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rainbowfic2023-07-12 09:58 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2023-07-12 09:58 pm
Spring Green #8, Amaranth #13, Halloween Orange #2
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Gratitude and Grief
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Spring Green #8. just give me my line (with paint-by-numbers from bookblather: Fera in the Tana/Tudors AU.), Amaranth #13. Persephone, Halloween Orange #2. I'm all alone, and I think someone left me.
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (PILGRIMS), paint-by-numbers, photography, eraser (Tudors AU), seed beads
Word Count:
Rating: PG
Characters: Fera
Warnings: Discussion of Henry VIII's marital history; discussion of miscarriages/fertility issues.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Last Amaranth! Also, fun thing happened today in that my giant tracking sheet seems to have died. So. Uh. That's gonna be fun to reconstruct...at least figuring out my open colors/which prompts I hadn't filled yet was doable.
Fera knew she was, in many ways, a lucky woman. Her husband was always kind and courteous to her; and even her father-in-law made no more than inquiries as to whether or not she was finally with child.
She had only to look at the history of the man her poor sister-in-law was even now travelling to marry to know just how much worse her fate could have been. And, unlike the three late English Queens, Fera had yet to confirm any pregnancy; even a daughter; even a miscarriage.
And she was grateful, she thanked God every day for the kindness and the understanding of her husband and his family; for the knowledge that Kellom, even if he might never warm to her, was never, ever cruel.
But, oh, that gratitude didn’t erase the longing, or the grief, or the knowledge that she had failed in her duty. Something her husband never, ever did.
So she prayed, in the reformed Lutheran way her husband required; she prayed that she, like Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, might yet be blessed with what she wanted above all else.
A child. Any child. To hold and love and raise to be the kind of heir her husband and her father-in-law deserved.
But if she could not--if God would not grant her that, she would try, she would try with all her heart, to be grateful for what she had. For a husband who was kind and faithful, a father-in-law who was even fond, for a life that was pleasant, even happy, but for this one aching lack.
Because she knew, as she counted the days and traced her husband’s progress while he escorted his favorite sister to her uncertain fate, that it could have been so, so much worse.
Story: Gratitude and Grief
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Spring Green #8. just give me my line (with paint-by-numbers from bookblather: Fera in the Tana/Tudors AU.), Amaranth #13. Persephone, Halloween Orange #2. I'm all alone, and I think someone left me.
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (PILGRIMS), paint-by-numbers, photography, eraser (Tudors AU), seed beads
Word Count:
Rating: PG
Characters: Fera
Warnings: Discussion of Henry VIII's marital history; discussion of miscarriages/fertility issues.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Last Amaranth! Also, fun thing happened today in that my giant tracking sheet seems to have died. So. Uh. That's gonna be fun to reconstruct...at least figuring out my open colors/which prompts I hadn't filled yet was doable.
Fera knew she was, in many ways, a lucky woman. Her husband was always kind and courteous to her; and even her father-in-law made no more than inquiries as to whether or not she was finally with child.
She had only to look at the history of the man her poor sister-in-law was even now travelling to marry to know just how much worse her fate could have been. And, unlike the three late English Queens, Fera had yet to confirm any pregnancy; even a daughter; even a miscarriage.
And she was grateful, she thanked God every day for the kindness and the understanding of her husband and his family; for the knowledge that Kellom, even if he might never warm to her, was never, ever cruel.
But, oh, that gratitude didn’t erase the longing, or the grief, or the knowledge that she had failed in her duty. Something her husband never, ever did.
So she prayed, in the reformed Lutheran way her husband required; she prayed that she, like Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, might yet be blessed with what she wanted above all else.
A child. Any child. To hold and love and raise to be the kind of heir her husband and her father-in-law deserved.
But if she could not--if God would not grant her that, she would try, she would try with all her heart, to be grateful for what she had. For a husband who was kind and faithful, a father-in-law who was even fond, for a life that was pleasant, even happy, but for this one aching lack.
Because she knew, as she counted the days and traced her husband’s progress while he escorted his favorite sister to her uncertain fate, that it could have been so, so much worse.