Vanessa Clement
Adult
Posts : 161
Birthday : 1973-06-22
Join date : 2021-12-12
Location : Palace of Versailles, France
Job/hobbies : The Lady Clement
 | | Subject: Double Edged (Closed) Sun Dec 12, 2021 3:00 pm | |
| “He calls me Ven”
Years from now, the Lady Clement would not remember what she was doing in the exact moment when the static charged air in the entire palace changed. It made no sense, the room she was in had wide open windows. Sunshine poured in through its magical filter, birds sang outside, Sierra spoke about something or other that needed to be addressed. And yet it definitely happened, even if no one else could feel it. The pleasant breeze grew angry, restrictive, almost cutting off her air supply as it gushed in and around her, ringing so loudly in her ears that everything else became void.
She would not remember what she said to excuse herself from the room, or even if she said anything at all. Mayhaps she simply stood from where she was seated, walked towards the door, ignored all cries of “M’Lady” and began walking towards the Dehlientelle. Was she followed, did someone try to touch her? If they had, they would have been met with the fierce scorching touch of a woman with only one goal in mind. When something was this wrong, there was only one place to go. Her strides were calm, not hurried because she was a creature bound by habit and tradition. To those observing from far away, it would look merely as though the Lady of the House was out for a walk. Only those who were close enough to gaze upon her face would note the additional paleness, the glassy eyed stare and the purposeful steps. The anger and energy radiating around her became her momentum, carrying her forwards to the only place she needed to be right now.
Louis was where he’d always been, at the center of the maze where two children once built a haven for one. His dark outline against the bright sunshine struck so deep, Vanessa was winded for a moment, her eyes finally receding into their normal color now that he was in sight. Now that her heart understood he was safe. Watching him stooped, his shoulders bent, his back curved away from the back rest of the bench where countless generations had took solace and reward in finally reaching the center of the maze.
She had never seen her husband so defeated before.
There was no need to announce herself, there never had been. Silently, she walked up to him, sinking down upon the grass in front of him so that her head were level with his knees. Without a word the Lady Clement bowed her head forwards, resting it gently on his thigh, the surest way to remind him that she was here, and that whatever had happened, they would get through it together. They had suffered worse before, for the worse thing Vanessa could ever imagine was being away from him. Whatever this was, it could not be as bad as her imagination. The witch closed her eyes, her head still nestled in her husband’s lap, and an age passed.
Until she finally felt his fingers in her hair, stroking the soft strands more out of necessity than fondness. The Lord Clement quietly fingered his wife’s hair, curling the strands lightly around his fingers before springing them free to repeat the process once more, creating partitions and then covering them up again, feeling the silken threads flow through his hands in a manner that promised permanence and stability. As he played with her hair, he spoke of his morning, feeling her warm frame against his. He couldn’t have looked her in the eye even if he wanted to, because Vanessa would never shame her husband like that.
“I have decided to allow it.” Most men used those words to compliment a tone of authority. Most men were kings of their respective castles. Louis spoke the words as a question, perhaps desperate to be talked out of it, perhaps wanting verbal approval that he had done the right thing.
Louis Charles Phillip Clement may not have been most men, but his wife was like all good wives. And good wives did not contradict their husband’s wishes.
Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing stilled, her blood grew colder in the hot sunshine. She didn’t feel him descend from the bench to sit beside her on the ground, she barely felt his arms enclose her in an embrace, she did not believe in the assurances that everything would be alright because he respected her too much to lie to her and say that they would. He had made the decision together with Jacques. The men of House Clement had spoken. They had done what they thought was best.
Now it was her turn.
Because when all was said and done, men had no idea how to protect the family. The wisdom of the ancestors had always encrusted that task with the Lady of the House. And if there was ever a choice between degrading herself to protect her family, it was no choice at all.
They stayed there for a long time, until eventually; the sunshine gave way to summer rain. Warm, salty, and staining all it touched.
A coffee and a half
“Coffee,” Clara announced, making her way up the back stone steps to the roof of Harrington House, two mugs held in two hands and a plate of sandwiches balanced on her head. Anyone else would have grabbed a tray, Kit reflected as he watched her sandwich laden head bob up the large steps, the coffee sloshing around dangerously because the psychic needed to focus more on her hands with the mugs than the precariously balanced plate on her head.
“Clara darling, you’re an angel. What would I do without you?”
“Fall asleep of course,” the witch replied promptly, depositing the mugs on the low table between the two deck chairs. As an afterthought, she reached for the sandwiches, adjusting them on the table while Kit hurried to put the lenses he had been working with today out of the way. The heat was excruciating, so much so that the man had removed his t shirt a long time ago and was still sweating profusely. Clara and been by the pool before now, enjoying hot days as they were meant to be enjoyed but fear of heat stroke had driven her in after a while. Not Kit though, the blinding rays when captured at just the right angle unveiled patterns, light patterns that he needed captured to weave and play with later.
“You really can see the future,” he joked, picking up his mug and taking a deep draught of the coffee that had powered him through most of the morning and afternoon. Wordlessly, Clara reached for a cut triangle sandwich, the height of her culinary prowess. The spread was store brought and she had just managed to cut the bread in neat triangles, but Kit wouldn’t have it any other way. He watched her fondly take a large bite, nothing nibbly or ladylike about it. Clara harbored a ravenous appetite, despised unnecessary cutlery and would drink everything from a red vodka cup if it meant saving up on washing.
“Mimosa called earlier,” Clara informed him halfway through her sandwich. “Kid’s having the time of her life. Her friend Mercy was with her too, those two are now a package deal I take it, they hold hands all the time, I might have to intervene before they become one of those disgusting people we hate.”
Kit chuckled. “It’s just hand holding, tell me when they start kissing so I can lose my shit properly. Not now though.” No they had a few more years before they had to worry about that with Mimosa. Her mother had started seeing a boyfriend at fifteen… sixteen? They had a few more years.
“Whatever you say, Gramps,” the dark haired witch tossed out, having polished off her sandwich during his introspection. They had grown old and it showed. In his fifties, Kit was no longer as prone to quick conclusions, fast solutions or over reactions. Clara too had mellowed out. Though mellow for Clara was still very high strung for most people. But perhaps that was just Clara, ageless and beautiful in all her unapologetic blatant Clara-ness.
She must have sensed his appreciative gaze because a moment later, she was looking back at him, her dark eyes questioning “what are you looking at?” The words that came out of her mouth were different though. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” It had been over thirty year and the joke had still remained fresh.
“I’d be delighted,” Kit replied, lifting the camera with a speed that bellied a man his age. Clara didn’t even have time to pull a funny face before the flash went off, capturing her in the brief moment of serene calmness with the right amount of mischief twinkling in her eyes at what she was about to do.
“Lemme seeeee,” the witch whined, taking the camera from him and examining the most recent shot, head canted to one side as she studied her own portrait. “Not bad Mr. Harrington, you almost made me look beautiful.”
“Almost,” Kit agreed, reaching to retrieve his camera. The smack that followed had him yelping out loud, the area on his shoulder reddening slightly from where Clara’s palm had struck it. “I mean, you are the fairest creature to walk the earth and this camera could never do justice to all that you are.”
“Much better,” the psychic nodded before reaching for her own mug of coffee. This was simple, this was them. Sitting on the roof, drinking coffee, talking about the children. Clara had never seen herself in the role of a conventional home maker and yet that was what she had become, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially on days like today when Kit was present, he was all there, work obsessed as he was. If the witch had to choose someone to grow old with, she wouldn’t have missed the mark much from Kit Harrington.
The witch smiled into her mug, today was a good day. And like a true psychic, she saw exactly how it was going to be ruined. Because as much as they all liked to pretend that Kit was present and theirs and in possession of free will, all It took was a single second to remind everyone that he was none of those things.
Clara didn’t know how they communicated, Kit didn’t even tell her where he was going as he left to shower and change, his mostly full coffee mug forgotten on the table, she only knew because she had seen it. She knew exactly what he was going to do and she could not stop it.
Letting out a cry of anguish, the witch reached for his cup and threw it across the roof, watching it shatter against the bricks into a million pieces, destroyed as soundly as her perfect day had been just moments ago.
Two Vows
She had said was she was going to pray, and Vanessa didn’t believe in lying to her husband. So here she was, up in the old towers of the palace, areas that needed near constant reconstruction to stay standing. It was within these rooms that the Lady Lissette, first of her name, had prayed. The collective strengths of all the Ladies of House Clement resided in this cold room where years of prayer beads lay mixed in their bowls, everlasting candles burnt at the altar for the seven Gods and a white tree with scarlet leaves and branches flourished to one side. It was in this room that Grandmere had taught her to pray, and in this room where she had taught Mimosa the very same.
The seven faces of God looked down upon her from their various shrines. The Mother, the Maiden, the Crone, all with fresh incense scents and flowers and offerings gazed down at Vanessa with concern. The Father, the Smith and the Warrior showed indifference with their hollow eyes, likely in retribution for this devotee had little time to offer at their altar. But Vanessa had eyes for only one of the faces of the Seven today.
The Stranger.
She was about to entrust the most important thing she had to the Stranger, and he was right on time.
“Vanessa?”
Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck midnight, exactly nine hours ahead of the sunny afternoon atop the sun drenched roof of Harrington Home in Carmel. Anyone else might have wondered how he breached the Palace security. Whether he even did so, and how he found his way to her private prayer tower. Very few people knew of this place and even fewer were allowed in.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and today The Lady Clement was the former.
“Monsieur Harrington.”
The American looked around the room once, taking in all the Gods standing in judgment, looking disapprovingly at the meeting taking place between two individuals who had no business being in a holy space at this time of night. Vanessa didn’t know what he had left behind to come here at this hour, but she knew exactly what she was risking. And how necessary that risk was.
“I see your husband isn’t joining us.”
“Then you are shortsighted and I can do nothing about that.”
“Why am I here, Vanessa?” The exasperation was genuine, and were she a kinder person, she would have sympathized. It was far from convenient forcing yourself to appear just because someone summoned you to, unable to explain even to yourself why you had to do it, simply knowing that you did. His question was as much for himself as it was for her. And she didn’t have an answer either. When the witch had first realized what had to be done, what she had to do, she had just known he would come. She had used that knowledge against him because even if she didn’t know why, she knew Kit Harrington still – after all these years – lacked the power to refuse her.
“I have a daughter,” Vanessa began, the English foreign to the taste and threatening to spew like curses from her tongue. Everything about this was beneath her, but this was not about her. “And as you well know, when one has a daughter, one does whatever it takes to protect her.” Kit had learned that lesson before her. Just because their brief entanglement had resulted in a human being did not mean they had a daughter together. He had a child, she had children, but they did not have a family together. As she spoke of Elenore’s decision, she could feel herself disengaging, her tone flat, her facial features blank, her eyes steely and unforgiving. “Children often don’t understand what’s good for them, but parents do. And as her mother, I need you to watch over my child while she is in America. No harm is to ever befall my Elenore within the duration of her studies and her stay in your country.”
“I don’t know that you expect me to do.”
“All that you can, to ensure the safety of my child. I need a promise… a vow…”
“You can’t be serious,” the man breathed, only to recoil at how serious she actually was. He and been summoned all this way to be asked to put his life on the line for a girl he had never met, a girl who would never know what he had done for her, all because he could not refuse a girl he had once known. “How do you know if I’m even the best person for the job. Look how I fucked up with Azalea-“
“Which is why it will be a double vow, bound twice by two conditions, and two lives,” Vanessa stated calmly, the strength of the women of the past holding her up as she stood amidst the Gods. “Should you fail, both our lives are forfeit.” And this condition, more than anything else, would make sure he succeeded. Because not only could Kit Harrington never refuse her, but he could never put her in danger. His weakness would be the strength and protection Elenore would draw on for the next three years.
The photographer looked horrified, alarmingly more so then when the question was of his own life. Doubt flickered across his features along with the flames from the everlasting candles. “There’s no need to resort to such things, just… send her somewhere else. Get her father to redirect her course or… something.”
“This is the only way,” Vanessa replied shortly, her voice barely above a whisper, drawing him closer against his will to hear her. The words she said, and the words he heard were not the same. While perfectly aware of his own feelings towards this cold, untouchable beauty, the man harbored no illusions for her sentiments. She had called upon him because… he was very literally her last option. If there was a way she could have protected her daughter without his help, she would have found it.
Everyone else had deserted her.
“Ness-“
Vanessa flinched, forcing him to take a step back. The old moniker may as well have been a physical blow.
“My daughter is the future of this House, she is my entire life and her father’s blood runs through her veins. I will not see her harmed.”
For the first time, Kit saw the woman before him as she was. Lines of grief marred her forehead, small circle of grey adorned the underskin of her eyes, tears threatened the edge of her vision, her unpainted lips wobbled as she spoke and above it all, her narrow frame rattled from the cold, the candles only providing light but not warmth in this cold room of stone faced deities. The woman before him was irreparably broken.
And she had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. The impulse to take her into his arms was so strong, it hurt.
“Look, we can do a regular vow, I promise I will do everything to look after her, make sure she keeps her nose clean, the works. There’s no need to make it a double-“ But even as he spoke he knew it was all for naught. They both understood with crystal clarity that his priority was never going to be Elenore. His priority had always been, and always would be, her mother. And that would ensure he succeeded. Because Kit Harrington could fail himself multiple times, but he couldn’t ever fail Vanessa Sheridan.
In the end, it was as it had always been. Vanessa would always have what she wanted from him. Helplessly, he extended his arm out towards her, his fingers trembling as they grasped hers, his eyes not watching the wand binding their souls in the promise but rather her grief stricken eyes. And in that moment, Kit knew he would he never had a chance, he would have promised anything to make the sadness in her gaze melt away. Anything at all…
He left as quietly as he had come, melting into the shadows with his promise. Leaving her to kneel by the Stranger once again, praying for the only thing she would pray for in the coming years.
The safety and happiness of Elenore Lissette Clement. ________________________________________________Come Plot With Me <3 | |
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