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badass_tiger) wrote2022-12-02 12:50 pm
badass_tiger) wrote2022-12-02 12:50 pm
Butterfly Blue (Where Shines the Sun Aslant)
Title: Butterfly Blue
Fandom: Original/Where Shines the Sun Aslant
Characters: Ragnhild, Bertrand
Summary: Bertrand makes a gift for his wife.
Ragnhild's eyes were blue, a pale blue just a shade above her brother's grey, like the sky on a chilly winter's morning. But Ragnhild was not cold. She had a warmth and amicability that caused her to be affectionate towards her brother and sister-in-law, and endearingly shy with her husband. Bertrand was at times astonished by the modesty Ragnhild showed when they were alone, at times asking for his affection as if she feared his refusal, at other times not saying anything at all and simply hoping he would silently understand what she wanted from him.
Was it because of her past relationship? When Ragnhild had confided in him about the affair she had had with Princess Gwendolyn, he was shocked, not by the relationship, but by the way Princess Gwendolyn had ended their relationship so coldly. Ragnhild, in her desire to be honest with Bertrand, had enlisted King Hilbert's help in relaying the story, and Bertrand's heart had bled to see her downcast eyes, to understand how deeply affected she still was by the affair. He realised that she had given her loyalty to Princess Gwendolyn, and the heir of Noburg had thrown it aside like a broken toy. Perhaps Ragnhild's diffidence in their relationship now was to be expected. But Bertrand wished that there was something he could do to vanquish it, to make her understand that he treasured her presence in his life so deeply, he would never dream of hurting her, let alone abandoning her.
Bertrand knew, too, that there were many reasons Ragnhild so dearly prized her forest-green gloves that she repaired them over and over again instead of replacing them, not least of which the fact that they were a gift from her sister-in-law. Queen Solange had requested the commission of the gloves from Noburg through Princess Gwendolyn, and through her relationship with her, Ragnhild almost thought of them as a token from Princess Gwendolyn herself.
He didn't begrudge her the sentiment, but he feared that they were a constant reminder of the pain she had endured. At the very least, he wanted to offer up the suggestion that she leave that part of her behind. If she refused, then he would accept her decision without further question.
The work itself was not difficult, but Bertrand was determined to produce nothing less than perfection for his wife. He had memorised Ragnhild's every measurement by now, including the highly skilled armourer's he admired so much. (Ragnhild was, to him, the perfect mix of strength and beauty, her constant training giving her figure a beautiful definition, a firmness of skin lent to her by muscle, pride and confidence always in her eyes, none of which detracted from - and indeed, only added to - her feminine loveliness in a way that had enchanted him from the very start.) As for the colour, he knew that it had to be something that was entirely Ragnhild. The pale blue of her own eyes was the perfect choice. Bertrand spent half a day in his workshop experimenting with dyes until he was completely satisfied with the colour he had produced. It took him a few hours more to decide on the type of lining to use. Her dark green gloves were made for use in warm weather, but Ragnhild would try to use them as far into the winter months as she could before it became impractical. If he made them warm, she would still have an excuse to wear her green gloves in the spring, but he would prefer that she take to using her old gloves as little as possible. Still, it would be her decision in the end, so he settled on making them warm.
Over the next few days, he took his time deciding on some small touches to place on them: some beads, a bit of embroidery, and the initial of her name sewn very small by the wrist.
Bertrand was satisfied when the finished product matched his idea exactly. Could he be sure that Ragnhild would like it? He was sure that she would accept the gift with grace, but he so wanted her to be pleased with them. On a shelf in their room in the castle was a small wooden box in which Queen Solange had gifted Ragnhild her green gloves, and while Bertrand could certainly fashion a box for the same purpose, he feared that whatever he could come with would fail to match its elegance. Besides which, no matter how much Bertrand poured his heart into the gloves, he did not have access to the same materials or excellent craftsmanship as a princess had, and to clad his modest gift in a finer box than it deserved would feel like a pretension. He settled on making a simple silk bag which would double as a protective case for the gloves to be put away in whenever Ragnhild wasn't using them.
Even though the weather would turn warm soon afterwards and Ragnhild would have little cause to use them, Bertrand waited until the last day of the year to give them to her. It was something he could not find the words to explain to himself, but he wanted the new year to signify a fresh wind for both of them. The following year would be their second year of marriage, and while their first had been simultaneously the happiest period of his life and the most difficult, he was determined that their second would be be even better.
The final day of the year dawned dark. It was a holiday in Fleuyan, so Bertrand didn't have to leave for his shop in the village, nor did Ragnhild have to leave to oversee her weapons. They woke up early by habit anyway.
'I remember that I'm supposed to stay here this morning,' Ragnhild said when Bertrand awoke to find her sitting on the sofa before the empty fireplace. He smiled at her.
'Shall I call a servant to get the fire started?'
'Yes, and call up breakfast too. There will be some food served in the hall, but Hilbert and Solange will be eating alone, so almost everyone else will sleep in too.'
Bertrand summoned a servant while Ragnhild ducked behind the folding screen to wash her face and change. When she emerged, he was startled to see her in a type of attire he had only ever seen her wear once before: a floor-length dress. She had worn a dress on their wedding day, of course, the large and heavy robes that were tradition in Rasfura, and she made for a most bewitching sight. Today, her dress was closer to something the women of Fleuyan normally wore - or something that Queen Solange would wear. The grey dress was made of a light material, and she wore a black shawl around her shoulders. Her hair, too, she left hanging down her back, instead of her customary ponytail. Bertrand thought that if he had seen her outdoors, perhaps strolling through a forest path, he would have thought that he was hallucinating an angel.
'Are you hoping to catch flies with your open mouth?' Ragnhild said, sitting down next to him. It was perfectly normal for her to say something like that as a tease, but his familiarity with her told Bertrand that she was, in truth, apprehensive of his reaction. He pulled himself together.
'You look beautiful. I don't want to take my eyes off you for a moment.'
'You will have to in order to blink,' she replied, but she relaxed into an easy smile.
'I didn't know that you wore dresses. Will you allow me to make you one?'
'Why would you want to do that?'
'Well, I ... rather enjoying designing dresses in the course of my work, and if I could make you one for you to wear ... that would make me very happy.'
'Oh, alright then. As you know, I would do anything to make you happy.'
Bertrand chuckled. She had said it so often now that it was easy for her to say, but he knew that didn't make it any less true.
'I have a gift for you, if you would do me the favour of accepting it,' he said. Ragnhild was taken aback.
'A gift?'
'Yes. For ... for the new year. I thought that something new to symbolise the new year would be ... appropriate.'
'But I haven't got you anything,' she said with a furrow in her brow.
'It's alright. You wearing something new is like a gift to me in itself,' he said earnestly. 'Seeing you in those clothes is a privilege.'
'Oh, well. That's alright then. Do you think I look better in these than I do in my normal clothes?' she said, playful once again.
'You look like a different kind of beauty.'
'Good answer.' Ragnhild laughed. 'Solange gave me this dress and shawl a few days ago, with instructions to wear them before you. It appears that her advice was good.'
'It was very good, indeed. I don't think this land has ever seen a more astute queen, nor one so affectionate a sister.'
Ragnhild smiled, and shifted a little bit closer. She loved her brother and sister-in-law so much that it was easy to flatter her by praising them, but even knowing this, Bertrand was entirely sincere in his words. Queen Solange had been a great help to him in his courtship of Ragnhild. Even if they were not the king and queen, he would always owe everything to Hilbert and Solange. Ragnhild stayed pressed against him even when a servant came to lay breakfast on the table. They both ignored the meal for the time being.
'Here,' he said when the servant had left. He pressed the silk bag into her hand. 'I hope you like it, my dear.'
She pulled open the strings and took out the gloves. They looked even paler in the sunlight, as if he had cut a piece of the winter sky to fashion into gloves for his wife. Ragnhild pulled them on immediately, but for a few moments, all she did was gaze at them with a thoughtful expression, a very slight frown wrinkling her forehead. Bertrand watched her reaction with bated breath.
'They're warm,' she said at last.
'Yes. You already have very fine gloves for the summer, so I thought I would make you something special for you to wear when it's colder.'
'Why did you put beads on them? They will get in the way when I'm doing my work.'
'I didn't think of that,' he said, flushing. 'I can cut them off.'
'No. I'll use them as they are, even if they hinder me.'
She raised her gaze to his, then cupped his cheek with a gloved hand and pressed a kiss to his lips. Bertrand was startled. He thought she had not liked them after all, but she kissed him so fervently that there was no mistaking her happiness. As he kissed her back, he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her body close to his.
'I'm glad you like them,' he said when they parted.
'They're very beautiful.' She drew back slightly to look at her hands again. 'I have such a clever husband. Thank you.'
Bertrand stroked a hand through Ragnhild's curly jet-black hair. She was so lovely and so sweet. When he had first looked at her, he thought her face had a certain definition that made her look slightly masculine, more handsome than beautiful, but to look at her up close, he knew he had been mistaken, for her features were, in truth, far more delicate than he had known.
'Don't tell her this,' she said, 'but I think I like them better than the gloves Solange gave me.' And she laughed.
'Truly?'
'Yes, and the fact that you made them yourself makes it all the better. You are clever, Bertrand!' She pulled them off and carefully put them away in their bag. 'And because you are so clever, I know too that you know I sometimes think of Gwendolyn when I wear my green gloves, and that is why you made these for me.'
He blushed to be so transparent.
'Well - no - I - perhaps that knowledge gave me the idea to gift you these, but it - it doesn't matter to me that you think of her sometimes - it is only natural.'
'I suppose it is. But I think I would like to stop thinking of her too.' Ragnhild looked at the bag thoughtfully. 'It would be different if she had ended our relationship amicably, but now that I know how little she truly thinks of me, I think it's a waste to spend a single thought further on her.'
Ragnhild pursed her lips. Though her expression remained stone-cold, Bertrand knew that she was holding back tears. Knowing that he would surely call them into existence if he reached out to her, he waited for the moment to pass.
'How annoying to be so weak,' she said. 'But of all people to show weakness before, I suppose it's alright to be weak in front of my husband.'
'I am at fault too, for making you think of it,' he said.
'That's right. Why did you go and do such a thing?' She shook her head as if shaking the thoughts away, then leaned her head against his shoulder. 'Well, starting tomorrow, I can just think of you whenever I wear my gloves, and that will make me much happier. Thank you, Bertrand. I'll get something for you too, next year.'
'Think nothing of it.'
Happy and relieved that his gift and intentions had been well-received, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, and settled in to enjoy the holiday with his wife.
Fandom: Original/Where Shines the Sun Aslant
Characters: Ragnhild, Bertrand
Summary: Bertrand makes a gift for his wife.
Ragnhild's eyes were blue, a pale blue just a shade above her brother's grey, like the sky on a chilly winter's morning. But Ragnhild was not cold. She had a warmth and amicability that caused her to be affectionate towards her brother and sister-in-law, and endearingly shy with her husband. Bertrand was at times astonished by the modesty Ragnhild showed when they were alone, at times asking for his affection as if she feared his refusal, at other times not saying anything at all and simply hoping he would silently understand what she wanted from him.
Was it because of her past relationship? When Ragnhild had confided in him about the affair she had had with Princess Gwendolyn, he was shocked, not by the relationship, but by the way Princess Gwendolyn had ended their relationship so coldly. Ragnhild, in her desire to be honest with Bertrand, had enlisted King Hilbert's help in relaying the story, and Bertrand's heart had bled to see her downcast eyes, to understand how deeply affected she still was by the affair. He realised that she had given her loyalty to Princess Gwendolyn, and the heir of Noburg had thrown it aside like a broken toy. Perhaps Ragnhild's diffidence in their relationship now was to be expected. But Bertrand wished that there was something he could do to vanquish it, to make her understand that he treasured her presence in his life so deeply, he would never dream of hurting her, let alone abandoning her.
Bertrand knew, too, that there were many reasons Ragnhild so dearly prized her forest-green gloves that she repaired them over and over again instead of replacing them, not least of which the fact that they were a gift from her sister-in-law. Queen Solange had requested the commission of the gloves from Noburg through Princess Gwendolyn, and through her relationship with her, Ragnhild almost thought of them as a token from Princess Gwendolyn herself.
He didn't begrudge her the sentiment, but he feared that they were a constant reminder of the pain she had endured. At the very least, he wanted to offer up the suggestion that she leave that part of her behind. If she refused, then he would accept her decision without further question.
The work itself was not difficult, but Bertrand was determined to produce nothing less than perfection for his wife. He had memorised Ragnhild's every measurement by now, including the highly skilled armourer's he admired so much. (Ragnhild was, to him, the perfect mix of strength and beauty, her constant training giving her figure a beautiful definition, a firmness of skin lent to her by muscle, pride and confidence always in her eyes, none of which detracted from - and indeed, only added to - her feminine loveliness in a way that had enchanted him from the very start.) As for the colour, he knew that it had to be something that was entirely Ragnhild. The pale blue of her own eyes was the perfect choice. Bertrand spent half a day in his workshop experimenting with dyes until he was completely satisfied with the colour he had produced. It took him a few hours more to decide on the type of lining to use. Her dark green gloves were made for use in warm weather, but Ragnhild would try to use them as far into the winter months as she could before it became impractical. If he made them warm, she would still have an excuse to wear her green gloves in the spring, but he would prefer that she take to using her old gloves as little as possible. Still, it would be her decision in the end, so he settled on making them warm.
Over the next few days, he took his time deciding on some small touches to place on them: some beads, a bit of embroidery, and the initial of her name sewn very small by the wrist.
Bertrand was satisfied when the finished product matched his idea exactly. Could he be sure that Ragnhild would like it? He was sure that she would accept the gift with grace, but he so wanted her to be pleased with them. On a shelf in their room in the castle was a small wooden box in which Queen Solange had gifted Ragnhild her green gloves, and while Bertrand could certainly fashion a box for the same purpose, he feared that whatever he could come with would fail to match its elegance. Besides which, no matter how much Bertrand poured his heart into the gloves, he did not have access to the same materials or excellent craftsmanship as a princess had, and to clad his modest gift in a finer box than it deserved would feel like a pretension. He settled on making a simple silk bag which would double as a protective case for the gloves to be put away in whenever Ragnhild wasn't using them.
Even though the weather would turn warm soon afterwards and Ragnhild would have little cause to use them, Bertrand waited until the last day of the year to give them to her. It was something he could not find the words to explain to himself, but he wanted the new year to signify a fresh wind for both of them. The following year would be their second year of marriage, and while their first had been simultaneously the happiest period of his life and the most difficult, he was determined that their second would be be even better.
The final day of the year dawned dark. It was a holiday in Fleuyan, so Bertrand didn't have to leave for his shop in the village, nor did Ragnhild have to leave to oversee her weapons. They woke up early by habit anyway.
'I remember that I'm supposed to stay here this morning,' Ragnhild said when Bertrand awoke to find her sitting on the sofa before the empty fireplace. He smiled at her.
'Shall I call a servant to get the fire started?'
'Yes, and call up breakfast too. There will be some food served in the hall, but Hilbert and Solange will be eating alone, so almost everyone else will sleep in too.'
Bertrand summoned a servant while Ragnhild ducked behind the folding screen to wash her face and change. When she emerged, he was startled to see her in a type of attire he had only ever seen her wear once before: a floor-length dress. She had worn a dress on their wedding day, of course, the large and heavy robes that were tradition in Rasfura, and she made for a most bewitching sight. Today, her dress was closer to something the women of Fleuyan normally wore - or something that Queen Solange would wear. The grey dress was made of a light material, and she wore a black shawl around her shoulders. Her hair, too, she left hanging down her back, instead of her customary ponytail. Bertrand thought that if he had seen her outdoors, perhaps strolling through a forest path, he would have thought that he was hallucinating an angel.
'Are you hoping to catch flies with your open mouth?' Ragnhild said, sitting down next to him. It was perfectly normal for her to say something like that as a tease, but his familiarity with her told Bertrand that she was, in truth, apprehensive of his reaction. He pulled himself together.
'You look beautiful. I don't want to take my eyes off you for a moment.'
'You will have to in order to blink,' she replied, but she relaxed into an easy smile.
'I didn't know that you wore dresses. Will you allow me to make you one?'
'Why would you want to do that?'
'Well, I ... rather enjoying designing dresses in the course of my work, and if I could make you one for you to wear ... that would make me very happy.'
'Oh, alright then. As you know, I would do anything to make you happy.'
Bertrand chuckled. She had said it so often now that it was easy for her to say, but he knew that didn't make it any less true.
'I have a gift for you, if you would do me the favour of accepting it,' he said. Ragnhild was taken aback.
'A gift?'
'Yes. For ... for the new year. I thought that something new to symbolise the new year would be ... appropriate.'
'But I haven't got you anything,' she said with a furrow in her brow.
'It's alright. You wearing something new is like a gift to me in itself,' he said earnestly. 'Seeing you in those clothes is a privilege.'
'Oh, well. That's alright then. Do you think I look better in these than I do in my normal clothes?' she said, playful once again.
'You look like a different kind of beauty.'
'Good answer.' Ragnhild laughed. 'Solange gave me this dress and shawl a few days ago, with instructions to wear them before you. It appears that her advice was good.'
'It was very good, indeed. I don't think this land has ever seen a more astute queen, nor one so affectionate a sister.'
Ragnhild smiled, and shifted a little bit closer. She loved her brother and sister-in-law so much that it was easy to flatter her by praising them, but even knowing this, Bertrand was entirely sincere in his words. Queen Solange had been a great help to him in his courtship of Ragnhild. Even if they were not the king and queen, he would always owe everything to Hilbert and Solange. Ragnhild stayed pressed against him even when a servant came to lay breakfast on the table. They both ignored the meal for the time being.
'Here,' he said when the servant had left. He pressed the silk bag into her hand. 'I hope you like it, my dear.'
She pulled open the strings and took out the gloves. They looked even paler in the sunlight, as if he had cut a piece of the winter sky to fashion into gloves for his wife. Ragnhild pulled them on immediately, but for a few moments, all she did was gaze at them with a thoughtful expression, a very slight frown wrinkling her forehead. Bertrand watched her reaction with bated breath.
'They're warm,' she said at last.
'Yes. You already have very fine gloves for the summer, so I thought I would make you something special for you to wear when it's colder.'
'Why did you put beads on them? They will get in the way when I'm doing my work.'
'I didn't think of that,' he said, flushing. 'I can cut them off.'
'No. I'll use them as they are, even if they hinder me.'
She raised her gaze to his, then cupped his cheek with a gloved hand and pressed a kiss to his lips. Bertrand was startled. He thought she had not liked them after all, but she kissed him so fervently that there was no mistaking her happiness. As he kissed her back, he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her body close to his.
'I'm glad you like them,' he said when they parted.
'They're very beautiful.' She drew back slightly to look at her hands again. 'I have such a clever husband. Thank you.'
Bertrand stroked a hand through Ragnhild's curly jet-black hair. She was so lovely and so sweet. When he had first looked at her, he thought her face had a certain definition that made her look slightly masculine, more handsome than beautiful, but to look at her up close, he knew he had been mistaken, for her features were, in truth, far more delicate than he had known.
'Don't tell her this,' she said, 'but I think I like them better than the gloves Solange gave me.' And she laughed.
'Truly?'
'Yes, and the fact that you made them yourself makes it all the better. You are clever, Bertrand!' She pulled them off and carefully put them away in their bag. 'And because you are so clever, I know too that you know I sometimes think of Gwendolyn when I wear my green gloves, and that is why you made these for me.'
He blushed to be so transparent.
'Well - no - I - perhaps that knowledge gave me the idea to gift you these, but it - it doesn't matter to me that you think of her sometimes - it is only natural.'
'I suppose it is. But I think I would like to stop thinking of her too.' Ragnhild looked at the bag thoughtfully. 'It would be different if she had ended our relationship amicably, but now that I know how little she truly thinks of me, I think it's a waste to spend a single thought further on her.'
Ragnhild pursed her lips. Though her expression remained stone-cold, Bertrand knew that she was holding back tears. Knowing that he would surely call them into existence if he reached out to her, he waited for the moment to pass.
'How annoying to be so weak,' she said. 'But of all people to show weakness before, I suppose it's alright to be weak in front of my husband.'
'I am at fault too, for making you think of it,' he said.
'That's right. Why did you go and do such a thing?' She shook her head as if shaking the thoughts away, then leaned her head against his shoulder. 'Well, starting tomorrow, I can just think of you whenever I wear my gloves, and that will make me much happier. Thank you, Bertrand. I'll get something for you too, next year.'
'Think nothing of it.'
Happy and relieved that his gift and intentions had been well-received, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, and settled in to enjoy the holiday with his wife.