Post by Moony on Nov 1, 2010 4:59:42 GMT 10
Title: Frustrations
Rating: G
Length: 548 words
Category: (Tortall/Emelan/Provost's Dog) Tortall
Summary: Dove is more than annoyed with the current situation
Peculiar Pairing: Dove/Taybur
The whole damn world smelled of him and, Gods damn him, I couldn’t take it anymore. It had been one dance, one light hearted sweet dance at the gala, and yet his scent hung to the very air days later. Something of spice and musk and him and it was driving me insane. He was twice my age and I had twice his birthright and it would never work. And yet I couldn’t stop tracing those damned steps every time I was alone. Couldn’t stop humming that song. I was going to lose my mind if it didn’t stop.
It was just that he was so good as opposed to all the little, good court dogs I had been dancing with lately. He was tall and muscular and didn’t mumble latter to his friends about how his mother was hoping for an engagement. He (nor his mother, I assumed) also didn’t mumble about how they had to curry to an upstart little Raka. A girl who didn’t know her place. A Native who was playing Queen. He’s loyal and sweet and funny. I don’t have to worry about his betrayal or agenda.
No He was all mine, but in not nearly the way I wanted him to be. He’s good at his job, at protection, but not at loving. His heart is elsewhere, gone in all truth. He’s nursing a thousand wounds, none of which I can fix.
And my heart? Locked away. Waiting for some dashing prince or debonair noble son. It is not for some rough, sordid common solider. And so eventually I will give up the dancing, and the way his hands feel on my waist and the scent that hangs in the air around me. I’ll give up callused hands, and harsh muscle and weary smiles for men who have never known the fear of battle or even the rush of a fight.
I’ll give up the dancing. But for now, I’ll take every chance I get. Because, with his strong hands on my waist I felt as though I didn’t need to worry about those other boys. And with my hand on his shoulder, I knew I wouldn’t lose my way. And the way he would twirl me around the floor made my head spin and my heart leap, because for a brief moment we were thisclose and I could smell him. I didn’t have to worry about state marriages and rebellions and ambassadors or budget. All I had to worry about was following his carful lead, moving to the beat.
I hope he returns soon. I’m his queen; I could have ordered him to stay, to dance with me again, to nevereverever leave again. But I couldn’t because at the end of the day I have ten marriage proposals that will ultimately make or break an already too fragile nation and a dozen men willing to be my discreet lover, and not one of them knows that I am just a girl who is looking to learn what love is. To dance and twirl and bring it all in. And so I let him, and his scent, go. The man with a heart that still is sunken at the bottom of the ocean and the Queen whose love will never be known.
Rating: G
Length: 548 words
Category: (Tortall/Emelan/Provost's Dog) Tortall
Summary: Dove is more than annoyed with the current situation
Peculiar Pairing: Dove/Taybur
The whole damn world smelled of him and, Gods damn him, I couldn’t take it anymore. It had been one dance, one light hearted sweet dance at the gala, and yet his scent hung to the very air days later. Something of spice and musk and him and it was driving me insane. He was twice my age and I had twice his birthright and it would never work. And yet I couldn’t stop tracing those damned steps every time I was alone. Couldn’t stop humming that song. I was going to lose my mind if it didn’t stop.
It was just that he was so good as opposed to all the little, good court dogs I had been dancing with lately. He was tall and muscular and didn’t mumble latter to his friends about how his mother was hoping for an engagement. He (nor his mother, I assumed) also didn’t mumble about how they had to curry to an upstart little Raka. A girl who didn’t know her place. A Native who was playing Queen. He’s loyal and sweet and funny. I don’t have to worry about his betrayal or agenda.
No He was all mine, but in not nearly the way I wanted him to be. He’s good at his job, at protection, but not at loving. His heart is elsewhere, gone in all truth. He’s nursing a thousand wounds, none of which I can fix.
And my heart? Locked away. Waiting for some dashing prince or debonair noble son. It is not for some rough, sordid common solider. And so eventually I will give up the dancing, and the way his hands feel on my waist and the scent that hangs in the air around me. I’ll give up callused hands, and harsh muscle and weary smiles for men who have never known the fear of battle or even the rush of a fight.
I’ll give up the dancing. But for now, I’ll take every chance I get. Because, with his strong hands on my waist I felt as though I didn’t need to worry about those other boys. And with my hand on his shoulder, I knew I wouldn’t lose my way. And the way he would twirl me around the floor made my head spin and my heart leap, because for a brief moment we were thisclose and I could smell him. I didn’t have to worry about state marriages and rebellions and ambassadors or budget. All I had to worry about was following his carful lead, moving to the beat.
I hope he returns soon. I’m his queen; I could have ordered him to stay, to dance with me again, to nevereverever leave again. But I couldn’t because at the end of the day I have ten marriage proposals that will ultimately make or break an already too fragile nation and a dozen men willing to be my discreet lover, and not one of them knows that I am just a girl who is looking to learn what love is. To dance and twirl and bring it all in. And so I let him, and his scent, go. The man with a heart that still is sunken at the bottom of the ocean and the Queen whose love will never be known.