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I'll be posting my story here as well!  If you're interested in it, please feel free to follow my other account: ManuWrites

Thank you if you take the time to read it!

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All Chapters HERE.

CHAPTER 73: ONE TALK

                “Princess Malia, a message from your mother.” The graceful handmaiden had retreated from their chamber after handing her the lavender envelope. Inside it, a concise invitation petitioned her to join Clarissa Eirian at the Moon Garden’s gazebo.
                Malia didn’t understand why the pleasant proposition had left her so agitated. She had expected to eventually meet with her mother, of course, but now that it was an immediate prospect and not a hypothetical scenario, she felt completely unprepared for it.
                She worried too that perhaps she was becoming absolutely incompetent at concealing her emotions, because without needing to voice any of her worries, Bayard nonchalantly asked: “What’s the matter? Why are you upset?”
                Let’s hope only my friends are so adept at reading my mind. “I’m not upset, I’m… confused. It hasn’t been that long since I last saw my mother, but after everything that happened… I think for years I never actually looked at who my mother was. It was difficult to consider her circumstances and to understand her true feelings, so I just didn’t. Now it’s almost like I’m too late to start over. It feels more complicated than it should be.”
                “What’s so complicated about it?” Aldous was still munching on the peeled tangerine he had successfully stolen from Bayard minutes ago, “She’s a mom. If she’s anything like Rose, she’ll tell you to open up and cry on her lap, then she’ll comfort you, and then she’ll yell at you for being a crybaby. There’s no winning against that, and that’s fine. It’s how things go.”
                Open up and cry on her lap. Unknowingly, the redhead might have very well hit the nail on the head. Earlier that same day Malia had told her companions about her turmoil, but she hadn’t been entirely transparent. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, and she knew her comrades were likely to support her no matter what… and that was precisely why she was reluctant to ask for their advice. They were too biased in her favor, too sweet for their own good. But I if I were to ask my mother…
                “I’m off then.” She stepped out of the room.
                “We’ll be here.” Gorken patted her back. In that simple motion he gave her all the encouragement she could ever need, and more. I’m so basic it’s disconcerting, Malia surmised for the umpteenth time.
                Her heartbeat marked the pace of her walk to the radiant Moon Garden, and so she arrived quicker than even she herself anticipated. Clarissa stood up as soon as she saw the princess, the filtered uneven sunlight enhancing the woman’s already resplendent beauty. Upon gazing at her once more, Malia was certain she had none of her mother’s grace; she remembered Frida had compared her to her father and to Cattleya the blacksmith, but not to the striking northern queen. I can see why.
                “I’m so glad you came!” Clarissa held her daughter’s face before hugging her tightly, “There’s so much I want to ask you! Come sit with me. I had pastries brought straight out of the kitchens, so let us enjoy them wholly.” She kept talking as she climbed the steps of the ornate arbor, “I can never have my fill of almond pastries and blueberry tarts, but that’s an imminent threat to my regal figure. I’m so jealous you don’t seem to have that problem! You favor Arthur’s muscular build. Ah, worry not, I also had them bring strawberry pie, I remember it was your favorite.” Clarissa paused when she noticed Malia staring at her in a daze, “Is something wrong, dear?”
                “…No, not at all. I just didn’t expect you to be so… talkative?”
                “Oh, but I must be.” Clarissa’s smile was nothing less than a blessing for anyone who spotted it, “I need to make up for years of cold distance, don’t I? Every shared instant and each and every trivial comment counts. We have no time to dwell on the past. Now join me at the table, there’s no swifter path to a woman’s heart than a tasty dessert, and that’s one trait I’m positive you inherited from me. I can’t let your father take all the credit, can I?”
                Malia’s chest relaxed so much she feared she would burst out laughing, but she kept her composure and sat next to her mother, eager to eat, and speak, and listen. In between bites of sweet delights and sips of delicate tea, mother and child told each other stories: of lost and found love, of Arthur Daimonlance, and Gorken, and Aldous, and Bayard, of Lyra and Gabrielle, of memories mutual and secret, of ancient demons, rebellions, castles, of sleepless nights and laughter, and of the superior beverage to soak biscuits and cookies, on which they ultimately couldn’t agree. They also talked about friendship and betrayal, about family and failure, about a maiden and her dragon, about the last silver child.

                The contents of the tiered cake stand had been decimated by the time Malia asked, “Mother, may I ask for your advice?”
                “Certainly!” Clarissa put down the lemon tart she was about to nibble on, “I have more than a decade of mothering to catch up on. Ask away, go on.”
                “After everything you’ve heard, after all I did… shouldn’t I take responsibility for it? I was the heir to the northern throne at one point. I partook in a plan to change the whole kingdom, without consulting its inhabitants, for the selfish reason that it was ‘the right thing to do’ in my eyes. The whole realm needs to heal, and rebuild, and reform… But what I want to do doesn’t prioritize the realm, or my duties to it. I don’t know if I have any right to choose how to live the life I’ve been granted, time and time again, by sacrificing others. When I picture my happiness, it’s as simple as going on adventures with my friends. That’s all I want. I have a proposal for aunt Frida, but I don’t have the nerve to present it just yet. I know what I want, but not if I deserve to have it… I think.”
                “‘Deserve’ you say.” Clarissa drank from her teacup, “Are you aware of why the Eirians chose to worship beauty in the first place?”
                “No.”
                “Our forebears believed beauty was divinity showing itself in a way we could grasp, tangible and undeniable as it truly is. We humans are, however, irreparably limited: some people can’t recognize beauty, some can but forget it easily, some get confused, some are in too precarious a state to even perceive it, and so on. The first Eirians decided then, that it was their duty to follow the trail divinity left for us, to prioritize beauty above all else and follow its path to the end. But they weren’t arrogant enough, nor naïve enough, to think they were immune to faltering. We all get lost, we all make mistakes, and we can only strive to get a glimpse of truth before it inevitably eludes us. Ah, but that brief glimpse we will remember for a lifetime. We must. Eirians don’t worship beauty because we deserve to do so. It is our duty to make ourselves worthy of it, moment by moment, one day at a time, never averting our eyes from who we are and the distance between that and who we want to be. We Eirians must craft ourselves each and every day of our lives until we are beautiful. That’s what our coming of age answer is for. It isn’t some abstract, pedantic axiom; it’s supposed to be our everyday beacon.”
                Clarissa picked the lemon tart back up, “An Eirian shouldn’t question if she’s worthy, Malia. An Eirian makes herself worthy, no matter the cost.” Clarissa paused to bite the crumbly treat, “You just told me, remember? The noble Lady Kadem already imparted this lesson: if you’re true to your magical core, you already have your answer. Only the ignorant think being faithful to your own desires is easy; staying true to oneself is the primal struggle. Far too easily is excess our sin one way or another, be it as self-indulgence or as self-punishment; staying within the perfect middle-ground is near unattainable, and yet we ought to aim for it. You know all this. If what you want is the comfort of confirming the obvious, go to your friends. Their wisdom should suffice, dear.”
                Malia couldn’t help chuckling as she recited her friend’s words, “‘She’ll tell you to open up and cry on her lap, then she’ll comfort you, and then she’ll yell at you for being a crybaby.’ Aldous is much smarter than he thinks. And Licorice and Hedera seem to always be right in the end: it turns out the foundation of Eirian beauty is Balance.”
                “Or Love.” Clarissa added with a smirk, “Or Justice. Or Meaning. Or whatever word helps us bind the volatile concept, really.”
                “Thank you, mother.” Malia kissed Clarissa’s smooth cheek, “Obvious or not, you’ve given me both the comfort and the courage I needed. I also have to catch up on more than a decade of ‘daughtering’, correct?” The princess beamed, “I’ll make you proud!”
                Clarissa’s refined features twitched then, her shimmery eyes sparkled with restrained tears, her flawless nose reddened. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She had to make herself worthy, after all.

Description

I'll be posting my story here as well!  If you're interested in it, please feel free to follow my other account: ManuWrites

Thank you if you take the time to read it!

Previous Chapter:
Next Chapter:

All Chapters HERE.

CHAPTER 73: ONE TALK

                “Princess Malia, a message from your mother.” The graceful handmaiden had retreated from their chamber after handing her the lavender envelope. Inside it, a concise invitation petitioned her to join Clarissa Eirian at the Moon Garden’s gazebo.
                Malia didn’t understand why the pleasant proposition had left her so agitated. She had expected to eventually meet with her mother, of course, but now that it was an immediate prospect and not a hypothetical scenario, she felt completely unprepared for it.
                She worried too that perhaps she was becoming absolutely incompetent at concealing her emotions, because without needing to voice any of her worries, Bayard nonchalantly asked: “What’s the matter? Why are you upset?”
                Let’s hope only my friends are so adept at reading my mind. “I’m not upset, I’m… confused. It hasn’t been that long since I last saw my mother, but after everything that happened… I think for years I never actually looked at who my mother was. It was difficult to consider her circumstances and to understand her true feelings, so I just didn’t. Now it’s almost like I’m too late to start over. It feels more complicated than it should be.”
                “What’s so complicated about it?” Aldous was still munching on the peeled tangerine he had successfully stolen from Bayard minutes ago, “She’s a mom. If she’s anything like Rose, she’ll tell you to open up and cry on her lap, then she’ll comfort you, and then she’ll yell at you for being a crybaby. There’s no winning against that, and that’s fine. It’s how things go.”
                Open up and cry on her lap. Unknowingly, the redhead might have very well hit the nail on the head. Earlier that same day Malia had told her companions about her turmoil, but she hadn’t been entirely transparent. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, and she knew her comrades were likely to support her no matter what… and that was precisely why she was reluctant to ask for their advice. They were too biased in her favor, too sweet for their own good. But I if I were to ask my mother…
                “I’m off then.” She stepped out of the room.
                “We’ll be here.” Gorken patted her back. In that simple motion he gave her all the encouragement she could ever need, and more. I’m so basic it’s disconcerting, Malia surmised for the umpteenth time.
                Her heartbeat marked the pace of her walk to the radiant Moon Garden, and so she arrived quicker than even she herself anticipated. Clarissa stood up as soon as she saw the princess, the filtered uneven sunlight enhancing the woman’s already resplendent beauty. Upon gazing at her once more, Malia was certain she had none of her mother’s grace; she remembered Frida had compared her to her father and to Cattleya the blacksmith, but not to the striking northern queen. I can see why.
                “I’m so glad you came!” Clarissa held her daughter’s face before hugging her tightly, “There’s so much I want to ask you! Come sit with me. I had pastries brought straight out of the kitchens, so let us enjoy them wholly.” She kept talking as she climbed the steps of the ornate arbor, “I can never have my fill of almond pastries and blueberry tarts, but that’s an imminent threat to my regal figure. I’m so jealous you don’t seem to have that problem! You favor Arthur’s muscular build. Ah, worry not, I also had them bring strawberry pie, I remember it was your favorite.” Clarissa paused when she noticed Malia staring at her in a daze, “Is something wrong, dear?”
                “…No, not at all. I just didn’t expect you to be so… talkative?”
                “Oh, but I must be.” Clarissa’s smile was nothing less than a blessing for anyone who spotted it, “I need to make up for years of cold distance, don’t I? Every shared instant and each and every trivial comment counts. We have no time to dwell on the past. Now join me at the table, there’s no swifter path to a woman’s heart than a tasty dessert, and that’s one trait I’m positive you inherited from me. I can’t let your father take all the credit, can I?”
                Malia’s chest relaxed so much she feared she would burst out laughing, but she kept her composure and sat next to her mother, eager to eat, and speak, and listen. In between bites of sweet delights and sips of delicate tea, mother and child told each other stories: of lost and found love, of Arthur Daimonlance, and Gorken, and Aldous, and Bayard, of Lyra and Gabrielle, of memories mutual and secret, of ancient demons, rebellions, castles, of sleepless nights and laughter, and of the superior beverage to soak biscuits and cookies, on which they ultimately couldn’t agree. They also talked about friendship and betrayal, about family and failure, about a maiden and her dragon, about the last silver child.

                The contents of the tiered cake stand had been decimated by the time Malia asked, “Mother, may I ask for your advice?”
                “Certainly!” Clarissa put down the lemon tart she was about to nibble on, “I have more than a decade of mothering to catch up on. Ask away, go on.”
                “After everything you’ve heard, after all I did… shouldn’t I take responsibility for it? I was the heir to the northern throne at one point. I partook in a plan to change the whole kingdom, without consulting its inhabitants, for the selfish reason that it was ‘the right thing to do’ in my eyes. The whole realm needs to heal, and rebuild, and reform… But what I want to do doesn’t prioritize the realm, or my duties to it. I don’t know if I have any right to choose how to live the life I’ve been granted, time and time again, by sacrificing others. When I picture my happiness, it’s as simple as going on adventures with my friends. That’s all I want. I have a proposal for aunt Frida, but I don’t have the nerve to present it just yet. I know what I want, but not if I deserve to have it… I think.”
                “‘Deserve’ you say.” Clarissa drank from her teacup, “Are you aware of why the Eirians chose to worship beauty in the first place?”
                “No.”
                “Our forebears believed beauty was divinity showing itself in a way we could grasp, tangible and undeniable as it truly is. We humans are, however, irreparably limited: some people can’t recognize beauty, some can but forget it easily, some get confused, some are in too precarious a state to even perceive it, and so on. The first Eirians decided then, that it was their duty to follow the trail divinity left for us, to prioritize beauty above all else and follow its path to the end. But they weren’t arrogant enough, nor naïve enough, to think they were immune to faltering. We all get lost, we all make mistakes, and we can only strive to get a glimpse of truth before it inevitably eludes us. Ah, but that brief glimpse we will remember for a lifetime. We must. Eirians don’t worship beauty because we deserve to do so. It is our duty to make ourselves worthy of it, moment by moment, one day at a time, never averting our eyes from who we are and the distance between that and who we want to be. We Eirians must craft ourselves each and every day of our lives until we are beautiful. That’s what our coming of age answer is for. It isn’t some abstract, pedantic axiom; it’s supposed to be our everyday beacon.”
                Clarissa picked the lemon tart back up, “An Eirian shouldn’t question if she’s worthy, Malia. An Eirian makes herself worthy, no matter the cost.” Clarissa paused to bite the crumbly treat, “You just told me, remember? The noble Lady Kadem already imparted this lesson: if you’re true to your magical core, you already have your answer. Only the ignorant think being faithful to your own desires is easy; staying true to oneself is the primal struggle. Far too easily is excess our sin one way or another, be it as self-indulgence or as self-punishment; staying within the perfect middle-ground is near unattainable, and yet we ought to aim for it. You know all this. If what you want is the comfort of confirming the obvious, go to your friends. Their wisdom should suffice, dear.”
                Malia couldn’t help chuckling as she recited her friend’s words, “‘She’ll tell you to open up and cry on her lap, then she’ll comfort you, and then she’ll yell at you for being a crybaby.’ Aldous is much smarter than he thinks. And Licorice and Hedera seem to always be right in the end: it turns out the foundation of Eirian beauty is Balance.”
                “Or Love.” Clarissa added with a smirk, “Or Justice. Or Meaning. Or whatever word helps us bind the volatile concept, really.”
                “Thank you, mother.” Malia kissed Clarissa’s smooth cheek, “Obvious or not, you’ve given me both the comfort and the courage I needed. I also have to catch up on more than a decade of ‘daughtering’, correct?” The princess beamed, “I’ll make you proud!”
                Clarissa’s refined features twitched then, her shimmery eyes sparkled with restrained tears, her flawless nose reddened. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She had to make herself worthy, after all.