Post by wordy on Apr 24, 2013 9:57:14 GMT 10
Title: Behind Enemy Lines
Rating: G
Word Count: 414
Pairing: George Cooper/Roger of Conte
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: You know what they say about curiosity. Luckily, a thief knows how to land on his feet. Most of the time.
If the lad found out he’d been sneaking about inside the palace, George knew he’d get a heated talking to, but he couldn’t resist. It was time he had a look at this new Duke himself.
The servants’ wing was easy enough to infiltrate—the right uniform and an air of harried activity was all it took. George congratulated himself as he walked the corridors, a tunic he’d filched from the laundry over one arm. The glittering of magic assailed him from every angle, charms for health and protection and sanitation imbedded in the walls themselves, but he overlooked them all with the ease of long practice; even the gossip, back in the laundry, had held little interest, for once.
There was someone more important on his mind.
Though he didn’t visibly falter once he reached the royal wing, it was difficult to ignore the quickening of his heartbeat. A servant turned a corner up ahead and he gave her a polite look, the two of them carrying on in opposite directions without another thought. There was no reason to be nervous: if no one in the servants’ wing could out him, then a noble certainly couldn’t. Unless that noble was the Lord Provost himself, which …didn’t bear thinking about right now.
The next corner presented another empty corridor, though doors filled either side. From his previous explorations, he knew that this was where the chambers for royal or important guests were located. It was a small comfort to know that Duke Roger wasn’t lodged next door to the royal family—aside from Jon, of course, who was in the pages’ wing—but it was a comfort nonetheless. If Alan was frightened of the man, then George believed him.
A door opened up ahead. George quickly lowered his head, falling back into the role of a palace servant. The glimpse he caught of the departing figure told him that it was just the man he had been looking for: black hair, a close-trimmed beard, a presence that was undeniable. As George drew closer, he felt the weight of a fleeting glance. He passed by the man—gods, he was tall—with a polite nod and a murmured, “My lord,” and kept walking. After turning another corner he kept on still, suddenly eager to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.
He was halfway to the kitchens when the feeling of eyes burning on his back finally began to fade away.
Rating: G
Word Count: 414
Pairing: George Cooper/Roger of Conte
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: You know what they say about curiosity. Luckily, a thief knows how to land on his feet. Most of the time.
If the lad found out he’d been sneaking about inside the palace, George knew he’d get a heated talking to, but he couldn’t resist. It was time he had a look at this new Duke himself.
The servants’ wing was easy enough to infiltrate—the right uniform and an air of harried activity was all it took. George congratulated himself as he walked the corridors, a tunic he’d filched from the laundry over one arm. The glittering of magic assailed him from every angle, charms for health and protection and sanitation imbedded in the walls themselves, but he overlooked them all with the ease of long practice; even the gossip, back in the laundry, had held little interest, for once.
There was someone more important on his mind.
Though he didn’t visibly falter once he reached the royal wing, it was difficult to ignore the quickening of his heartbeat. A servant turned a corner up ahead and he gave her a polite look, the two of them carrying on in opposite directions without another thought. There was no reason to be nervous: if no one in the servants’ wing could out him, then a noble certainly couldn’t. Unless that noble was the Lord Provost himself, which …didn’t bear thinking about right now.
The next corner presented another empty corridor, though doors filled either side. From his previous explorations, he knew that this was where the chambers for royal or important guests were located. It was a small comfort to know that Duke Roger wasn’t lodged next door to the royal family—aside from Jon, of course, who was in the pages’ wing—but it was a comfort nonetheless. If Alan was frightened of the man, then George believed him.
A door opened up ahead. George quickly lowered his head, falling back into the role of a palace servant. The glimpse he caught of the departing figure told him that it was just the man he had been looking for: black hair, a close-trimmed beard, a presence that was undeniable. As George drew closer, he felt the weight of a fleeting glance. He passed by the man—gods, he was tall—with a polite nod and a murmured, “My lord,” and kept walking. After turning another corner he kept on still, suddenly eager to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.
He was halfway to the kitchens when the feeling of eyes burning on his back finally began to fade away.