Post by indifferentred on Apr 6, 2015 3:54:30 GMT 10
Series: Two Steps Forward (Yazmín/Vedris)
Title: An Education
Rating: G/PG
Event: Just In Jousting
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 787
Summary: Vedris is curious about Yazmín’s gods, and she explains; warnings for references to/implied sex right at the start (squeaky clean otherwise!), a bit spoilerish for Battle Magic. Grateful thanks to the compilers of GLake’s Emelan Glossary, which was invaluable in the composition of this fic.
“Tell me about your shrine,” he asks her one afternoon, as he pulls on his shirt and she re-laces her stays. They are three years down the line from where they started, and it has always fascinated him - but until now, it seemed like too private and personal a question to ask her.
She looks quizzically over her shoulder at him and shrugs into her brightly embroidered Yanjingyi house-robe. “Not much to tell,” she replies. “I chose my gods, and they haven’t failed me yet.” She kisses his forehead quickly. “They brought me to you, didn’t they?”
“I don’t recognise any of them,” he frowns later, when they are downstairs and she is hanging the kettle over the fire to boil. Her fond, exasperated laugh - how terrier-like he is! - echoes in his mind long after it has faded from his ears. She comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, cheek pressed against the sturdy muscles of his back for a moment, before she peeks around his shoulder to see what he is doing.
“This one, for example…” he sighs, running a gentle finger over the roughly carved and painted wooden figure to the far right of her little collection.
Yazmín’s voice is calm and soothing, the voice of one used to teaching, when she replies. “Deiina. The Tharian goddess of performers. The carvers always dress her like a yaskedasu, a street performer - see?” She reaches out and gestures to the statue’s scrap of yellow gauze, a veil covering what would be the lower part of her face. He nods; if you look closely enough, the carving has a certain sinuous beauty to it, and he is suddenly sure that Deiina is a dancer, like his love.
“I see,” he murmurs, and turns his attention to the next one along. “And this one?”
“Koma,” she says, resigned now to the fact that only her explanations are going to assuage his curiosity. He twists his neck slightly to look down at her, before he asks, “He’s a Trader god, isn’t he?”
“Very good,” she nods, approvingly. “Yes - the Traders call him ‘the Great Steersman.’ He sees all ships and caravans safely home.” Her fingers point to the tiny, working brass compass attached to the figure’s belt. “Useful for a wanderer - even a kaq dancer.” Her voice is light and teasing. “He’s always led me to where I need to be.”
“And this fine lady?” He is pointing to the most well-made of the lot - constructed in pottery, and finely wrought, from the individual strands of horse hair that hang loose down to the figure's waist, to the cloth of gold Gyonxge robes that clothe her.
“La Ni Ma." Yazmín’s voice rises and falls, enunciating the name with perfect correctness of pronunciation. "She’s a sun goddess from Gyongxe - with three husbands, if you can believe it.” She smirks. “Not a woman after my own heart.”
He grins and drops a kiss on to the top of her head. “Very glad to hear it.”
Her smile becomes almost wistful. “Gyonxge was beautiful when I visited. I felt so peaceful, so balanced.” She shakes her head sombrely. “I cried for a whole afternoon when I heard Yanjing had invaded her.”
He squeezes her hand in comfort and then points to the figure in the centre of the collection. “She reminds me of the statues of Mila of the Grain at Winding Circle, but there’s something different… Her eyes, perhaps, or her hair…”
“So your mother did manage to get you inside a temple occasionally as a child!” Yazmín teases. “Yes, it is Mila. I was given her when I was visiting Garmashing. The people there believe that Mila’s hairs were the first wheat sheaves. They say that Mila's hair was cut by accident once, and that was the first harvest. It’s a pretty story.”
“This one looks newer than the others,” he frowns, pointing to the lady tucked just behind Mila, with her silvery-blue, draping dress and icy blue eyes.
Yazmín hesitates before replying. “Yes. Yanna Healtouch. Water and healing. I didn’t start praying to her until… oh, about three years ago, now.”
“Three years?” he repeats quietly, resting his hands over hers gently.
She nods softly in confirmation. “I told you… my gods have never failed me yet.” They stand there for quite some time, and then Yazmín wriggles her hands out from under his and exhales, shaking off the almost sombre air that has been hanging about them. “Right,” she says matter-of-factly, clapping her hands together. “Tea?”
The Duke shakes himself from his reverie - shooting pains in his arm, the collapse, the long recovery, meeting Yazmín - and nods. “Tea.”
Title: An Education
Rating: G/PG
Event: Just In Jousting
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 787
Summary: Vedris is curious about Yazmín’s gods, and she explains; warnings for references to/implied sex right at the start (squeaky clean otherwise!), a bit spoilerish for Battle Magic. Grateful thanks to the compilers of GLake’s Emelan Glossary, which was invaluable in the composition of this fic.
“Tell me about your shrine,” he asks her one afternoon, as he pulls on his shirt and she re-laces her stays. They are three years down the line from where they started, and it has always fascinated him - but until now, it seemed like too private and personal a question to ask her.
She looks quizzically over her shoulder at him and shrugs into her brightly embroidered Yanjingyi house-robe. “Not much to tell,” she replies. “I chose my gods, and they haven’t failed me yet.” She kisses his forehead quickly. “They brought me to you, didn’t they?”
“I don’t recognise any of them,” he frowns later, when they are downstairs and she is hanging the kettle over the fire to boil. Her fond, exasperated laugh - how terrier-like he is! - echoes in his mind long after it has faded from his ears. She comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, cheek pressed against the sturdy muscles of his back for a moment, before she peeks around his shoulder to see what he is doing.
“This one, for example…” he sighs, running a gentle finger over the roughly carved and painted wooden figure to the far right of her little collection.
Yazmín’s voice is calm and soothing, the voice of one used to teaching, when she replies. “Deiina. The Tharian goddess of performers. The carvers always dress her like a yaskedasu, a street performer - see?” She reaches out and gestures to the statue’s scrap of yellow gauze, a veil covering what would be the lower part of her face. He nods; if you look closely enough, the carving has a certain sinuous beauty to it, and he is suddenly sure that Deiina is a dancer, like his love.
“I see,” he murmurs, and turns his attention to the next one along. “And this one?”
“Koma,” she says, resigned now to the fact that only her explanations are going to assuage his curiosity. He twists his neck slightly to look down at her, before he asks, “He’s a Trader god, isn’t he?”
“Very good,” she nods, approvingly. “Yes - the Traders call him ‘the Great Steersman.’ He sees all ships and caravans safely home.” Her fingers point to the tiny, working brass compass attached to the figure’s belt. “Useful for a wanderer - even a kaq dancer.” Her voice is light and teasing. “He’s always led me to where I need to be.”
“And this fine lady?” He is pointing to the most well-made of the lot - constructed in pottery, and finely wrought, from the individual strands of horse hair that hang loose down to the figure's waist, to the cloth of gold Gyonxge robes that clothe her.
“La Ni Ma." Yazmín’s voice rises and falls, enunciating the name with perfect correctness of pronunciation. "She’s a sun goddess from Gyongxe - with three husbands, if you can believe it.” She smirks. “Not a woman after my own heart.”
He grins and drops a kiss on to the top of her head. “Very glad to hear it.”
Her smile becomes almost wistful. “Gyonxge was beautiful when I visited. I felt so peaceful, so balanced.” She shakes her head sombrely. “I cried for a whole afternoon when I heard Yanjing had invaded her.”
He squeezes her hand in comfort and then points to the figure in the centre of the collection. “She reminds me of the statues of Mila of the Grain at Winding Circle, but there’s something different… Her eyes, perhaps, or her hair…”
“So your mother did manage to get you inside a temple occasionally as a child!” Yazmín teases. “Yes, it is Mila. I was given her when I was visiting Garmashing. The people there believe that Mila’s hairs were the first wheat sheaves. They say that Mila's hair was cut by accident once, and that was the first harvest. It’s a pretty story.”
“This one looks newer than the others,” he frowns, pointing to the lady tucked just behind Mila, with her silvery-blue, draping dress and icy blue eyes.
Yazmín hesitates before replying. “Yes. Yanna Healtouch. Water and healing. I didn’t start praying to her until… oh, about three years ago, now.”
“Three years?” he repeats quietly, resting his hands over hers gently.
She nods softly in confirmation. “I told you… my gods have never failed me yet.” They stand there for quite some time, and then Yazmín wriggles her hands out from under his and exhales, shaking off the almost sombre air that has been hanging about them. “Right,” she says matter-of-factly, clapping her hands together. “Tea?”
The Duke shakes himself from his reverie - shooting pains in his arm, the collapse, the long recovery, meeting Yazmín - and nods. “Tea.”