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[ Seasons change, and life goes on.
The farmers will soon gather at the fields to grow rice, the jolly echoes of their songs loud enough to reach the castle's outer walls. Farmers and merchants, wives and artisans and simple travelers; they will all brave the roads while the sun shines high and the winds are kind, hiding away in this lord's castle or this other, praying to the good Buddha for a summer and a harvest that still fails to last them enough no matter how much they hope or work or save.
For seasons come and seasons go, but the games and wars of the great lords remain as they always have and always will: a most exalted pebble, stubbornly digging into the country's collective behind.
"There you are!". Ah, but the elevated thoughts of the lady are interrupted. With a dolorous sigh, her mother enters the room, an army of maids fluttering silently at her back, spreading around them like a colorful host of locus, tugging and perfuming and brushing and tutting.
"They're almost here and you're hiding away, sitting like a child. Your kimono will wrinkle, and why is your hair not done already? Good heavens, child, you're going to be the death of me, you will!". Of course, there are no wrinkles, and naturally, her hair is combed already, lustrous and long and unbound, as her lord father prefers it. Her mother is simply worried, the lines mapping her handsome face particularly pronounced today, and so for her sake she keeps quiet, obediently lowering her head and letting the lady of Ikoma Castle fret, the hurried murmur of the silks dressing her as she follows her down the only answer her pained monologue requires from her.
For seasons change. And today their fortunes change with them.
Fine silks and plump cushions, lacquered trays and fine porcelain. The most exquisite of drinks, the most delectable dishes. The prettiest maids have been selected from across the province, brought tonight to serve their honorable guests, fluttering like fallen blossoms amidst the rows of somber lords and warriors. Waiting for her Father's signal with a few of the other noble daughters, she wishes she could have been present as the army made its entrance.
What did the lord of Owari make of her gentle father, surrounded by retainers and advisors, the Ikoma banners high, their blades and armors pristine? Did he felt as she did the dark edge never present with any of their usual guests? Was he offended by it? She wishes she could have been there to see, because for the life of her she can't take a single glimpse of him from where she stands.
Not even as they are finally allowed to enter the room, eyes cast down right until they are kneeling before them, the soothing voice of her lord father taking care of introductions.
But perhaps that's for the best. ]
Well!
[ Because despite her father's stern (horrified) glare, some surprises are simply too good -too mystifying- to rush and wreck. ]
How happy it is that our lord has joined us today. Truly, we are honored.
[ Only, she can't quite believe it. She really, really can't believe it. ]
May I please refill Oda-sama's cup? You look thirsty, my lord.
[ HOW COME NO ONE TOLD HER OWARI'S FOOL WAS THIS CUTE?? ]
The farmers will soon gather at the fields to grow rice, the jolly echoes of their songs loud enough to reach the castle's outer walls. Farmers and merchants, wives and artisans and simple travelers; they will all brave the roads while the sun shines high and the winds are kind, hiding away in this lord's castle or this other, praying to the good Buddha for a summer and a harvest that still fails to last them enough no matter how much they hope or work or save.
For seasons come and seasons go, but the games and wars of the great lords remain as they always have and always will: a most exalted pebble, stubbornly digging into the country's collective behind.
"There you are!". Ah, but the elevated thoughts of the lady are interrupted. With a dolorous sigh, her mother enters the room, an army of maids fluttering silently at her back, spreading around them like a colorful host of locus, tugging and perfuming and brushing and tutting.
"They're almost here and you're hiding away, sitting like a child. Your kimono will wrinkle, and why is your hair not done already? Good heavens, child, you're going to be the death of me, you will!". Of course, there are no wrinkles, and naturally, her hair is combed already, lustrous and long and unbound, as her lord father prefers it. Her mother is simply worried, the lines mapping her handsome face particularly pronounced today, and so for her sake she keeps quiet, obediently lowering her head and letting the lady of Ikoma Castle fret, the hurried murmur of the silks dressing her as she follows her down the only answer her pained monologue requires from her.
For seasons change. And today their fortunes change with them.
Fine silks and plump cushions, lacquered trays and fine porcelain. The most exquisite of drinks, the most delectable dishes. The prettiest maids have been selected from across the province, brought tonight to serve their honorable guests, fluttering like fallen blossoms amidst the rows of somber lords and warriors. Waiting for her Father's signal with a few of the other noble daughters, she wishes she could have been present as the army made its entrance.
What did the lord of Owari make of her gentle father, surrounded by retainers and advisors, the Ikoma banners high, their blades and armors pristine? Did he felt as she did the dark edge never present with any of their usual guests? Was he offended by it? She wishes she could have been there to see, because for the life of her she can't take a single glimpse of him from where she stands.
Not even as they are finally allowed to enter the room, eyes cast down right until they are kneeling before them, the soothing voice of her lord father taking care of introductions.
But perhaps that's for the best. ]
Well!
[ Because despite her father's stern (horrified) glare, some surprises are simply too good -too mystifying- to rush and wreck. ]
How happy it is that our lord has joined us today. Truly, we are honored.
[ Only, she can't quite believe it. She really, really can't believe it. ]
May I please refill Oda-sama's cup? You look thirsty, my lord.
[ HOW COME NO ONE TOLD HER OWARI'S FOOL WAS THIS CUTE?? ]