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This is what they've been leading up to, but Tharja still wants to make this proposal her own. Yes, perhaps
originally
the whole idea of marrying an Ylissean noblewoman had been distasteful to her, but Sumia is different from all the others who'd been paraded before her when the idea first came to light. Sumia had been unassuming, and demure as any highborn lady could be expected to be, but even in their first meeting, she had been warm. She hadn't looked at Tharja as some exotic trophy to parade about in town, hadn't wanted to own Tharja's body, nor her magic, nor the gold that marks her family as one of the wealthiest Plegian families in the running for this whole thing. Sumia had chosen her, and not because of, or even despite her name, but because she
wants
Tharja.
And Tharja wants her too, which is why she will not propose with any old ring, not even if the best craftsmen of their two nations promise to come together to forge one.
"Tharja?"
"Yes, Robin?"
"What's the matter?"
She sighs, because of course Robin would note her discomfiture. Of all the Plegian nobles who've been brought to Ylisstol to form marriages like hers, Robin is by and large her favourite, and already happily married to a duke's daughter. Being the second princess of Plegia has its perks, she supposes. "Shouldn't you be pestering that pretty little wife of yours?"
Robin only laughs at her attempt at deflection. "Yes, well, that pretty little wife of mine has duties to attend to, and I've been instructed to amuse myself until her return."
"And so you choose to bother me?"
"And here I thought I could never be a bother to you," Robin jokes, and Tharja can't really come up with a good enough reason to deny the truth in that.
"Everyone is waiting for you to propose, you know. Father wants at
least
one more wedding before the seasons change."
"So why aren't you bothering Henry about that little nobleman of his?"
Robin shakes her head. "They're both underage, so it'll be a betrothal, at best."
"And betrothals don't bind the same way," Tharja says, finishing Robin's thought. "That isn't why I'm going to propose, by the way."
Robin smiles, and Tharja remembers a time when that was the only smile she ever wanted to see. Now, Robin smiles for her wife more than anyone else, and Tharja waits on even the slightest grin from her Ylissean love.
Thankfully, Sumia never keeps her waiting for very long.
"I know. You love her," Robin says, laying out the complex, ever-growing emotions in Tharja's heart in three simple words. "Are you going to do just a ring, the way they do it here?"
"Ideally the necklace, ring, and bracelet, if I can find them all."
"Want my help?" Robin already knows that isn't allowed, but offers anyway, out of friendship perhaps. Or just to be annoying.
It's Tharja's turn to shake her head. "You're forgetting your roots already, Robin."
"Not at all," says the other woman, blowing Tharja a kiss as the sound of hoofbeats rings across the courtyard. "I just like to bother you."
"Oh, off with you then," she says, waving Robin off even though the woman is already leaving. "Tell Maribelle I pity her."
Robin's laughter bounces through the courtyard and Tharja gives up on her searching for the day. Besides, it's rather nice out; she's almost sure to find Sumia reading under a tree somewhere. Perhaps it would be best to just laze away the afternoon.
She does find Sumia under a tree, funnily enough. Sumia's hair is messy, her legs tucked up underneath her skirts. There's a blanket underneath her and a thin shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and Tharja knows she's not the type but she can't help herself from swooning. Just a little bit. Sumia's too precious for any other kind of reaction to be appropriate.
The brunette is so engrossed in her book that she doesn't even notice Tharja until Tharja drops onto the blanket beside her.
"Hello, dearest," Tharja says, because embarrassing as pet names may be, Sumia always responds in a way that's particularly delicious. Tharja allows herself to take in the look of her love, blushing and nervous as the first time they ever kissed.
"Tharja!"
"Sumia." She can't say anything else after that, because Sumia, bolder when they are alone, flings herself into Tharja's arms. "Someone's missed me, I see."
Sumia giggles, placing gentle kisses on Tharja's neck and face. "I always miss you."
Tharja laughs and echoes the sentiment, catching Sumia's lips with her own. The sunlight filters in through the leaves above their heads, and when they break apart she amuses herself in chasing the speckles of light on Sumia's skin with her lips. She's never been particularly physical before, but Sumia brings it out of her. "What are you reading?"
Sumia picks up her temporarily forgotten book and beams at Tharja, brimming over with happiness that even she can't help but find endearing. "It's a romance! They've just realized their feelings for each other, but evil forces are conspiring against them!"
"How
absolutely
thrilling," she drawls, snuggling closer. "I won't disturb you, then. Carry on."
"Oh, but if you'd rather—
"I'm content to just be in your lap, if you'll let me."
She's pleased when Sumia kisses her nose and makes her lie down. It's funny how unlike herself she feels when she's with Sumia like this. There's just something about her that soothes Tharja's rough edges, softens the jagged points that make her who she's always thought she was.
Sumia leans down once she's settled, her ash-brown hair tickling the sides of Tharja's face, and kisses Tharja's lips sweetly before opening up her book once again. Tharja watches her face as she reads, and from the pulling of muscle on her own face she can tell that she’s smiling more than she ever does in the presence of other people.
Where could she have put the ring? The bracelet? She's sent for the necklace already, but it wouldn't feel right to propose without all three of her family's treasures. Sumia deserves the grandest, the best.
She's settling for Tharja, after all.
***
"My, my, it's so delightful to see you this way, little darkness. So hopelessly in love…how precious!"
"You're such an annoyance, Aversa."
"She's right, big sister," says Robin, plopping down on the sofa between Tharja and Aversa. "Just because your wife is the Exalt…"
"And whatever does my wife have to do with this, little duchess?"
The two of them reach for each other, prodding and poking, and Tharja alights to the armchair facing their sofa. She watches them for a while, mildly amused, though her mind has already drifted off to another matter. She needs to find her family's signet ring, and the bracelet inlaid with gold and the charms her many-greats-ancestor had imbued with various useful gifts and protections.
How such important family treasures have been scattered about and not simply stored in a safe place is a mystery, and one that bothers her for the stress it brings to her own life.
"Aha, I thought the caws of all the commotion was you two!"
"Hello to you as well, Henry," Robin says as she fends off her sister's poking fingers. "How's the ickle lordling doing?"
"Aw, don't cawl him that," Henry says, though his cheery smile doesn't make it seem as if he actually minds. "He's great."
"And what about you, Tharja?" Aversa asks, slapping Robin's creeping hand away from her hair. "How is that lovely girl of yours?"
"Still lovely," Tharja offers drily, earning a giggle from Robin and a pout from Aversa for the non-answer. Henry grins a touch more widely than usual, but says nothing else, and she takes this lull in conversation as her cue to leave. "I should be going."
"Still haven't found them?"
"Still need two."
"You sure you couldn't use a hand?"
She nods. "I'll be fine."
They're
her
family's heirlooms after all. It's not done to have someone else's help. And besides, now that she has the necklace, finding the other two pieces of the set has gone from an impossible challenge to a child's game of hide and seek.
All she needs are the ingredients for a simple finding spell.
"Tharja, are you busy?" Sumia stumbles through the unlocked door and into the room just as Tharja is putting away her cauldron and various other tools. Thankfully, she doesn't notice Tharja slipping a vial into the pocket of her tunic, preoccupied with picking herself up as she is.
"Do try not to injure yourself, my love."
Sumia is blushing hard when Tharja pulls her up. Tharja presses kisses to her lovely face and waits for her to say whatever it is she's come to say. Though she does want to find the ring and bracelet as soon as possible—and she's sure they've been brought to Ylisstol—she always has time enough for Sumia. "Do you want to go for a picnic?" the brunette asks, shades of an expectant smile on her lips.
Except for when it comes to things like that.
"I'm sorry, Sumia, I have…something to do." It sounds flimsy, even to her, but she knows Sumia won't question it. Just because she's expecting it doesn't make the hurt in the brunette's eyes any easier to deal with, of course, but this is ultimately for them, in the end.
Sumia puts on a smile almost as soon as the first traces of disappointment make their way onto her face. Tharja knows already that she won't ask if she can come; the other woman is remarkably independent despite what everyone else seems to think.
"But certainly it can wait? Cordelia and Lissa wanted me to invite you. And of course I want you there, too."
"I really can't put this off."
"But—
"Sumia, I
can't
today." It comes out sharper than she'd intended, and the hurt in Sumia's eyes doubles.
"Oh…okay. Have a good day then," she mumbles, and Tharja feels badly all over again.
"Sumia," she begins, pressing a kiss to the other woman's lips, "I'll come find you later, once I'm finished. If you'd like." Ordinarily she wouldn't be so desperate to stay in Sumia's good graces, but the fact is that she's only avoiding too much time together until she can find her family's treasures. She does hate to be mean to the other woman, but this is of the utmost importance. Once she has all three pieces, she'll propose, and she'll try to make up for any and all harsh words then.
Then, she'll have Sumia to herself for the rest of their lives.
Sumia smiles at her more openly and they part with kisses, and it's only until Sumia is out of her sight that Tharja reaches into her pocket for the vial. "Now…where is that necklace?"
It's on the desk, laying on top of the letter from her mother. Like most heads of a Plegian high house, Tharja's mother isn't too well-pleased that marrying her only child to an Ylissean noble is one of the only measures they have left to ensure peace between the two countries. She'd sent the necklace willingly enough, perhaps recognizing that Tharja's intentions are more serious than simply a matter of participating in King Validar's hackneyed peace-plan. That doesn't stop Tharja from checking it for every manner of spell, hex, jinx, or curse conceivable. Her mother is, after all, her mother; in her place, Tharja wouldn't hesitate to lay some sort of nasty little enchantment.
It only takes her minutes to determine that the necklace is, shockingly, completely free of anything save for the spells that had been imbued in it during its creation; Tharja tips a few drops of her potion onto it and waits. The finding spell will take another few minutes to grab hold.
A knock on the doorframe forces her to whirl around, tossing her cape about her in an effort to conceal the vial and the necklace, from which a fine violet smoke has just begun to rise. "Oh. It's only you."
"A fine greeting for your best friend," Robin says. "I passed Sumia in the hallway. She's concerned about you."
Of course she is; Tharja should have known that Sumia would feel something off. "She invited me for a picnic."
"So? You love picnics." She barely manages to lift an eyebrow at that before Robin laughs and says, "Okay, fine, I know you hate picnics. But you love Sumia."
"Yes, I do, which is why I'm terribly sorry, not, but you're going to have to leave so that I can carry out my search."
"Ah. Finding spell?"
She doesn't even dignify something so silly with an answer. "It baffles me to think that I was ever so in love with you, you know."
Robin doesn't look like she believes her, but Tharja's most honest in her sarcasm. "Yeah, yeah, some disappointment I turned out to be. I know."
Tharja cracks a smile at that, because Robin's such a non-recalcitrant joker that this whole thing has always been easy for them. They don't pretend that nothing ever happened, have always been open about what they were to each other, once. But things are better this way. Not just for their nation, but for the two of them. "Yes. And I do still love you, you know."
"Same," Robin says, pulling the timepiece from her trouser pocket. "But I suppose I've bothered you more than enough, that thing is ready to go." She points to the necklace, which has indeed gone through the last stage of the finding spell and is now glowing slightly. Tharja knows that it will be feel hot to the touch, though there's no actual heat being emitted, and will cool steadily the closer she gets to the ring or the bracelet. "I'm going to go find my wife and tell her I love her, I think."
Tharja tries her best not to sound too dry when she says, "good idea," and waves Robin out of the room. She picks up the necklace, about to just drop it into one of the pockets of her tunic, then, thinking better of it, puts it on. Nobody would question a Plegian wearing a Plegian necklace, walking about the palace in the Plegian rooms, muttering to herself in Plegian.
That's just sort of how things are, and Tharja's not about to question the simplicity of thinking in some Ylisseans.
The damn thing burns so hot she thinks she might possibly break out into a sweat, except that it's more the idea of heat than true heat. Walking out of her room and into the hallway helps lessen the sensation by a little bit, but it's nothing drastic, meaning that the only thing she can really glean from stepping out into the hallway is that the ring and the bracelet are definitely not in her own room.
She walks past the others' rooms, noting that aside from the king's daughters, none of the other noble youth who'd travelled with them have made the sort of bonds that the king wants them to.
The heat of the necklace doesn't dissipate by much, and as she walks, she wonders if the charms placed on it are affecting her spell. They shouldn't be, but it's possible that she hasn't accounted for…"Watch where you're going, Henry."
"Ahaha, sorry Tharja!" He's impossibly cheerful, as ever, and she would stop and take a minute to ask after him if she weren't so busy. "Why's your necklace glowing? Finding spell?"
"Yes." Were it anybody else, she wouldn't even bother answering, but it's Henry, and she, much like most of the others, has a soft spot for him that she just can't quite place. Even if he is more annoying than the sunlight on a summer night.
He hums something tuneless for a second, then says, "You're really going all out for this girl, hey?" He laughs. "I mean, love's a great caws to go all out for, ha ha, but I never would have thought you'd go full-traditional."
"How fascinating," she replies.
"Aw, you're no fun now that you're all in love, you know? You used to be so
nasty
."
"I can still be nasty, Henry, if you really want me to. Only, I don't think the ickle lordling would like that too much, don't you?"
"Leave Ricken alone, Tharja," Henry says, and even though he's still smiling he does sound a little upset with her now. "He's amazing! A little naive, but he's just optimistic and—
"Yes, I know," Tharja says, hoping to get back to her search now that she's amused him for a few minutes. Besides, it's good that Henry's happy, but she can't say she much likes his Ylissean of choice; there's just something a little annoying about the lad, good-hearted though she knows him to be.
He did react remarkably well to her little snuffling spell, which kept her amused for a good while, so… "Do you need something from me, Henry?"
"Me? Nah. Oh, but Robin did tell me to mention that the rest of the stuff everyone’s parents sent is up in Aversa's waiting room."
That's the place to be, then. "Thank you, Henry."
"Don't mention it." He laughs and turns to let walk away, then turns back quickly to ask, in his best well-behaved voice, "Hey, can I come watch when you propose?"
"…no."
Aversa lets her into her rooms before the guard can announce her, and Tharja can't resist poking a little fun. "One would think the Exalt's wife would be a little more mindful of her security."
"While I'm certain my wife can handle herself, I do appreciate a second voice backing my oft-ignored remarks; even if the voice speaks in jest," says Emmeryn from where she's sitting by the vanity in the corner, brushing Aversa's hair.
Tharja doesn't much care for propriety when it's King Validar, or even Aversa or Robin, but she can't help but want to show the Exalt her respect.
"My apologies, Your Grace," she murmurs, trying her best to stay her usual dryness of tone. "Had I known of your presence I would not have been so rude upon entering."
Emmeryn's smile is delicate and calm, such a contrast from the shit-eating grin on Aversa's face, turned away from her wife's. "You needn't apologize, Tharja. My wife tells me that you are as a sister to her, and I would prefer you feel able to act freely in my presence."
"You are generous, Your Grace."
"Not in the least." Emmeryn finishes brushing Aversa's hair and presses a kiss to her wife's lips before rising. "Now, a few crates have just arrived from Plegia. I imagine you have business with some of the contents?"
Tharja dips her head. "Yes, Your Grace."
Emmeryn shakes her head, the smile still present on her face as she looks between Tharja and Aversa. "I have also learned of the importance of proposals featuring an entire set of family treasures." tharja feels herself blushing, hot and red and worse than the rapidly-cooling necklace, because she can feel the pricking sensation of warmth on her skin. "Sumia is a lucky woman, to be loved so well."
Emmeryn pats her burning cheek, her hand a soothing cool. "I do hope you find what you're looking for."
She curtsies once the Exalt's hand leaves her face. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"Call me Emmeryn, please, in future," the Exalt says. Then, turning to look at Aversa over her shoulder, "I'll be back once I've finished with the clergy, my love."
"I love you," Aversa replies, and it's funny to Tharja, how she sounds so hopelessly enamoured with her wife while her expression, pinned on Tharja, is one that practically dares her to laugh.
Tharja's no animal despite the whispers about her; she waits until Emmeryn and her guards have disappeared before the first notes of laughter break from her chest. "You make fun of me about Sumia, but you're far worse than I am!"
"Only because you've not yet married her," Aversa says, bouncing back from her embarrassment with her usual aplomb. "Speaking of which, I suppose you'll want some privacy as you sift through all the trinkets and baubles all those worrisome nobles have sent over?"
"Not so fast, princess," Tharja says, throwing in a bit of a sneer, because she can. "I believe His Majesty promise that you would see these things sorted out and handed off to all the precious heirs of all those worrisome nobles." She laughs. "How disappointed he would be…"
"Sometimes, I truly do hate you."
"Doubtful, considering what Emmeryn just told me." She smirks at the defeated sigh that leaves Aversa's lips and gestures to the crates. "I have some time to kill, I suppose, and helping you sort through everything is really more about helping myself."
"I'm going to have to thank Sumia for the positive influence she clearly has on you."
"Oh, shut up."
The ring needs resizing and the bracelet needs a good polish, but she has all three pieces and now she's almost ready to propose to Sumia.
Actually finding the damn things had taken her far longer than she'd anticipated, and even then she'd had to help Aversa sort through what felt like literal mountains of useless things. She wonders if the others will notice the little gifts the pair of them had strewn into the endless broaches and cufflinks and pins and badges—so many lovely little hexes.
It isn't until she's half asleep that she remembers she'd promised to go to Sumia, but it's far too late. It would definitely look worse trying to go see her now. Tharja repeats the thought to herself and tries to focus on planning a proposal, now that she's wide awake.
It will have to be something fitting. Something sweet and almost fairytale-perfect. Tharja doesn't know how she'll manage such a proposal, given that it will have to be something almost completely unlike her usual way of doing things. It can't be a piss-poor joke of a proposal. It has to be the sort of thing worthy of a woman like Sumia.
She wouldn't have gone to the trouble of reuniting the family set for anyone less.
She spends the next few days completely shut up in her rooms, trying to think something up while having to entertain both Henry and Robin. Much as she appreciates their suggestions in the beginning, she's just about ready to kill them both about halfway through the second day. ON the third, she begins to unconsciously express her displeasure, her magic fizzing and flaring all over the place whenever her hands accidentally brush one of the many tomes or magical artefacts strewn about.
Her room smells of singed hair and slightly burnt skin, with undertones of a dark, molding rot that combines to give the poor soul standing outside her door a coughing fit. "Tharja?" The coughs on the other side of the door sound strangely familiar. "Tharja, are you in there? Are you alright?"
"Sumia?" She's answered by more coughing, though it sounds affirmative. "Stay outside, Sumia, I'm coming out." With a scowl toward Henry and Robin, both laughing, she pockets the ring and bracelet, along with the now de-spelled necklace, and practically bursts out of her room, nearly knocking the still-coughing Sumia to the floor in the process. "Sorry. Come with me."
She's always treated her partner carefully, but for some reason there's a sudden rush of anxiety in her blood, and she finds herself taking Sumia's wrist in her hand. Tharja all but sprints out into the corridor, past the rooms where her countrymen are sleeping or eating or otherwise delaying their own searches for Ylissean partners. WIthout much thought, she turns into a courtyard that looks particularly overgrown on the perfectly manicured grounds of Castle Ylisstol, and it isn't until Sumia lets out a quiet, "this hurts, Tharja," that she stops moving and lets go.
There are no nail marks across Sumia's fair skin, and thank the gods, but her wrist is red. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Sumia says, and there's a faint—too faint—smile on her face. "I'm just glad you're talking to me." She looks more timid than Tharja can ever remember her looking, and she's not sure what Sumia means by the statement.
"Why wouldn't I talk to you?"
Sumia takes her hand this time and tugs her toward the bench underneath the large tree that Tharja always finds in the middle of courtyards like these. "I thought you were upset with me.You've been strange lately, and we haven't spoken in days."
Tharja nods and offers something that sounds like a platitude. She hasn't come up with any ideas for her grand proposal, and it's been days; she can't imagine not being married to Sumia sooner rather than later, but this is an obstacle to that.
"Tharja?"
She'd prefer not to involve anyone else in something that should be her duty, but Sumia does love children and pegasi, so maybe…no, where would she even find a child capable of riding a pegasus?
"Tharja."
She could ask for assistance from Sumia's friends—the ones she likes well enough, at least. Except that Sumia's two favourite redheads are so protective they'd probably try to interrogate her first, not that they haven't already, and the princess couldn't keep a secret to save her life. So maybe not that.
"Tharja!"
"Hm?"
Sumia rises so quickly that Tharja nearly fall over. "I think I'll just go home."
"Wait, why?"
"Well clearly something is bothering you, and I can't help you with it, otherwise you'd tell me. Or maybe you wouldn't, because it's like you don't even notice I'm right here!"
Sumia's eyes are watery, her cheeks red from the exertion of all of this, and Tharja's heart wheezes and gasps at the sight. This is her fault. She's ignoring the woman she wants to marry because she can't figure out how to ask her if she wants to marry…how stupid could a person be? "Wait!"
Sumia's almost out of reach, but Tharja reaches for her anyway—lunges, almost, if she's being honest—only for the ring to fly out of her tunic pocket. Sumia turns at the sound of metal hitting the cobblestone pathway and nearly trips, except that Tharja throws a hand out and softens her fall with a simple cushioning spell. "Careful, my love."
"Thank you," Sumia says, face still flushed. She still looks a little teary, but the endearment does seem to settle her worries, at least a little. With a slight smile on her lips, as if she were embarrassed—and Tharja desperately wants to tell her that she has no reason to be—Sumia reaches for the ring, turning it over in her hands, and looks askance at Tharja.
It's that look in her eyes that decides it all.
This will not be the proposal that Sumia deserves, but perhaps it will be enough. "Every high house of Plegia has three heirlooms; a ring, a bracelet, and a necklace. There's an old tradition regarding the use of all three, when an heir to a high house finds the person they want to marry." She pauses. This is much harder than she'd imagined it would be.
"Tharja, it's alright, you don't…" Sumia trails off, unsure of herself. The hope in her eyes is tinged with her fear, no doubt the fear of being wrong. The fear of incorrectly assuming Tharja's intentions.
"The ring," Tharja begins again, fixing Sumia with a look that she hopes conveys her seriousness, "is meant to show the world the legal bond between spouses, and it's supposed to also signify the meeting of minds. Somehow." She'd never really paid much attention to this part of her parents' lessons.
"And…the other two?"
She can't remember them exactly, but this is her chance. Tharja crosses the short distance that separates them and sinks to her knees so that she can take the ring from Sumia's hand in a deft gesture. With her free hand, she cups Sumia's cheek. The other woman responds by tilting her head aside so that her lips brush Tharja's palm, Tharja's negligence of the last few days forgiven in the face of what's happening. Tharja pulls the necklace from her pocket, and uses magic to clasp it behind Sumia's neck.
"We can go into the specifics later, but I can't go on anymore before asking you, Sumia, if you would marry me."
Sumia's tears are warm against her hand. "Of course I will! But are you sure? Tharja, you could have anyone…there are girls much prettier than me."
Tharja shakes her head and kisses the tear drops away as they fall. "And whether that is true or not, you are special to me, Sumia. Only you. And I'll hex anyone who suggests it should be otherwise."
"Oh!" Sumia sobs a little longer, then replaces her quivering lips with the most perfect smile in the world. "I love you, Tharja, more than anything in the world! To think that you love me as much…you make me feel special."
Tharja shuffles back as far as she can now that Sumia's arms are about her neck, and she offers the polished bracelet to Sumia, smoothing it over the other woman's wrist. Holding up the ring so that Sumia can see how all three have a matching look to them, she says, "This needs to be resized." Properly, and not with magic, because the ring will reject that sort of interference.
"Would you…put it on me, though?"
Tharja laughs. "Like something out of one of your stories, my love?" Sumia only blushes deeply and nods, and Tharja slides the ring onto her finger. "There. My future wife."
It's dreadfully cheesy, but not even Tharja can resist the happiness of the moment. It all feels too good, almost unreal. Sumia, her future wife, here in her arms. Tharja's family heirlooms all glow, as if to say that they have finally reached the person for whom they were meant.
This is what they've been leading up to, and Tharja is glad that, in at least some small way, she's made it something her own.