#self indulgently

so, this ... is kind of connected to this prompt, but mostly it’s wish fulfillment because ... I got to thinking about Peeta doing his daughter’s braids ... and then I got to listening to the White Queen soundtrack ... and it all kind of snowballed ... so here is Everlark ... but Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville

“It’s so early,” complains his eldest daughter. “Father can’t we stay abed a little while longer?”

“No, Linnet,” her father says urgently. “We only have a little time. Come, I’ll braid your hair.” Perhaps it isn’t becoming of his station to do his daughter’s hair like a common maid, but the great power of his station came with his wife, Lady Margaret. With her gone, he’s merely a knight’s son, and a Lancaster knight at that. That is why he is in such a hurry.

He gently jars his youngest’s shoulder.

“Marigold,” he whispers. “Up now, dearest. We must be at the old oak tree by sunup.”

Linnet, so much like her mother, even at nine, dresses and combs out her golden hair while Peeta sits his seven year old on his lap and begins patterning her tresses in a tumbling plait, then sweeping it up to the back of her neck. “There,” he says. “Linnet?”

“I’m alright, father,” she says, already pinning her hair into a neat braided bun. “I can do it myself.”

“Very good,” he says. “Now, your cloaks.”

As the girls hurry for their things, he checks his own reflection in the mirror. A blue velvet doublet, a leather belt, fine black breeches. He needs to look the part if he intends to save face. He had fought for Queen Alma after all. And now she is disgraced and dethroned. He had no great love for the once queen. He only believed she had the rightful claim to the throne — but none of that matters now. He has to protect his daughters.

“Why are we going to the old oak, father?” Linnet inquires, holding tight to his hand as they make their way across the fields.

“We are going to meet the new queen,” he tells her, as cheerfully as he can.

“The new queen?” Marigold’s eyes are wide. “Is she pretty?”

“I’m sure she’s very pretty, dearest,” he says. Though privately he thinks it doesn’t matter what she looks like. The daughter of the slain Duke Everdeen of York is powerful. By report a deadly archer and leader. That’s the key.

The sun is pink in the sky by the time they reach the oak — and just in time too. His mother’s prediction about when the queen’s retinue would be passing was correct. He pulls his daughters out of the way as the horses thunder by, the queen’s banner fluttering above them, a parade of soldiers and nobility. His daughters gasp softly and ask if their father knows any of these people, but Peeta hushes them. He is searching for — there.

His breath catches. There’s no mistaking the queen, slight as she is, dressed all in black armor, long dark hair down her back in a braid, and a thin circlet, in lieu of the ceremonial crown, on her head. She is striking, proud and confident, and his daughter was right. She is pretty. Beautiful, even ...

He can’t let himself get distracted. This is his one chance.

“Stay here, stay still,” he tells his daughters. Then he steps out from under the shade of the tree and in view of the party, in view of the queen.

“Your majesty!”

He half (more than half) expects her to ignore him. That is certainly what the tall man riding beside her expects too, because he shoots Peeta a dismissive look and spurs his horse on. But the queen turns to the sound of his voice. Her eyes narrow as she makes him out.

“Hold!” she calls. The entourage instantly trots to a halt. The queen’s lips quirk into a smile. Her cheeks are flushed from riding. “What is your name?” she asks. “And who are those little ones hiding by the tree?”

“My daughters, your majesty,” Peeta says, bowing, then gesturing for them to come to his side. “I’ve come to you on their behalf. I — ”

“Katniss,” says the tall man who tried to ride past them. He must be on very close terms with the queen to address her by name. “This man is a Mellark.”

“I am Lord Rivers,” he corrects.

“Only by marriage,” says the tall man. “Her majesty surely knows your family fought with the French — ”

“Enough,” says the queen. “I would hear him speak.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Peeta says. “It is true I took up arms with the once queen. But my loyalty now is to your crown — and more than that my loyalty is to my children. I have come to beg for their inheritance. To ask that our family lands not be confiscated.”

The tall man opens his mouth, but at a sharp glance from the queen, he closes it. She considers Peeta, bright gray eyes searching his face with an intensity that makes his heart race, though not with fear. Then her gaze gentles and she nods. “What kind of queen would I be if I denied these little girls their livelihood?”

Peeta almost falls to his knees with relief, but manages another grateful bow instead. “Your majesty is good and kind,” he says.

“You never did tell me what your name was,” she says. She beckons him forward with a hand. He approaches her horse.

“Peeta, your majesty.”

“I should very much like to see you again,” she says. “We are a half day’s ride from our destination. If I return two days hence, will you meet me here by this same tree?” She pauses, shifts in her saddle. “To discuss the settlement of your lands.”

“If you wish it, your majesty, I will be here,” he says.

“Good,” says the queen. “Very good.” She straightens up and smiles at him, an almost mischievous smile. It makes him smile in response. “Well then, until two days hence, my lord. My little ladies.” She dips her head at the girls, who curtsy. Then she spurs her horse onward and the party canters on, leaving Peeta and his girls watching after her.

“Father!” Marigold cries delightedly. “She has a braid like mine!”

“She’s very beautiful, father,” Linnet sighs. “A real queen!”

“Yes,” Peeta murmurs, catching a glimpse of the silver circlet as the party rides into the sunlight. “Yes, she is.”