Post by Rosie on Feb 15, 2018 4:52:18 GMT 10
Title: What's in-between
Rating: PG
Word Count: 617
Summary: Zaimid journeys back to Carthak - but not alone.
Notes: Credit to Shakespeare for the crossdressing trope. Also 'there's only one bed'. Also, is there some sort of bonus for literally shipping these two?? Title from Iwan Rheon's 'Dinard'.
--
Zaimid usually enjoys being out at sea, whatever the weather. On the journey to Kypriang Island, he was the only person on the deck other than the captain. He supposes it has something to do with growing up on the coast, having obtained his sea legs early in life.
Today is different - today, he has his arms folded and his eyes on the horizon as the boat slowly, gradually chews up the distance.
"Won't get there quicker, for all your glaring."
He exhales, manages a smile for the captain. "It's just been a long time since I've seen home, that's all."
The captain grunts.
Zaimid flexes his hands on the side of the boat, pressing his fingers against the unyielding wood. "I'll try to be better company."
"Seems the least you or your lad could do, coming on last minute like this."
There it is. For all the gold, the captain is curious, and boredom is keeping his suspicions afloat. With an effort, Zaimid turns his back on the water, and engages the man in talk of the new trade routes being negotiated, so that when Zaimid's 'boy' emerges onto the deck, the captain shows no sign of interest.
Zaimid's attention, however, has refocused. It is all he can do not to snatch the cap away, reveal the laughing eyes, kiss the snarl from those upturned lips.
"Your boy's green," the captain informs Zaimid carelessly, in the conversation void.
"So he is," Zaimid says, managing a chuckle. "Come on, lad, I'm sure I've got something in my supplies for you. I don't want to be clearing up after you if you make a mess."
Sarai's eyebrows lift, and for a moment, he thinks she will throw the offer back in his face. For a moment, he isn't certain if she is playing the part of a surly teen, or if she is genuinely offended. Then, she stalks back into Zaimid's cabin, and he thinks (he hopes) it's the former.
He closes the door behind him, and hunts through his pack. She truly looks nauseated, and he's hoping seasickness is the root, rather than regret. "Ginger biscuits," he announces triumphantly, pulling them free. "I can't promise you won't still feel sick." He seats himself next to her on the thin mattress, offering one.
In the silence, Zaimid starts to feel rather sick himself, wondering if he will have to instruct the ship to sail back to the Isles. Surely not - surely even if she regrets the part involving him, surely she still cannot marry a child. Surely he can save her from that, at least.
She takes the biscuit, breaking it in two. "I - Zaimid, there's one bed."
Zaimid could have laughed, but he swallows it in time. He brushes his fingertips over her jawline, leaning close to press a kiss to her temple. "That's yours, sweet. I'll sleep up top - I prefer it, anyway."
"I suppose you think it's silly," she murmurs, picking at a loose thread from the mattress. "Fussing about something like that, when we're - when we're…" She breaks off, and he can't quite tell whether she's embarrassed, or protecting herself from potential eavesdroppers.
"I don't think anything that makes you uncomfortable is silly," he says quietly, holding out his arms so she can curl up into them. He continues to talk as she falls asleep, nonsense about his homeland and all the food his mother is going to give her, but it seems to help as her brow unfurrows.
When he's sure she is asleep, he sighs, and leans his head back against the cabin wall. Hag's bones, he hopes he is doing the right thing by her. Only time will tell.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 617
Summary: Zaimid journeys back to Carthak - but not alone.
Notes: Credit to Shakespeare for the crossdressing trope. Also 'there's only one bed'. Also, is there some sort of bonus for literally shipping these two?? Title from Iwan Rheon's 'Dinard'.
--
Zaimid usually enjoys being out at sea, whatever the weather. On the journey to Kypriang Island, he was the only person on the deck other than the captain. He supposes it has something to do with growing up on the coast, having obtained his sea legs early in life.
Today is different - today, he has his arms folded and his eyes on the horizon as the boat slowly, gradually chews up the distance.
"Won't get there quicker, for all your glaring."
He exhales, manages a smile for the captain. "It's just been a long time since I've seen home, that's all."
The captain grunts.
Zaimid flexes his hands on the side of the boat, pressing his fingers against the unyielding wood. "I'll try to be better company."
"Seems the least you or your lad could do, coming on last minute like this."
There it is. For all the gold, the captain is curious, and boredom is keeping his suspicions afloat. With an effort, Zaimid turns his back on the water, and engages the man in talk of the new trade routes being negotiated, so that when Zaimid's 'boy' emerges onto the deck, the captain shows no sign of interest.
Zaimid's attention, however, has refocused. It is all he can do not to snatch the cap away, reveal the laughing eyes, kiss the snarl from those upturned lips.
"Your boy's green," the captain informs Zaimid carelessly, in the conversation void.
"So he is," Zaimid says, managing a chuckle. "Come on, lad, I'm sure I've got something in my supplies for you. I don't want to be clearing up after you if you make a mess."
Sarai's eyebrows lift, and for a moment, he thinks she will throw the offer back in his face. For a moment, he isn't certain if she is playing the part of a surly teen, or if she is genuinely offended. Then, she stalks back into Zaimid's cabin, and he thinks (he hopes) it's the former.
He closes the door behind him, and hunts through his pack. She truly looks nauseated, and he's hoping seasickness is the root, rather than regret. "Ginger biscuits," he announces triumphantly, pulling them free. "I can't promise you won't still feel sick." He seats himself next to her on the thin mattress, offering one.
In the silence, Zaimid starts to feel rather sick himself, wondering if he will have to instruct the ship to sail back to the Isles. Surely not - surely even if she regrets the part involving him, surely she still cannot marry a child. Surely he can save her from that, at least.
She takes the biscuit, breaking it in two. "I - Zaimid, there's one bed."
Zaimid could have laughed, but he swallows it in time. He brushes his fingertips over her jawline, leaning close to press a kiss to her temple. "That's yours, sweet. I'll sleep up top - I prefer it, anyway."
"I suppose you think it's silly," she murmurs, picking at a loose thread from the mattress. "Fussing about something like that, when we're - when we're…" She breaks off, and he can't quite tell whether she's embarrassed, or protecting herself from potential eavesdroppers.
"I don't think anything that makes you uncomfortable is silly," he says quietly, holding out his arms so she can curl up into them. He continues to talk as she falls asleep, nonsense about his homeland and all the food his mother is going to give her, but it seems to help as her brow unfurrows.
When he's sure she is asleep, he sighs, and leans his head back against the cabin wall. Hag's bones, he hopes he is doing the right thing by her. Only time will tell.