mayest: (๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ” โ€”)
แด„แดษดsแด›แด€ษดแด›ษชษด โ€” แด‹ษชษดษข แดา“ แดส€ษดแด‡า“สŸแดœแด‡ส€. ([personal profile] mayest) wrote in [community profile] ornefluer2024-04-11 10:40 pm
altogether: (pic#17808566)

[personal profile] altogether 2025-04-27 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ The theatrics of dinner with a sitting king nearly catch her off guard, compared to the previous nights. Tsera being banished to eat with the servants isnโ€™t terribly new, but it does make Enger even more acutely aware of the lack of spacing between words of casual speed and that Ornefluer custom uses twice as many utensils as sheโ€™s used to.

Servants shuffle around, removing warming dishes and delivery refills of bread and butter, popping corks on bottles. When one takes the liberty of setting a fine cloth napkin on Engerโ€™s lap, she nearly flinches.

The first course passes by. Smiling beatifically between dainty bites, Enger spends much of it in her own head.

For example:
Donโ€™t reach over people. No, donโ€™t reach for things at all. Let the servants curate your meal.
Pull your sleeve up, Mistress Thorhauge already called your blackwork barbaric.
This fork, not that one. No, that one.
Itโ€™s just oil made of olives. Yes, itโ€™s delicious. Calm down. You donโ€™t want a repeat of the butter incident.
But not a drop is spilled, not a hair turned nor fumble made into a fracas. The conversation proceeds without much interest in her for the first little while; and sheโ€™s rather relieved by it, particularly when her hands stop growing clammy at every unseen entrance over her shoulder or footsteps behind her back. In fact, the only other person who doesnโ€™t seem to regard the staff as pleasantly invisible is the minister of intelligence. More than once, she notes his eyes seem to be everywhere at once with nary an untoward flicker of an eyelash.

It is only when the entree is served that sheโ€™s drawn into the conversation. And by drawn into, we mean made the focal point of.

Evidently, they had been talking about religion. Several words and even more references escaped her, but when the Bishop of Fluer inquires about sending apostles to Iskander to help spread the library of God, she inclines her head calmly. ]


I am sure there are many back home who would greatly appreciate a sharing of ideas, your Excellency. But, Iskanderโ€™s situation being what it is, I could not in good conscience accept your apostles when I cannot guarantee their safety in the crossing.

[ Itโ€™s even true. Regardless of the Bishopโ€™s inquiry making her teeth feel sore with its benign presumptions.

He seems to accept that response, and proceeds to describe how he would be happy to send a trunk full of literature—Bibles, he calls them—for her to have distributed among her countrymen.

She smiles like he and she are the best friends in the world. ]


I am honoured you trust me to escort something so dear to you, your Excellency.

[ Anyway, whatโ€™s the rest of the table doing? ]
Edited 2025-04-27 03:04 (UTC)