Oh, you married the older sister (?) of the friend/crush you connected with on a dangerous adventure as a teenager? She has some gender stuff going on and was pretty much the only person who could get through to him when he was extremely ill after one of the most traumatic experiences of his life? On a scale of Jerott Blyth to Sounis Sophos, how well did it go?

So I mentioned on another post that this Lymond reread I was paying explicit attention to who Francis touches and how often because of Jerott's Checkmate claim that he's surprised by Francis's hug because he usually never touches people.

I am now at the end of DK and that's just not true.

A somewhat tangential thing I'd like to mention is how generally more open to people Francis is at the beginning of the series - especially QP and DK when everything is more or less right in his personal life - compared to the later books. He's often friendly or teasing or flirty and perhaps even gets into people's personal space more than many of the other characters. And I mean earnestly friendly, like openly happy to see people or plainly talking about what he thinks or feels with them, not in a sarcastic, guarded, half-ironic way.

SPOILERS UNDER CUT

The people he casually touches, like puts his hand on their arm or takes their hand or puts his hands on their shoulder(s) are Sybilla, Richard, Tom Erskine, Will Scott, Christian Stewart, Phelim O'Liamroe, Thompson the pirate and most importantly Jerott himself, REPEATEDLY, during his time on Malta. In fact, there's a scene where he takes Jerott to show him something by looping his arm through Jerott's own for absolutely no reason except that he feels like it. (I also very distinctly remember that he touches Philippa casually several times in PiF but I'm not at that part yet)

Similarly to this, my mostly PiF-based statements about Lymond not flirting with Jerott don't hold true for this part of the series: he actually flirts with Jerott as much if not more than he does with Will Scott in the early parts of DK, I'd just forgotten about it because PiF overwrote that part of my brain.

It appears that at some point he gets the message that Jerott isn't engaging in Lymond's favourite game of "you mouth off at me and then I give you a tongue lashing and then I give you the fuck of a lifetime and in this way convince you to agree with me and become sweeter and more obedient" but that he genuinely disapproves of Lymond and is genuinely religious, so he stops with the flirty statements.

However, then this happens:

Which is where I think Jerott gets the idea from - he expects a farewell hug from Lymond alongside the warm words but doesn't get it.

But he DOES get something much rarer, though I'm not sure he realizes!

A blush. Which is really fucking something, because Francis almost never blushes.

This is an unrelated thing I've been paying attention to for several reasons (I have an eye on drawing the characters and also I wanted to better sort out my Kuzum/Khaireddin parentage thoughts), and Francis a) doesn't have skin that's prone to a lot of flushing or blushing or reddening (actually he tans easily while Gabriel, for example, burns under the same conditions, and also rarely flushes under exertion, unlike, again, Gabriel who does so easily) b) he literally only flushes once again before he falls for Philippa: it's in a post-coital scene with Güzel and his face is actually red from laughter (at his own joke lol) and not emotion. And then he blushes with surprising frequency and all of it is Philippa-related: he blushes when Philippa lowkey hurts his ego with her banter or points out his womanizing, he blushes when he finds her in his bedroom to give him a piece of her mind after the party he throws in Paris, he blushes when John Dee reads his mind and implies that he now knows that he wants Philippa, he blushes at the end of Checkmate when Sybilla gives him a once-over while he's standing in front of her half-naked after clearly having spent two days fucking Philippa.

So I think he's into Jerott quite a lot, actually? He's just backed off because Jerott is such a cunt to him. So probably he stops touching him because he feels disgustingly lecherous about it, as he does with Philippa later. And when does he start touching him again, to Jerott's marked surprise? Once he falls for Philippa and presumably doesn't care for Jerott that way anymore.

Actually, except for Philippa, this is actually the most evidence we get of Lymond being into someone, I think. Like we get WAY less for Oonagh, for example.

I've always headcanoned him as probably having had a crush on Jerott as a teen, just based on how he reminisces about him, but I think he actually likes him a lot as an adult too? And it's really been clicking into place for me during this DK reread where perhaps earlier I found DK!Jerott too obnoxious to notice hah.

OTP meme: Jerott/Danny bandverse?

Yay, thanks! Tried not to base my answers on yours lol, but in general I agree XD

Which one is more fond of scary movies: Danny! Popcorn crunches through the tensest/grossest scenes with a feral grin.

Which one gets the most excited about Halloween: Also Danny – costumes! Parties! Getting to make Jerott dress up as some kind of sexy ghoul!

Which one would be more likely to survive the apocalypse: I think both of them could kick the apocalypse’s arse, frankly.

Which one would literally kill for the other: Both, if need be – but I think Jerott would be surprised at how quickly Danny would commit if it came down to that. Danny knows without a doubt that if GRM escaped from jail, they would be ready and willing to take that fucker out if he came anywhere near Jerott again.

Which one likes to scare or startle the other: I think Jerott has a silly side that likes to sneak up on Danny while they’re cooking or something, because Danny’s usually so unflappable, but Jerott has opportunities to cause flapping that no one else does. And Danny’s so cute when they squeak and jump in Jerott’s arms >:3

Which one is more likely to need comforting when they get spooked: Well, per the previous question, I think Danny. Jerott claims not to get 'spooked' - the rats in the Paris metro are legitimately gross, Danny, not cute!

Which one always puts on a brave face: Both, in different ways. Both are used to hiding things about themselves/negotiating society’s assumptions, and they can both do a resting bitch face that would turn you to stone.

Which one would be more dangerous if they suddenly became violent: Depends, but unarmed, out of nowhere, probably Jerott, who’s a seasoned brawler – Danny is more a ‘hide behind my seven-foot drag queen friends and yell taunts’ kind of fighter. (shooting GRM in the face is a different matter, should it be necessary)

Which one would be more likely to commit a crime: I think both have committed a fair few in the various countries they’ve lived/travelled in. Danny would be most level-headed about it, whether it was something minor or a body needed hiding; Jerott would act in a rash way and then freak out.

Which one believes in ghosts: Both, in certain ways. Jerott’s are powered by guilt, while Danny has a fairly open approach to spiritual matters, like you described for r63 Danny, Kay.

Which one likes to watch spooky shows on television: I think they probably start watching ‘real life’ hauntings/ghost hunters with a huge amount of scepticism, expecting to make fun, but then they each get drawn in by how ‘realistic’ it is and end up clinging to each other with the jump scares. If they watch TXF together it always ends with Jerott saying how sensible Scully is and Danny doing the whole mocking thing about how can she not Believe when she’s seen so much spooky shit? In reality, they're both Mulders anyway, Jerott just feels he needs to defence Science because of his dad/alternative career option.

Which one would propose the idea of holding a seance: Danny, for the aesthetic/because a friend who’s a medium needs a venue. Like the TV shows, they might start off sceptical but end up impressed by the experience.

Which one has nightmares more often: Jerott’s are more…narrative. And memorable. Danny probably has lingering unease that surfaces in their dreams, but not like the kind of wake-up-sweating-I-thought-Gabriel-was-sitting-on-my-face kind of dreams Jerott has.

Which one would want to explore a real haunted house: Jerott, to prove Danny wrong. He ends up shrieking, Shaggy from Scooby-doo style, and jumping into Danny’s arms. Danny never ever lets him live it down.

I'm sad about Jerott. Someone...anyone...please don't let him die alone in Malta.

angstober/whumptober day 20: "people don't change people, time does"

Lymond Chronicles, Lymond & Jerott some time between PiF and RC

Jerott,

I once asked you not to let me turn you against me. I left in secret because, in this country in which I have arrived, I could not ask that of you; I would not put that strain on your conscience. I intend to stay in Russia ("forever?" you want to ask - don't ask), but I would like to know that, in other parts of the world, I still have friends. Friends who would, perhaps, correspond with me even if the correspondence consists mainly of questions about affairs in Europe.

You will receive few answers about my personal life. I know it's no use to tell you not to ask. I will hope to hear from you.

- Francis

love the idea that jerott's loss of faith came from his understanding that a loving and just god would never allow something as annoying as francis crawford of lymond to exist.

jerott + comparing marthe to lymond in pawn in frankincense

bonus checkmate

Whumptober 2022 day 4

Dead on your feet: Hidden injury | Waking up disoriented | Can't pass out

Content: mainly just Francis having a horrible migraine, while suffering the effects of diazepam addiction. No one getting stabbed or anything! Just. Bad migraine. Bad substances. And important stuff to do. Oh ig CW Graham Reid Malett, unfortunately he is There Again.

---

For the audience, what was at stake was a grand cash prize; for Francis Crawford it was art, freedom, life itself. If he didn't win this contest, his son would never be returned to him, lives would be split apart and hopes shattered, and he would be locked out of any act of creation that didn't directly profit Graham Reid Malett.

It was, all being said, not the ideal time for a migraine to strike. 

He waited backstage in the darkness behind the thick, velvet curtains of the stage at the Topkapi Casino. He had no qualms about using meditative techniques the Rajneeshees had taught him back at the studio in London as he tried to imagine that he was separate from his body, from his surroundings - nothing but a pair of hands waiting to pick up an instrument, and a heart to set the audience alight.

Beyond him, on stage, Jerott was holding his own just as Marthe and Philippa had done before him. Although Marthe had fought to be the one to play opposite her old teacher, Francis had insisted, much to her fury, that Jerott would be the one to outplay Georges Gaultier. Gaultier was a fussy, classical player, and Marthe had mastered all he could teach her - she could match him note for note, arpeggio for arpeggio - but even with the extra years of practice she had on Jerott, Marthe had never had the opportunity to cultivate her own style much beyond her teacher's.

She would have done fine, in all likelihood, but out there, past the ringing in Francis' ears, he knew Jerott was doing more than fine - he'd soon grown bored of Gaultier's staid choices of Flamenco staples and had let his own influences leak in. The innovations George Harrison had borrowed from Indian culture were reclaimed, foregrounded and blended with Django Reinhardt's louche, jazzy beats; the precision of Davy Graham's Andalusian-inspired picking collided with cocky, raï-infused syncopation.

Francis managed to smile wanly despite the weakness in his legs, the cold sweat springing to his skin. He could hear the frustration building in Gaultier's dry, heavy finger-work - he fumbled more notes as the audience talked over him and began to heckle, and when Jerott's guitar cut in again the listeners screamed and cheered. The sound was like a bolt gun to the base of Francis' skull, but it meant that soon he would be the one to take the stage - Gaultier was finished.

Archie - ever observant, ever vigilant, always managing to be where he was needed most - handed Francis a pair of sunglasses as he stood at the edge of the stage, his eyes closed, his pulse speeding, his stomach empty and volatile.

He felt the plastic frames between his trembling fingers and tried to get enough air in his lungs to counteract the growing feeling of nausea.

"Maestro, did ye take a dose...?" Archie asked softly. Even so, gentle as he made his voice, his gravelly accent was like needles in Francis' gums, like a vice tightening on top of his spine.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I've had enough." The diazepam didn't do anything for the migraines - in fact he'd been on it for long enough that it just added to the fuzzy, unbalanced feeling he had anyway - but without it he would be a wreck, unable even to hold his guitar.

"And ye can play?" Archie asked, as the audience in the vast arena erupted to confirm Jerott's victory.

Francis grimaced and forced the sunglasses on, though he kept his eyes closed as he did, and struggled to settle the frames over his ears with the interference of his violently shaking hands. He swallowed, but his throat remained dry. "I must play, Archie," he murmured.

Behind the shades, he cracked his eyes open and even his teeth seemed to ache at what he could see of the stage lights. He grunted and winced and turned his face towards Archie, his eyelids shut tight again behind the tinted lenses.

"Archie."

"Maestro?"

"A red light on Reid Malett. Blue on me. Nothing more, you hear?"

"Aye, Maestro. I'll speak wi' the technicians."

Even with his eyes closed, even with the relentless howling agony in his head, Francis knew that Jerott had stepped off stage and come to stand by him. His breathing was heavy - self-satisfied, scented with bourbon and tar-rich cigarette smoke - but the hand on Francis' arm, though sweaty, was kind. "You're up."

"I know," Francis pushed his body away from the scaffold he'd been propped up against. Belatedly, he added, "You did well, Jerott. At least the audience is on our side."

Jerott didn't acknowledge the praise directly, but his next words were squeezed by some new emotion: "Francis - are you sure about this?"

Francis sighed. He didn't have the energy to shrug Jerott's hand off him or to explain why this was the only option. Out on stage, the compere seemed to shriek into his microphone, and the record agent Kiaya Çalışkan giggled into her own mic - the sound felt to Francis much like he imagined it would feel to have sand rubbed into his eyeballs.

"He's better than you think on the electric..." Jerott persisted. "But you'd have no problem with this."

With the hand that wasn't on Francis' arm, Jerott was offering the acoustic guitar he'd played. Francis squinted at it, shook his head - once, slowly, feeling the pain behind his eyes turn to a swirl of colours as he did. He forced his clenched jaw apart and thanked Jerott in barely more than a whisper.

"But no - it must be the electric. We can't follow you with more of the same. It's a good instrument, and it's been set up well."

"He'll have - "

"He might have tampered, yes. I can tune my own guitar, Jerott," Francis tried to smile and moved unsteadily past Jerott and his instrument. The stage was dark except for a white spot on the compere and on Kiaya, the competition's sponsor. Francis put Jerott and his worries from his mind, he put Archie and the request he'd made from his mind, and waited for Kiaya Çalışkan to mince off stage in her figure-hugging gold dress and towering stilettos. He focussed on his breathing and opened and closed his fists in time with it, imagining stillness in his fingers until he had willed something close to it into existence.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." the compare yelled.

Francis lowered his head and closed his eyes again, picturing the distance between him and the guitar, counting the necessary steps in his head.

"Without further ado - please welcome to the stage your headline combatants! A real Highland fling here for you tonight..."

Francis had stopped listening to the words. It was too much effort to push past the static of chimes and electric shrieks his mind was telling him his ears could hear. He waited only for the mechanical thunk of the spotlight going off and then he shuffled out onto the dark stage - one step, one breath, two, two, three, three...

"Watch out, buddy, are you drunk?" the compere brushed past him on his own way to the side of the stage, but Francis was nearly there now. He grasped the neck of his guitar as a man dying of thirst would reach for fresh water.

In the darkness across the stage, from behind the lenses of his sunglasses, Francis could just about make out the glittering points of his opponent's instrument - metal tuning pegs, bridge and pickup shining like his golden cufflinks and broad, white-toothed smile.

Francis shouldered his own guitar, unplugged it, and checked the tuning. It wasn't quite what he'd asked for, but he was glad he had that to concentrate on as the crowd roared and the lights went up.

Archie had done his job at least, and twilight blue light bathed Francis as he stood with head bowed, listening with all his might for the hushed, metallic twang of the strings. It was probably muscle memory as much as anything that did it then - knowing how tight the pegs should feel relative to the tension on the strings. It seemed close enough - and if he was off, he would hide it with some elaborate distortion and retune it as he played. An advantage of playing electric, he reflected.

Into the hot, heavy, not-quite-silence beyond the chaos in Francis' head, his enemy launched into a wild, virtuosic riff. At the end, he shook the reverb on it out, letting the sound fade away as the audience's cheers built.

"Are you ready, sweeting?" Graham Reid Malett called across the stage. He chopped out a couple of chords as punctuation, and Francis released a steadying breath through his nostrils. He nodded, settled his hands on his instrument, and played a modest response to Reid Malett's opening that was, at least, in tune.

Francis' opponent threw back his head and laughed. He let rip, and Francis' eyes followed his fingers, picking up what his ears wouldn't let him observe. It wasn't necessary to copy, just to show he was capable of doing the same - and more.

Reid Malett's left hand moved effortlessly up and down the neck of his instrument, his fingers dancing over frets as the digits of his right hand plucked and flicked at the strings. He was quick, but not quite quick enough to hide his workings from Francis.

And at least, come his turn, Francis could close his eyes, forget about the noise in his mind, and think only of the movements of his own hands, of the mechanical processes of wringing emotion from metal and plastic and wood. He could be alone with the guitar and his breathing, where a calmness, sweetened by just a touch of the adrenaline he felt when performing on stage, led him to the point of balance he needed. While he stood there, his body wracked by the year's struggles, practically dead on his feet, he could put himself inside the instrument, inside the music and the patterns of it, and let the colours of the migraine drop into the background as he imposed his own art over the top.

One solo down, he let himself peer across the stage at his opponent from narrowed eyes. He didn't hope for the satisfaction of seeing fear in Reid Malett's expression, but hoped, perhaps, to have rattled his confidence.

Instead, Graham Reid Malett smiled, his eyes mad beneath the filters of red light and dark shades. "I am glad, my pet, that we will have a real contest tonight...don't pass out, now..."

Jerott Blyth is so funny to me like he’s a violent mercenary he’s a tortured ex-priest he’s a snobby nerdy rich boy he’s deeply homophobic he’s pathetically in love with a man he’s too tender hearted for his genre he’s the biggest asshole hypocrite of all time he’s an alcoholic he’s a short king he canonically has the best ass in Scotland. So much character in that character

The ruthless hands let him go. 'All right,' said Lymond, suddenly bored. 'Kill me now, sweetheart... if you can catch me, that is.' Jerott Blyth, cast suddenly free, lunged weakly as his knife arched towards him, handle first, and caught it.

The Disorderly Knights ch6

It is a truth universally acknowledged that in each book of this series, the young man whom Lymond has chosen to [whatever the fuck verb we're using for Lymond's deal with Will Scott, Robin Stewart, and now Jerott Blyth] will at some point try to kill him.

With an unsteady hand and a great deal of stubborn determination, Jerott Blyth found another fresh glass, uplifted the great flask of malmsey, poured, with uncertain success, a quantity of the one into the other, and pushed it for the second time between the open, unmoving hands of the man sitting opposite.

Pawn in Frankincense, Dorothy Dunnett

Top 5 Lymond ships?

I’m going to keep this to romantic* ships, but my list of top 5 Lymond relationships of any kind definitely includes some platonic and family ones (and is even more difficult to confine to 5).

*other or additional adjectives may certainly apply…

click below for spoilers and because my answers got long. Augh, these characters!

Francis/Will - The nicknames! The fights! The stars! Strip tarocco and its narrative implications! Then the wedding day sheep battle, the tactical cross-dressing, “everything there was to know about Lymond’s way with women” ?!?!, the ring, the way Will is there at Midculter when Francis comes home in DK… They’re such a disaster, in hilarious and serious ways, but they make it through to real trust and friendship in the end, and I just love them.

Francis/Philippa - Their relationship is always important and telling and entertaining, and after a certain point but before the suffering sets in, they just keep making each other smile and laugh, by accident and on purpose. Reading their scenes in RC is like genuinely being in the room with them, with banter and chemistry that is PALPABLE and makes me into a third wheel, but as a reader I also have insights that they don’t, so I’m in on it too? Or something. They love each other so much! And after everything, they get to be together. Francis, you fool, this is what you should be!

Francis/Jerott - if you’d told me when I was in the middle of reading the series that they’d be on this list, I’d be like, “Uh, ok, sure. Dorothy Dunnett has changed my opinion about characters before.” If you'd told me when I had just finished the series, I’d go, “Huh??” But here I am. There is so much wrong with both of them, and we know it all too well, but they are so important to each other, and Jerott is one of the characters closest to the story's heart. Getting Jerott safely out of the disaster that is DK is one of the things Francis promises himself, and he’s so glad when Jerott decides to stay. Their relationship, especially in PiF, becomes deeply devoted and strange and delicate and absolutely full of self-deception on both sides. But Francis never stops trusting him, even when he’s busy running away from all of his own feelings with increasing speed, even when Jerott is being awful to him. And all the desperate conflict within Jerott distills to the essential element of being there for Francis, every time it comes down to it. Also, the way Jerott calls him his first name more than anyone else (on-page, in the series’ scope) messes me up.

Marthe/Güzel - I REALLY wish we’d gotten to see more of them. For Marthe, PiF is (among many other things) this long, agonizing breakup, but we only get a few clear glimpses of it. That scene between them in Djerba! Marthe plays a song wishing misfortune on the brother she knows her girlfriend is zeroing in on, and she cries because Güzel has happiness (does she though 😬) and she has none! And I cry too! And the whole mess that web of relationships becomes is fascinating (and one of the clearest examples of how queer these books are, yay), and there's also the parallels with Francis and Margaret, to consider? Anyway, to quote @sophosthewisebunny, Marthe deserves better than the shadiest bitch in the Mediterranean/someone who would leave her for her brother, but their relationship is very interesting.

Francis/Güzel - Rereading RC, every scene between them made me feel dead inside, while also making me want to run around screaming and then return to my book to savor every word. There’s so much going on with them, hardly any of it good, and since I was just thinking about the previous ship on the list, I have to wonder how their relationships to Marthe affect how they relate to each other, because that’s an interesting question, too.

honorable mention to Francis/Míkál, entirely because of this, and Francis -ahem- Lymond/Richard Chancellor, because another thing that happened as I was rereading RC was that I realized just how much I’d missed about how important they are to each other, in such a rare and needed way (the first time, I was busy losing it about the brother prophecy and yelling at Francis to be friends with Adam and Alec again).

Omg I never noticed this before! Spectacularly wild? Spectacularly wild? What was Jerott doing at sixteen to be described as "spectacularly wild" by Francis fucking Crawford of all people? Why do we never learn this aakdbjendowdjjsoenfwjiw

Meant to be sorting my life out for a friend's wedding this weekend instead standing in the middle of the house like

Yes but don't you see how Jerott is used by La Dame de Doubtance - when he says he'll never love again do you think La Dame wants to hear it because actually nothing would be sweeter to Jerott Blyth at that moment than hearing Francis defend his right to love and then Francis says don't let me drive you away but this is part of La Dame's plan isn't it and when it's said he's adequate to his task what is that precisely? to love Francis enough to go back again and again and again to save him even when Francis doesn't want to be saved even when it goes against common sense and Jerott thought he might just leave actually, Francis Crawford lives because of Jerott Blyth's heart while La Dame has an army of people to get Francis into trouble because his fate requires it her stupid plan relies on Jerott to pull him out of trouble because a dead Great Man just won't do but Jerott couldn't serve the Voivoda it would break his heart too much so he needs to be driven away, just enough, but not so far that he won't be back again to save Francis when he doesn't want to be saved in Checkmate and to let him die when it's the only thing that can give him life, so Marthe is used as well, but Marthe's eyes are open to her fate and she hates him and she hates it but she thinks she'll be rewarded for playing her part - with gratitude maybe, with a brother at least, with a Great Man - and she's so trapped in the game she thinks kindness can hold a man together who has no purpose but to wait until it's required of him to love again and to fight again only it's not kindness is it because no one believes it and it's love he needs and has always needed and the first one died the second one was a betrayal, hers is a trick too just like her wigs and her antique dresses, and the other the other is not for him it's not in his stars, so he's adequate to receiving kindness and how can Francis walk back into this illusion of life - it was the troop of St Mary's that should have been his - and say 'she's not your keeper' 'why did you marry her' when he didn't get kindness from Francis so turned to Marthe, when she married him for the work her grandmother started and Francis left them together at Volos all but making her his keeper - kindness. He shall have it. But what does La Dame or her granddaughter know about kindness? - and even after all this it's just like Fleabag said man he has all this love to give and he doesn't have anywhere to put it so he puts it in a single bullet fired into Austin Grey's head and then it turns out he's brought the stars into allignment Francis and Philippa can love and he can take his rightful place but Marthe Marthe never knew that was how things ended for her did she? did she not read her own stars as she looked over the tasks given to her the work she inherited when La Dame died and did she not read them and take out their injustice on the man who was going to cause her death which is the only reward in the cup for her, or did she not want to know did she suspect did she hope to the last that Francis would welcome her with open arms as a sister this is why Marthe's advice is 'lie back and think of England' you have to take whatever's coming to you so Francis can be a Great Man only he's already great and she doesn't understand it because she has no concept of a healthy family of love for parents and siblings, of being satisfied with enough just enough to live happily please give Russia to Marthe give Francis his fate back that is to say I know Jerott would never make him happy like Philippa does but I'd just like it to be known that being adequate to his task, no one loves like Jerott Blyth and you should take him seriously when he says you don't know what love is because he's a knight leaning his head on his lord's knee and þinceð him on mode þæt he his mondryhten clyppe ond cysse, ond on cneo lecge honda ond heafod, swa he hwilum ær in geardagum giefstolas breac. Ðonne onwæcneð eft manwineleas guma, gesihð him biforan fealwe wegas, baþian brimfuglas,brædan feþra, hreosan hrim ond snaw hagle gemenged. When he shoots is it La Dame he's serving or Francis? He believes it's the latter but events indicate it's still the former. Afterwards, does he even share any words with Francis? Nothing but practicalities, at any rate. It's like he might as well be dead to him. He's running away like he did after love's first death, to where love first betrayed him, there's nothing for him at St Mary's - just as he couldn't serve the Voivoda he can't serve Francis in love. What is love, Jerott? Not kindness and curiosity, but faith and fate. Being adequate to the task of bringing Francis' greatness to fruition, though you never understood the music and the art because you're a man who wishes for a leader and a companion and in the end you get neither.

When you've fulfilled your wish drawing Lymond at Baden, completed with young Philippa and Jerott with that expression on his face 🤣

The Lymond Chronicles is a series of etiquette guides actually

Game of Kings: Lymond's guide to outlawry/Will Scott's guide to teenage rebellion/the Somervilles' guide to befriending your home invader

Queen's Play: Lymond's guide to taking your behavior to the limits of polite usage, then hurtling off into space/Robin Stewart's guide to unrequited love/Oonagh O'Dwyer's guide to freeing Ireland

The Disorderly Knights: Lymond's guide to keeping your enemies close and playing merry hell with your friends/Gabriel Malett's guide to seduction/Jerott Blyth's guide to hero worship

Pawn in Frankincense: Lymond's guide to the personal & political/Philippa Somerville's guide to taking a gap year/Onophrion & Archie's guide to opium addiction

The Ringed Castle: Lymond's guide to running away from your problems/Guzel's guide to manipulation/Philippa's guide to Latin & letters

(Checkmate below the cut for being mildly spoilery)

Checkmate: Francis & Philippa's guide to repressing your feelings/Marthe's guide to matchmaking/Sybilla's guide to parenting