Post by Cass on Jul 11, 2010 14:35:53 GMT 10
Title: Questionable Love Letters
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2101
Summary: There is a locked chest in Kel's bedroom. One day, her daughter decides to open it.
Original and Subsequent Haunts: Goldenlake and TKO
-
There is a chest in her parents' bedroom that has been locked as long as she can remember. It is mage-locked, with magic she now knows was done by her uncle Neal. It is stored in a corner, dusty, dark red wood, and for some time there have been piles of irrelevant old paperwork on top of it.
Regan has been wondering about the contents of the chest since she was six.
"Things from my childhood," Mama would say when asked, her face carefully smooth. "Nothing of importance."
Da would always answer the same, but his eyes would become tight and darken, not a friendly and love-lit color like they normally would be when he saw his youngest daughter.
Her sister doesn't care much about the secret; Cordelia isn't one for searching through old things and Curan's conscience won't allow him to snoop with her, so Regan steals upstairs by herself. It is late afternoon and the leaf pattern of the trees outside skitter across the floor. Her parents are visiting Queenscove and will be back by late night, her siblings are probably in the stables or yards. Even the servants aren't bustling like always. Her recently-widowed aunt, the wife of her father's brother, is back with her parents; the early death of her husband and then her only child shocked and sickened her.
Regan is confidently alone.
Once the old papers are cleared off of the chest, she places a hand on it and explores the threads making up the spell. It is old and musty feeling, having been placed almost sixteen years ago. Probably right before she was born, she thinks. It's a basic locking charm as well: only meant to keep inquisitive toddlers out and easy to break. And Mama and Da never expected to have a mage child who could break though locks like slicing bread.
She easily unworks the spell, something that Regan could do when she was nine if it's as basic as this one. (Uncle Neal is a healer-mage though. His spells aren't designed for trickery and subterfuge.)
She tilts back the lid slowly, making sure there's no nasty jinx or anything inside that will jump out at her face. A moment passes in stillness, and she opens it fully-
-and sighs in disappointment. All that's inside are old letters tied with fading ribbon and a few pieces of jewelry that are nice but not-too-nice, not like anything Da has ever bought Mama.
She closes the lid, but something tells her to look again. She has seen the letters Da wrote to Mama when he was away and all of the ones that she penned back. That there isn't her father's handwriting: it is slanted and neat, a little old-fashioned, and most notably the letters have been pressed harshly into the paper.
Regan picks up a bundle and slides out one letter that seems to be dated the earliest, the first of the bunch, and then starts to read.
-
My Keladry,
I cannot say that I regret what happened to us the night after the last battle. Tensions were running high, and as is sometimes inevitable, tensions turn to passions that may flow unchecked.
-
His hands are on her, warm and strong and secure, comforting her through layers of cloth and hurt. So many men lost, not only hers but men of the Own who she served with and convict soldiers atoning for their crimes like her convict soldiers and more good fighters who had families who didn't deserve to die this is worse than Haven in a way because this time all the carnage was in front of her.
"Keladry," he whispers, "pull yourself together girl, you're a commander, if they see you like this they won't be able to hold themselves together. You have to be strong, use that damned Yamani face trick of yours, keep calm, be sorry for their lives later when you are in private-"
and he pulls her out of the room
and he pulls her to his office and sits her down
"cry here if you need to it's alright you know I won't judge this happens to every commander once, it happened to me once, hold on Keladry,"
his hands firm and steady
and she clutches his arm
and they're close together, she can feel his warmth and solidity
and suddenly, like he isn't thinking and planning for once in his life,
he kisses her-
and she responds, pouring all that she feels into that one shared breath
until he kisses her again.
-
The letter finishes with I hope you will not feel any other way toward me than you felt previous to this and Regan searches for a signature at the bottom, a name to place with the tormented writing, a name for the man who was once with her mother, but there is no one.
She looks for the next. It's dated almost a month later, and this paper is more creased, like it has been read and reread so many time it almost became dust.
-
My dear Keladry, I must tell you now that you are beautiful. That you will be with me, older and unworthy of your youth and vitality is a such a compliment that you will not believe. As much as I would love to assign you to my side at all times, I am unfortunately not able to do so in good conscience.
But I will see you again soon, I will find an excuse to make a visit, and when I do we shall be together.
¬-
He kisses her again with unerring confidence, lowering her onto the bed, trailing his hands down her face as she reaches up to trace his scar, down from his hairline through the hard angles of his face down to the nubs of his collarbone.
And she's murmuring unintelligible sounds into his neck and she wants to say that she loves him but she's stopped by her own common sense so she keeps to low moans and whispery sighs.
-
She still avoids him in public, afraid that seeing him will bring memories to a boil and she'll flush shades of peach, then someone will catch on and it will be all over for her and him.
She doesn't know how much that hurts him, this hiding. He tries to understand but he can't. She is usually a master at hiding her emotions- why should she be hyperaware now?
But eventually he finds her when she is alone, and she thinks about doing nothing, about leaving, stopping this whole mistake once and for all, but only for a little fraction of a moment.
It doesn't stop anything from happening again.
¬-
Regan keeps reading love letter after love letter, penned in that same hand, all using the same words: my Keladry, my dear, my darling, my love.
The last one she comes across has heavy, inked pen marks across it, as if in a fit of pique someone scratched out words that had been written there so tenderly.
Regan turns the paper in all angles until she can figure out most of the words, even though the salutations is so covered that only the name of her mother is visible.
-
Keladry,
My obligations to my family are clear. If they were to find out, I would be ruined. Previous to our encounters I had thought myself too honorable to act on my intentions. It is obvious to me that I am not as honorable a man as I thought I was. Looking over our recent history this is both a failing and a crystal blessing. I cherish my moments with you, holding you in my arms, feeling your skin, your breaths against me.
-
She has always had doubts, more so than him. His foresight is not as good as it should be.
It is in spite of her feelings that she hates him for what he has done to her.
Kel has abandoned her honor, which she holds dear to her chest, and given it to a man who takes it and shatters it into smaller and smaller pieces with varied acts (depravity, as she thinks sometimes when she is alone, or love, when she is in a softer mood.)
He has a wife, she tells herself. Four daughters. Grandchildren, sons-in-law. One of them is one of her best friends, and she is betraying him as well.
Kel can't see it in shades of grey this time. She is caught between dark black and glaring white, with no softer, kinder tones of grey in between.
-
My Keladry,
I will respect and honor your decision. Have it be known I value- valued- our time together, and that my feelings have not ceased to exist.
I will always be yours if ever you want me.
Always,
Wyldon of Cavall
-
She has a name to match the handwriting- one she has heard a few times bandied about, but not much.
There are only a few letters and the jewelry, some of it pulled apart into pieces, left in the trunk. The rest are spread around her like shards of glass.
The few letters are written in her father's handwriting.
She goes through them methodically, like she has been doing for the past hour and a half. These letters look even more careworn than the rest, like they have been read for their content and words of reassurance. And they have, she realizes. She can see her mother, reading the letters over and over. Especially the final letter, one which she recognizes as her father's voice.
-
Dear Kel,
I would tell you this in person, but I'm in the desert for another few months, until Lord Raoul is certain he has avoided all parties he might have to be in attendance at. And yes, Lady Buri has been riding with us. However did you guess?
Look: I need you to know. I love you. I love you in spite of what happened with you and him over the past two years, in spite of your perceived faults- which aren't as much as you might think, because it isn't a crime to fall in love. I love you even though you cried all over me and put me completely at a loss, I love you even though you can beat me at swords, I love you even though you stay attached to your hell-ridden horse (who is really quite charming, even though I know you see straight through me).
I need to talk to you more when we meet.
Love,
Dom.
-
It is this letter that makes Regan breathe a sigh of relief. She knew there had to be a happy ending- she's here, isn't she, and Mama and Da are married and disgustingly in love, but she couldn't stop thinking that maybe it wasn't. She doubted.
She fixes everything like it was when she got into the room and through the lock, but leaves the spell alone. The dust is scattered too, but hopefully her parents will think the maids cleaned everything to an exacting standard.
When her parents come home that night she asks lightly, casually: "Da, who is Wyldon of Cavall? Isn't he Lord Owen's father-in-law, the one how breeds dogs and horses, or am I confusing him with the family of someone who you used to know from the Own?"
And there it is, that familiar tightness in her father's blue eyes.
"That's right," Dom answers, "he is Lord Owen's wife Lady Margarry's father-in-law. He also used to be your mother's training master when she was a page- the one insisted that she be put on her probation for the first year she was there. He wasn't a very good training master either, not like Lord Owen is. Under Cavall one boy died and another got arrested for raping Lower City girls. Also," he pauses, thinking, "your Uncle Neal positively despises him.
"Oh," Regan responds. "I see. Well I'm sure Lord Owen is better. At least Cordelia seems to think so."
"That she does," Dom agrees, and changes the topic to Cordelia's knight training and Regan's mage studies, but Regan knows suddenly how much her father hates this man, Lord Owen's father-in-law, because he hurt her mother.
And Da loves Mama with all his heart.
She would like to think that perhaps they're past it now, it's an old discretion, an old dalliance flung under the rug, but now Regan knows that can't be true.
And suddenly, she hates Wyldon of Cavall too.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2101
Summary: There is a locked chest in Kel's bedroom. One day, her daughter decides to open it.
Original and Subsequent Haunts: Goldenlake and TKO
-
There is a chest in her parents' bedroom that has been locked as long as she can remember. It is mage-locked, with magic she now knows was done by her uncle Neal. It is stored in a corner, dusty, dark red wood, and for some time there have been piles of irrelevant old paperwork on top of it.
Regan has been wondering about the contents of the chest since she was six.
"Things from my childhood," Mama would say when asked, her face carefully smooth. "Nothing of importance."
Da would always answer the same, but his eyes would become tight and darken, not a friendly and love-lit color like they normally would be when he saw his youngest daughter.
Her sister doesn't care much about the secret; Cordelia isn't one for searching through old things and Curan's conscience won't allow him to snoop with her, so Regan steals upstairs by herself. It is late afternoon and the leaf pattern of the trees outside skitter across the floor. Her parents are visiting Queenscove and will be back by late night, her siblings are probably in the stables or yards. Even the servants aren't bustling like always. Her recently-widowed aunt, the wife of her father's brother, is back with her parents; the early death of her husband and then her only child shocked and sickened her.
Regan is confidently alone.
Once the old papers are cleared off of the chest, she places a hand on it and explores the threads making up the spell. It is old and musty feeling, having been placed almost sixteen years ago. Probably right before she was born, she thinks. It's a basic locking charm as well: only meant to keep inquisitive toddlers out and easy to break. And Mama and Da never expected to have a mage child who could break though locks like slicing bread.
She easily unworks the spell, something that Regan could do when she was nine if it's as basic as this one. (Uncle Neal is a healer-mage though. His spells aren't designed for trickery and subterfuge.)
She tilts back the lid slowly, making sure there's no nasty jinx or anything inside that will jump out at her face. A moment passes in stillness, and she opens it fully-
-and sighs in disappointment. All that's inside are old letters tied with fading ribbon and a few pieces of jewelry that are nice but not-too-nice, not like anything Da has ever bought Mama.
She closes the lid, but something tells her to look again. She has seen the letters Da wrote to Mama when he was away and all of the ones that she penned back. That there isn't her father's handwriting: it is slanted and neat, a little old-fashioned, and most notably the letters have been pressed harshly into the paper.
Regan picks up a bundle and slides out one letter that seems to be dated the earliest, the first of the bunch, and then starts to read.
-
My Keladry,
I cannot say that I regret what happened to us the night after the last battle. Tensions were running high, and as is sometimes inevitable, tensions turn to passions that may flow unchecked.
-
His hands are on her, warm and strong and secure, comforting her through layers of cloth and hurt. So many men lost, not only hers but men of the Own who she served with and convict soldiers atoning for their crimes like her convict soldiers and more good fighters who had families who didn't deserve to die this is worse than Haven in a way because this time all the carnage was in front of her.
"Keladry," he whispers, "pull yourself together girl, you're a commander, if they see you like this they won't be able to hold themselves together. You have to be strong, use that damned Yamani face trick of yours, keep calm, be sorry for their lives later when you are in private-"
and he pulls her out of the room
and he pulls her to his office and sits her down
"cry here if you need to it's alright you know I won't judge this happens to every commander once, it happened to me once, hold on Keladry,"
his hands firm and steady
and she clutches his arm
and they're close together, she can feel his warmth and solidity
and suddenly, like he isn't thinking and planning for once in his life,
he kisses her-
and she responds, pouring all that she feels into that one shared breath
until he kisses her again.
-
The letter finishes with I hope you will not feel any other way toward me than you felt previous to this and Regan searches for a signature at the bottom, a name to place with the tormented writing, a name for the man who was once with her mother, but there is no one.
She looks for the next. It's dated almost a month later, and this paper is more creased, like it has been read and reread so many time it almost became dust.
-
My dear Keladry, I must tell you now that you are beautiful. That you will be with me, older and unworthy of your youth and vitality is a such a compliment that you will not believe. As much as I would love to assign you to my side at all times, I am unfortunately not able to do so in good conscience.
But I will see you again soon, I will find an excuse to make a visit, and when I do we shall be together.
¬-
He kisses her again with unerring confidence, lowering her onto the bed, trailing his hands down her face as she reaches up to trace his scar, down from his hairline through the hard angles of his face down to the nubs of his collarbone.
And she's murmuring unintelligible sounds into his neck and she wants to say that she loves him but she's stopped by her own common sense so she keeps to low moans and whispery sighs.
-
She still avoids him in public, afraid that seeing him will bring memories to a boil and she'll flush shades of peach, then someone will catch on and it will be all over for her and him.
She doesn't know how much that hurts him, this hiding. He tries to understand but he can't. She is usually a master at hiding her emotions- why should she be hyperaware now?
But eventually he finds her when she is alone, and she thinks about doing nothing, about leaving, stopping this whole mistake once and for all, but only for a little fraction of a moment.
It doesn't stop anything from happening again.
¬-
Regan keeps reading love letter after love letter, penned in that same hand, all using the same words: my Keladry, my dear, my darling, my love.
The last one she comes across has heavy, inked pen marks across it, as if in a fit of pique someone scratched out words that had been written there so tenderly.
Regan turns the paper in all angles until she can figure out most of the words, even though the salutations is so covered that only the name of her mother is visible.
-
Keladry,
My obligations to my family are clear. If they were to find out, I would be ruined. Previous to our encounters I had thought myself too honorable to act on my intentions. It is obvious to me that I am not as honorable a man as I thought I was. Looking over our recent history this is both a failing and a crystal blessing. I cherish my moments with you, holding you in my arms, feeling your skin, your breaths against me.
-
She has always had doubts, more so than him. His foresight is not as good as it should be.
It is in spite of her feelings that she hates him for what he has done to her.
Kel has abandoned her honor, which she holds dear to her chest, and given it to a man who takes it and shatters it into smaller and smaller pieces with varied acts (depravity, as she thinks sometimes when she is alone, or love, when she is in a softer mood.)
He has a wife, she tells herself. Four daughters. Grandchildren, sons-in-law. One of them is one of her best friends, and she is betraying him as well.
Kel can't see it in shades of grey this time. She is caught between dark black and glaring white, with no softer, kinder tones of grey in between.
-
My Keladry,
I will respect and honor your decision. Have it be known I value- valued- our time together, and that my feelings have not ceased to exist.
I will always be yours if ever you want me.
Always,
Wyldon of Cavall
-
She has a name to match the handwriting- one she has heard a few times bandied about, but not much.
There are only a few letters and the jewelry, some of it pulled apart into pieces, left in the trunk. The rest are spread around her like shards of glass.
The few letters are written in her father's handwriting.
She goes through them methodically, like she has been doing for the past hour and a half. These letters look even more careworn than the rest, like they have been read for their content and words of reassurance. And they have, she realizes. She can see her mother, reading the letters over and over. Especially the final letter, one which she recognizes as her father's voice.
-
Dear Kel,
I would tell you this in person, but I'm in the desert for another few months, until Lord Raoul is certain he has avoided all parties he might have to be in attendance at. And yes, Lady Buri has been riding with us. However did you guess?
Look: I need you to know. I love you. I love you in spite of what happened with you and him over the past two years, in spite of your perceived faults- which aren't as much as you might think, because it isn't a crime to fall in love. I love you even though you cried all over me and put me completely at a loss, I love you even though you can beat me at swords, I love you even though you stay attached to your hell-ridden horse (who is really quite charming, even though I know you see straight through me).
I need to talk to you more when we meet.
Love,
Dom.
-
It is this letter that makes Regan breathe a sigh of relief. She knew there had to be a happy ending- she's here, isn't she, and Mama and Da are married and disgustingly in love, but she couldn't stop thinking that maybe it wasn't. She doubted.
She fixes everything like it was when she got into the room and through the lock, but leaves the spell alone. The dust is scattered too, but hopefully her parents will think the maids cleaned everything to an exacting standard.
When her parents come home that night she asks lightly, casually: "Da, who is Wyldon of Cavall? Isn't he Lord Owen's father-in-law, the one how breeds dogs and horses, or am I confusing him with the family of someone who you used to know from the Own?"
And there it is, that familiar tightness in her father's blue eyes.
"That's right," Dom answers, "he is Lord Owen's wife Lady Margarry's father-in-law. He also used to be your mother's training master when she was a page- the one insisted that she be put on her probation for the first year she was there. He wasn't a very good training master either, not like Lord Owen is. Under Cavall one boy died and another got arrested for raping Lower City girls. Also," he pauses, thinking, "your Uncle Neal positively despises him.
"Oh," Regan responds. "I see. Well I'm sure Lord Owen is better. At least Cordelia seems to think so."
"That she does," Dom agrees, and changes the topic to Cordelia's knight training and Regan's mage studies, but Regan knows suddenly how much her father hates this man, Lord Owen's father-in-law, because he hurt her mother.
And Da loves Mama with all his heart.
She would like to think that perhaps they're past it now, it's an old discretion, an old dalliance flung under the rug, but now Regan knows that can't be true.
And suddenly, she hates Wyldon of Cavall too.