Post by Shhasow on Nov 17, 2010 7:54:27 GMT 10
Honor Be Damned
Summary: Neal needs to create a distraction during a ball, so he asks Kel to approach a certain knight...
Rating: PG (for "damn"
Big hugs to Ankhiale for beta-ing, as usual.
Part 6 of 10
________
Lord Wyldon was never comfortable in a ballroom, even as a young knight with his beautiful, charming Vivenne on his arm. Idle social chatter never became him; it was never instinctive as a sword in his hand or knowing which horses to breed together, not like his late wife.
Vivenne had enjoyed social events, had pushed him into them, and he had relied on her to remember names, mostly of women for he knew the knights, though he had always felt awkward to stand by the side of such a vivacious woman, a bit like a Lu-
“I am most put out with you, my Lord,” Kel quipped as she neared her former training master, the man she hoped she had earned the right to call friend. At his questioning glance, she elaborated, “You have lost me my jousting partner.”
“Lord Raoul?” Wyldon ventured, eyes glancing briefly at the Lady Knight’s light green dress. He forced them away to meet her dancing hazel eyes. He swallowed, and drained his glass.
She nodded gravely, “He claims his reputation cannot stand the blemish to be unseated by his former squire.”
“How magnanimous of him,” said Wyldon, “to leave all the honor to me. Never you fear, Mindelan, I shall not desert you in your hour of need. I fear we must both keep our skills sharp, for I suspect you have been receiving a rising number of challenges at tournaments, as have I.”
Kel felt guilty. “My lord, I-“
He waved it away, hand hovering over another glass of wine before withdrawing regretfully. “Never mind that, Mindelan. As loathe as I am to admit it, times are changing.” He sighed deeply. “Do close your mouth, Lady Knight. I am not such the Stump Queenscove declares I am.”
She coughed uncomfortably and looked away. He took the opportunity to assess her openly. Even after wearing a dress at every supper as a page, he still could not imagine the woman dressed up for court, even if she did look fetching in her gown. Still, he always thought she looked more at home in full armor, on her beast of a horse, crouched over to deliver a punishing blow with her-
“My Lord Wyldon?” she repeated.
He was unable to master himself in time and flushed just slightly, barely noticeable to the unobservant eye, but Kel was nothing if not observant.
She opened her mouth, but was interrupted before she could get a sound out.
“Kel, come here!”
She sighed and bowed to Wyldon. “Excuse me, my lord, my insane friend seems to require my presence this exact moment, else he might do something unspeakable.”
“Do save us from Queenscove, Mindelan, you are our only chance,” he said dryly. He watched her walk away and involuntarily grabbed the wine glass he had rejected earlier. His thoughts charged on warhorses through his pounding head, and he leaned against the wall to tread the thin line between alcohol enough to make the traitorous thoughts lose significance, and too much, in which case he might venture them.
Voicing them aloud would make them real.
As Kel approached her friend, Neal gestured frantically for her to hurry up.
“What, Neal?” she asked, exasperated.
“Sorry to interrupt your time with the Stump,” he sniffed, “but that’s why I’m calling you over.”
Kel scowled and her tightly-wound nerves snapped. “I am sick of you deriding him, Neal. He’s an honorable man and a brilliant commander; he doesn’t deserve the constant criticism. You owe him loyalty for training us so well, but the only thing you can do is mock him with petty insults behind his back, and I am tired of it!” She blushed slightly, realizing that her voice had grown too loud for a whispered conversation, but took nothing back.
Neal raised his hands defensively. “Slow down there, Kel. As much as I am sure your rant is not appreciated by the St- by that man,” he amended hastily, “I wasn’t going to take you to task for speaking with him. You and he can spend all the time together you like, whacking each other on horses, giving each other bruises, calculating supply lists, or whatever you two find so enjoyable.” He went slightly green as if nauseated by the thought that anyone could consider those activities not punishments, while Kel considered his suggestions and found them quite pleasurable ideas.
“Anyway, I need your help. Actually, Owen needs your help.”
Kel raised an eyebrow, but followed Neal’s gaze to Owen of Jesslaw on the other side of the ballroom, hovering around Neal’s wife, Yuki, and a young pretty girl.
“Neal, is that?” she peered at the face, trying to place it.
“Lady Margarry,” he nodded, then added with a tinge of pique, “of Cavall.”
“Oh,” she whispered under her breath. The girl, Margarry, was beautiful, her long brown hair in perfect ringlets framing a delicate face elegantly turned towards Yuki, her sweet laugh tinkling like bells. Kel, in her favorite dress with some paint, felt distinctly unfeminine.
“I know,” Neal sighed, “she certainly didn’t inherit her father’s good looks.”
“Their eyes are the same,” Kel answered absently.
Neal stared at her for a second then shook his head. “I am not going to ask how you know that. Instead, I am going to tell you what Owen needs. He needs a distraction.”
“And what can I do?” she asked suspiciously.
“Cause a scandal, my dear knight.”
Kel rolled her eyes. “I cause a scandal simply by breathing, Neal. Be more specific. Shall I dance a jig on the King’s table? Challenge some crusty conservative for my own honor? Confirm everyone’s suspicions that I will finally go mad?”
“Even better,” he grinned. “I want you to dance with the Stump.”
The Lady Knight was too stunned to nag him for the hated nickname. “Wh-what? Dance? You want me, you want me to dance with Lord Wyldon?”
“I didn't think you'd mind.”
“No, but Neal, I can’t do that. I just can’t!”
Neal frowned in confusion. “I thought you were getting along with him, you said so yourself.”
“Yes, but there’s a large distance between getting along with someone and dancing with them, Neal!”
He shrugged. “That’s the best I can figure. Ah, I suppose Owen shall be forced to wallow and pine for his lady-love.”
Kel groaned. “Why does he need a distraction, anyway, and why do I have to do it?”
Neal goggled at her. “You don’t suppose I can ask our mutual friend for a dance, do you?” He continued hurriedly when Kel made a threatening motion. She could still wipe the floor with him on the training yard. “Owen thinks Lady Margarry is the most wonderful woman. The sun sets and rises on that delicate chin, that pert nose, her perfectly shaped ears… which you would know if you actually spent time with us instead of hanging out with the Stump, trading bruises.”
“Neal.”
“Fine, fine. If you can dance with him, then Owen can approach his lady and drag her away to a secluded corner for privacy. Your companion,” he shoved his chin towards Wyldon, “has been watching his daughter like a hawk. He knows they like each other and he’s determined to not miss a trick. Doesn’t trust us, for some reason.”
“Can’t imagine why,” said Kel dryly, biting her bottom lip. “Neal, what if he says no?”
“What if he says yes?” Neal shrugged. “You’ll get the furthest out of all of us.”
She resisted the urge to strangle her friend, or at least tie his tongue in a knot as Lord Wyldon had threatened years ago.
What if he said no?
It would be embarrassing, certainly. They had only recently come to an understanding, after their initial years of mingled dislike and respect had given way to admiration, at least on her part. They were equal in arms now, more or less, both commanders, though she was still in training for that and he was quite established. If he were to turn her down, there would be lingering consequences, confusion on both of their parts.
What if he said yes?
Did she want him to say yes?
Kel had always thought him handsome, even when she resented her probationary status, even from the time she first stood in front of his sturdy, no-nonsense desk, carefully measuring that craggy face. No, to be honest with herself, everything started back when she was five and a caring man had found her crying in a corridor and had held her in his arms until her tears abated, who had wiped her face, listened to her stumbling story, and given her advice that she had taken to heart.
For years she thought of that man, dreamed of him, even, of his strong arms and soothing voice and of the way he talked to her as if she were an equal to the pages, one of them.
He was her ideal, the man to whom every knight should aspire. When she came to the palace, she had hoped to find him somehow and thank him. Her surprise and betrayal had taken away her breath and made her head swim when she realized that he was the same man as her strict training master, who proceeded for the next year both to ignore and push her further than the boys.
But this was an old stomping ground, no need to rehash her initial shock and subsequent determination to make him acknowledge her ability and her right to belong, which he finally did that night on the banks of the Vassa…
Her forehead burned at the memory.
What if he did say yes?
Suddenly, there was nothing she wanted more.
“The next dance is about to start,” Neal said, listening to the orchestra and watching his wife with the Stump’s daughter. “Are you going to go or not?” He turned to Kel only to see her back as she walked slowly, yet steadily up to their training master, still against the wall and nursing a glass.
Wyldon saw the two of them arguing, and idly wondered what was important enough for Queenscove to interrupt and drag Mindelan away. Likely had to do with the company she had been keeping. He finished his wine and placed it on a server’s tray. What number was that? He hadn’t been paying attention.
He normally didn’t drink at these events. Usually, he didn’t even show up; it had been several years, since before the Scanran war. Afterwards, with his dear Vivenne departed to the Peaceful Realms, there was no purpose for his attendance.
The only reason Wyldon attended was to play the distant chaperone to his youngest daughter, to note which brash young knights paid court to her so that he could conveniently choose them as his next training partners. It had the delightful side effect of chasing away all but the most determined, though of course he would stringently deny it to his irate daughter.
Normally he despised deception, but in this case he would make an exception.
He needed to keep a special eye on Jesslaw; Margarry seemed to have an inclination towards the hellion. Perhaps his ex-squire required more jousting lessons.
Movement towards him caught his attention, and he turned to see Mindelan walking in his direction, the oddest look he had ever seen on her face. It was a mixture of familiar determination, trepidation, and a tinge of fear.
That was odd, indeed. Rarely did anyone see fear on that girl’s face.
She stopped in front of him and cleared her throat.
“Do you dance, my lord?”
“Excuse me?” Surely she didn’t say what he thought she did – had he too much to drink?
She flushed lightly, the pink barely visible underneath her tan. “Dancing, sir. The orchestra is starting the next dance, sir, and I just wondered if you cared to, well...”
His hearing wasn’t gone yet, apparently. Perhaps she had too much to drink tonight.
Wyldon could think of a hundred reasons why this was a terrible idea. It would destroy any remaining conservative reputation he had – training the first Lady Knight in centuries was bad enough, not to mention her pardon after the desertion into Scanra – and their recent friendliness had not gone unmarked. He wasn’t sure he could do that to her; she had enough slanderous gossip to ignore.
He hadn’t danced since before his wife died, and he still mourned his Vivenne, gone these past few months, taken by a fever as he fought Scanrans far away from Cavall.
Most of her year-mates were in attendance, and some of his, along with most of the powerful people at court. He glanced at Queenscove, who was watching them out of the corner of his eye. Did he put her up to it?
In her eyes, hope dimmed.
Did it matter if that irresponsible reprobate did?
His honor told him not to accept. She would be better served to remain simply a courteous training partner with whom he had much in common.
She looked away and opened her mouth, no doubt to retract her words, when Wyldon realized that for all of the many reasons why this was a foolish idea, the one that spoke up in favor was the only important one.
He wanted to, honor be damned this once.
He interrupted her. “While I understand, Lady Keladry, that you were taught with male pages, I would have thought you knew that the man is supposed to ask.” He watched as the hope returned to her eyes, accompanied by good humor.
“My apologies, sir, I fear I have neglected my learning, but if I don’t ask, I never dance,” she grinned. “For some reason my friends are reluctant, as are most knights.”
Wyldon smirked. “I believe they are intimidated. The older knights know you can hold your own with the best of them and humiliate the rest, while the younger ones are either resentful of your reputation of Protector of the Small,” Kel groaned, “or are struck with a touch of hero worship.”
“Wait, what?” she asked, eyes wide.
Wyldon chuckled and nodded as he gave her his arm.
As he led the Lady Knight onto the dance floor, he wistfully tucked away his wife into a corner of his mind. She was gone; she would not begrudge him dancing if it gave him pleasure.
Their marriage had been based on love and affection for the other, and he believed that she would want him happy, even if for just a few moments in the arms of another.
Of course, there was the wicked joy he felt as he watched Queenscove’s gobsmacked expression as he nimbly twirled Keladry around the floor, her delighted laughter unexpectedly warming his heart.
Summary: Neal needs to create a distraction during a ball, so he asks Kel to approach a certain knight...
Rating: PG (for "damn"
Big hugs to Ankhiale for beta-ing, as usual.
Part 6 of 10
________
Lord Wyldon was never comfortable in a ballroom, even as a young knight with his beautiful, charming Vivenne on his arm. Idle social chatter never became him; it was never instinctive as a sword in his hand or knowing which horses to breed together, not like his late wife.
Vivenne had enjoyed social events, had pushed him into them, and he had relied on her to remember names, mostly of women for he knew the knights, though he had always felt awkward to stand by the side of such a vivacious woman, a bit like a Lu-
“I am most put out with you, my Lord,” Kel quipped as she neared her former training master, the man she hoped she had earned the right to call friend. At his questioning glance, she elaborated, “You have lost me my jousting partner.”
“Lord Raoul?” Wyldon ventured, eyes glancing briefly at the Lady Knight’s light green dress. He forced them away to meet her dancing hazel eyes. He swallowed, and drained his glass.
She nodded gravely, “He claims his reputation cannot stand the blemish to be unseated by his former squire.”
“How magnanimous of him,” said Wyldon, “to leave all the honor to me. Never you fear, Mindelan, I shall not desert you in your hour of need. I fear we must both keep our skills sharp, for I suspect you have been receiving a rising number of challenges at tournaments, as have I.”
Kel felt guilty. “My lord, I-“
He waved it away, hand hovering over another glass of wine before withdrawing regretfully. “Never mind that, Mindelan. As loathe as I am to admit it, times are changing.” He sighed deeply. “Do close your mouth, Lady Knight. I am not such the Stump Queenscove declares I am.”
She coughed uncomfortably and looked away. He took the opportunity to assess her openly. Even after wearing a dress at every supper as a page, he still could not imagine the woman dressed up for court, even if she did look fetching in her gown. Still, he always thought she looked more at home in full armor, on her beast of a horse, crouched over to deliver a punishing blow with her-
“My Lord Wyldon?” she repeated.
He was unable to master himself in time and flushed just slightly, barely noticeable to the unobservant eye, but Kel was nothing if not observant.
She opened her mouth, but was interrupted before she could get a sound out.
“Kel, come here!”
She sighed and bowed to Wyldon. “Excuse me, my lord, my insane friend seems to require my presence this exact moment, else he might do something unspeakable.”
“Do save us from Queenscove, Mindelan, you are our only chance,” he said dryly. He watched her walk away and involuntarily grabbed the wine glass he had rejected earlier. His thoughts charged on warhorses through his pounding head, and he leaned against the wall to tread the thin line between alcohol enough to make the traitorous thoughts lose significance, and too much, in which case he might venture them.
Voicing them aloud would make them real.
As Kel approached her friend, Neal gestured frantically for her to hurry up.
“What, Neal?” she asked, exasperated.
“Sorry to interrupt your time with the Stump,” he sniffed, “but that’s why I’m calling you over.”
Kel scowled and her tightly-wound nerves snapped. “I am sick of you deriding him, Neal. He’s an honorable man and a brilliant commander; he doesn’t deserve the constant criticism. You owe him loyalty for training us so well, but the only thing you can do is mock him with petty insults behind his back, and I am tired of it!” She blushed slightly, realizing that her voice had grown too loud for a whispered conversation, but took nothing back.
Neal raised his hands defensively. “Slow down there, Kel. As much as I am sure your rant is not appreciated by the St- by that man,” he amended hastily, “I wasn’t going to take you to task for speaking with him. You and he can spend all the time together you like, whacking each other on horses, giving each other bruises, calculating supply lists, or whatever you two find so enjoyable.” He went slightly green as if nauseated by the thought that anyone could consider those activities not punishments, while Kel considered his suggestions and found them quite pleasurable ideas.
“Anyway, I need your help. Actually, Owen needs your help.”
Kel raised an eyebrow, but followed Neal’s gaze to Owen of Jesslaw on the other side of the ballroom, hovering around Neal’s wife, Yuki, and a young pretty girl.
“Neal, is that?” she peered at the face, trying to place it.
“Lady Margarry,” he nodded, then added with a tinge of pique, “of Cavall.”
“Oh,” she whispered under her breath. The girl, Margarry, was beautiful, her long brown hair in perfect ringlets framing a delicate face elegantly turned towards Yuki, her sweet laugh tinkling like bells. Kel, in her favorite dress with some paint, felt distinctly unfeminine.
“I know,” Neal sighed, “she certainly didn’t inherit her father’s good looks.”
“Their eyes are the same,” Kel answered absently.
Neal stared at her for a second then shook his head. “I am not going to ask how you know that. Instead, I am going to tell you what Owen needs. He needs a distraction.”
“And what can I do?” she asked suspiciously.
“Cause a scandal, my dear knight.”
Kel rolled her eyes. “I cause a scandal simply by breathing, Neal. Be more specific. Shall I dance a jig on the King’s table? Challenge some crusty conservative for my own honor? Confirm everyone’s suspicions that I will finally go mad?”
“Even better,” he grinned. “I want you to dance with the Stump.”
The Lady Knight was too stunned to nag him for the hated nickname. “Wh-what? Dance? You want me, you want me to dance with Lord Wyldon?”
“I didn't think you'd mind.”
“No, but Neal, I can’t do that. I just can’t!”
Neal frowned in confusion. “I thought you were getting along with him, you said so yourself.”
“Yes, but there’s a large distance between getting along with someone and dancing with them, Neal!”
He shrugged. “That’s the best I can figure. Ah, I suppose Owen shall be forced to wallow and pine for his lady-love.”
Kel groaned. “Why does he need a distraction, anyway, and why do I have to do it?”
Neal goggled at her. “You don’t suppose I can ask our mutual friend for a dance, do you?” He continued hurriedly when Kel made a threatening motion. She could still wipe the floor with him on the training yard. “Owen thinks Lady Margarry is the most wonderful woman. The sun sets and rises on that delicate chin, that pert nose, her perfectly shaped ears… which you would know if you actually spent time with us instead of hanging out with the Stump, trading bruises.”
“Neal.”
“Fine, fine. If you can dance with him, then Owen can approach his lady and drag her away to a secluded corner for privacy. Your companion,” he shoved his chin towards Wyldon, “has been watching his daughter like a hawk. He knows they like each other and he’s determined to not miss a trick. Doesn’t trust us, for some reason.”
“Can’t imagine why,” said Kel dryly, biting her bottom lip. “Neal, what if he says no?”
“What if he says yes?” Neal shrugged. “You’ll get the furthest out of all of us.”
She resisted the urge to strangle her friend, or at least tie his tongue in a knot as Lord Wyldon had threatened years ago.
What if he said no?
It would be embarrassing, certainly. They had only recently come to an understanding, after their initial years of mingled dislike and respect had given way to admiration, at least on her part. They were equal in arms now, more or less, both commanders, though she was still in training for that and he was quite established. If he were to turn her down, there would be lingering consequences, confusion on both of their parts.
What if he said yes?
Did she want him to say yes?
Kel had always thought him handsome, even when she resented her probationary status, even from the time she first stood in front of his sturdy, no-nonsense desk, carefully measuring that craggy face. No, to be honest with herself, everything started back when she was five and a caring man had found her crying in a corridor and had held her in his arms until her tears abated, who had wiped her face, listened to her stumbling story, and given her advice that she had taken to heart.
For years she thought of that man, dreamed of him, even, of his strong arms and soothing voice and of the way he talked to her as if she were an equal to the pages, one of them.
He was her ideal, the man to whom every knight should aspire. When she came to the palace, she had hoped to find him somehow and thank him. Her surprise and betrayal had taken away her breath and made her head swim when she realized that he was the same man as her strict training master, who proceeded for the next year both to ignore and push her further than the boys.
But this was an old stomping ground, no need to rehash her initial shock and subsequent determination to make him acknowledge her ability and her right to belong, which he finally did that night on the banks of the Vassa…
Her forehead burned at the memory.
What if he did say yes?
Suddenly, there was nothing she wanted more.
“The next dance is about to start,” Neal said, listening to the orchestra and watching his wife with the Stump’s daughter. “Are you going to go or not?” He turned to Kel only to see her back as she walked slowly, yet steadily up to their training master, still against the wall and nursing a glass.
Wyldon saw the two of them arguing, and idly wondered what was important enough for Queenscove to interrupt and drag Mindelan away. Likely had to do with the company she had been keeping. He finished his wine and placed it on a server’s tray. What number was that? He hadn’t been paying attention.
He normally didn’t drink at these events. Usually, he didn’t even show up; it had been several years, since before the Scanran war. Afterwards, with his dear Vivenne departed to the Peaceful Realms, there was no purpose for his attendance.
The only reason Wyldon attended was to play the distant chaperone to his youngest daughter, to note which brash young knights paid court to her so that he could conveniently choose them as his next training partners. It had the delightful side effect of chasing away all but the most determined, though of course he would stringently deny it to his irate daughter.
Normally he despised deception, but in this case he would make an exception.
He needed to keep a special eye on Jesslaw; Margarry seemed to have an inclination towards the hellion. Perhaps his ex-squire required more jousting lessons.
Movement towards him caught his attention, and he turned to see Mindelan walking in his direction, the oddest look he had ever seen on her face. It was a mixture of familiar determination, trepidation, and a tinge of fear.
That was odd, indeed. Rarely did anyone see fear on that girl’s face.
She stopped in front of him and cleared her throat.
“Do you dance, my lord?”
“Excuse me?” Surely she didn’t say what he thought she did – had he too much to drink?
She flushed lightly, the pink barely visible underneath her tan. “Dancing, sir. The orchestra is starting the next dance, sir, and I just wondered if you cared to, well...”
His hearing wasn’t gone yet, apparently. Perhaps she had too much to drink tonight.
Wyldon could think of a hundred reasons why this was a terrible idea. It would destroy any remaining conservative reputation he had – training the first Lady Knight in centuries was bad enough, not to mention her pardon after the desertion into Scanra – and their recent friendliness had not gone unmarked. He wasn’t sure he could do that to her; she had enough slanderous gossip to ignore.
He hadn’t danced since before his wife died, and he still mourned his Vivenne, gone these past few months, taken by a fever as he fought Scanrans far away from Cavall.
Most of her year-mates were in attendance, and some of his, along with most of the powerful people at court. He glanced at Queenscove, who was watching them out of the corner of his eye. Did he put her up to it?
In her eyes, hope dimmed.
Did it matter if that irresponsible reprobate did?
His honor told him not to accept. She would be better served to remain simply a courteous training partner with whom he had much in common.
She looked away and opened her mouth, no doubt to retract her words, when Wyldon realized that for all of the many reasons why this was a foolish idea, the one that spoke up in favor was the only important one.
He wanted to, honor be damned this once.
He interrupted her. “While I understand, Lady Keladry, that you were taught with male pages, I would have thought you knew that the man is supposed to ask.” He watched as the hope returned to her eyes, accompanied by good humor.
“My apologies, sir, I fear I have neglected my learning, but if I don’t ask, I never dance,” she grinned. “For some reason my friends are reluctant, as are most knights.”
Wyldon smirked. “I believe they are intimidated. The older knights know you can hold your own with the best of them and humiliate the rest, while the younger ones are either resentful of your reputation of Protector of the Small,” Kel groaned, “or are struck with a touch of hero worship.”
“Wait, what?” she asked, eyes wide.
Wyldon chuckled and nodded as he gave her his arm.
As he led the Lady Knight onto the dance floor, he wistfully tucked away his wife into a corner of his mind. She was gone; she would not begrudge him dancing if it gave him pleasure.
Their marriage had been based on love and affection for the other, and he believed that she would want him happy, even if for just a few moments in the arms of another.
Of course, there was the wicked joy he felt as he watched Queenscove’s gobsmacked expression as he nimbly twirled Keladry around the floor, her delighted laughter unexpectedly warming his heart.