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femslashficlets2020-06-10 01:41 pm
ilthit) wrote in femslashficlets2020-06-10 01:41 pm
Entry tags:
[Tarot] Well-Wishings (Original)
Title: Well-Wishings
Fandom: Original (Holly and Hawthorn)
Pairing: Esserve of the Holly and Hawthorne/Charlotte Montrouge
Rating: general audiences
Prompt: The Hanged Man
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: Charlotte's relatives do not approve her new connection.
Notes: Direct continuation of The Library at Midnight, 1896, but I hope it stands on its own. Crossposted onrainbowfic .
Whispering filled the air as Charlotte walked alone up the narrow foot-path on the ancient hill grown over with holly and oak. The Well of Forgotten Voices did not always speak, but it recognized the scent of a true Montrouge—at least that was what her mentor had told her, the first time they had come up this path together.
She passed the statues of the five wise women, each silently miming their advice: keep thy secrets to thine self being the first and most important, and simplest to read, as the crudely pictured hag held her hands crossed over her mouth. She read the others as they passed, in the language of the statues’ poses. The second held a broken jug. Mend some things, yet let others go.
Here in the shadows of the trees, she felt calm, safe. Should any outsider wander in, the trees would guide them astray. The well would fall silent and hide itself in its curtains of holly.
The path turned into worn stone steps as she entered the clearing. The whispers echoed the word welcome, welcome. Charlotte’s chest puffed up with pride. She was only twenty-three and had three older brothers yet living, but she was the true Montrouge heir—the chosen one, the conduit, the disciple of the ancient arts. Her brothers would disappear into the mediocrity of fox hunts and local politics. What she did really mattered.
“Greetings, ladies, gentlemen,” she said aloud, and peered into the well. She would see nothing but darkness, but it would be bad manners not to face the people one spoke to. “It is done. The gate is closed.”
And did thou secure thyself a demonic servant? asked Augustus Montrouge, a rather stuffy ceremonial magician from the time of Queen Elizabeth.
“I wouldn’t say so, no,” said Charlotte. It had been more the other way around, if her pride allowed her to admit it. “The deal is only temporary.”
You cannot temporarily deal with the fairies! That was Pineapple Nell, one of the less presentable of Charlotte’s Georgian forebears.
“Yes, I know,” Charlotte snapped. “Nonetheless, the gate is closed, and the means by which I closed it is my own affair. You ought to be happy. No more monsters sneaking in close enough to breathe on your hill, killing villagers and ruining crops. Uthcaire Hall will pull through, as it always has.”
As it always has, the voices repeated, turning into a chorus.
Charlotte made her way back in a state of pique, even as she checked and double-checked the protective spells and stopped for a cautious chat with the Eldest Oak. The ancestors’ reaction was not encouraging. She could only imagine what her mentor would say, and she hadn’t even told them the whole truth.
She touched her chest, traced one raised scar-line through the thin fabric of her blouse. These secret markings now bound her to Esserve of the Holly and Hawthorn, in exchange for her help in closing the gateway.
Holly and Hawthorn. That was what she needed to research next. It was what the monster referred to as her organization. Her family? Was it a guild or a house? Charlotte’s grandfather’s library held a long book of names said to belong to fairies, which Charlotte had only just browsed before. Her fingers itched to open its pages now.
She could also perform another summoning and ask Esserve directly. Her skin heated at the thought, and her heart picked up its beat. As much as she loved research and the never-ending delight of organizing her data in neat rows of references, it was the essence of what she was organizing that excited her the most.
Esserve. In Cairo she had been a dark queen, gold and brown and covered in bangles that sang as she moved. Last week at the library she had been something between animal and man, a crown of bone upon her skull. Earlier this week she had been a whisper in Charlotte’s ear, half in and half out of this reality as the ancient chalk lines on the recently exposed bedrock glowed golden, then dimmed into nothing. As they dulled, so had Esserve’s presence.
Charlotte could always feel the absence of her; it was her presence that made her feel alive. She was the first of the great ancient monsters she had encountered, nothing like the little troublemaking goblins and sprites one positively tripped over in Uthcaire’s neglected gardens. Esserve was the first of the royal bloodlines who had noticed her. ‘And thank goodness for that,’ her mentor would have said. ‘You might have gotten the likes of Lady Six.’
It would be extraordinarily stupid to go looking for Esserve, just to drink in her glory. She was the enemy, Charlotte reminded herself. She was what Charlotte was dedicated to eradicating off the face of the earth.
Even if she was also the most beautiful thing Charlotte had ever seen.
She breathed in the open country air as the trees thinned at the bottom of the hill. The dirt road wound up through the fields here, an uneven path that would later connect with a larger cart road that would take her back to the Hall. Her brother Edwin would have set up the lawn tennis on a day as mild and sunny as this, and be arguing with Colin about it, because Colin always preferred a cricket pitch. Robert would still be in town with Father; not that Robert showed his face much even when in residence. There would be nothing and no-one standing in the way between her and grandfather’s library.
So that was what she would do. She would beg for a light lunch from Cook and take it with her to the small library, and begin pouring over the books for any references to ‘Holly and Hawthorn’. Even if she had bitten off more than she could chew, why—a Montrouge never went down without a fight.
Fandom: Original (Holly and Hawthorn)
Pairing: Esserve of the Holly and Hawthorne/Charlotte Montrouge
Rating: general audiences
Prompt: The Hanged Man
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: Charlotte's relatives do not approve her new connection.
Notes: Direct continuation of The Library at Midnight, 1896, but I hope it stands on its own. Crossposted on
rainbowfic .Whispering filled the air as Charlotte walked alone up the narrow foot-path on the ancient hill grown over with holly and oak. The Well of Forgotten Voices did not always speak, but it recognized the scent of a true Montrouge—at least that was what her mentor had told her, the first time they had come up this path together.
She passed the statues of the five wise women, each silently miming their advice: keep thy secrets to thine self being the first and most important, and simplest to read, as the crudely pictured hag held her hands crossed over her mouth. She read the others as they passed, in the language of the statues’ poses. The second held a broken jug. Mend some things, yet let others go.
Here in the shadows of the trees, she felt calm, safe. Should any outsider wander in, the trees would guide them astray. The well would fall silent and hide itself in its curtains of holly.
The path turned into worn stone steps as she entered the clearing. The whispers echoed the word welcome, welcome. Charlotte’s chest puffed up with pride. She was only twenty-three and had three older brothers yet living, but she was the true Montrouge heir—the chosen one, the conduit, the disciple of the ancient arts. Her brothers would disappear into the mediocrity of fox hunts and local politics. What she did really mattered.
“Greetings, ladies, gentlemen,” she said aloud, and peered into the well. She would see nothing but darkness, but it would be bad manners not to face the people one spoke to. “It is done. The gate is closed.”
And did thou secure thyself a demonic servant? asked Augustus Montrouge, a rather stuffy ceremonial magician from the time of Queen Elizabeth.
“I wouldn’t say so, no,” said Charlotte. It had been more the other way around, if her pride allowed her to admit it. “The deal is only temporary.”
You cannot temporarily deal with the fairies! That was Pineapple Nell, one of the less presentable of Charlotte’s Georgian forebears.
“Yes, I know,” Charlotte snapped. “Nonetheless, the gate is closed, and the means by which I closed it is my own affair. You ought to be happy. No more monsters sneaking in close enough to breathe on your hill, killing villagers and ruining crops. Uthcaire Hall will pull through, as it always has.”
As it always has, the voices repeated, turning into a chorus.
Charlotte made her way back in a state of pique, even as she checked and double-checked the protective spells and stopped for a cautious chat with the Eldest Oak. The ancestors’ reaction was not encouraging. She could only imagine what her mentor would say, and she hadn’t even told them the whole truth.
She touched her chest, traced one raised scar-line through the thin fabric of her blouse. These secret markings now bound her to Esserve of the Holly and Hawthorn, in exchange for her help in closing the gateway.
Holly and Hawthorn. That was what she needed to research next. It was what the monster referred to as her organization. Her family? Was it a guild or a house? Charlotte’s grandfather’s library held a long book of names said to belong to fairies, which Charlotte had only just browsed before. Her fingers itched to open its pages now.
She could also perform another summoning and ask Esserve directly. Her skin heated at the thought, and her heart picked up its beat. As much as she loved research and the never-ending delight of organizing her data in neat rows of references, it was the essence of what she was organizing that excited her the most.
Esserve. In Cairo she had been a dark queen, gold and brown and covered in bangles that sang as she moved. Last week at the library she had been something between animal and man, a crown of bone upon her skull. Earlier this week she had been a whisper in Charlotte’s ear, half in and half out of this reality as the ancient chalk lines on the recently exposed bedrock glowed golden, then dimmed into nothing. As they dulled, so had Esserve’s presence.
Charlotte could always feel the absence of her; it was her presence that made her feel alive. She was the first of the great ancient monsters she had encountered, nothing like the little troublemaking goblins and sprites one positively tripped over in Uthcaire’s neglected gardens. Esserve was the first of the royal bloodlines who had noticed her. ‘And thank goodness for that,’ her mentor would have said. ‘You might have gotten the likes of Lady Six.’
It would be extraordinarily stupid to go looking for Esserve, just to drink in her glory. She was the enemy, Charlotte reminded herself. She was what Charlotte was dedicated to eradicating off the face of the earth.
Even if she was also the most beautiful thing Charlotte had ever seen.
She breathed in the open country air as the trees thinned at the bottom of the hill. The dirt road wound up through the fields here, an uneven path that would later connect with a larger cart road that would take her back to the Hall. Her brother Edwin would have set up the lawn tennis on a day as mild and sunny as this, and be arguing with Colin about it, because Colin always preferred a cricket pitch. Robert would still be in town with Father; not that Robert showed his face much even when in residence. There would be nothing and no-one standing in the way between her and grandfather’s library.
So that was what she would do. She would beg for a light lunch from Cook and take it with her to the small library, and begin pouring over the books for any references to ‘Holly and Hawthorn’. Even if she had bitten off more than she could chew, why—a Montrouge never went down without a fight.