Post by devilinthedetails on Dec 20, 2017 5:56:31 GMT 10
Title: Jolly
Rating: PG
Prompt: Jolly
Summary: Owen is jolly to receive a letter from Margarry; Wyldon is anything but jolly.
Jolly
“Letters arrived from Cavall this morning.” Wyldon didn’t glance up from the note Vivienne had written him—thick with details on the crops, the tenants, the kennels, and the stables—as his squire entered his office. For a moment as he read his wife’s updates on his fief, he felt as if he were in Cavall, not as if he were stationed on the bleak Scanran border a hundred leagues away from his home.
“Oh.” Owen was trying and failing to sound casual. The boy made a hammer to the jawbone seem subtle by comparison. “Did Margarry write anything, my lord?”
“This was addressed to you in her hand.” Wyldon extended a still sealed envelope—he couldn’t decide whether his refraining to open the letter before passing it along to Owen made him a good or bad father—to his squire, wishing that the scent of the rosewater he had been unsuccessful in forbidding Margarry from wearing didn’t waft through the air as Owen took the note.
“That’s jolly. Margarry is jolly.” Owen’s slate gray eyes were as wide as his smile, and Wyldon, scowling down at his desk, thought that jolly would have been the last adjective he would ever have used to describe his youngest daughter, the girl he would forever regard as his baby, corresponding with his squire.
Only the knowledge that despite his tendency to put his foot in his mouth whenever he opened it Owen would never hurt or dishonor Margarry—not that there would have been opportunity for him to do more than write to her when he was stuck at the Scanran border—had prevented Wyldon from burning the letter as soon as he received it. That had not been enough to keep him from holding the note up to a candle to try to read its contents through the envelope, but Margarry had outfoxed him, tucking a blank slip of parchment between her letter to Owen and the envelope that sealed it from prying eyes such as her father’s. The girl was too smart for her own good, Wyldon observed inwardly not for the first time.
Since jolly was one word that he didn’t want to hear at the moment, he arched an eyebrow at his squire. “Someone who reads as much as you do should know more positive adjectives than just jolly, Jesslaw.”
“I do, sir. It’s just jolly is my favorite.” The enthusiasm shining on Owen’s face was undimmed, and Wyldon, massaging his temples, thought that it was too early for such excitement. “It’s also a word nobody else uses in conversation, so I use it a lot to make up for that.”
“The fact that nobody uses it should tell you something.” Wyldon’s lips thinned. “It’s too buoyant a word for everyday conversation.”
“I feel buoyant now that I’ve gotten a letter from Margarry.” Owen was obviously itching to open the envelope in his hands.
Wondering where his wits had gone begging because he was practically encouraging a hellion to court his precious daughter, Wyldon made a brusque gesture of dismissal. “Go read your letter, Jesslaw. I know you won’t work with your head in the clouds. Come back when you’re less buoyant and ready to put your nose to the grindstone.”
“Yes, my lord, thank you.” Owen spoke and left in a rush before Wyldon could change his mind, a wise choice, since Wyldon was already regretting his words.
Rating: PG
Prompt: Jolly
Summary: Owen is jolly to receive a letter from Margarry; Wyldon is anything but jolly.
Jolly
“Letters arrived from Cavall this morning.” Wyldon didn’t glance up from the note Vivienne had written him—thick with details on the crops, the tenants, the kennels, and the stables—as his squire entered his office. For a moment as he read his wife’s updates on his fief, he felt as if he were in Cavall, not as if he were stationed on the bleak Scanran border a hundred leagues away from his home.
“Oh.” Owen was trying and failing to sound casual. The boy made a hammer to the jawbone seem subtle by comparison. “Did Margarry write anything, my lord?”
“This was addressed to you in her hand.” Wyldon extended a still sealed envelope—he couldn’t decide whether his refraining to open the letter before passing it along to Owen made him a good or bad father—to his squire, wishing that the scent of the rosewater he had been unsuccessful in forbidding Margarry from wearing didn’t waft through the air as Owen took the note.
“That’s jolly. Margarry is jolly.” Owen’s slate gray eyes were as wide as his smile, and Wyldon, scowling down at his desk, thought that jolly would have been the last adjective he would ever have used to describe his youngest daughter, the girl he would forever regard as his baby, corresponding with his squire.
Only the knowledge that despite his tendency to put his foot in his mouth whenever he opened it Owen would never hurt or dishonor Margarry—not that there would have been opportunity for him to do more than write to her when he was stuck at the Scanran border—had prevented Wyldon from burning the letter as soon as he received it. That had not been enough to keep him from holding the note up to a candle to try to read its contents through the envelope, but Margarry had outfoxed him, tucking a blank slip of parchment between her letter to Owen and the envelope that sealed it from prying eyes such as her father’s. The girl was too smart for her own good, Wyldon observed inwardly not for the first time.
Since jolly was one word that he didn’t want to hear at the moment, he arched an eyebrow at his squire. “Someone who reads as much as you do should know more positive adjectives than just jolly, Jesslaw.”
“I do, sir. It’s just jolly is my favorite.” The enthusiasm shining on Owen’s face was undimmed, and Wyldon, massaging his temples, thought that it was too early for such excitement. “It’s also a word nobody else uses in conversation, so I use it a lot to make up for that.”
“The fact that nobody uses it should tell you something.” Wyldon’s lips thinned. “It’s too buoyant a word for everyday conversation.”
“I feel buoyant now that I’ve gotten a letter from Margarry.” Owen was obviously itching to open the envelope in his hands.
Wondering where his wits had gone begging because he was practically encouraging a hellion to court his precious daughter, Wyldon made a brusque gesture of dismissal. “Go read your letter, Jesslaw. I know you won’t work with your head in the clouds. Come back when you’re less buoyant and ready to put your nose to the grindstone.”
“Yes, my lord, thank you.” Owen spoke and left in a rush before Wyldon could change his mind, a wise choice, since Wyldon was already regretting his words.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!