#clarmont

For angst: 

Early-widow!Everly

And because that is NOT AT ALL my actual headcanon for how Clarmont and Everly turn out, a fluffy divergence to go with:

“Oh! She opened her eyes!”

Clarmont, who’s scarcely left the room since the birth, drops the papers he’s been working through and hurries to where she’s seated, resting a hand on her back and leaning down to smile at the infant in her arms.

She follows him with wide, shockingly blue eyes, gives a tiny yawn and blinks as he talks nonsense to her.

It feels strange not to have a name for her, but it’s tradition in Revaire to wait at least a month. Give the name to a person, they’d explained it.

“Elspeth’s eyes were that same color, after she was born,” he says, voice choked with emotion.

Elspeth. That’s a strong contender, then. She runs a gentle finger over their baby’s cheek. “Do you think…”

“Maybe. She’s only a day old yet, plenty of time to decide.” He strokes her back. “Did you have any thoughts?”

She blushes. “Silly ones.”

“I doubt that.”

“‘Clarity’ definitely counts as silly,” she insists, shifting the baby to the breast she’s clearly starting to look for. “People would call for ‘Clar’ and neither of you would know which of you they were asking for. ‘Liberty’ is…”

“Not silly.”

“Perhaps not. Very Arlish, though.”

“You say that like it’s a negative. You should keep your culture—or as much of it as you want to.”

Part of her pushes the idea away, says a good princess assimilates completely to her husband’s culture. She’s pretty sure it’s the same part of her that feels a twinge of guilt for giving Clarmont a daughter and not a son. She’s been trying not to listen to it, but it’s difficult.

“Your name is a bit atypical, isn’t it?” he continues. “For the royal family?”

“I’m told that only one small kindness spared me from being named Everlasting Faith,” she chuckles, ignoring the way her sore body aches even with that slight punch of air. “The quill was on the page to record my name in the royal house of Arland when my wet nurse convinced Mother it was too much of a mouthful.”

He laughs. “Had they already gotten to the ‘L’?”

“I’ve never gotten a satisfactory answer on that!” she says. “So probably.”

That mishap alone is a strong reason to go with the Revairan tradition of waiting a few weeks, she thinks.

But she’ll keep “Liberty” in the running for now.

Delegates milled about.  A few actually put on some pretense of working-- the costumers playing with thread as they chatted in circles with gowns and suits in their laps, the actors waving about scripts to emphasize their points about last night’s dinner.  Most did not even make such efforts and directed the staff to fetch all necessary implements for tea.  As well as comfier chairs.

He sighed.

“Lord Clarmont, there you are.”

He turned. “Lady Avalie.”

Avalie approached with her pleased cat’s smile and a trail of tinkling bells. “Come, the main cast is rehearsing backstage.”

She put an iron hand into the crook of his arm, leading him away.  Clarmont obediently followed.  At least it was darker backstage.  And quieter.  Unfortunately, it was also in better supply of Revairan royals; Princess Gisette glanced up as Avalie swept the red velvet curtains apart and practically shoved Clarmont before her.  The pale princess’s eyes roved over them, found them wanting, and returned to the script in her hands.

Still, he smiled, per usual.  He would have to be particularly careful this week.  Especially if this headache persisted.  At least Princess Jaslen had given him the part of Sir Horus, and not the partner to Gisette’s Vienna.  No, his Serah stood a few paces away, giggling with Prince Armand.

Zarad spotted him. “Here he is, our esrtwhile knight.”

He gave an overdone bow to Clarmont, with a fluttering flourish with the script in his hand.  Beside him, Lady Sabine was giving the prince a look that would be disapproving but for the curl at her lips.

“Really, enough, you--”

“Now, dear,” Zarad stated, turning back to her with serious eyes. “I know it will be hard to part from me for even a moment.  But we must all make our sacrifices for this important production.  Perhaps the most important work of our lives.”

“I see you still persist in this bad habit of speaking for everyone,” Sabine said. “But I suppose it would be the most important work in the life of an incorrigible flirt.”

The two of them had been like this for over four weeks now.  The glances and the laughter and the verbal dances gradually culminating in the Matchmaker’s approval a week past.  The pair seemed unable to look away from each other; after the previous week’s tribulations, one could hardly blame them.  To the side, Gisette wore a pleasant expression that, on close inspection, was entirely unpleasant.

Zarad winked.  “Now, now.  We’re not alone; don’t flirt too much lest we become a nuisance among good society.  And you must remember to be better to Sir Horus than you are to me.  Not everyone shares my magnanimous nature.”

Clarmont cleared his throat. “I’m sure Lady Sabine will be quite fine.”

“Yes, of course,” Avalie interjected.  She clapped a hand to her clipboard for emphasis. “We’ve some of the finest of our delegates here, all eager to collaborate in a show of international harmony.  Yes?”

They all smiled back at her, with various levels of thinly veiled sarcasm.

Avalie smiled as well. “Lovely!  Now.  A bit of rehearsing is due, yes?”

The four leads collected themselves and moved about the backstage area at Avalie’s direction.  They read from their scripts in slightly stilted voices as they tried to match their actions to the lines.  Clamont wasn’t a frequent theatre-goer, but even he could tell this was a disaster waiting to happen with amateurs like themselves given a week’s notice to practice.  Still, Zarad amused with his over-performing and his sidebars.  Gisette seemed committed to appearing to her best, even if at the expense of engaging with the rest of them.  And Sabine took on the role of sweet Serah with infectious cheer, helping him along with a twinkle in her eyes.

And yet it quickly became clear there was a problem.

In act two, scene one, Vienna brings Serah to visit the queen, conveniently at the same time that Sir Horus and Prince Armand attend to her.  Zarad slouched in a chair, beside an empty chair representing his absent aunt, with a bored expression not entirely affected.  His sidebars and interest had fallen off as their collective confusion impeded their lines.  Horus stood beyond the queen and the prince, practically stuttering platitudes to Serah.

At the moment Serah moved to go to him, with her own starry eyes and blushing compliments, Clarmont saw as Armand’s head turned with her passing and a new expression flit over his features.  As Sabine passed by with flowered sashes from her bustle trailing lightly, Zarad reached out a hand.

And tugged.

Sabine yelped. “What--”

She stumbled backward inelegantly, arms windmilling.  Regaining her feet, she whirled to glared at Zarad and his carefully blasé expression.

“You see, dear Horus, my bosom companion?” he said. “What a clumsy girl.  Utterly unfit to be a match to such a fine knight as yourself.”

Momentarily annoyed, Sabine schooled herself back into character. “Oh, Your Highness, do forgive me.  How terribly silly of me to trip like that.  I know you are such a good soul you would never hold that against me, and what a splendid friend you are, to consider Sir Horus so much.”

Clarmont coughed and quickly interjected, trying to steer back to the actual lines and away from the looks Serah was shooting at Armand.  Vienna’s cool smile had become decidedly icy.

And then, in the fourth act when Lady Matterly creates the first mess between the couples, Serah, with a very much un-Serah-like gleam in her eye, oversold her entreaty to Prince Armand on her cousin’s behalf.  She begged him to give Vienna another chance, her hand on his arm turning into a closer lingering against his side.  Her hand reached up to trail against his jaw as she gave her best pure-as-sugar-Serah-pout.

Swallowing, Armand agreed to reconsider his opinions.

And then somehow, the confessional scenes in the fifth act got side-tracked at the mere two lines Armand and Serah were supposed to exchange, which turned into entire monologues about women like stars and men like vain and empty-headed birds-- parrots even, that repeated certain lines.

“Perhaps,” Princess Gisette said. “Certain roles should be switched.  Clearly, there is an imbalance in this casting.”

She idly pushed a single lock of pale hair from her face with one of those pleasant-unpleasant smiles of hers.

Avale tapped on her clipboard with her own beatific smile. “Any changes can be addressed to Princess Jaslen.  Yourself.  Otherwise, I would advise all of us to commit our lines to memory.  Surely such a task will be considered worthy and enjoyable as it will prevent embarrassment all of us delegates.”

Clarmont agreed readily.  The troublesome couple did as well, albeit with completely unabashed smiles and conspiratorial glances at each other.

Clarmont still had a headache, and now all these lines to remember on top of everything else.  But he had the feeling this play would be anything but boring.  A disaster, yes.  But boring?