Post by Tamari on May 11, 2012 11:42:47 GMT 10
Series: Of Freedom
Title: Standing on the Grave of Dreams
Rating: PG
Event: 500 word dash
Words: 500
Summary: "Please don't go," she whispers, but the door swings shut.
Author's Note: I'd already started this and taken it in a completely different direction, but the computer I wrote it on isn't here and I had a bunny. Sorry that I cheated you out of your fluff.
Lianne hates light.
It pools in the corners she hides in, warms the stone she lies on, reflects her face in the polished surfaces she glances in, and she can't look at herself right now.
She's been running and ducking and crawling through the palace (anything, anything to get away) all day, but she can't escape the light, and her shaking heeled boots are followed wherever she goes.
By the time she gives up, it's getting late and the light from the windows is leaving anyway. But there will be candles and mirrors and maids and maybe even Liam waiting in her room - he never misses a chance to bring her down, and this won't be any different.
She goes down to the empty mess hall, walking on her toes so her heels won't click on the tiled floor andremind her of things she wants to forget give her away.
The silence in the usually bustling hall makes Lianne shiver, and she crosses her arms tightly as she tucks herself between two tables. She lies back and stares at the ceiling (don't think, don't think).
She thinks.
Lerant hates tents.
They billow in the wind, looking for all Tortall like they could fly away, and he can't. They're anchored, in truth, just like him (but since when did the truth make a difference?).
Everyone from Lord Raoul to Dom is giving him strange glances, but he barely notices (breathe in, breathe out, don't stop). This is Lerant's job, his family, where he belongs, and he'll be damned if he lets this go too.
With the war newly over, there's plenty of work to be found for the Own, but it's drudge work- building and rebuilding and shoveling- and he doesn't have anything to distract him.
He takes a break from building a house for a refugee family and slouches against a wall still damp with mortar. His boots slide through the black, gritty mud of the north (not like the red clay of Eldorne, or the tan dirt ofConte Corus).
He misses home in the way that you miss an old friend who spilled your secrets, or a family member who stole from you- with faded love and faded anger, but sharp regret.
He doesn't miss Lianne at all- he doesn't, okay?
He does.
"You're back," she says, her voice cool but her heart pounding.
Lerant walks past her without a word, without a glance. She immediately strikes up a conversation with Domitan of Masbolle and pretends that she was talking to him from the beginning.
She looks back at Lerant a few moments later, but he avoids her gaze.
"Good-bye," Lianne tells Domitan with a quick curtsey. She locks eyes with Lerant as she walks away (nothing in brown eyes, and nothing in sapphire).
As she slips behind a corner and out of their line of sight, she breaks into a run (anything, anything to get away).
The dying light of sunset follows her.
Title: Standing on the Grave of Dreams
Rating: PG
Event: 500 word dash
Words: 500
Summary: "Please don't go," she whispers, but the door swings shut.
Author's Note: I'd already started this and taken it in a completely different direction, but the computer I wrote it on isn't here and I had a bunny. Sorry that I cheated you out of your fluff.
-:-
"I know it's hard to remember,
The people we used to be..."
-Maroon 5, Payphone
-:-
"I know it's hard to remember,
The people we used to be..."
-Maroon 5, Payphone
-:-
Lianne hates light.
It pools in the corners she hides in, warms the stone she lies on, reflects her face in the polished surfaces she glances in, and she can't look at herself right now.
She's been running and ducking and crawling through the palace (anything, anything to get away) all day, but she can't escape the light, and her shaking heeled boots are followed wherever she goes.
By the time she gives up, it's getting late and the light from the windows is leaving anyway. But there will be candles and mirrors and maids and maybe even Liam waiting in her room - he never misses a chance to bring her down, and this won't be any different.
She goes down to the empty mess hall, walking on her toes so her heels won't click on the tiled floor and
The silence in the usually bustling hall makes Lianne shiver, and she crosses her arms tightly as she tucks herself between two tables. She lies back and stares at the ceiling (don't think, don't think).
She thinks.
-:-
Lerant hates tents.
They billow in the wind, looking for all Tortall like they could fly away, and he can't. They're anchored, in truth, just like him (but since when did the truth make a difference?).
Everyone from Lord Raoul to Dom is giving him strange glances, but he barely notices (breathe in, breathe out, don't stop). This is Lerant's job, his family, where he belongs, and he'll be damned if he lets this go too.
With the war newly over, there's plenty of work to be found for the Own, but it's drudge work- building and rebuilding and shoveling- and he doesn't have anything to distract him.
He takes a break from building a house for a refugee family and slouches against a wall still damp with mortar. His boots slide through the black, gritty mud of the north (not like the red clay of Eldorne, or the tan dirt of
He misses home in the way that you miss an old friend who spilled your secrets, or a family member who stole from you- with faded love and faded anger, but sharp regret.
He doesn't miss Lianne at all- he doesn't, okay?
He does.
-:-
"You're back," she says, her voice cool but her heart pounding.
Lerant walks past her without a word, without a glance. She immediately strikes up a conversation with Domitan of Masbolle and pretends that she was talking to him from the beginning.
She looks back at Lerant a few moments later, but he avoids her gaze.
"Good-bye," Lianne tells Domitan with a quick curtsey. She locks eyes with Lerant as she walks away (nothing in brown eyes, and nothing in sapphire).
As she slips behind a corner and out of their line of sight, she breaks into a run (anything, anything to get away).
The dying light of sunset follows her.