(Plot largely developed on IRC. Join the room. Now. Pick a client (Irc, chatzilla, what have you) then go here: http://www.synirc.net/servers/ for a list of servers. Once you're on, /join #fictionbranches.)
His 'mother' answered impatiently. "To the embroidery of course. You are expected there. We must acquire friends if we are to accomplish what we have come to accomplish. You are well suited to gathering friends among the ladies of the court." Jon was fairly certain that wasn't the case, but he could hardly tell his mother that. And as he was being very well dragged through the halls, stumbling uncomfortably in his heels trying to keep up, he suspected she wouldn't listen to any protests in any case.
At last, his arm now somewhat sore from the trip, they arrived at a smaller pair of double doors. They had moved at such a pace through the labyrinthine corridors that Jon wasn't entirely certain how they'd gotten there. Not that he wanted to be able to find his way here again, but he suspected he'd have to. He'd read enough fantasy and history to have sort of an idea of what went on in an embroidery, and he was expecting yet another humiliation within, and not just because he had no idea how to sew.
"Here we are. Please, my daughter, remember the importance of this mission. Even small tasks such as these are crucial." The older woman gave him an examination from head to toe, a disapproving look, Jon thought. "You are somewhat...under dressed, Allaria. But it will have to do, they will be waiting for you by now." Her face softened. "But I know that you can do this, you have always been a proper lady. And these humans are not so different from us as your father would have us think." She kissed his brow, though she had to stand on her tip toes, since she and Jon were the same height. "Good luck, my dear. I know it will take some time to adapt, but you will enjoy their company, I am sure of it." Jon knew he should respond, but his throat was dry and he simply couldn't think of anything to say as she walked off down the corridor that they had just traversed.
Jon stood before the door a moment, giving a nervous gulp. He really didn't want to do this. But surely the other characters would notice if he didn't. With a sigh, he opened the door.
It was more or less as he expected. A femininely decorated room, filled with similarly decorated women, and not a male to be seen. They rose and curtsied for him, explaining what an honor it was to have 'her highness' with them. That elicited a blush from Jon, but he had no choice but to thank them. He was grateful to see them return to their cushioned seats.
Jon saw one empty place, next to a girl that appeared his age. But with humans, who knew? As he sat down, he was struck by two realizations. One, that the seat really was tremendously comfortable; and second, and more importantly, that he was shorter than every girl in the room, except the youngest ladies in waiting. Somehow, that made him even more uncomfortable. Beside him, on the end of the seat, was a bit of blue fabric stretched over a wooden frame, next to a variety of needles. He watched as the other (other?) ladies returned to their needlework, and simply held his own fabric dumbly. It doesn't look THAT hard, he thought. After several attempts, he managed to actually thread a needle, and tried to mimic the girl next to him.
What tatters of hope he had held upon entering the room that he would somehow manage to fit in quickly faded. His embroidering was going...not so well. The lines were extremely crude and crooked, and he had already pricked himself twice, Allaria's soft skin easily yielding to the fine needle. Then the ladies began engaging in behavior he could not possibly mimic.
"'Tis a lovely gown you're wearing, Alayna." Said a redheaded girl apparently in her late teens.
"You are kind to say so, Eleanor." The second girl smiled demurely. She was in a green dress embroidered with gold lace in the shapes of vines and leaves. No cleavage, though. At least the author didn't write a lot of ephebophilia. Alayna was clearly younger then the redhead.
"Wherever did you get it?"
"Madame Beatrice, on the Gold Way. It was a gift from Gerard." Alayna blushed.
Another girl spoke up. "She makes very fine dresses, but I would be ashamed to enter that shop." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know she entertains suitors. Yet her husband does nothing. And many of them were born without names in the mud-warrens!"
"You are a most terrible gossip!" Replied Eleanor, giggling.
Jon was feeling nauseous. And scared. Or was he nauseous because he was scared? He was really meant to befriend these girls? Be one of them? All they seemed to do was gossip and talk about fashion. They were like the worst, most stereotypical spoiled teenage girls, only transplanted to the middle ages. He had no idea how to manage this sort of conversation. Nor any idea how they managed to talk so much while still embroidering skillfully with hardly a look at their fabric. Jon wasn't sure he could respond even if he knew how, it was taking all his effort to make his embroidering look like more than a bunch of random lines...and he was failing. Not only was he forced into the horrible, humiliating role of a stereotypical princess, he was terrible at it.
And he wasn't the only one who noticed. An older girl with short (well, relative to the other ladies) brown hair began whispering to the girl beside her, while giving Jon a sideways glance.
"She hardly seems to speak the common tongue!"
"I know! She's so quiet. And by my guess not very bright. Look at her embroidering!" The other girl replied.
"No matter. You know the men of the court would all love to have an exotic elven bride. While she's here they shan't even gaze at the likes of us. They'll be too blinded by that blonde hair."
"Not to mention her bosom." Both girls giggled.
Jon couldn't help but stare, his cheeks burning like fire. He was too embarrassed to feel truly angry. Is that really how people are going to see me? He looked down at his chest. His breasts were truly impossible. Nearly as large as his head, and half again the size of the largest breasts in the room. They were so large Jon suspected they could be viewed from behind if not for the curtain of hair that concealed the posterior side of this body. Yet they were perfectly formed, somehow appearing entirely natural.
The girl who had first spoken seemed to notice his staring.
"It is such an honor to have you here, Princess. Have I mentioned that?" She was smiling, though there was a predatory look on her face.
"Y-yes. I am honored to be here as well." Jon replied lamely.
She looked at his embroidering with a critical eye, then raised her head again, smiling. "That is an interesting pattern, your highness. Is it the elven style?"
The girl next to her snorted, and struggled to stifle a laugh by biting on a knuckle.
Jon simply dropped eye contact and stared mournfully at the fabric. It wasn't that he wanted to be good at sewing, it was just that this was a whole new kind of embarrassment. It was like he was a freshman again.
As the first two hours crawled by, he no longer even bothered to listen to the conversation. He simply stared at his feet, occasionally picking at a thread.
Meanwhile...
Karyn woke up and found herself sprawled in a chair. Bright light was now filtering through the painted glass of the windows. It far from added to her morning, though. The light was blinding, and seemed to drill through her eyes straight into her fore brain.
Struggling to her feet, she trudged towards her appointed chambers. After arriving within, she vaguely wondered what had happened to Jon before collapsing into the cushions and falling asleep.
