Philotes, Goddess of Friendship & Affection (philotes) wrote in history_dot_com, @ 2013-02-09 22:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | ~anteros, ~eros, ~philotes |
The Court of Love [Paris, February, 1390] (tag: Anteros & Eros)
To say that the Lady Charlotte Gramont, of Basse-Navarre in Basque, was unhappy was an understatement. The truth was that she was wholly, completely, terribly, utterly crushed. Her heart was broken, shattered into a million pieces, and it hurt so much she could barely stand it. Her chest actually ached with how much she hurt. And it was even more devastating because she was a goddess.
It shouldn't be so. As an immortal with the long life she'd lived, with all she'd already lived through, with all she'd lost, her heart should have gamed some defenses. But truthfully, Lottie couldn't recall ever having loved so deeply as this. And she still couldn't quite figure out how it had happened.
She hadn't come to Paris for this. She'd come to do her duties, to spread friendship and affection, something Queen Isabeau was longing for. While she appreciated her husband, and he seemed quite pleased with her, the Bavarian beauty was out of her element in France. She needed some trusted companions. So Philotes had come. It was her job, after all.
But what had happened after, she'd arrived had been totally unexpected. At first, she hadn't even really noticed Nicolas. Not until he started deliberately putting himself in her path, just so he could meet her eyes. And she'd been polite to him, as she was to everyone, but her focus was the young queen. He kept looking at her from across rooms, she kept finding him in her path when she was making her way about the castle, somehow they kept running into one another, but only a handful of pleasant words were exchanged, nothing more.
That had been that until the day he abruptly declared his undying love for her. As a deity, she had a better idea of what undying love truly meant, so she'd tried to dissuade him. Because really, she knew nothing about him, and he definitely didn't know her. But then came the gifts. And the song. And the poetry. Oh, the poetry, devoted to her, just for her. Lottie suddenly thought she understood why Idun loved and bragged about her husband so much. There was something very heady about a man passionately reciting verse just for her.
She'd tried, she really had, to keep her mind on the task at hand, but each time she kindly tried to decline his attentions, he'd come back with even more promises of love and devotion. He proclaimed her the very epitome of womanly virtue and beauty. Until the say he told her that her loving glances were the very air that he breathed and without her attention he would simply suffocate and die. What could she do when his very next sentence was a plea for more sustenance from her, for the pleasure of her touch? She gave in. She gave in, gave him her love, and showed him in the way that came most naturally to her.
How was she to know it was nothing but a game? Lottie had no idea that this “courtly love” was all about the pursuit. Once she'd succumbed and given herself to him, she was no longer desirable. He'd left. He'd simply left. The silence after all his protestations of fidelity and adoration weighed on her like an actual physical presence. When had she so totally lost her heart to Nicolas? How had she let him steal it so completely? And what was she going to do now that he'd abandoned her?
Other than cry. Tears seemed to be all she had left.