Post by Shhasow on Nov 19, 2010 6:26:42 GMT 10
Muddled Musings
Summary: What was so clear quickly becomes muddled.
Rating: PG
Thanks Ankhiale!
Part 9 of 11.
_______
“Are you ready yet, Keladry?”
“Coming,” Kel replied, opening the door to her room and stepping outside. Jump, having refused to leave her side since finding her the night before, followed her closely on her heels.
Wyldon nodded a greeting to the pair and gave the dog a pat. They strolled slowly down the hallway towards the king’s office, lost in their thoughts.
Kel felt much more like herself after a good sleep. Her back was much improved and her aches diminished to the level she felt after a hard day of training. So long as she moved carefully and deliberately, she could largely ignore the plaints of her body.
Her mind was unsettled with thoughts of Lord Wyldon, no, just Wyldon.
It was difficult to break a habit of many years, even in her thoughts. She had been a touch sad when they left the infirmary ward, but also a bit grateful. They had come to an understanding, the two of them, one that filled her chest with a warm glow. He considered her an equal, a comrade in arms.
Her dream, though, that was extremely unsettling. Why had she dreamed it? The first part, the bout, that was innocuous and perfectly reasonable, but the end of it…
They had nearly kissed.
But that had been a dream.
This morning when he held her to his wounded chest and spoke soothing words of comfort into her ear as she cried, she had felt protected. Enclosed in his firm grasp, it was as if the world paused for a moment to let her unburden all of her fears and worries. When he admitted his own tears, it made hers no longer seem a weakness, and she felt a connection to him as tangible as the steel flowers in her dream.
Could she actually be attracted to her old training master?
Well, not old, exactly. She examined him out of the corner of her eye. He was older, certainly, broad-shouldered, with a sharp and craggy face lined by time and scars. He was largely bald, though bits of silver threaded through his remaining hair at his temples. His constant training ensured that he was still in peak physical shape, regardless of his age, and while his clothes didn’t bulge with muscle, he was very solidly built.
Wyldon was not the type of man she was usually attracted to.
Neal? Tall, lanky, cheerful, dramatic. He always wanted to cause a scene, to be seen and recognized. He was an excellent friend, but he was attracted to beautiful flowers of womanhood, not girls with bigger muscles than him. Her crush had lasted years until Cleon.
That big soft redhead was also cheery, with Neal’s penchant for flowery language. He made her laugh where she might have smiled, grin when she might have nodded politely. At the same time, she liked Dom.
Dom was just like Neal, in body and character, and his dancing blue eyes and playful laugh had warmed her heart for too long. She wasn’t certain when her feelings for him ceased; it had been a gradual decrease until she thought of him as merely an attractive Sergeant.
No one else had caught her eye, until now.
Kel frowned as she considered that all of her crushes were on Players, and all of her “romances” had been fairly disastrous. She only actually dated Cleon, and Kel hadn’t even thought of him that way until he approached her. Her feelings had evaporated when they were separated for so long.
Kel hated that she was so fickle.
Still, maybe it would work out in her favor.
Her previous crushes were long-lasting, more or less continuing for years. Wyldon was almost the exact opposite of Neal and Dom, stronger than Kel, more serious, possessing a wry wit that he showed few people, as opposed to Neal’s attention-seeking theatrics.
All things considered, Kel decided that this was a passing fancy. It wouldn’t last long, hopefully.
Hers was a crush brought on by stress and proximity.
It was rather uncomfortable to think of Wyldon as an object of romantic interest.
Especially as it was doomed. He had trained her, he was her commander for several years. He would never reciprocate; gossips in the palace claimed that Wyldon had deeply loved his wife Vivenne, even though no one could reconcile the dour training master with an ardent lover. Pages and squires alike shuddered at the thought.
No, there was no chance of Wyldon deciding that the Lady Knight was an adequate substitute for his gorgeous dead wife.
Kel told herself that she was an idiot, that she didn’t care.
Still, she let her eyes discreetly drink their full of him as they walked together in silence.
Wyldon considered the woman beside him, the way she walked with grace and strength, how she was so completely lost in thought that she did not remark when a young squire, obviously trained by him, happened to walk by and nearly fell over his feet at seeing the amicable pair.
Perhaps she was as disturbed as he after yesterday and this morning, though undoubtedly in a different way.
He knew she didn’t regret their formal commitment to a friendship. After all, they had been treating each other as such for weeks.
Did she regret his comforting her this morning? She was a very strong and independent woman; perhaps she was offended at his presumption. Nor was she physically demonstrative, and she had quickly removed herself from their embrace.
Very well. If she disliked his friendly touch, he could withhold it. Doing so might possibly prevent his thoughts from getting so muddled with the sensations that flickered through his mind too quickly to understand. It was better for him, anyway.
Wyldon ignored the brief feeling of loss that coincided with his decision. It was unfamiliar. It wasn’t important.
Keladry was a friend and no more. He wasn’t used to female friends or how to handle them; he knew females only as daughters or as a wife.
Vivenne.
Wyldon had never expected love. His own parents were the perfect example of an arranged marriage. They tolerated each other and lived in separate wings of the house, only coming together for meals or court appearances. They remained publically faithful, and neither pried into the other’s private life. Wyldon considered that his marriage would be the same.
Then once, when on leave to Cavall soon after his knighting, he saw Vivenne for the first time. He was desolate, having just lost his horse Aramis, when he walked into the stables to see an angel briskly rubbing down their best breeding stallion.
Wyldon had asked her, abruptly and uncivilly, if she could ride the eighteen-hand horse, to which she had laughingly replied, “Aye, and better than you.”
He fell in love immediately and spent the next three years courting her, the youngest daughter of a neighboring fief, until she finally agreed to marry.
Wyldon’s youngest sister Elsabenne still hadn’t forgiven her for what she called, “her arrogant presumption” for marrying her favorite brother.
Elsabenne was rather spoiled, and particularly adept at holding a grudge. Whenever she visited Cavall, she did so to indulge her nieces tremendously and to tease her brother while mildly tolerating her sister-in-law.
Wyldon and Vivenne had many happy years of marriage and four lovely daughters, though the long separations due to his being training master were quite difficult on both of them. He had relied on her impromptu visits during page training to get through until his short leave.
Vivenne had known him perfectly, had known when to leave him to his stubbornness and when to kick him out of his misplaced dignity.
He would always miss her, though he was at peace. Wyldon never expected to love again. Once in one lifetime was more than most people found.
Therefore, this softening towards Keladry was nothing more than concern and admiration for a skillful friend. His impulse to comfort her was born from a desire to see his friend happy, restored to her previous good humor and steady composure.
That was all.
The two of them were rather surprised when they finally arrived at their destination.
Wyldon held open the door and they walked into the king’s office, bowing.
King Jonathan looked up from the paperwork on his desk. He nodded respectfully to Wyldon and smiled broadly at Keladry.
Kel hid her scowl. The king’s magnetism had never worked on her, but it seemed he wouldn’t stop trying.
“Lord Wyldon, Lady Keladry, I am pleased to see you so soon. I trust you have recovered from your injuries?”
“Quite, your majesty,” Wyldon answered. Kel let him speak for both of them; she respected the king but was not fond of him.
Jon studied the two blank faces in front of him. It was at times like these that he missed Alanna, the person who never had an emotion she couldn’t express, who never hid her opinion when she could voice it, vehemently.
These two were a mystery more often than not, which was more frustrating than Alanna’s inability to shut up.
“Report on the incident of yesterday,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and waiting for one of them to speak up. He saw Keladry glance at Wyldon, who nodded slightly before he spoke. Interesting.
“The Lady Knight and I rode out into the Royal Forest. Half a mile in, as we rode around Benek’s Bend, we were ambushed by at least two squads of well trained soldiers.”
Jon frowned. Well trained, that did not sound like bandits; that sounded like trouble.
“My mount fled to the palace to seek help. We fought off the attackers and eventually managed to escape through the underbrush until the contingent of guards arrived. I believe their presence caused our attackers to flee in order to escape detection.”
“Were there any identifying characteristics? It seems you believe they were not bandits, and I am inclined to agree.”
“They were remarkably silent, sire,” Wyldon answered. “They did not communicate or give orders during the fight, though one did swear to Shai South-wind.”
“K’miri? What do they have to do with this mess?”
Keladry spoke up for the first time. “Wyldon, the archer was the leader. He stayed out of the melee and I noticed him commanding with gestures. He spoke only once, and I thought he had an Eastern accent.”
Wyldon nodded. “You are correct, Keladry. He assuredly had an eastern Tortallan affectation.”
Jon almost keeled over in shock. The conservative training master and Tortall’s first Lady Knight, on equal terms? Wyldon of Cavall was a notorious stickler for formality; few people at court were allowed to call him by his first name.
The king forcibly brought his mind back to the conversation. “Yes, you would know, Cavall being prominent in that area. Cavall, Tirragen, Whitehorn, Goldenlake…”
Wyldon cleared his throat. “Stone Mountain as well, sire.”
Keladry and Wyldon looked at each other again before he continued. “We are in agreement that this was not an accident, your majesty. They had a clear view of us as we rode around the blind corner, and someone gave a signal.”
“You believe that you were the target?”
“One of us, or both.”
Jon leaned back in his chair, hand stroking his chin in thought. “I shall make inquiries,” he said slowly, “beginning in the area of Goldenlake and moving southward. If the leader is from there, there will be signs, whispers of recruiting.”
“Until we know more, both of you are to be on high alert.”
They bowed no more than strictly required.
Keladry turned to leave, but Wyldon ignored the implicit dismissal.
“Sire, before the Lady Knight and I get reassigned, I have a request that we be granted leave enough to visit Cavall.” He continued on, disregarding the looks of confusion on both the king and Keladry. “Keladry lost her mount in the battle, and I wish for her to replace him from my stables.”
“Wyldon, no, you don’t have to, you shouldn’t,” Kel stuttered, blushing.
“Cavall does train the finest mounts in Tortall,” Jon noted, surprised yet again by the two’s close relationship. Surprised and perturbed. What did this mean, these opposite people working together, doing far more than simply tolerating each other?
“Permission granted. You may leave as soon as your injuries allow.”
Wyldon nodded. “Thank you, sire.” That was an subtle command to leave soon so as to return quickly.
They bowed again and left the room.
Before the door closed, Jon could hear them speaking.
“I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s unnecessary, Wyldon.”
“Nonsense, Keladry. I shall not allow you to ride an inferior horse, not when I can provide you with a true Cavall mount.”
“You are a horse snob! I never suspected…”
Their quiet laughter died away.
Jon shook his head. If someone had told him that morning that the staunch conservative knight and the young progressive female knight were friends, he would have laughed until tears fell.
A request to pardon her was one thing, but a friendship?
Jon hadn’t been sure that the stiff Lord of Cavall even understood the concept.
Summary: What was so clear quickly becomes muddled.
Rating: PG
Thanks Ankhiale!
Part 9 of 11.
_______
“Are you ready yet, Keladry?”
“Coming,” Kel replied, opening the door to her room and stepping outside. Jump, having refused to leave her side since finding her the night before, followed her closely on her heels.
Wyldon nodded a greeting to the pair and gave the dog a pat. They strolled slowly down the hallway towards the king’s office, lost in their thoughts.
Kel felt much more like herself after a good sleep. Her back was much improved and her aches diminished to the level she felt after a hard day of training. So long as she moved carefully and deliberately, she could largely ignore the plaints of her body.
Her mind was unsettled with thoughts of Lord Wyldon, no, just Wyldon.
It was difficult to break a habit of many years, even in her thoughts. She had been a touch sad when they left the infirmary ward, but also a bit grateful. They had come to an understanding, the two of them, one that filled her chest with a warm glow. He considered her an equal, a comrade in arms.
Her dream, though, that was extremely unsettling. Why had she dreamed it? The first part, the bout, that was innocuous and perfectly reasonable, but the end of it…
They had nearly kissed.
But that had been a dream.
This morning when he held her to his wounded chest and spoke soothing words of comfort into her ear as she cried, she had felt protected. Enclosed in his firm grasp, it was as if the world paused for a moment to let her unburden all of her fears and worries. When he admitted his own tears, it made hers no longer seem a weakness, and she felt a connection to him as tangible as the steel flowers in her dream.
Could she actually be attracted to her old training master?
Well, not old, exactly. She examined him out of the corner of her eye. He was older, certainly, broad-shouldered, with a sharp and craggy face lined by time and scars. He was largely bald, though bits of silver threaded through his remaining hair at his temples. His constant training ensured that he was still in peak physical shape, regardless of his age, and while his clothes didn’t bulge with muscle, he was very solidly built.
Wyldon was not the type of man she was usually attracted to.
Neal? Tall, lanky, cheerful, dramatic. He always wanted to cause a scene, to be seen and recognized. He was an excellent friend, but he was attracted to beautiful flowers of womanhood, not girls with bigger muscles than him. Her crush had lasted years until Cleon.
That big soft redhead was also cheery, with Neal’s penchant for flowery language. He made her laugh where she might have smiled, grin when she might have nodded politely. At the same time, she liked Dom.
Dom was just like Neal, in body and character, and his dancing blue eyes and playful laugh had warmed her heart for too long. She wasn’t certain when her feelings for him ceased; it had been a gradual decrease until she thought of him as merely an attractive Sergeant.
No one else had caught her eye, until now.
Kel frowned as she considered that all of her crushes were on Players, and all of her “romances” had been fairly disastrous. She only actually dated Cleon, and Kel hadn’t even thought of him that way until he approached her. Her feelings had evaporated when they were separated for so long.
Kel hated that she was so fickle.
Still, maybe it would work out in her favor.
Her previous crushes were long-lasting, more or less continuing for years. Wyldon was almost the exact opposite of Neal and Dom, stronger than Kel, more serious, possessing a wry wit that he showed few people, as opposed to Neal’s attention-seeking theatrics.
All things considered, Kel decided that this was a passing fancy. It wouldn’t last long, hopefully.
Hers was a crush brought on by stress and proximity.
It was rather uncomfortable to think of Wyldon as an object of romantic interest.
Especially as it was doomed. He had trained her, he was her commander for several years. He would never reciprocate; gossips in the palace claimed that Wyldon had deeply loved his wife Vivenne, even though no one could reconcile the dour training master with an ardent lover. Pages and squires alike shuddered at the thought.
No, there was no chance of Wyldon deciding that the Lady Knight was an adequate substitute for his gorgeous dead wife.
Kel told herself that she was an idiot, that she didn’t care.
Still, she let her eyes discreetly drink their full of him as they walked together in silence.
Wyldon considered the woman beside him, the way she walked with grace and strength, how she was so completely lost in thought that she did not remark when a young squire, obviously trained by him, happened to walk by and nearly fell over his feet at seeing the amicable pair.
Perhaps she was as disturbed as he after yesterday and this morning, though undoubtedly in a different way.
He knew she didn’t regret their formal commitment to a friendship. After all, they had been treating each other as such for weeks.
Did she regret his comforting her this morning? She was a very strong and independent woman; perhaps she was offended at his presumption. Nor was she physically demonstrative, and she had quickly removed herself from their embrace.
Very well. If she disliked his friendly touch, he could withhold it. Doing so might possibly prevent his thoughts from getting so muddled with the sensations that flickered through his mind too quickly to understand. It was better for him, anyway.
Wyldon ignored the brief feeling of loss that coincided with his decision. It was unfamiliar. It wasn’t important.
Keladry was a friend and no more. He wasn’t used to female friends or how to handle them; he knew females only as daughters or as a wife.
Vivenne.
Wyldon had never expected love. His own parents were the perfect example of an arranged marriage. They tolerated each other and lived in separate wings of the house, only coming together for meals or court appearances. They remained publically faithful, and neither pried into the other’s private life. Wyldon considered that his marriage would be the same.
Then once, when on leave to Cavall soon after his knighting, he saw Vivenne for the first time. He was desolate, having just lost his horse Aramis, when he walked into the stables to see an angel briskly rubbing down their best breeding stallion.
Wyldon had asked her, abruptly and uncivilly, if she could ride the eighteen-hand horse, to which she had laughingly replied, “Aye, and better than you.”
He fell in love immediately and spent the next three years courting her, the youngest daughter of a neighboring fief, until she finally agreed to marry.
Wyldon’s youngest sister Elsabenne still hadn’t forgiven her for what she called, “her arrogant presumption” for marrying her favorite brother.
Elsabenne was rather spoiled, and particularly adept at holding a grudge. Whenever she visited Cavall, she did so to indulge her nieces tremendously and to tease her brother while mildly tolerating her sister-in-law.
Wyldon and Vivenne had many happy years of marriage and four lovely daughters, though the long separations due to his being training master were quite difficult on both of them. He had relied on her impromptu visits during page training to get through until his short leave.
Vivenne had known him perfectly, had known when to leave him to his stubbornness and when to kick him out of his misplaced dignity.
He would always miss her, though he was at peace. Wyldon never expected to love again. Once in one lifetime was more than most people found.
Therefore, this softening towards Keladry was nothing more than concern and admiration for a skillful friend. His impulse to comfort her was born from a desire to see his friend happy, restored to her previous good humor and steady composure.
That was all.
The two of them were rather surprised when they finally arrived at their destination.
Wyldon held open the door and they walked into the king’s office, bowing.
King Jonathan looked up from the paperwork on his desk. He nodded respectfully to Wyldon and smiled broadly at Keladry.
Kel hid her scowl. The king’s magnetism had never worked on her, but it seemed he wouldn’t stop trying.
“Lord Wyldon, Lady Keladry, I am pleased to see you so soon. I trust you have recovered from your injuries?”
“Quite, your majesty,” Wyldon answered. Kel let him speak for both of them; she respected the king but was not fond of him.
Jon studied the two blank faces in front of him. It was at times like these that he missed Alanna, the person who never had an emotion she couldn’t express, who never hid her opinion when she could voice it, vehemently.
These two were a mystery more often than not, which was more frustrating than Alanna’s inability to shut up.
“Report on the incident of yesterday,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and waiting for one of them to speak up. He saw Keladry glance at Wyldon, who nodded slightly before he spoke. Interesting.
“The Lady Knight and I rode out into the Royal Forest. Half a mile in, as we rode around Benek’s Bend, we were ambushed by at least two squads of well trained soldiers.”
Jon frowned. Well trained, that did not sound like bandits; that sounded like trouble.
“My mount fled to the palace to seek help. We fought off the attackers and eventually managed to escape through the underbrush until the contingent of guards arrived. I believe their presence caused our attackers to flee in order to escape detection.”
“Were there any identifying characteristics? It seems you believe they were not bandits, and I am inclined to agree.”
“They were remarkably silent, sire,” Wyldon answered. “They did not communicate or give orders during the fight, though one did swear to Shai South-wind.”
“K’miri? What do they have to do with this mess?”
Keladry spoke up for the first time. “Wyldon, the archer was the leader. He stayed out of the melee and I noticed him commanding with gestures. He spoke only once, and I thought he had an Eastern accent.”
Wyldon nodded. “You are correct, Keladry. He assuredly had an eastern Tortallan affectation.”
Jon almost keeled over in shock. The conservative training master and Tortall’s first Lady Knight, on equal terms? Wyldon of Cavall was a notorious stickler for formality; few people at court were allowed to call him by his first name.
The king forcibly brought his mind back to the conversation. “Yes, you would know, Cavall being prominent in that area. Cavall, Tirragen, Whitehorn, Goldenlake…”
Wyldon cleared his throat. “Stone Mountain as well, sire.”
Keladry and Wyldon looked at each other again before he continued. “We are in agreement that this was not an accident, your majesty. They had a clear view of us as we rode around the blind corner, and someone gave a signal.”
“You believe that you were the target?”
“One of us, or both.”
Jon leaned back in his chair, hand stroking his chin in thought. “I shall make inquiries,” he said slowly, “beginning in the area of Goldenlake and moving southward. If the leader is from there, there will be signs, whispers of recruiting.”
“Until we know more, both of you are to be on high alert.”
They bowed no more than strictly required.
Keladry turned to leave, but Wyldon ignored the implicit dismissal.
“Sire, before the Lady Knight and I get reassigned, I have a request that we be granted leave enough to visit Cavall.” He continued on, disregarding the looks of confusion on both the king and Keladry. “Keladry lost her mount in the battle, and I wish for her to replace him from my stables.”
“Wyldon, no, you don’t have to, you shouldn’t,” Kel stuttered, blushing.
“Cavall does train the finest mounts in Tortall,” Jon noted, surprised yet again by the two’s close relationship. Surprised and perturbed. What did this mean, these opposite people working together, doing far more than simply tolerating each other?
“Permission granted. You may leave as soon as your injuries allow.”
Wyldon nodded. “Thank you, sire.” That was an subtle command to leave soon so as to return quickly.
They bowed again and left the room.
Before the door closed, Jon could hear them speaking.
“I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s unnecessary, Wyldon.”
“Nonsense, Keladry. I shall not allow you to ride an inferior horse, not when I can provide you with a true Cavall mount.”
“You are a horse snob! I never suspected…”
Their quiet laughter died away.
Jon shook his head. If someone had told him that morning that the staunch conservative knight and the young progressive female knight were friends, he would have laughed until tears fell.
A request to pardon her was one thing, but a friendship?
Jon hadn’t been sure that the stiff Lord of Cavall even understood the concept.