no grown men left to pose any threat. His presence and his connection to the Crown was a strict reminder, regardless of his own personal opinion on the matter, and that opinion was not something he was keen on voicing in front of a person who was still heavily grieving. Normally, Malcolm preferred to be the one holding all the cards-it gave him the upper hand, and ensured that he would be able to combat any issue. But this time around, he nearly resented it. It felt as though he were being used as some kind of babysitter, sent to impose the authority of a kingdom he had several critiques regarding.
What to say to a woman who has lost nearly everything? Malcolm was not a particularly sympathetic man. Even to fellow knights, who had lost limb or loved ones, his sympathies rarely went beyond a clap on the shoulder and a soft yet firm order that they get up as soon as possible. In his line of duty, there was no time to grieve. Grieving was a luxury which war did not afford.
But this was different. The impression he made today wasn't just a matter of proving his strategic skill or swordsmanship. Being a husband-being an Earl-required a certain amount of patience. Of empathy. Malcolm felt empathy, of course, but expressing it was another matter entirely.
Still carrying the distinct limp, he crossed the hall to examine the window. It would be easier if he were not looking directly at Magdelyn, and thus couldn't overthink her reaction.
"....I never knew my father" he said, and though the wording seemed personal, his voice remained stern. Closed off. Still, his stance shifted from the learned rigidness of a practiced Captain to the uncertain shuffle of a slightly uncomfortable man. "So I won't pretend to understand your grief. It would be kind to tell you that it gets easier, but it would be a lie." At length, Malcolm turned, blue eyes meeting the gaze of his betrothed. "I'm not in the habit of lying. That is something I hope you'll come to understand."
His shoulders stiffened, as though the brief show of vulnerability physically pained him. "The courts?" He asked, brow furrowing. He detested the courts. Winding halls filled with expensive furniture, beds that were too soft to sleep in, women who gossiped and giggled, men who dressed more like girls. But such a rant would probably be unbecoming, at least currently."I only have a few rooms to myself there. I wouldn't know what to do with more than that."
Although....The prospect of a library was something he felt quite drawn to. He wondered if the Grey estate boasted something like that but decided against asking Magdelyn.
Magdelyn Grey was in pain.
At first, he'd assumed the shallow conversation might be due to nervousness, or a reluctance at meeting a man she hardly knew, yet was expected to pledge the rest of her life too. Fundamentally, Malcolm understood that he was the one in power, and that was why he had been given to the house of Grey-to keep an eye on them, to ensure that they were kept in check, even if there were no grown men left to pose any threat. His presence and his connection to the Crown was a strict reminder, regardless of his own personal opinion on the matter, and that opinion was not something he was keen on voicing in front of a person who was still heavily grieving. Normally, Malcolm preferred to be the one holding all the cards-it gave him the upper hand, and ensured that he would be able to combat any issue. But this time around, he nearly resented it. It felt as though he were being used as some kind of babysitter, sent to impose the authority of a kingdom he had several critiques regarding.
What to say to a woman who has lost nearly everything? Malcolm was not a particularly sympathetic man. Even to fellow knights, who had lost limb or loved ones, his sympathies rarely went beyond a clap on the shoulder and a soft yet firm order that they get up as soon as possible. In his line of duty, there was no time to grieve. Grieving was a luxury which war did not afford.
But this was different. The impression he made today wasn't just a matter of proving his strategic skill or swordsmanship. Being a husband-being an Earl-required a certain amount of patience. Of empathy. Malcolm felt empathy, of course, but expressing it was another matter entirely.
Still carrying the distinct limp, he crossed the hall to examine the window. It would be easier if he were not looking directly at Magdelyn, and thus couldn't overthink her reaction.
"....I never knew my father" he said, and though the wording seemed personal, his voice remained stern. Closed off. Still, his stance shifted from the learned rigidness of a practiced Captain to the uncertain shuffle of a slightly uncomfortable man. "So I won't pretend to understand your grief. It would be kind to tell you that it gets easier, but it would be a lie." At length, Malcolm turned, blue eyes meeting the gaze of his betrothed. "I'm not in the habit of lying. That is something I hope you'll come to understand."
His shoulders stiffened, as though the brief show of vulnerability physically pained him. "The courts?" He asked, brow furrowing. He detested the courts. Winding halls filled with expensive furniture, beds that were too soft to sleep in, women who gossiped and giggled, men who dressed more like girls. But such a rant would probably be unbecoming, at least currently."I only have a few rooms to myself there. I wouldn't know what to do with more than that."
Although....The prospect of a library was something he felt quite drawn to. He wondered if the Grey estate boasted something like that but decided against asking Magdelyn.
Asteria
⚔️
Magdelyn had never been the sort that would get so easily lost in her own thoughts, lost enough that her surroundings would become distorted, oddly distant, and cold. No, she had been a realist for the better part of her life, her feet deeply rooted into an acute sense of actuality – she knew who she was, what family she was part of, what she represented. It is one of the teachings that her father had taken pride in: an awareness that couldn't go unnoticed. He had been able to instil his sense of duty – which tied in with his love for his family, his home, and his country – into his children from a young age. There had always been a common goal to focus on, one to grow from. And, above all, stood their family’s legacy. Nicholas had been a dreamer and a sentimental boy at that, but even he had respected their father’s word as a religious written word that he would repeat before he gave in to his tiredness.
She imagined that they all had used to have a rebellious streak in their younger years, when they were allowed to forget about duty and be simple children that would fill their days with foolish feats, but Magdelyn couldn’t quite remember a time when she had forgotten that she was a Grey and that should mean something to herself and to everyone around her.
That must have been what kept her alive in the first place. She wouldn’t have been the first to succumb to her suffering and let it eat away at her soul if she had decided that was the way to go. However, accepting defeat when it wasn’t the sole option meant bringing shame to her father and brothers’ memory while depriving her younger siblings of a future they well-deserved after their own loss and pain.
It was that stubbornness that allowed her to stand up and face her own future.
Yet, there were moments like this one, where her words would carry another meaning than the one she had intended for them to have in the first place. It was as if they had a life of their, recalling a time that seemed to be so far away now – the lives that those walls have witnessed, another story to be added to their history. She could recall that those moments – more frequent than she liked them to be – were usually followed by a silent understand or a pity one would express through smiles, encouraging whispers, and tender touches. Words of a better future. Of hope. Always.
Captain Malcolm had a reaction of his own to her daze. His wordless walk toward the window was enough for Magdelyn to revert her gaze from the stone walls and focus on him instead. She watched him, taking note of his limp, the consequence of a wound, no doubt.
But then she heard his words. A confession; the personal aspect of it made her think that she should look down or anywhere else but him. Yet, the manner in which it was shared didn’t match its meaning. His next words did, however – he wouldn’t pretend, nor lie. He would only present her with honesty.
Magdelyn felt thankful, more than she thought she would be; she didn’t allow that feeling overwhelm her though. She nodded as his eyes found her own, nails picking at the silver ring on her right hand’s pinky finger. It was a sign of her own nervousness.
“Grief has many faces,” she spoke then, her own tone neutral, “and so does loss.” She could offer him that much. She didn’t understand his situation, just as he didn’t understand hers, and while she did not know if he considered his father’s absence a loss of its own, she couldn’t imagine it being a pleasant feeling either. Her father had been a permanent presence in her life, after all, and she hadn’t been able to imagine it otherwise.
Until now…
“You have my gratitude for your honesty, Captain Malcolm. It is a trait that I treasure in myself and others." And her own words were no lie.
It seemed that it was her comment about the courts that gained her a reaction outside the subtleties of the body – he frowned, but his response continued to tread the fine line of neutrality. “I hope that you will prepare a better response for when you will be asked about our own… many rooms.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but rather light, lighter than before – it was a poor attempt at a jest on her part. The first impression of his confession still lingered, serving as a small relief for the tension she had felt. “Despite the circumstances, I would like for my husband to find some peace among these walls, even if he doesn’t choose to see them as his home.”
She didn’t harbour grand expectations. She simply wanted to spare herself future heartache. “Of course, the many rooms will be under my care,” the safekeeping of the family’s household fell under her duties as a wife, “but there is one that will require your attention quite often.” She glanced towards the doors that stood between the two of them. Sir Robert had entered through them not too long ago.
“That is an Earl’s battlefield. A sword can only bring so much justice at times. Behind these doors, justice requires patience and words most often that it does not.”
That hall would also be where their wedding celebrations would take place. That was a thought for later, however.
She imagined that they all had used to have a rebellious streak in their younger years, when they were allowed to forget about duty and be simple children that would fill their days with foolish feats, but Magdelyn couldn’t quite remember a time when she had forgotten that she was a Grey and that should mean something to herself and to everyone around her.
That must have been what kept her alive in the first place. She wouldn’t have been the first to succumb to her suffering and let it eat away at her soul if she had decided that was the way to go. However, accepting defeat when it wasn’t the sole option meant bringing shame to her father and brothers’ memory while depriving her younger siblings of a future they well-deserved after their own loss and pain.
It was that stubbornness that allowed her to stand up and face her own future.
Yet, there were moments like this one, where her words would carry another meaning than the one she had intended for them to have in the first place. It was as if they had a life of their, recalling a time that seemed to be so far away now – the lives that those walls have witnessed, another story to be added to their history. She could recall that those moments – more frequent than she liked them to be – were usually followed by a silent understand or a pity one would express through smiles, encouraging whispers, and tender touches. Words of a better future. Of hope. Always.
Captain Malcolm had a reaction of his own to her daze. His wordless walk toward the window was enough for Magdelyn to revert her gaze from the stone walls and focus on him instead. She watched him, taking note of his limp, the consequence of a wound, no doubt.
But then she heard his words. A confession; the personal aspect of it made her think that she should look down or anywhere else but him. Yet, the manner in which it was shared didn’t match its meaning. His next words did, however – he wouldn’t pretend, nor lie. He would only present her with honesty.
Magdelyn felt thankful, more than she thought she would be; she didn’t allow that feeling overwhelm her though. She nodded as his eyes found her own, nails picking at the silver ring on her right hand’s pinky finger. It was a sign of her own nervousness.
“Grief has many faces,” she spoke then, her own tone neutral, “and so does loss.” She could offer him that much. She didn’t understand his situation, just as he didn’t understand hers, and while she did not know if he considered his father’s absence a loss of its own, she couldn’t imagine it being a pleasant feeling either. Her father had been a permanent presence in her life, after all, and she hadn’t been able to imagine it otherwise.
Until now…
“You have my gratitude for your honesty, Captain Malcolm. It is a trait that I treasure in myself and others." And her own words were no lie.
It seemed that it was her comment about the courts that gained her a reaction outside the subtleties of the body – he frowned, but his response continued to tread the fine line of neutrality. “I hope that you will prepare a better response for when you will be asked about our own… many rooms.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but rather light, lighter than before – it was a poor attempt at a jest on her part. The first impression of his confession still lingered, serving as a small relief for the tension she had felt. “Despite the circumstances, I would like for my husband to find some peace among these walls, even if he doesn’t choose to see them as his home.”
She didn’t harbour grand expectations. She simply wanted to spare herself future heartache. “Of course, the many rooms will be under my care,” the safekeeping of the family’s household fell under her duties as a wife, “but there is one that will require your attention quite often.” She glanced towards the doors that stood between the two of them. Sir Robert had entered through them not too long ago.
“That is an Earl’s battlefield. A sword can only bring so much justice at times. Behind these doors, justice requires patience and words most often that it does not.”
That hall would also be where their wedding celebrations would take place. That was a thought for later, however.
NickNacks
Zoinks
It was very rare that Malcolm felt intimidated by much, particularly when it came to manners of violence. The fact remained, however, that by accepting the arrangement as it stood, he had thrown himself headlong into a world he was very unfamiliar with-a world of politics, domestication. There would be no abrupt summons to the front lines for him anymore-it was with a smoldering anger that Malcolm had begun to recognize that the marriage prospect had been something of compensation in advance. He was getting old. He'd been injured one already. This year, he couldn't fight like he did last year, and next year, he would stand to do even worse.
He wasn't a young man anymore, and when he hadn't been planning to live much further than twenty-five, that was a daunting idea.
Patience and words-and he was skilled at absolutely neither. Communication hadn't been exactly encouraged in his line of profession, aside from the screamed commands to duck or flee or charge forward. Just was something you delivered personally, an equal and opposite reaction to an initial action, and having been as desensitized as he was to guts and gore made something like debate seem stupid and pointless. Malcolm fixed the doors ahead of them with a deep scowl.
Patience. He'd run out of that since before he was born.
"If you'd be inclined to show me where everything is," Malcolm said, not so subtly shutting down the idea of his impending responsibilities for now, "I would appreciate it. This is a much larger estate than I'm accustomed to, and I'd rather not spend too much time wandering about like an idiot." It was meant as an attempt at humor, but seemed more like denied access to familiarity for the time being. He did not know her, she did not know him, and though they both had the shared ground of grief, Malcolm was beginning to feel as though he had already spoken too much.
After all, there was no telling where or how this arrangement would expire. Perhaps one day she would take sick and slip away within days-it was known to happen. Perhaps there would be some sort of retaliation from those her family had offended, and Malcolm would arrive too late to alter the consequences. It was a possibility. Hadn't it been just a few years ago when he'd been talking and chatting with his friend Lars, and then a second passed and his friend slouched over, an arrow through his throat?
All things were temporary.
Still, he would be wed to her in an alarmingly short about of time, and so as he began his walk down the hall beside her, Malcolm forced himself to try and think of some kind of conversation.
"You....Mentioned a library," he began cautiously. "I haven't met very many people who like to read."
He wasn't a young man anymore, and when he hadn't been planning to live much further than twenty-five, that was a daunting idea.
Patience and words-and he was skilled at absolutely neither. Communication hadn't been exactly encouraged in his line of profession, aside from the screamed commands to duck or flee or charge forward. Just was something you delivered personally, an equal and opposite reaction to an initial action, and having been as desensitized as he was to guts and gore made something like debate seem stupid and pointless. Malcolm fixed the doors ahead of them with a deep scowl.
Patience. He'd run out of that since before he was born.
"If you'd be inclined to show me where everything is," Malcolm said, not so subtly shutting down the idea of his impending responsibilities for now, "I would appreciate it. This is a much larger estate than I'm accustomed to, and I'd rather not spend too much time wandering about like an idiot." It was meant as an attempt at humor, but seemed more like denied access to familiarity for the time being. He did not know her, she did not know him, and though they both had the shared ground of grief, Malcolm was beginning to feel as though he had already spoken too much.
After all, there was no telling where or how this arrangement would expire. Perhaps one day she would take sick and slip away within days-it was known to happen. Perhaps there would be some sort of retaliation from those her family had offended, and Malcolm would arrive too late to alter the consequences. It was a possibility. Hadn't it been just a few years ago when he'd been talking and chatting with his friend Lars, and then a second passed and his friend slouched over, an arrow through his throat?
All things were temporary.
Still, he would be wed to her in an alarmingly short about of time, and so as he began his walk down the hall beside her, Malcolm forced himself to try and think of some kind of conversation.
"You....Mentioned a library," he began cautiously. "I haven't met very many people who like to read."
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