Then you think your detractors could have found a less pedestrian rumour to spread.
[ She's assuming it isn't true. If not even kings and queens, noble and glittering and lovely, are exempt from the problems that afflict Anahid's own marriage, then what hope is there for her? For anyone?
A bastard. What a boring supposition. Why not tell people he's a flying werebeast, or something along those lines? As unlikely as it is fantastical, sure, but at least it's fun to think about. ]
[ He laughs. The one thing Nikolai has counted on since being a prince is the strong and unwavering belief his friends have in him. But he knows one thing many of them don't know: the rumours are true.
Playing dumb has served him well thus far. Nikolai intends to milk it like one of her milk-beasts.
He tilts his head toward her and smiles lopsidedly. ]
But they do know that I'm ridiculously handsome, charming, and incredibly likeable.
[ His contraption is near the ground now. If he looks beyond her, he'll see some of the treetops near the lake. He can feel the pull of Mikhail sucking the air out from beneath the balloon. It feels like being wrapped up in the middle of a tornado. (He knows what that's like. It was brilliantly fun on the True Sea.) ]
[ Somehow, whatever opposition he has finds it easier to attack his lineage than his character. Anahid won't admit it, for fear of swelling an already over-swollen head, but she's unsurprised. ]
The confidence will serve you better than such vocal vanity, sire.
[ Said with a smile of her own.
As they touch the ground, they've ended up a good thirty yards from where they initially ascended, owing to gentle currents hidden in the clouds. The lake remains crisply visible but they're inland enough that the terrain isn't so predictable. The grass is ankle-high, masking all sorts of mischief. For a Ravkan Squaller eager to indulge his liegelord's creative ambitions, sturdy boots are a necessity; any mud coating his footwear or sloshing of day-old rain not yet soaked into the dirt goes unnoticed. In fact, as he unlatches the door to let them back out, he's too busy schooling his features into neutrality at the sight of a certain coat switch.
Anahid isn't so lucky. Her silk slippers are not made for ankle-deep mud, especially when she steps out with the expectation of hitting solid ground. Her first foot to touch ground slips out behind her. She tries to grab at the edge of the basket for purchase, but it's too little and too late.
She ends up on her knees, hands braced into the muck to keep herself from falling any further. From the knee down, her dress is completely soaked in muddy water.
As absurd, embarrassing punctuation to this little debacle, her plait slips off her shoulder and dangles cheerfully into the mud. ]
[ Nikolai doesn't understand the word nor the sentiment.
As soon as Anahid is out of the basket, Nikolai follows. She's in the mud a handful of seconds before he is, his shiny calf-high boots now muddied and covered in grit as one foot sinks into the mud while the other remains on what shouldn't be firm ground.
He laughs loudly.
Mikhail seemingly found the best places to press his feet. His boots are muddied and covered in stray grass blades, but his shoes look as shoes should be when traversing such an environment.
As soon as he pushes on the foot that hasn't sunken into the mouth of the swamp, Nikolai manages to lose his footing and joins Anahid's knees in the mud, although he's not quick enough to stop his hands from burying into the mud, either. Tugging them out with a wet pop, he shakes them, face scrunched up in laughter. ]
Now that's a landing, isn't it?
[ Nikolai bats away Mikhail's offer to try and help him out of the mud, gesturing for him to help Anahid instead. ]
Just in case she loses a slipper. I want to be a prince from the books and fetch it for her.
[ Mikhail rolls his eyes. ] I don't think that's how the stories go, moi tsar.
Then let's get them rewritten. The mud here's quite thick. I forgot this little swamp was here. [ He lets his hands hover over Anahid, ready to assist but reluctant to touch her and get her more muddied.
Some mud's found its way across his temple, on the shoulder of his white shirt (and on the front of it, splattered like paint) and in his golden hair. This is Nikolai Lantsov at his best. ]
[ With a sigh she can't quite swallow, Anahid reaches for Nikolai's hands. Even once she's back on two feet, her stability isn't assured—her feel skids a bit over the mud, the silk soles of her slippers providing almost no traction. She's forced to grab onto Nikolai's sleeve to keep from falling again, getting it even more stained with muck.
And, of course, the hem of his borrowed coat is inches deep in the stuff. In the back of her mind, Anahid is mortified; and that tremor of indignation leaves hectic slashes of pink high up on her cheeks. ]
Thank you. [ Steady on, she thinks, as her accent thickens with the struggle of maintaining her composure. ] I will have this laundered and returned to you, of course.
[ The coat, she means.
Continuing her streak of remarkably humiliating luck, Anahid sneezes, and the sudden act causes her to nearly slip again. At least she only knocks into Nikolai this time, but she's quite miserable with the last few seconds of poor presentation, mud-soaked dampness, and mess. This is Anahid Joddani at her worst. ]
[ The laughter peals out of him. His stomach almost hurts, but then he gathers himself just in time for her almost to slip and knock him on his ass again. Perhaps if he didn't have one foot wedged deep into the mud, he'd have been able to save himself, but he falls flat on his ass and buries his hands inside the sopping thick mess again.
His face is red, and his throat hurts. Nikolai eventually gathers himself and rises, flicking clumps of mud everywhere as he shakes his hands. ]
I like the coat with mud. It gives it character.
[ And Nikolai is nothing if not a king who prefers to wear stained and frayed clothes due to being worn well and loved.
Extending his hand, he flexes his wrist and thinks better of it. Anahid seems stressed about the idea of more mud, and while he doesn't care that one of his favourite coats is now stained with it, he feels she does.
He doesn't particularly wish to upset her, so: ]
Mikhail, perhaps you could help Anahid, considering your hands are, you know… [ He peers down at his, covered in brown. ] perfectly capable of helping.
[ And she knocked him over! This is truly the worst timeline. ]
Thank you, [ she says, her tone stretched thin with primness. ] But I have been walking by myself since I was a child. I'm fairly comfortable that I can manage.
[ Sure, a noble's posturing is all well and good; but it's clear from the way the corners of her mouth pull as she glances down that she's not sure if she can, in fact, manage.
There's only one way to find out. Gathering two fistfuls of her skirt, she pulls it up a few inches to reveal some truly scandalous ankle action—and also to not constrict her movement any further, as the mud-soaked fabric had started to dry clinging to her legs. And then she's off, tip toeing across the swamp and back toward the dry land surrounding the palaces grand and little.
She is moving, like, so hilariously slowly that Nikolai and Mikhail have plenty of time to catch up. And someone really ought to warn her about the leech clinging to the back of her dress. ]
[ Perhaps he should remain here for the rest of his days. It's a hilarious sight watching Anahid try to tiptoe her way through a bog. But he does his best to follow suit, knowing that he's not being particularly hospitable if he remains in the mud for the rest of his days. (Who can he rely on to run his country in his stead? David would never come out of his rooms and Genya would throttle him for leaving it in her hands. Zoya would have too much fun ordering everyone's heads be cut off.)
For the betterment of Ravka, Nikolai exhaustingly makes his way through the mud, somehow finding he's no longer ankle-deep despite thinking he's getting deeper and deeper into the pit.
He remains behind Anahid despite being able to get in front of her. Thankfully, he is; that's how he spots it. ]
You've got a little friend… here.
[ Nikolai plucks the leech off her dress, dropping it behind him into the mud.
Back on solid, not muddy land, Nikolai wipes his hands together, sending small clumps flying onto himself and the ground. He looks an utter mess. He likes it.
He smiles broadly at his balloon, which sits deflated and unmuddied beside the mud bank. ]
[ Her lips tighten a little as the fat, wiggling leech falls to the ground. Gross. ]
Not a friend I'd hope to make, I assure you.
[ But back on dry land, she's able to let go of her skirt and stop her frantic-but-slow-as-molasses tiptoeing. Her slippers still squelch with mud and stale rainwater, but at least she didn't lose one of them. Despite Nikolai's playful intentions, she can't think of anything more embarrassing than being a storybook princess who can't even keep a damn shoe on.
His smile distracts. Even after all that, standing next to him is a bit like stepping into sunshine streaming in through a window. She can't help but be warmed by it. Maybe she wishes she had as much to smile about as he does.
Well, why not start here? ]
Yes. It turns out I was far more dangerous to his Majesty's unsullied well-being than his own brilliant invention.
[ I hope you don't think I'm a coward. That bit goes unsaid. ]
[ He smiles, still so amused. ] Many people have wished to knock me on my ass. You're the first to succeed.
[ If this were a storybook, he'd have scooped her up into his arms and insisted on receiving her of her slippers squelching. But this isn't a storybook, and he doubts Anahid would enjoy that. Granted, many of the women Nikolai keeps company with wouldn't enjoy that at all. They all seem to prefer the squelching of slippers.
All very anti-storybook, it seems.
He's slow to walk, ignoring how clumps of mud stick to the toe of his boots. Mikhail remains off to the side, grinning. Despite being talkative, he's a quiet one when the mood seems to strike. Perhaps he's listening to the air… or waiting for Nikolai to fall flat on his ass again.
He's covered in mud. He can't wait to weave this story. ]
I think that's what I'll tell them when they ask. [ He tucks his hands behind his back and stands straight as he looks into the distance. ] That Anahid Joddani pushed me. But I showed her I could wear mud as well as mud could wear me.
[ Shoulders held high, she wastes no time correcting him. One of them needs to care about titles and proper conduct, she's decided; especially with the way Mikhail is grinning at them.
Even though she probably should return to her guest quarters in the Little Palace to get cleaned up, she doesn't want to leave his company. She wants to continue the conversation they were having about his father. She wants to hear the (no doubt needlessly exaggerated!) story he would tell about their unceremonious collapse into a bog. Maybe she even finds out how well he likes card games.
But these wants are a bit dangerous, aren't they? She's not so silly that she will get swept up in the fleeting attention of a young, handsome king. There are probably a couple dozen other ladies he talks to in such a way. She needs to remember what actually is. The life she's built for herself - solid, if ungleaming in comparison.
So, this, then. For him to accept or deny. ]
I should head back. My husband will be wondering where I've been all afternoon.
[ Nikolai shrugs. Perhaps he should follow expectations and escort her back to her husband, but Nikolai's never been one to heed expectations, let alone respect them.
What's the point? They're not fun.
Besides, if her husband wants her company, he can call for it. Let him venture through the hallways of the Grand Palace and the gardens and grounds in search of her. If he wanted to be in her company, perhaps he would've come along to his little test run.
Glad he didn't. He's kind of a bore.
Anyway. ]
A little mystery never hurt anyone, did it, Mikhail?
[ Mikhail doesn't appear startled when spoken to, but he does try to school his features. It's obvious to Nikolai. You don't employ someone and not learn their little tics (except, well… if you're Alexander III and Vasily). ]
No. It didn't, Moi Tsar.
[ Nikolai waves his hand, dismissive of the use of the title. He turns to Anahid with a toothy smile. ]
See? Mikhail agrees, and he's the most responsible person here.
[ How can you argue with Mikhail, who sent them up in a tested balloon high up into the skies? ]
Edited (not me rewriting history here) 2023-10-07 02:32 (UTC)
[ She isn't expecting her attempt to make a polite exit to be so rebuffed. Perhaps she should have. Mystery, perhaps, would have served her marriage better than the immediate, unflinching honesty she stepped into the moment she and her things crossed the threshold of the Joddani townhouse. But his Majesty and Mikhail seem to have her in a pincer attack, and Anahid has all but forgotten that being alone with two men - and one of them infamously unmarried, at that! - would be social ruin back home.
Siyon wouldn't hesitate. Zagiri's laughter would ring to the sky if she was hearing this conversation. Anahid is supposed to be the eldest; she shouldn't almost be the most timid. ]
Very well. I can see when I'm at a strategic disadvantage.
[ A bright smile, belying her words; and then she ignores the king entirely. Like reclaiming a card that could solidify a teetering hand into a victory. ]
[ This is where Mikhail should look at him for moral support. This is the moment Mikhail is meant to dart his eyes to his for some semblance of a direction.
But Mikhail doesn't look at him.
While the corners of his thin mouth curve upward, he doesn't look at Nikolai. Bastard. He's going rogue.
With a lift of his broad shoulders, Mikhail takes a moment as though he needs to think. What does he need to think about? He should be agreeing with him! And not because he's the king. It's because his idea is amazing. ]
I think it wouldn't hurt to stay in the Tsar's company for a little longer. His head hasn't gotten as big as it needs to be in order for us to attend supper.
[ Nikolai's glee at being supported deflates immediately into amused incredulity. ]
I resent that. [ Nikolai regards him with mock horror. ] My head doesn't get that big.
Impossibly big. There's no room left for any of us.
[ Nikolai laughs, sputtering, though. Shaking his head, he looks away and mutters intentionally loudly, ] And you wonder why I didn't invite you for a ride.
[ Anahid watches the back and forth with a soft smile. After tumbling into cold mud, a hot meal sounds really nice. That's as much as she allows herself to consider, at least for now. There's enough going on in her mind, as well as her chest, as it is. ]
I'm sure I am unqualified to comment on the circumference of his Majesty's head.
[ Her fingers twist together by her sash, eyes skimming over Nikolai's hair line. ]
With a tight furrowing of his brows, Nikolai intentionally lifts his hand to brush his fingers against his temple (but pretends it isn't intentional at all). His head feels fine. It looks fine. He has a nicely shaped head on most days! ]
[ Anahid and Mikhail share a quick look of their own, puzzled by this sudden display of curious vanity. It's Anahid who ends up taking the heat on this one. ]
I suppose if I say 'nothing, sire', you won't believe me.
[ Even though that is, quite literally, the answer. ]
Shall I make something up, or may we continue on to dinner before the sun sets?
I believe you're quite capable of doing both those things at once.
[ If only so that he has something to lord over her head much later. Nikolai's nothing if not someone searching for ways to needle those around him (good naturally, of course).
He lifts his brows at her, though he does look at Mikhail in the same manner. ]
[ Nikolai grins lopsidedly despite the insult directed his way. He gives Mikhail a friendly shove, although there's no power behind it. Instead, he's looking at Anahid, eyebrows lifted, as he takes in the sight and sound of her no longer being so prim and proper. ]
I feared I'd scared it out of you while we were up with my cloud. You can laugh at my expense; I encourage it.
[ Having that lopsided grin focused directly on her... For (at least) the second time today, her fingertips curl a bit closer to her palms. She spent weeks training herself out of every tell, every hint that might give her intentions away in a situation where bluffing and impassivity rule the table. So it's a bit infuriating that King Nikolai Lantsov can undo all that with a mere glance her way.
Infuriating, but not necessarily bad. ]
I've the courage of a milk-beast, remember? I fear nothing when my feet are on the ground.
[ Poor Mikhail has no idea what they're talking about anymore. ]
[ Once it's explained to her what blini is, Anahid confesses a preference for savoury over sweet - so they agree to add beef pelmeni to the menu (and, fortunately, no one tells her that she's committing an act of cannibalism after repeatedly comparing herself to a cow).
The meal itself is taken on one of the Grand Palace's elevated courtyards, a balcony the size of a small park that's a common area of relaxation for residing nobles and other dignitaries. Less than thirty feet away from their table, several Ravkan earls and countesses are in the middle of a life drawing class; they're circled around a woman posed on a stool, clothed only from the waist down, and hurriedly scribbling on sketchbooks with expensive charcoal sticks. Anahid had looked over exactly once before firmly keeping her eyes on anything else.
Five minutes after the dishes and drinks are brought out, a red-faced junior Squaller in a blue Kefta a bit too big for him runs up to Mikhail. The moment General Nazyalensky's back was turned, he explains, his sparring partner had tried to fly — and was now clinging desperately to one of the Little Palace's topmost spires. Mikhail valiantly hides a laugh as he takes his filled plate and bids a polite exit; and only then does the junior Squaller realise what he's walked into, and he spends the next forty seconds running through all manner of desperately respectful greeting for the Tsar before being pulled away by Mikhail.
This leaves Anahid alone with Nikolai. In Bezim, this would be unthinkable. Especially considering his unmarried status and how significantly he outranks her. She would be expected to politely excuse herself and find respectable female companionship. In Ravka, though? It doesn't seem like anyone bats an eyelash.
It's odd, and a little thrilling.
How they get on the topic of her language's honourifics, well - a belly full of delicious mulled wine and various pastries can lead to all manner of things. Unfortunately for him, Anahid is being razor-particular with his pronunciation. ]
No, azata. There's a - کلیک. [ Not knowing the word, she produces a click with her tongue instead. ] That sort of sound on the last syllable. It needs to volley up. Try it again.
[ While he's doing that, she looks around for someone to refill her glass before, greatly daring, deciding to just do it herself. #feminism ]
[ He murmurs that incredulously to himself. Nikolai had thought he was doing well with pronunciation! (Although, he knows he wasn't, not at all.) He tries it again, ignoring how she seems at odds with whether or not she's allowed to touch the bottle of wine before she actually does so.
Despite being well-travelled, Nikolai takes Ravka's freedoms for granted. Then again, he supposes he's always had more freedom than others. It's why he enjoyed studying in Ketterdam, far away from where he was Nikolai Lantsov and instead was someone else. It's why he liked that most of the military hadn't recognised him when he returned to Ravka. That anonymity is gone now, but it'd been a luxury he'd taken for granted for years.
Annoyed he can't quite get the word to mimic how it sounds coming from her, Nikolai falls back against his chair and rests his hands in his lap. He's certainly not one for defeat—and he won't be defeated!—but, Saints, is her language hard with all its volley ups and downs. This is why he's always had someone else speak to him.
Being royal encourages such laziness. He really is ashamed. ]
This is very hard, you know. [ He says that with a laugh, ignoring how his face heats. ] You're not a very good teacher. [ Lie. She's an excellent teacher. ]
[ Having felt like her Ravkan was hardly adequate, she finds her strength in their cross-language communication bolstered. She's doing ninety percent of the work, after all. All he has to do is not comment disparagingly on her accent! ]
Azatan might be easier. There's no کلیک on the masculine form. You'll need to be careful whom you address that way, however. Za is neutral, but informal. It helps if you know the person.
[ She pauses to daintily cut a pelmeni in two. They're like french fries, meant to be eaten by hand, but Anahid uses a fork. Always. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ She's assuming it isn't true. If not even kings and queens, noble and glittering and lovely, are exempt from the problems that afflict Anahid's own marriage, then what hope is there for her? For anyone?
A bastard. What a boring supposition. Why not tell people he's a flying werebeast, or something along those lines? As unlikely as it is fantastical, sure, but at least it's fun to think about. ]
It's like they don't know you at all.
[ Because they don't. Of course. ]
no subject
Playing dumb has served him well thus far. Nikolai intends to milk it like one of her milk-beasts.
He tilts his head toward her and smiles lopsidedly. ]
But they do know that I'm ridiculously handsome, charming, and incredibly likeable.
[ His contraption is near the ground now. If he looks beyond her, he'll see some of the treetops near the lake. He can feel the pull of Mikhail sucking the air out from beneath the balloon. It feels like being wrapped up in the middle of a tornado. (He knows what that's like. It was brilliantly fun on the True Sea.) ]
no subject
The confidence will serve you better than such vocal vanity, sire.
[ Said with a smile of her own.
As they touch the ground, they've ended up a good thirty yards from where they initially ascended, owing to gentle currents hidden in the clouds. The lake remains crisply visible but they're inland enough that the terrain isn't so predictable. The grass is ankle-high, masking all sorts of mischief. For a Ravkan Squaller eager to indulge his liegelord's creative ambitions, sturdy boots are a necessity; any mud coating his footwear or sloshing of day-old rain not yet soaked into the dirt goes unnoticed. In fact, as he unlatches the door to let them back out, he's too busy schooling his features into neutrality at the sight of a certain coat switch.
Anahid isn't so lucky. Her silk slippers are not made for ankle-deep mud, especially when she steps out with the expectation of hitting solid ground. Her first foot to touch ground slips out behind her. She tries to grab at the edge of the basket for purchase, but it's too little and too late.
She ends up on her knees, hands braced into the muck to keep herself from falling any further. From the knee down, her dress is completely soaked in muddy water.
As absurd, embarrassing punctuation to this little debacle, her plait slips off her shoulder and dangles cheerfully into the mud. ]
... Your Majesty, be careful!
no subject
As soon as Anahid is out of the basket, Nikolai follows. She's in the mud a handful of seconds before he is, his shiny calf-high boots now muddied and covered in grit as one foot sinks into the mud while the other remains on what shouldn't be firm ground.
He laughs loudly.
Mikhail seemingly found the best places to press his feet. His boots are muddied and covered in stray grass blades, but his shoes look as shoes should be when traversing such an environment.
As soon as he pushes on the foot that hasn't sunken into the mouth of the swamp, Nikolai manages to lose his footing and joins Anahid's knees in the mud, although he's not quick enough to stop his hands from burying into the mud, either. Tugging them out with a wet pop, he shakes them, face scrunched up in laughter. ]
Now that's a landing, isn't it?
[ Nikolai bats away Mikhail's offer to try and help him out of the mud, gesturing for him to help Anahid instead. ]
Just in case she loses a slipper. I want to be a prince from the books and fetch it for her.
[ Mikhail rolls his eyes. ] I don't think that's how the stories go, moi tsar.
Then let's get them rewritten. The mud here's quite thick. I forgot this little swamp was here. [ He lets his hands hover over Anahid, ready to assist but reluctant to touch her and get her more muddied.
Some mud's found its way across his temple, on the shoulder of his white shirt (and on the front of it, splattered like paint) and in his golden hair. This is Nikolai Lantsov at his best. ]
no subject
And, of course, the hem of his borrowed coat is inches deep in the stuff. In the back of her mind, Anahid is mortified; and that tremor of indignation leaves hectic slashes of pink high up on her cheeks. ]
Thank you. [ Steady on, she thinks, as her accent thickens with the struggle of maintaining her composure. ] I will have this laundered and returned to you, of course.
[ The coat, she means.
Continuing her streak of remarkably humiliating luck, Anahid sneezes, and the sudden act causes her to nearly slip again. At least she only knocks into Nikolai this time, but she's quite miserable with the last few seconds of poor presentation, mud-soaked dampness, and mess. This is Anahid Joddani at her worst. ]
no subject
His face is red, and his throat hurts. Nikolai eventually gathers himself and rises, flicking clumps of mud everywhere as he shakes his hands. ]
I like the coat with mud. It gives it character.
[ And Nikolai is nothing if not a king who prefers to wear stained and frayed clothes due to being worn well and loved.
Extending his hand, he flexes his wrist and thinks better of it. Anahid seems stressed about the idea of more mud, and while he doesn't care that one of his favourite coats is now stained with it, he feels she does.
He doesn't particularly wish to upset her, so: ]
Mikhail, perhaps you could help Anahid, considering your hands are, you know… [ He peers down at his, covered in brown. ] perfectly capable of helping.
no subject
Thank you, [ she says, her tone stretched thin with primness. ] But I have been walking by myself since I was a child. I'm fairly comfortable that I can manage.
[ Sure, a noble's posturing is all well and good; but it's clear from the way the corners of her mouth pull as she glances down that she's not sure if she can, in fact, manage.
There's only one way to find out. Gathering two fistfuls of her skirt, she pulls it up a few inches to reveal some truly scandalous ankle action—and also to not constrict her movement any further, as the mud-soaked fabric had started to dry clinging to her legs. And then she's off, tip toeing across the swamp and back toward the dry land surrounding the palaces grand and little.
She is moving, like, so hilariously slowly that Nikolai and Mikhail have plenty of time to catch up. And someone really ought to warn her about the leech clinging to the back of her dress. ]
no subject
For the betterment of Ravka, Nikolai exhaustingly makes his way through the mud, somehow finding he's no longer ankle-deep despite thinking he's getting deeper and deeper into the pit.
He remains behind Anahid despite being able to get in front of her. Thankfully, he is; that's how he spots it. ]
You've got a little friend… here.
[ Nikolai plucks the leech off her dress, dropping it behind him into the mud.
Back on solid, not muddy land, Nikolai wipes his hands together, sending small clumps flying onto himself and the ground. He looks an utter mess. He likes it.
He smiles broadly at his balloon, which sits deflated and unmuddied beside the mud bank. ]
I think we can call that a good test ride.
no subject
Not a friend I'd hope to make, I assure you.
[ But back on dry land, she's able to let go of her skirt and stop her frantic-but-slow-as-molasses tiptoeing. Her slippers still squelch with mud and stale rainwater, but at least she didn't lose one of them. Despite Nikolai's playful intentions, she can't think of anything more embarrassing than being a storybook princess who can't even keep a damn shoe on.
His smile distracts. Even after all that, standing next to him is a bit like stepping into sunshine streaming in through a window. She can't help but be warmed by it. Maybe she wishes she had as much to smile about as he does.
Well, why not start here? ]
Yes. It turns out I was far more dangerous to his Majesty's unsullied well-being than his own brilliant invention.
[ I hope you don't think I'm a coward. That bit goes unsaid. ]
no subject
[ If this were a storybook, he'd have scooped her up into his arms and insisted on receiving her of her slippers squelching. But this isn't a storybook, and he doubts Anahid would enjoy that. Granted, many of the women Nikolai keeps company with wouldn't enjoy that at all. They all seem to prefer the squelching of slippers.
All very anti-storybook, it seems.
He's slow to walk, ignoring how clumps of mud stick to the toe of his boots. Mikhail remains off to the side, grinning. Despite being talkative, he's a quiet one when the mood seems to strike. Perhaps he's listening to the air… or waiting for Nikolai to fall flat on his ass again.
He's covered in mud. He can't wait to weave this story. ]
I think that's what I'll tell them when they ask. [ He tucks his hands behind his back and stands straight as he looks into the distance. ] That Anahid Joddani pushed me. But I showed her I could wear mud as well as mud could wear me.
no subject
[ Shoulders held high, she wastes no time correcting him. One of them needs to care about titles and proper conduct, she's decided; especially with the way Mikhail is grinning at them.
Even though she probably should return to her guest quarters in the Little Palace to get cleaned up, she doesn't want to leave his company. She wants to continue the conversation they were having about his father. She wants to hear the (no doubt needlessly exaggerated!) story he would tell about their unceremonious collapse into a bog. Maybe she even finds out how well he likes card games.
But these wants are a bit dangerous, aren't they? She's not so silly that she will get swept up in the fleeting attention of a young, handsome king. There are probably a couple dozen other ladies he talks to in such a way. She needs to remember what actually is. The life she's built for herself - solid, if ungleaming in comparison.
So, this, then. For him to accept or deny. ]
I should head back. My husband will be wondering where I've been all afternoon.
[ نه, she thinks. No, he won't. ]
no subject
[ Nikolai shrugs. Perhaps he should follow expectations and escort her back to her husband, but Nikolai's never been one to heed expectations, let alone respect them.
What's the point? They're not fun.
Besides, if her husband wants her company, he can call for it. Let him venture through the hallways of the Grand Palace and the gardens and grounds in search of her. If he wanted to be in her company, perhaps he would've come along to his little test run.
Glad he didn't. He's kind of a bore.
Anyway. ]
A little mystery never hurt anyone, did it, Mikhail?
[ Mikhail doesn't appear startled when spoken to, but he does try to school his features. It's obvious to Nikolai. You don't employ someone and not learn their little tics (except, well… if you're Alexander III and Vasily). ]
No. It didn't, Moi Tsar.
[ Nikolai waves his hand, dismissive of the use of the title. He turns to Anahid with a toothy smile. ]
See? Mikhail agrees, and he's the most responsible person here.
[ How can you argue with Mikhail, who sent them up in a tested balloon high up into the skies? ]
no subject
Siyon wouldn't hesitate. Zagiri's laughter would ring to the sky if she was hearing this conversation. Anahid is supposed to be the eldest; she shouldn't almost be the most timid. ]
Very well. I can see when I'm at a strategic disadvantage.
[ A bright smile, belying her words; and then she ignores the king entirely. Like reclaiming a card that could solidify a teetering hand into a victory. ]
Mikhail, what do you suggest?
no subject
But Mikhail doesn't look at him.
While the corners of his thin mouth curve upward, he doesn't look at Nikolai. Bastard. He's going rogue.
With a lift of his broad shoulders, Mikhail takes a moment as though he needs to think. What does he need to think about? He should be agreeing with him! And not because he's the king. It's because his idea is amazing. ]
I think it wouldn't hurt to stay in the Tsar's company for a little longer. His head hasn't gotten as big as it needs to be in order for us to attend supper.
[ Nikolai's glee at being supported deflates immediately into amused incredulity. ]
I resent that. [ Nikolai regards him with mock horror. ] My head doesn't get that big.
Impossibly big. There's no room left for any of us.
[ Nikolai laughs, sputtering, though. Shaking his head, he looks away and mutters intentionally loudly, ] And you wonder why I didn't invite you for a ride.
no subject
I'm sure I am unqualified to comment on the circumference of his Majesty's head.
[ Her fingers twist together by her sash, eyes skimming over Nikolai's hair line. ]
Supper sounds lovely.
no subject
With a tight furrowing of his brows, Nikolai intentionally lifts his hand to brush his fingers against his temple (but pretends it isn't intentional at all). His head feels fine. It looks fine. He has a nicely shaped head on most days! ]
What's wrong with my head?
no subject
I suppose if I say 'nothing, sire', you won't believe me.
[ Even though that is, quite literally, the answer. ]
Shall I make something up, or may we continue on to dinner before the sun sets?
no subject
[ If only so that he has something to lord over her head much later. Nikolai's nothing if not someone searching for ways to needle those around him (good naturally, of course).
He lifts his brows at her, though he does look at Mikhail in the same manner. ]
What's wrong with my head?
no subject
Anahid can't help herself. She buries a sputtering laugh in her hands. ]
no subject
[ Nikolai grins lopsidedly despite the insult directed his way. He gives Mikhail a friendly shove, although there's no power behind it. Instead, he's looking at Anahid, eyebrows lifted, as he takes in the sight and sound of her no longer being so prim and proper. ]
I feared I'd scared it out of you while we were up with my cloud. You can laugh at my expense; I encourage it.
no subject
Infuriating, but not necessarily bad. ]
I've the courage of a milk-beast, remember? I fear nothing when my feet are on the ground.
[ Poor Mikhail has no idea what they're talking about anymore. ]
no subject
[ A cow or a goat? Does it even matter? Nikolai imagines it doesn't. Both are quite ferocious on a given day and if irritated. ]
You know, I don't quite know what foods you like. It's quite presumptuous of me to expect you to like what we like to eat after we touch clouds.
[ He glances at Mikhail who holds his hands up briefly as if to say 'You take this one, moi tsar'. ]
We Ravkans enjoy some fruit, crunchy bread, and, well… I'm craving some blini.
no subject
The meal itself is taken on one of the Grand Palace's elevated courtyards, a balcony the size of a small park that's a common area of relaxation for residing nobles and other dignitaries. Less than thirty feet away from their table, several Ravkan earls and countesses are in the middle of a life drawing class; they're circled around a woman posed on a stool, clothed only from the waist down, and hurriedly scribbling on sketchbooks with expensive charcoal sticks. Anahid had looked over exactly once before firmly keeping her eyes on anything else.
Five minutes after the dishes and drinks are brought out, a red-faced junior Squaller in a blue Kefta a bit too big for him runs up to Mikhail. The moment General Nazyalensky's back was turned, he explains, his sparring partner had tried to fly — and was now clinging desperately to one of the Little Palace's topmost spires. Mikhail valiantly hides a laugh as he takes his filled plate and bids a polite exit; and only then does the junior Squaller realise what he's walked into, and he spends the next forty seconds running through all manner of desperately respectful greeting for the Tsar before being pulled away by Mikhail.
This leaves Anahid alone with Nikolai. In Bezim, this would be unthinkable. Especially considering his unmarried status and how significantly he outranks her. She would be expected to politely excuse herself and find respectable female companionship. In Ravka, though? It doesn't seem like anyone bats an eyelash.
It's odd, and a little thrilling.
How they get on the topic of her language's honourifics, well - a belly full of delicious mulled wine and various pastries can lead to all manner of things. Unfortunately for him, Anahid is being razor-particular with his pronunciation. ]
No, azata. There's a - کلیک. [ Not knowing the word, she produces a click with her tongue instead. ] That sort of sound on the last syllable. It needs to volley up. Try it again.
[ While he's doing that, she looks around for someone to refill her glass before, greatly daring, deciding to just do it herself. #feminism ]
no subject
[ He murmurs that incredulously to himself. Nikolai had thought he was doing well with pronunciation! (Although, he knows he wasn't, not at all.) He tries it again, ignoring how she seems at odds with whether or not she's allowed to touch the bottle of wine before she actually does so.
Despite being well-travelled, Nikolai takes Ravka's freedoms for granted. Then again, he supposes he's always had more freedom than others. It's why he enjoyed studying in Ketterdam, far away from where he was Nikolai Lantsov and instead was someone else. It's why he liked that most of the military hadn't recognised him when he returned to Ravka. That anonymity is gone now, but it'd been a luxury he'd taken for granted for years.
Annoyed he can't quite get the word to mimic how it sounds coming from her, Nikolai falls back against his chair and rests his hands in his lap. He's certainly not one for defeat—and he won't be defeated!—but, Saints, is her language hard with all its volley ups and downs. This is why he's always had someone else speak to him.
Being royal encourages such laziness. He really is ashamed. ]
This is very hard, you know. [ He says that with a laugh, ignoring how his face heats. ] You're not a very good teacher. [ Lie. She's an excellent teacher. ]
no subject
[ Having felt like her Ravkan was hardly adequate, she finds her strength in their cross-language communication bolstered. She's doing ninety percent of the work, after all. All he has to do is not comment disparagingly on her accent! ]
Azatan might be easier. There's no کلیک on the masculine form. You'll need to be careful whom you address that way, however. Za is neutral, but informal. It helps if you know the person.
[ She pauses to daintily cut a pelmeni in two. They're like french fries, meant to be eaten by hand, but Anahid uses a fork. Always. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)