Post by Rosie on Aug 3, 2016 1:50:45 GMT 10
Title: A Woman's Worth
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #115: In Exchange
Summary: a small piece on Sarai and Zaimid as they figure out life in Carthak, especially for Lisafer, my partner in crime
--
His first thought was that Sarai was getting sick.
It was a reasonable assumption; she underwent an overnight personality change. In the night, she had been bright-eyed and full of laughter. When Zaimid returned before lunch, she was subdued, barely returning his greeting and refusing the fruit he'd brought.
"You don't have a temperature," he murmured, half to himself, laying his hand on her forehead. "Is there something I can get you?"
She shook her head, uncharacteristically quiet.
His second thought was that she was missing home.
He arrived home the following evening to find their rooms transformed. They had been plain and functional, suitable for his life as a healer, and Sarai had not seen fit to alter them when she had first moved in.
Evidently, things had changed. The walls were draped in fabric, various vases were artfully scattered about the room, some strange sculpture prevented him from entering the bedroom with ease. A row of his favourite books lined the shelves - Sarai had been assisted in this endeavour, then.
"Do you like it?" she asked, her eyes anxious. She was perched on top of an elaborate bedspread, the purpose of which he could not understand, since neither of them liked anything more than a thin sheet during the night. He kept the thought to himself, however, for fear she might bolt. "I can change it - anything you want."
Zaimid took her hand in his, sitting on the excessive bedspread (if this was Kalasin's doing, she would have it returned tomorrow). "I'm happy if you're happy," he said gently, cupping her face with his free palm.
It had the effect of prompting her to look at him - that was better. All of a sudden, the words came tumbling out. "I didn't - I didn't bring any dowry with me."
This was so unexpected that he was almost tempted to laugh, but quelled it in time. "I know, my sweet."
"I - I heard these women talking about a lady's worth, and I realised I didn't bring anything to this marriage."
The temptation to laugh was gone. He ran his thumb along the underside of her jawline, and watched as she pressed her lips together. "You brought yourself," he said, in a low, tender voice, "at very great personal cost. Nothing is worth more to me than that."
Sarai nodded, and buried her face in his shoulder. "I never wanted to be a burden."
He pressed his lips into her hair, closing his eyes. "You aren't."
They sat for a moment, quiet, then, "Do you hate the bedspread?"
"I-" He paused, trying to gauge her tone. "It isn't my favourite thing."
She pulled back into view, and he wiped away the tracks under her eyes. "Kaddar said you would hate it," she said, and her grin verged on wicked.
And she'd put it in anyway.
"How about we leave it over your side of the bed?" Zaimid suggested, reaching back for the edge of the cloth, and draping it around her shoulders. "Yes, I find I like it much better now."
Sarai's eyes had picked up a hint of that playful edge. She fumbled for the ties on her loose robes, letting the fabric fall away until there was nothing between her and the bedspread. "And now?"
"I'm warming to it."
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #115: In Exchange
Summary: a small piece on Sarai and Zaimid as they figure out life in Carthak, especially for Lisafer, my partner in crime
--
His first thought was that Sarai was getting sick.
It was a reasonable assumption; she underwent an overnight personality change. In the night, she had been bright-eyed and full of laughter. When Zaimid returned before lunch, she was subdued, barely returning his greeting and refusing the fruit he'd brought.
"You don't have a temperature," he murmured, half to himself, laying his hand on her forehead. "Is there something I can get you?"
She shook her head, uncharacteristically quiet.
His second thought was that she was missing home.
He arrived home the following evening to find their rooms transformed. They had been plain and functional, suitable for his life as a healer, and Sarai had not seen fit to alter them when she had first moved in.
Evidently, things had changed. The walls were draped in fabric, various vases were artfully scattered about the room, some strange sculpture prevented him from entering the bedroom with ease. A row of his favourite books lined the shelves - Sarai had been assisted in this endeavour, then.
"Do you like it?" she asked, her eyes anxious. She was perched on top of an elaborate bedspread, the purpose of which he could not understand, since neither of them liked anything more than a thin sheet during the night. He kept the thought to himself, however, for fear she might bolt. "I can change it - anything you want."
Zaimid took her hand in his, sitting on the excessive bedspread (if this was Kalasin's doing, she would have it returned tomorrow). "I'm happy if you're happy," he said gently, cupping her face with his free palm.
It had the effect of prompting her to look at him - that was better. All of a sudden, the words came tumbling out. "I didn't - I didn't bring any dowry with me."
This was so unexpected that he was almost tempted to laugh, but quelled it in time. "I know, my sweet."
"I - I heard these women talking about a lady's worth, and I realised I didn't bring anything to this marriage."
The temptation to laugh was gone. He ran his thumb along the underside of her jawline, and watched as she pressed her lips together. "You brought yourself," he said, in a low, tender voice, "at very great personal cost. Nothing is worth more to me than that."
Sarai nodded, and buried her face in his shoulder. "I never wanted to be a burden."
He pressed his lips into her hair, closing his eyes. "You aren't."
They sat for a moment, quiet, then, "Do you hate the bedspread?"
"I-" He paused, trying to gauge her tone. "It isn't my favourite thing."
She pulled back into view, and he wiped away the tracks under her eyes. "Kaddar said you would hate it," she said, and her grin verged on wicked.
And she'd put it in anyway.
"How about we leave it over your side of the bed?" Zaimid suggested, reaching back for the edge of the cloth, and draping it around her shoulders. "Yes, I find I like it much better now."
Sarai's eyes had picked up a hint of that playful edge. She fumbled for the ties on her loose robes, letting the fabric fall away until there was nothing between her and the bedspread. "And now?"
"I'm warming to it."
Of course Sarai would be insecure about "being a burden" when she's just eloped to a new country, and of course Zaimid wouldn't care. 
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!