Post by Shhasow on Nov 22, 2010 1:32:47 GMT 10
Precipice
Summary: Two people stand upon the edge of a precipice.
Rating: PG
Thank you to Ankhiale.
Part 12 of 13 (Almost there!)
_________
Kel slept fitfully, her mind full of stress and worries. She woke up as tired as when she began, and lay in her bed half-heartedly attempting to rouse herself.
A thought pushed its way at the edges of her mind but whenever she looked directly at it, it danced away just out of reach. Kel decided to ignore it and hope that it would become clear, and occupied herself with immediate concerns.
Her conversation with Neal, if she could call it that, was very concerning. Kel knew there was gossip about her and Wyldon – that was why they were riding together in the first place the day they were ambushed – but she didn’t know that she was now his mistress.
It wasn’t right. Wyldon was too honorable to disgrace either himself or Vivenne by having a kept woman. Besides, she didn’t think he could see her like that, like someone to be desired for more than friendly companionship. Kel was too young, just one year older than his youngest daughter. She wasn’t pretty, far too muscular and scarred. He had been her training master and then her commander. Everyone would be dumbstruck and furious, and would, like Neal, believe he seduced or somehow forced her.
What Kel had told Neal in the heat of the moment returned to the fore of her mind and she swallowed hard, blinking back tears.
There was nothing more she wanted than to be with Wyldon, enjoy his dry wit and laugh at his bitter sarcasm, to make him smile and laugh in return, to see him relaxed. Kel thought he was happier with her friendship; seeing him grieving silently after the war had been difficult when she just admired him. No, if she could, by being his friend, keep that subtle tenseness away from his face and the blank look away from his eyes, she could be content.
She would have to be.
The insistent thought tugged again and Kel let it come.
This was not a crush, the thought slowly revealed itself. This was not a silly girl’s fixation on a cute boy with bright eyes and a crooked grin. This was… an understanding, a fascination, a primal attraction to everything he was, not necessarily physically, but mentally and emotionally. She saw in him something that touched her core, something that connected the two by a tangible bond, something she needed that she hadn’t known she lacked.
This was not something to fancifully dream about for a while and then slowly forget. There was no replacement for Wyldon; he was uniquely himself.
This was irrevocable, immutable.
Kel’s eyes flew open.
This was love.
***
A message from the king rose Kel from her rooms. Pushing aside her newfound realization, she dressed quickly and walked towards the king’s office, where he was handing out assignments and postings to knights.
She arrived just as Alanna left the rooms. The Lioness seemed surprised to see her, and Kel watched with interest when she flushed and avoided eye contact.
Kel uttered a polite, if distant, greeting. She did not forget that it was Alanna who had told Neal about her supposed clandestine relationship with Wyldon.
Alanna motioned for Kel to wait. She took a deep breath and spoke formally to a point above Kel’s shoulder. “While I did not send Neal to you, I acted in a manner unbecoming of a knight and he took my hasty words as an initiative to act. I was anxious for your wellbeing but my actions were unnecessary and harmful to you and Lord Wyldon, and I sincerely apologize.”
Kel nodded slowly, taking the time to regroup her scattered thoughts. Alanna sounded like she was apologizing for more than an angry tirade to Neal. “I appreciate your contrition,” she responded in the same formal tone. “Your concern was unwarranted but the sentiment gratifying.”
What Kel really wanted to say was ‘you should have minded your own godsdamned business,’ but she was a noble and this was an argument between nobles with a formulaic approach traditionalized generations ago to heal breaches between nobility.
They moved simultaneously, one to the door and the other from it. Alanna met her eyes at last as they passed each other as she mumbled, “I am sorry, Kel.”
Kel paused and said blankly, “I hope so, Lioness,” before she entered the room with the monarch, ignoring Alanna’s crestfallen expression.
“Lady Knight, welcome,” King Jonathan smiled from behind his desk.
Kel, the picture of politeness, bowed with an acceptable greeting and stood in front of him, hands clasped behind her back and face Yamani smooth.
“I think you shall enjoy this assignment,” he continued, pushing a rolled paper towards her.
With trembling fingers, Kel took the bit between her fingers and read it, her heart sinking. She wasn’t going to be in Corus, this was not going to be of short duration, and she didn’t even get her own posting.
She cleared her throat. “Sire, may I ask why?”
He frowned in confusion, so she gestured at the paper.
“I thought it was obvious; he specifically requested you.”
“Yes, but-“ Kel bit her lip. It felt like she was being kept out of the way in a place where she would bother no one.
The king took pity on her and finally explained. “As you know Glasiden of Haryse died early in the Scanran War.” Both of their mouths twisted in disgust, for he had lost 19 men of the Own in the same stroke of idiocy. “His replacement is Dermond of Linshart but,” he shook his head, “he’s not a commander, not for a group the size of First Company. It is in Our interest that you be groomed for the position.”
Kel lost her distant calm. “Sire, me? Are you sure?”
Jonathan grinned. “Raoul told me you’d say that. No, Keladry, I discussed it with Raoul and we both agree that you are the best choice. It won’t happen until you are ready, of course,” he waved a hand carelessly, “but it will happen, and being under Raoul’s wing for a few more years will teach you everything you need to know. He is the best, and he assures me that you have the same potential.”
Kel felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you, sire,” she said gratefully. While the task was daunting, it was a relief to know that he wasn’t putting her with the Own because they tolerated her, but because it was the best position for her to learn. Suddenly she looked forward to her assignment with anticipation; Kel loved working with Raoul and the rest of the Third Company.
She tucked the paper away with quiet pride and bowed. About to leave, Kel was stopped by the king’s voice before she took her first step.
“Lady Knight,” Jonathan said slowly. “I am aware that you and Lord Wyldon are good friends.”
Kel stood stiff as a board, unwilling to give any hint of emotion away.
“No, I have no intention of adding to the gossip.” He sighed. “Alanna has done enough of that herself.”
What had the Lioness done that was so grievous she formally apologized and even the king felt it necessary to bring it up? Kel felt an anxious impulse to find Wyldon.
He continued quietly. “There was an altercation earlier. I believe he needs a friend at this moment.”
Kel bowed quickly, uttered a hushed, “Thank you, Sire,” and was halfway through the door before his final words reached her ears.
“… he seemed upset.”
That made Kel hurry even faster. Wyldon had to be more than simply upset to let that slip to the king.
***
Wyldon’s eyes flicked over the different options. His hand hesitated over a regular short bow, but then reached for a Yamani longbow. The foreign weapon felt odd in his hands as he stalked to the archery yard, and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t chosen the Tortallan bow. Perhaps it was because he wanted a physical challenge, or maybe he was merely expanding his repertoire as a warrior, or he could just want to feel a closer kinship to her through it.
There was a smooth rhythm as he pulled and released, his muscles shifting uncomfortably at the similar yet different motion. It brought him a measure of blank emptiness as his muscles eventually adjusted.
Pull and release.
How ironic that it took the Lioness to clear the growing confusion that had plagued him for weeks, ever since that fateful and revelatory joust.
Wyldon recognized it now. All of the hints and slivers of repressed emotions collected together spelled a simple, clear conclusion.
He loved her.
Keladry wasn’t a replacement of Vivenne, nor an inferior substitute. They were different; he could not love them the same. He had assuredly loved his wife, for her flirtatious gaiety and her ability to coax from him lightness, for her sweet strength and uncalculated manner, and for her utter devotion to him and to Cavall.
Keladry connected to another side of him. He understood her absolutely because she was him. He understood her stubborn nature, her dedication to duty, her optimistic ideals, and her inability to admit defeat. Wyldon even understood her compassion, though hers was more developed than his, and her affinity for all things Yaman. At first that had baffled him, but he had since decided that he could at least appreciate the Yamani stoicism. Besides, he was the one out here with the foreign bow.
Yes, Wyldon loved Keladry of Mindelan, and if the King’s Champion could be believed, she felt a certain regard for him beyond a platonic friendship.
What was he to do about it?
He wrenched the arrows from the target and began emptying the quiver again.
Pull and release.
***
Kel found him where she would have been, in the training yard. To her surprise, he was at the archery courts shooting a Yamani bow. She was eerily reminded of the time when she forsook the Tortallan short bow for the foreign longbow after Vinson’s confessions after his Ordeal of Knighthood.
She admired him from a short distance as she slowly approached. His form was impeccable, even though Kel knew he usually forsook everything not Tortallan, and his aim was steady as he pulled, aimed, and fired in one smooth motion. His face was blank, but his posture bespoke of conflict.
Kel waited until he emptied his quiver before she spoke.
“Wyldon.”
He stopped and turned to her. Kel’s breath caught as she finally recognized the look in his eyes as he tossed his mask aside to grant her the view few were allowed to see, the look she had been seeing for weeks, the one she only accepted because she now felt it as well.
The look she knew was shining from her own eyes, unwilling to be repressed any longer.
“Keladry,” he acknowledged, swallowing strongly. It wasn’t easy, not when she gazed upon him with such obvious pleasure and hope and devotion.
Neither of them took a step, but let their eyes and bodies declare the message only for the other, a message the other understood at last.
“Where have you been assigned?” he asked roughly.
“Lord Raoul and the Own, for a year.”
“Port Legann, for a year.” He did not add that he was to oversee the defense against the unstable Copper Isles caught in a revolution. It wasn’t important, not at this time.
The air grew tense between them, physically heavy, filled with unbroken dreams but tinged with the knowledge of the lonely future.
Kel felt the overwhelming urge to respond, to say or do anything to break the awful silence.
Wyldon wished he knew what to say to ease their parting.
They both accepted that they would be separated for the entire time, though they railed against it in their hearts.
They could take with them during their cold absence the memory of a warm embrace, a fervent kiss, but they each feared to make the coming loneliness more bitter.
They stood on the edge of a precipice, quivering with long-suppressed anticipation, but neither dared take the plunge that would lead to something inevitably glorious.
If they began, they could never cease.
Summary: Two people stand upon the edge of a precipice.
Rating: PG
Thank you to Ankhiale.
Part 12 of 13 (Almost there!)
_________
Kel slept fitfully, her mind full of stress and worries. She woke up as tired as when she began, and lay in her bed half-heartedly attempting to rouse herself.
A thought pushed its way at the edges of her mind but whenever she looked directly at it, it danced away just out of reach. Kel decided to ignore it and hope that it would become clear, and occupied herself with immediate concerns.
Her conversation with Neal, if she could call it that, was very concerning. Kel knew there was gossip about her and Wyldon – that was why they were riding together in the first place the day they were ambushed – but she didn’t know that she was now his mistress.
It wasn’t right. Wyldon was too honorable to disgrace either himself or Vivenne by having a kept woman. Besides, she didn’t think he could see her like that, like someone to be desired for more than friendly companionship. Kel was too young, just one year older than his youngest daughter. She wasn’t pretty, far too muscular and scarred. He had been her training master and then her commander. Everyone would be dumbstruck and furious, and would, like Neal, believe he seduced or somehow forced her.
What Kel had told Neal in the heat of the moment returned to the fore of her mind and she swallowed hard, blinking back tears.
There was nothing more she wanted than to be with Wyldon, enjoy his dry wit and laugh at his bitter sarcasm, to make him smile and laugh in return, to see him relaxed. Kel thought he was happier with her friendship; seeing him grieving silently after the war had been difficult when she just admired him. No, if she could, by being his friend, keep that subtle tenseness away from his face and the blank look away from his eyes, she could be content.
She would have to be.
The insistent thought tugged again and Kel let it come.
This was not a crush, the thought slowly revealed itself. This was not a silly girl’s fixation on a cute boy with bright eyes and a crooked grin. This was… an understanding, a fascination, a primal attraction to everything he was, not necessarily physically, but mentally and emotionally. She saw in him something that touched her core, something that connected the two by a tangible bond, something she needed that she hadn’t known she lacked.
This was not something to fancifully dream about for a while and then slowly forget. There was no replacement for Wyldon; he was uniquely himself.
This was irrevocable, immutable.
Kel’s eyes flew open.
This was love.
***
A message from the king rose Kel from her rooms. Pushing aside her newfound realization, she dressed quickly and walked towards the king’s office, where he was handing out assignments and postings to knights.
She arrived just as Alanna left the rooms. The Lioness seemed surprised to see her, and Kel watched with interest when she flushed and avoided eye contact.
Kel uttered a polite, if distant, greeting. She did not forget that it was Alanna who had told Neal about her supposed clandestine relationship with Wyldon.
Alanna motioned for Kel to wait. She took a deep breath and spoke formally to a point above Kel’s shoulder. “While I did not send Neal to you, I acted in a manner unbecoming of a knight and he took my hasty words as an initiative to act. I was anxious for your wellbeing but my actions were unnecessary and harmful to you and Lord Wyldon, and I sincerely apologize.”
Kel nodded slowly, taking the time to regroup her scattered thoughts. Alanna sounded like she was apologizing for more than an angry tirade to Neal. “I appreciate your contrition,” she responded in the same formal tone. “Your concern was unwarranted but the sentiment gratifying.”
What Kel really wanted to say was ‘you should have minded your own godsdamned business,’ but she was a noble and this was an argument between nobles with a formulaic approach traditionalized generations ago to heal breaches between nobility.
They moved simultaneously, one to the door and the other from it. Alanna met her eyes at last as they passed each other as she mumbled, “I am sorry, Kel.”
Kel paused and said blankly, “I hope so, Lioness,” before she entered the room with the monarch, ignoring Alanna’s crestfallen expression.
“Lady Knight, welcome,” King Jonathan smiled from behind his desk.
Kel, the picture of politeness, bowed with an acceptable greeting and stood in front of him, hands clasped behind her back and face Yamani smooth.
“I think you shall enjoy this assignment,” he continued, pushing a rolled paper towards her.
With trembling fingers, Kel took the bit between her fingers and read it, her heart sinking. She wasn’t going to be in Corus, this was not going to be of short duration, and she didn’t even get her own posting.
She cleared her throat. “Sire, may I ask why?”
He frowned in confusion, so she gestured at the paper.
“I thought it was obvious; he specifically requested you.”
“Yes, but-“ Kel bit her lip. It felt like she was being kept out of the way in a place where she would bother no one.
The king took pity on her and finally explained. “As you know Glasiden of Haryse died early in the Scanran War.” Both of their mouths twisted in disgust, for he had lost 19 men of the Own in the same stroke of idiocy. “His replacement is Dermond of Linshart but,” he shook his head, “he’s not a commander, not for a group the size of First Company. It is in Our interest that you be groomed for the position.”
Kel lost her distant calm. “Sire, me? Are you sure?”
Jonathan grinned. “Raoul told me you’d say that. No, Keladry, I discussed it with Raoul and we both agree that you are the best choice. It won’t happen until you are ready, of course,” he waved a hand carelessly, “but it will happen, and being under Raoul’s wing for a few more years will teach you everything you need to know. He is the best, and he assures me that you have the same potential.”
Kel felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you, sire,” she said gratefully. While the task was daunting, it was a relief to know that he wasn’t putting her with the Own because they tolerated her, but because it was the best position for her to learn. Suddenly she looked forward to her assignment with anticipation; Kel loved working with Raoul and the rest of the Third Company.
She tucked the paper away with quiet pride and bowed. About to leave, Kel was stopped by the king’s voice before she took her first step.
“Lady Knight,” Jonathan said slowly. “I am aware that you and Lord Wyldon are good friends.”
Kel stood stiff as a board, unwilling to give any hint of emotion away.
“No, I have no intention of adding to the gossip.” He sighed. “Alanna has done enough of that herself.”
What had the Lioness done that was so grievous she formally apologized and even the king felt it necessary to bring it up? Kel felt an anxious impulse to find Wyldon.
He continued quietly. “There was an altercation earlier. I believe he needs a friend at this moment.”
Kel bowed quickly, uttered a hushed, “Thank you, Sire,” and was halfway through the door before his final words reached her ears.
“… he seemed upset.”
That made Kel hurry even faster. Wyldon had to be more than simply upset to let that slip to the king.
***
Wyldon’s eyes flicked over the different options. His hand hesitated over a regular short bow, but then reached for a Yamani longbow. The foreign weapon felt odd in his hands as he stalked to the archery yard, and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t chosen the Tortallan bow. Perhaps it was because he wanted a physical challenge, or maybe he was merely expanding his repertoire as a warrior, or he could just want to feel a closer kinship to her through it.
There was a smooth rhythm as he pulled and released, his muscles shifting uncomfortably at the similar yet different motion. It brought him a measure of blank emptiness as his muscles eventually adjusted.
Pull and release.
How ironic that it took the Lioness to clear the growing confusion that had plagued him for weeks, ever since that fateful and revelatory joust.
Wyldon recognized it now. All of the hints and slivers of repressed emotions collected together spelled a simple, clear conclusion.
He loved her.
Keladry wasn’t a replacement of Vivenne, nor an inferior substitute. They were different; he could not love them the same. He had assuredly loved his wife, for her flirtatious gaiety and her ability to coax from him lightness, for her sweet strength and uncalculated manner, and for her utter devotion to him and to Cavall.
Keladry connected to another side of him. He understood her absolutely because she was him. He understood her stubborn nature, her dedication to duty, her optimistic ideals, and her inability to admit defeat. Wyldon even understood her compassion, though hers was more developed than his, and her affinity for all things Yaman. At first that had baffled him, but he had since decided that he could at least appreciate the Yamani stoicism. Besides, he was the one out here with the foreign bow.
Yes, Wyldon loved Keladry of Mindelan, and if the King’s Champion could be believed, she felt a certain regard for him beyond a platonic friendship.
What was he to do about it?
He wrenched the arrows from the target and began emptying the quiver again.
Pull and release.
***
Kel found him where she would have been, in the training yard. To her surprise, he was at the archery courts shooting a Yamani bow. She was eerily reminded of the time when she forsook the Tortallan short bow for the foreign longbow after Vinson’s confessions after his Ordeal of Knighthood.
She admired him from a short distance as she slowly approached. His form was impeccable, even though Kel knew he usually forsook everything not Tortallan, and his aim was steady as he pulled, aimed, and fired in one smooth motion. His face was blank, but his posture bespoke of conflict.
Kel waited until he emptied his quiver before she spoke.
“Wyldon.”
He stopped and turned to her. Kel’s breath caught as she finally recognized the look in his eyes as he tossed his mask aside to grant her the view few were allowed to see, the look she had been seeing for weeks, the one she only accepted because she now felt it as well.
The look she knew was shining from her own eyes, unwilling to be repressed any longer.
“Keladry,” he acknowledged, swallowing strongly. It wasn’t easy, not when she gazed upon him with such obvious pleasure and hope and devotion.
Neither of them took a step, but let their eyes and bodies declare the message only for the other, a message the other understood at last.
“Where have you been assigned?” he asked roughly.
“Lord Raoul and the Own, for a year.”
“Port Legann, for a year.” He did not add that he was to oversee the defense against the unstable Copper Isles caught in a revolution. It wasn’t important, not at this time.
The air grew tense between them, physically heavy, filled with unbroken dreams but tinged with the knowledge of the lonely future.
Kel felt the overwhelming urge to respond, to say or do anything to break the awful silence.
Wyldon wished he knew what to say to ease their parting.
They both accepted that they would be separated for the entire time, though they railed against it in their hearts.
They could take with them during their cold absence the memory of a warm embrace, a fervent kiss, but they each feared to make the coming loneliness more bitter.
They stood on the edge of a precipice, quivering with long-suppressed anticipation, but neither dared take the plunge that would lead to something inevitably glorious.
If they began, they could never cease.