Post by Seek on Aug 22, 2010 3:28:04 GMT 10
Title: Visiting Old Friends
Rating:G
Summary:It is spring, and the time to visit old friends again. Someone pays his respects at the grave of a friend who died too young.
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“I wish you hadn’t died, you know.” He said, looking at the tombstone. He grabbed a tuft of grass, yanked. It came free in a clump of soil, and he shredded it, bit by bit. “I don’t know what to do with the Own. And I don’t know why Jon put me in charge of them. Me. Would you believe it?”
There was no answer. The knight didn’t expect one.
“Alan is well…Alanna. I don’t think any of us expected that. Would you have known?” He paused. “No, you wouldn’t have. Or maybe you would.”
Distantly, he could hear birds chirp, perhaps finding mates, or nesting. His bad leg was still aching; Duke Baird said it might never fully recover. “Roger,” He said, finally. “Duke Roger was the one who brewed the Sweating Sickness. He killed you, all because he wanted the throne. Was it worth it? I don’t know. I could have stuck a sword in him when I found out.”
No you wouldn’t, the wind through the long grass seemed to say. He brushed the clumps of grass and dirt off his hands.
“You know me too well. I wouldn’t.” He stood up, bracing himself gingerly against the smooth stone. Rows and rows of tombstones, but this was the one he visited regularly. “I miss you, you know. You were always a good friend. I was never that close to Jon. We got closer, of course, just a little, after you died.”
Silence.
“Sometimes, I wish I was the one who died in your place. Maybe things would be better. I’m not cut out to be a leader, or a warrior. Just a desk knight. That’s why we met in the first place, because you beat Ralon up when he was trying to go for me.”
“Commander!” The call came from outside the burial grounds, and the knight groaned good-naturedly.
“I know!” He shouted back. “I’ll be back.” He said, more quietly. “I promise.” He adjusted the flowers he had brought, placing them right in front of the stone where the name had been carved. “Until next time, Raoul.”
Straightening painfully, Francis of Nond limped out of the burial ground, and towards where Corporal Qasim and Soleil waited. He looked back only once. It was a beautiful day, he decided, bright, warm, and clear, and where Raoul lay buried, the flowers were bright yellow in a sea of green. All spring, Raoul would rest in Goldenlake colors.
“Ready to ride, Commander?” Qasim asked. The Bazhir was young, and enthusiastic, and Francis suspected he would go far – if he could get some experience to stabilise him.
“Yes.” He said, forcing a smile on his face. He swung onto Soleil, wincing a little in pain, and they rode off, to join the rest of the Own.
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Rating:G
Summary:It is spring, and the time to visit old friends again. Someone pays his respects at the grave of a friend who died too young.
-
“I wish you hadn’t died, you know.” He said, looking at the tombstone. He grabbed a tuft of grass, yanked. It came free in a clump of soil, and he shredded it, bit by bit. “I don’t know what to do with the Own. And I don’t know why Jon put me in charge of them. Me. Would you believe it?”
There was no answer. The knight didn’t expect one.
“Alan is well…Alanna. I don’t think any of us expected that. Would you have known?” He paused. “No, you wouldn’t have. Or maybe you would.”
Distantly, he could hear birds chirp, perhaps finding mates, or nesting. His bad leg was still aching; Duke Baird said it might never fully recover. “Roger,” He said, finally. “Duke Roger was the one who brewed the Sweating Sickness. He killed you, all because he wanted the throne. Was it worth it? I don’t know. I could have stuck a sword in him when I found out.”
No you wouldn’t, the wind through the long grass seemed to say. He brushed the clumps of grass and dirt off his hands.
“You know me too well. I wouldn’t.” He stood up, bracing himself gingerly against the smooth stone. Rows and rows of tombstones, but this was the one he visited regularly. “I miss you, you know. You were always a good friend. I was never that close to Jon. We got closer, of course, just a little, after you died.”
Silence.
“Sometimes, I wish I was the one who died in your place. Maybe things would be better. I’m not cut out to be a leader, or a warrior. Just a desk knight. That’s why we met in the first place, because you beat Ralon up when he was trying to go for me.”
“Commander!” The call came from outside the burial grounds, and the knight groaned good-naturedly.
“I know!” He shouted back. “I’ll be back.” He said, more quietly. “I promise.” He adjusted the flowers he had brought, placing them right in front of the stone where the name had been carved. “Until next time, Raoul.”
Straightening painfully, Francis of Nond limped out of the burial ground, and towards where Corporal Qasim and Soleil waited. He looked back only once. It was a beautiful day, he decided, bright, warm, and clear, and where Raoul lay buried, the flowers were bright yellow in a sea of green. All spring, Raoul would rest in Goldenlake colors.
“Ready to ride, Commander?” Qasim asked. The Bazhir was young, and enthusiastic, and Francis suspected he would go far – if he could get some experience to stabilise him.
“Yes.” He said, forcing a smile on his face. He swung onto Soleil, wincing a little in pain, and they rode off, to join the rest of the Own.
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