JIJ: Flowers for a Ghost, PG (The Drowned and the Saved)
Apr 5, 2015 21:33:34 GMT 10
Kypriotha likes this
Post by Seek on Apr 5, 2015 21:33:34 GMT 10
Series: The Drowned and the Saved
Title: Flowers for a Ghost
Rating: PG
Event: Just In Jousting
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 544 words
Summary: Aly finds Taybur down by the docks on Dunevon's birthday.
-
She finds him, sitting at the edge of the royal docks, legs dangling over the edge of the pier, gazing out into the grey sea. He’s dressed in old dark clothing; nothing like the sober black of the King’s Guard, and thinks she understands why. This, after all, is a personal visit.
He says, eventually, after she sits down beside him, “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”
“Me?” she asks, brightly; but that brightness is dimmed by the solemnity of the occasion. “I was born sharp, didn’t you know?”
A faint smile passes his lips; Taybur Sibigat bows his head again and stares out at the sea. In his gloved hands, he clutches loosely at a bouquet of white frangipanis, their yellow centres sunshine-bright. The raka line their graveyards with the frangipani, Aly remembers, and though Dunevon wasn’t raka, it seems appropriate to offer the dead boy-king of the Isles a raka’s tribute. “He would’ve been ten today,” he murmurs, at last. She counts the first hints of grey in his hair.
“Elsren too,” Aly says, because that is another loss to Kyprioth’s cold waters that she carries in her heart, always.
“All of them,” Taybur replies. “I sometimes feel like a monster because I mourn only Dunevon. I tried my best to save him, and the rest of them drowned.”
“He was the king,” Aly points out. Overhead, the white gulls cry and she knows that it isn’t any sort of answer at all.
“He was a boy,” Taybur says. “All of them were.” He closes his eyes. “How can a man make such a choice?”
“We didn’t,” Aly replies. “None of us did. It was eating at me, trying to decide how to work something out for Dunevon.” Ulasim’s voice now, speaking from the past.
His open eyes are red-rimmed, but he doesn’t weep. “I know,” Taybur says. “A good thing for the Isles, probably. The Rittevons were starting to get distinctly worn-out and unpredictable, and things are just starting to settle down with a Haiming queen on the throne. But gods take me, he was just a boy.”
“Would you have…?”
He gazes out at the sea, considering her half-asked question. “No,” he confirms, shaking his head. “I was sworn to protect him, and he was so lost, for all he was a spoiled little wretch. He was neglected, too, and I was thinking: all we needed was time, I’d make a good king out of him…and then…”
He sighs. “Time makes fools of us all, Aly.” He hefts the bouquet of flowers, and then lays it down gently on the surface of the harbour-water, as though setting down a child. “Come on, then. Her Majesty will be along the docks in another half-hour or so for Elsren, and it won’t do for both of us to be here.”
“So you do know about that too.”
“Of course I do,” Taybur says, dusting off his hands. He gets up and sets his shoulders, glancing one last, long time out into the glittering waters of the Azure Sea where the gulls wheeled about and fought. “Let’s go. Time to head back.”
She takes his hand, in the flushed dawn light from the rising sun. He glances down, surprised, but then smiles.
Title: Flowers for a Ghost
Rating: PG
Event: Just In Jousting
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 544 words
Summary: Aly finds Taybur down by the docks on Dunevon's birthday.
-
She finds him, sitting at the edge of the royal docks, legs dangling over the edge of the pier, gazing out into the grey sea. He’s dressed in old dark clothing; nothing like the sober black of the King’s Guard, and thinks she understands why. This, after all, is a personal visit.
He says, eventually, after she sits down beside him, “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”
“Me?” she asks, brightly; but that brightness is dimmed by the solemnity of the occasion. “I was born sharp, didn’t you know?”
A faint smile passes his lips; Taybur Sibigat bows his head again and stares out at the sea. In his gloved hands, he clutches loosely at a bouquet of white frangipanis, their yellow centres sunshine-bright. The raka line their graveyards with the frangipani, Aly remembers, and though Dunevon wasn’t raka, it seems appropriate to offer the dead boy-king of the Isles a raka’s tribute. “He would’ve been ten today,” he murmurs, at last. She counts the first hints of grey in his hair.
“Elsren too,” Aly says, because that is another loss to Kyprioth’s cold waters that she carries in her heart, always.
“All of them,” Taybur replies. “I sometimes feel like a monster because I mourn only Dunevon. I tried my best to save him, and the rest of them drowned.”
“He was the king,” Aly points out. Overhead, the white gulls cry and she knows that it isn’t any sort of answer at all.
“He was a boy,” Taybur says. “All of them were.” He closes his eyes. “How can a man make such a choice?”
“We didn’t,” Aly replies. “None of us did. It was eating at me, trying to decide how to work something out for Dunevon.” Ulasim’s voice now, speaking from the past.
His open eyes are red-rimmed, but he doesn’t weep. “I know,” Taybur says. “A good thing for the Isles, probably. The Rittevons were starting to get distinctly worn-out and unpredictable, and things are just starting to settle down with a Haiming queen on the throne. But gods take me, he was just a boy.”
“Would you have…?”
He gazes out at the sea, considering her half-asked question. “No,” he confirms, shaking his head. “I was sworn to protect him, and he was so lost, for all he was a spoiled little wretch. He was neglected, too, and I was thinking: all we needed was time, I’d make a good king out of him…and then…”
He sighs. “Time makes fools of us all, Aly.” He hefts the bouquet of flowers, and then lays it down gently on the surface of the harbour-water, as though setting down a child. “Come on, then. Her Majesty will be along the docks in another half-hour or so for Elsren, and it won’t do for both of us to be here.”
“So you do know about that too.”
“Of course I do,” Taybur says, dusting off his hands. He gets up and sets his shoulders, glancing one last, long time out into the glittering waters of the Azure Sea where the gulls wheeled about and fought. “Let’s go. Time to head back.”
She takes his hand, in the flushed dawn light from the rising sun. He glances down, surprised, but then smiles.