July 26, 2022
Tvillingblom Palace
A gentle breeze rustled through the branches of the Maidenhair tree, and a single leaf drifted down to land on Ulrika’s shoulder. The Queen fought the urge to brush it off, as her eyes remained locked on the burbling fountain, where Ezethla remained frozen in her eternal triumph over a thrashing stone kraken.
Beneath the pavilion a short ways off, Jørgen Bjørn was locked in a very different sort of concentration as he continued about his work, with his easel and truly impressive array of paints and brushes arrayed about him.
It had been three days since the two royals had stood together at Sankt Inge’s Hermitage, and now a train from the Highlands had brought them back here to Tvillingblom Palace, where their brief adventure had begun.
The sun was as splendid as it had been on that first day, bathing the gardens in its rays of gold and glittering across the waters of Lake Lasi. And though the same splendid vistas greeted them on every leg of the journey, there ever seemed to be new things for Ulrika to speak of - And as it happened, a new thing for Jørgen to speak of as well. The Queen had been openly delighted when the Jarl had voiced his intention to resume his craft of old, and quietly flattered when Jørgen announced that he had found a suitable subject here, on their short travels together.
Another wind blew through Tvillingblom’s garden, and the edges of her cloak fluttered in response, briefly swelling like a sea-green wave to match the Queen’s ornate dress. It had been with no small enthusiasm that Ulrika had set about piecing together the outfit from the royal collections in Tvillingblom Palace and Leidenstad Castle, until she at last had displayed an authentic early-Absolute Era regalia at the first sitting. It was a far cry from the far more muted styles of modern Cryria, and far more ostentatious than those the Queen herself had preferred. But the exercise had amused her, and it was a fitting look for something she meant to see hang in Tvillingblom for the ages to come - Her own impish smile besides the many grim and dour faces of her ancestors, and a reminder that, for at least a time, she’d had a friend here.
“Well, Jarl Bjørn?” Ulrika asked from the corner of her mouth, “How does she fare?”
Jørgen was shockingly dressed in something that was not worth thousands of krone, instead wearing simple clothes without jewelry - A pair of jeans, a white t-shirt with an egg-shell white overalls splattered in paint. He was completely focused on his efforts, almost not hearing Ulrika’s voice in his concentration. He had already created an agreeable (to his standards) sketch of the Cryrian queen, planned how each stroke of his brush would be, plotted each paint he would use, the color and style of the cans.
“She is almost ready, just needs a few more final touches before she can be shown to the world.” He held a flat tone, unlike his normally cheerful and joyful voice, and his smile had been replaced with a flat line across his lips. Giving a final, final touch to the painting to fully capture the devilish smirk she held, the colors of the traditional garb with all the details attached to it. The hat she wore took the longest time to detail, with its many golden strains of fur.
The elven man stepped back from his work, looking longingly before giving a smile, a real one that didn’t have to be forced. He turned to look at Ulrika with a gleeful look, speaking in a bright tone of voice, “I might not even have this one burned.” He waved his hand for her to come and see it.
Ulrika carefully tucked the feathered hat under her arm as she approached. “Careful now, Jarl Bjørn. Burn it, and I might have to report you for lèse-majesté!” she called out with a wry grin that betrayed the joke. The Cryrian Queen placed her accouterments on the table behind the Jarl’s workstation, and poured out a waiting kettle of tea - A drink, it seemed, that was nigh-omnipresent in Tvillingblom. One cup she took herself, and a second she offered to the Jarl as she returned to him to examine the painting.
There, she squinted at her painted self for a moment, and then declared, “Well, Jarl Bjørn. I may be biased, but I think that’s a perfectly lovely looking young woman there!” Ulrika turned back to Jørgen with a smile. “You are remarkably good at this, you know?” she said more seriously, “I hope you enjoyed it half as much as I did, and if not… I’ll thank you for indulging me all the same.”
He bowed towards her, “I can only thank you for allowing me to craft your form onto a canvas.” Giving a small smirk himself, “While it would be bashful of me to suggest it, I think Læs guided my hand more than my own efforts. However, it was good to return to my old form.” He thinks for a moment, then gives a small chuckle. “I think this was the first piece I’ve done in at least a decade. Well at least the first one shown to anyone other than the fireplace.”
He relaxed in a nearby chair, “I’m glad my art can bring you a form of joy.” He took the cup she offered. Give a nod of thanks, and take a sip of the tea. “Ah, nothing like a good cup of tea after a good day’s work. I hope you didn’t mind standing there for so long, but I find having a model stay still while painting captures the mood more than any sketch or photo.”
“I am the Queen of Cryria, Jarl Bjørn,” Ulrika chuckled, taking a seat across from him. “Sitting there, standing there, it’s just about all I do.” Her laughter weakly faded away into a moment of bleak silence at the admission, and she quietly took a sip of her tea before waving it off. “Ah, it is no matter. I’m sure any fireplace would have been honored to have this, but I think a good wall might do it more justice!”
He chuckles alongside her, “If you ever want to be busy, you could always borrow my family’s name and title for awhile, I am sure you find yourself swarmed with work and troubles.” He falls quiet alongside her listening to her words. “I would like to thank you again for placing your spirit identity onto canvas. If you deem it worthy to place it on the halls of your esteemed palace or any other of your residences. I thank you in advance, it has been a long time since my work has been placed in a place of such high honor.” He gives a small chuckle, “Just promise me you won’t auction it off, I would hate my work of passion to be sold off to the highest bidder again.” He held a joking tone.
The Queen considered the painting again, then nodded, “Aye, I think I should know a perfect place for this,” she mused to herself, before turning back to Jørgen. “Oh, fear not, Jarl Bjørn,” Ulrika said wryly, “We Cryrians have a long and noble history of hoarding our treasures. Someday, I will have to show you the royal collections at Leidenstad Castle… Ah, but you are due to return home soon, are you not?”
It was perhaps a silly question to ask - The Jarl’s visit and departure had been scheduled well in advance. All the same, the week seemed to have flown by remarkably quickly.
“Indeed, the isles of Vakrestrender and business calls for my attention.” He gave a sympathetic look towards her, “This is the longest time I have ever spent in my time as Jarl away from working.” He gave a small chuckle, “And for that I must thank you for being such a pleasant host.” He held a bright and warm tone, resting his hands behind his back.
“The longest? Is that right?” Ulrika asked, “We need to get you out more, Jarl Bjørn! But truly, the pleasure was mine.” The Queen slapped her hand against the table and stood, “Come, I’ve a gift of my own to give you now.”
As if on cue, the Protocol-Captain materialized to place a long, thin case of lacquered wood on the table, and unlatched it to reveal a pair of finely crafted skis - The very same that had taken Jørgen down on his rather brief and tumultuous trip down the mountain.
“Never let it be said that anyone leaves Tvillingblom empty handed,” Ulrika grinned cheekily, “What can I say? You seemed to enjoy rolling downhill, but perhaps next we meet you’ll manage a gentler descent!”
The elven man gave a hearty laugh, clutching his chest. “Spirits be kind to you, your highness. Let it be said you are not without a good sense of humor.” He warmly took the instruments of his downfall. “I promise to better myself at it.” He gives a grin back at her, giving a wave to his bodyguard. Handing them over to Yuri who gave them a suspect look.
“Oh come on Yuri, who hasn’t fallen once or twice.” He held a joking tone, which the massive Ursine did not enjoy in the slightest. He shrugged, “Thank you for the gift, though I suspect some of my friends and staff may be concerned about my newly discovered hobby.” He looked back at the queen. He was mainly speaking about his own king, Olav. The old human was going to grow older by ten years at the elf’s new hobby. He held an extremely cheeky grin.
“Ah, well,” Ulrika chuckled, “If you do fall, be sure to get up again. Now, I think we are well past lunchtime, and I’ll not see you depart anything less than well-fed!”