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Quick thing, written for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic prompt: "Fairy tales, any peasant, princess, or nobleman's daughter, clothing is another form of armor."
Title: My Sisters' Armour
Rating: PG
Fandom: Fairy Tales: Cinderella
Characters/Pairings: Cinderella, the Ugly Stepsisters, the Stepmother, the Queen
Summary: Cinderella: a life lived in clothing's armour, from one battlefield to the next
Wordcount: 900
Warnings/Notes: Clothing, social rules/access, court machinations, women in power, spies and secrets
Disclaimer: Not mine
comment_fic prompt: "Fairy tales, any peasant, princess, or nobleman's daughter, clothing is another form of armor."Title: My Sisters' Armour
Rating: PG
Fandom: Fairy Tales: Cinderella
Characters/Pairings: Cinderella, the Ugly Stepsisters, the Stepmother, the Queen
Summary: Cinderella: a life lived in clothing's armour, from one battlefield to the next
Wordcount: 900
Warnings/Notes: Clothing, social rules/access, court machinations, women in power, spies and secrets
Disclaimer: Not mine
My Sisters' Armour
Clothing was just another form of armour, Cinderella knew. The best kind, maybe. The kind that made you visible or invisible on a whim, the kind that dictated not who struck, but even saw you to strike. A dress, a shawl, an apron. These were the most versatile of all armours.
She had learned it first from her stepsisters. She had seen it in their desperation and their calculation, their determination to offset by other means what deficits nature had cursed them with. They had been considered ugly. Undesirable. Unmarriageable, in a world where marriage was everything. And so they had turned to clothing's armour. They had dressed down those around them, where they could, and dressed themselves in such style and such extravagance that it would draw the eye from their features, and create an impression of beauty where none might truly exist. They had armoured themselves in silk against the cruelties of the world, and done their best to cheat what could not be honestly won.
She understood them better, now. She could understand what had driven them, when clothing in its turn had won her a crown, where beauty might only have won a tumble. A peasant beauty is a thing to be enjoyed. A noble one, dressed in satin and gold and glass, is a thing to be wed.
She had won her prince by finery, in the end. A ball gown, to see her into his presence. A slipper, to lead him back to hers. The trappings of nobility, to gain what a scullery maid could never hope to have. And she loved him, she did, and he her, but it had been clothing's armour that made it possible. Only so attired had she been able to pass the swords of society's judgement, and come to his side. They had been right all along, her sisters. For all their cruelty to her, she could not deny them that.
By clothing's armour had she won her prince. And by its armour did she keep him, even still. On the battlefields of court and council hall, of reputation and example, she armoured herself still, that she should not bring shame or innuendo on her new family. She wore gowns and jewellery calculated to effect, judged from circumstance to circumstance to give her best advantage. Beauty alone did not allow her passage, nor kindness either. Taste, wealth, suitability to circumstance, good judgement, these were all elements, and on any one might she fail. In this new world, on these new battlefields, she found herself thinking of her sisters often. She found herself remembering her stepmother, her lectures and her lessons, and giving them more use than she would ever have thought possible, all those years ago. She was no maid, now. She no longer had that invisibility. Now, she must go armoured, and armoured well.
But that, too, was a kind of armour. The invisibility of the maid. That too was a tool she understood, and only better now for having lived in its absence. On other, darker battlefields, battlefields of secrets and of threats, of hidden gossips fit to topple kingdoms, that other side of clothing's armour was one she could still wield, and to great effect. She was not royalty raised. She had learned well in her stepmother's care, and she remembered all of those lessons. Those given to her sisters, and those given to her.
She knew how to pass invisibly, to take the shield of dirt and rags and aprons, to go where royalty could not and to listen where no-one expected to be heard. She knew how to wrap a dirty shawl around her beauty and be made tawdry. She knew to become someone else, how to create such a contrast between the princess in her gown and the maid in her apron that only by the aid of a slipper might she be recognised. As her sisters had done before her, she knew how draw the eye onto the clothes, and leave the person behind them unrecognised. She had lived on both sides, and wore each set of armour equally well.
And with that knowledge, that armour, she had come to serve her kingdom. By accident, perhaps, at the first, but more purposefully as time went by. She served her husband, her father-in-law, and most of all she served her mother-in-law, who knew such secrets as well as she. She whispered secrets in the queen's ear, told her worrying things that only servants have the chance to hear. They were spies and spymasters, her mother-in-law and her, shielded by clothing's armour. They were a line of defence their kingdom and their husbands did not fully realise they had, and with fortune never would.
In a way, it was to her sisters she owed it, Cinderella thought. She made a sweep of the room once more, looking into the eyes of councillors who saw only her beauty and her raiment, catching the queen's eyes across the hall and nodding faintly to show what she had learned. In a way, she owed this to her sisters and her stepmother, who had taught her without meaning to, and lead her by example. In their armour had she won her court, and in their armour and her own did she keep it safe.
And for that, if nothing else, she thought she would always thank them.
Clothing was just another form of armour, Cinderella knew. The best kind, maybe. The kind that made you visible or invisible on a whim, the kind that dictated not who struck, but even saw you to strike. A dress, a shawl, an apron. These were the most versatile of all armours.
She had learned it first from her stepsisters. She had seen it in their desperation and their calculation, their determination to offset by other means what deficits nature had cursed them with. They had been considered ugly. Undesirable. Unmarriageable, in a world where marriage was everything. And so they had turned to clothing's armour. They had dressed down those around them, where they could, and dressed themselves in such style and such extravagance that it would draw the eye from their features, and create an impression of beauty where none might truly exist. They had armoured themselves in silk against the cruelties of the world, and done their best to cheat what could not be honestly won.
She understood them better, now. She could understand what had driven them, when clothing in its turn had won her a crown, where beauty might only have won a tumble. A peasant beauty is a thing to be enjoyed. A noble one, dressed in satin and gold and glass, is a thing to be wed.
She had won her prince by finery, in the end. A ball gown, to see her into his presence. A slipper, to lead him back to hers. The trappings of nobility, to gain what a scullery maid could never hope to have. And she loved him, she did, and he her, but it had been clothing's armour that made it possible. Only so attired had she been able to pass the swords of society's judgement, and come to his side. They had been right all along, her sisters. For all their cruelty to her, she could not deny them that.
By clothing's armour had she won her prince. And by its armour did she keep him, even still. On the battlefields of court and council hall, of reputation and example, she armoured herself still, that she should not bring shame or innuendo on her new family. She wore gowns and jewellery calculated to effect, judged from circumstance to circumstance to give her best advantage. Beauty alone did not allow her passage, nor kindness either. Taste, wealth, suitability to circumstance, good judgement, these were all elements, and on any one might she fail. In this new world, on these new battlefields, she found herself thinking of her sisters often. She found herself remembering her stepmother, her lectures and her lessons, and giving them more use than she would ever have thought possible, all those years ago. She was no maid, now. She no longer had that invisibility. Now, she must go armoured, and armoured well.
But that, too, was a kind of armour. The invisibility of the maid. That too was a tool she understood, and only better now for having lived in its absence. On other, darker battlefields, battlefields of secrets and of threats, of hidden gossips fit to topple kingdoms, that other side of clothing's armour was one she could still wield, and to great effect. She was not royalty raised. She had learned well in her stepmother's care, and she remembered all of those lessons. Those given to her sisters, and those given to her.
She knew how to pass invisibly, to take the shield of dirt and rags and aprons, to go where royalty could not and to listen where no-one expected to be heard. She knew how to wrap a dirty shawl around her beauty and be made tawdry. She knew to become someone else, how to create such a contrast between the princess in her gown and the maid in her apron that only by the aid of a slipper might she be recognised. As her sisters had done before her, she knew how draw the eye onto the clothes, and leave the person behind them unrecognised. She had lived on both sides, and wore each set of armour equally well.
And with that knowledge, that armour, she had come to serve her kingdom. By accident, perhaps, at the first, but more purposefully as time went by. She served her husband, her father-in-law, and most of all she served her mother-in-law, who knew such secrets as well as she. She whispered secrets in the queen's ear, told her worrying things that only servants have the chance to hear. They were spies and spymasters, her mother-in-law and her, shielded by clothing's armour. They were a line of defence their kingdom and their husbands did not fully realise they had, and with fortune never would.
In a way, it was to her sisters she owed it, Cinderella thought. She made a sweep of the room once more, looking into the eyes of councillors who saw only her beauty and her raiment, catching the queen's eyes across the hall and nodding faintly to show what she had learned. In a way, she owed this to her sisters and her stepmother, who had taught her without meaning to, and lead her by example. In their armour had she won her court, and in their armour and her own did she keep it safe.
And for that, if nothing else, she thought she would always thank them.
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