Post by luinae on Oct 2, 2010 9:03:27 GMT 10
Title: Filling the Hole
Rating: PG-13
Length: 719 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: When Sarai comes to Carthak, she finds a hole in her heart, one that the empress may be able to fill
Peculiar Pairing: Sarai/Kalasin
Notes: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and my first at PPF, so I'm kind of nervous.
“Welcome home, healer.”
The emperor warmly greets his chief healer. His empress is only a step behind, smiling; Zaimid bows over her hand.
Looking at Kaddar’s wife, Sarai is struck with a pang of jealousy- the empress is beautiful. She has coal black hair, pinned back under a sheer silk scarf that matches her piercing blue eyes.
“Welcome to Carthak, Lady Saraiyu Balitang,” she is saying. Her voice is cool and distant, but low and rumbled at the same time. Sarai closes her eyes for a moment. Intoxicating, she thinks. Absolutely intoxicating. “I am Kalasin, Empress of Carthak.”
Sarai curtsies low, and wobbles, exhausted from both the stress and worry of leaving Dove and Winna like she did, and the long sea voyage. Soft, warm hands catch her before she can fall over.
“Your wife is tired,” says the cool, low voice over her head. The empress sounds almost reproachful.
“Surely, Zaimid, as a healer, you could take better care of her,” says another voice, almost laughing.
“Come on Sarai.” That’s Zaimid, taking her from Kalasin’s soft, warm hands, taking her from that safe place.
For a moment, she hates him.
--------
They've lived for half a year in Carthak. Dove is queen. Winna is safe. Petranne is safe. Carthak is warm, and sunny, and lovely. Life is good.
Then why does Sarai feel like something is missing, a hole in her heart that Zaimid’s kisses don’t quite reach?
--------
Late at night, Sarai wanders into the kitchens, looking for something to eat, anything, anything to fill that hole in her heart.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
It’s that cool voice again, low and brilliant, pulling her in like a fish on a string. It’s not that she hasn’t seen the empress since they came to Carthak, but it’s always with other noblewomen, always with someone else, lingering, watching. Always with Sarai wondering what thoughts really go on it that head, what thoughts those piercing blue eyes really hide.
Kalasin sits on a stool in the kitchen. A bowl of half eaten cold cucumber soup is in front of her. Sarai freezes, hearing that voice.
“It’s here, isn’t it?” Kalasin reaches out her hand to touch Sarai’s heart, just where that hole is, just where all that emptiness is lurking, like one of those fish the Rittevons kept, waiting to devour her.
She knows, Sarai thinks, she know. And if she knows, says a sly, cunning voice, maybe she’ll understand.
Kalasin keeps her hand there a touch too long, but Sarai doesn’t care. Her hands are soft and warm, and they’re safe. Sarai’s hands are cold from wandering around the palace at night, and rough from riding and training horses.
Sarai reaches up a tentative hand to touch Kalasin’s. Despite the fact that they are rough, and cold, Kalasin doesn’t flinch at the touch. Their breathing is heavy at first, but it slows down eventually, both of them breathing at the same time. Taking her other hand, Kalasin traces the outside of Sarai’s lips with one finger.
Then, impulsively, Kalasin kisses her on the lips, taking her hand onto the small of Sarai’s back, pulling her in. When they stop for a moment, Sarai is afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of that full feeling she had for a moment going away.
But then she realizes that the hole in heart is going away, being filled with something that all of the sweets in the world would never have filled. It feels like safety and warmth, and it makes her feel whole, if only for a brief moment.
“See?” says Kalasin, before working kisses up to Sarai’s ear, just under her high cheekbones. Her voice is husky when she whispers: “You don’t have to be empty anymore.”
“You’ve made me feel whole,” says Sarai, as a way of saying thank-you. Kalasin lets her hair down; Sarai does the same. When they kiss again, Sarai’s luscious raka black curls mix with Kalasin’s silky Conte black hair.
“I’ve been empty for far too long,” says Kalasin. Sarai kisses her eyelids. “And so have you.”
“Is this allowed?” Sarai murmurs, tracing the curve of Kalasin’s neck.
Kalasin raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, and kisses her again before answering.
“Of course it’s allowed,” she says. “I’m the empress, and I make the rules.”
Rating: PG-13
Length: 719 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: When Sarai comes to Carthak, she finds a hole in her heart, one that the empress may be able to fill
Peculiar Pairing: Sarai/Kalasin
Notes: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and my first at PPF, so I'm kind of nervous.
“Welcome home, healer.”
The emperor warmly greets his chief healer. His empress is only a step behind, smiling; Zaimid bows over her hand.
Looking at Kaddar’s wife, Sarai is struck with a pang of jealousy- the empress is beautiful. She has coal black hair, pinned back under a sheer silk scarf that matches her piercing blue eyes.
“Welcome to Carthak, Lady Saraiyu Balitang,” she is saying. Her voice is cool and distant, but low and rumbled at the same time. Sarai closes her eyes for a moment. Intoxicating, she thinks. Absolutely intoxicating. “I am Kalasin, Empress of Carthak.”
Sarai curtsies low, and wobbles, exhausted from both the stress and worry of leaving Dove and Winna like she did, and the long sea voyage. Soft, warm hands catch her before she can fall over.
“Your wife is tired,” says the cool, low voice over her head. The empress sounds almost reproachful.
“Surely, Zaimid, as a healer, you could take better care of her,” says another voice, almost laughing.
“Come on Sarai.” That’s Zaimid, taking her from Kalasin’s soft, warm hands, taking her from that safe place.
For a moment, she hates him.
--------
They've lived for half a year in Carthak. Dove is queen. Winna is safe. Petranne is safe. Carthak is warm, and sunny, and lovely. Life is good.
Then why does Sarai feel like something is missing, a hole in her heart that Zaimid’s kisses don’t quite reach?
--------
Late at night, Sarai wanders into the kitchens, looking for something to eat, anything, anything to fill that hole in her heart.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
It’s that cool voice again, low and brilliant, pulling her in like a fish on a string. It’s not that she hasn’t seen the empress since they came to Carthak, but it’s always with other noblewomen, always with someone else, lingering, watching. Always with Sarai wondering what thoughts really go on it that head, what thoughts those piercing blue eyes really hide.
Kalasin sits on a stool in the kitchen. A bowl of half eaten cold cucumber soup is in front of her. Sarai freezes, hearing that voice.
“It’s here, isn’t it?” Kalasin reaches out her hand to touch Sarai’s heart, just where that hole is, just where all that emptiness is lurking, like one of those fish the Rittevons kept, waiting to devour her.
She knows, Sarai thinks, she know. And if she knows, says a sly, cunning voice, maybe she’ll understand.
Kalasin keeps her hand there a touch too long, but Sarai doesn’t care. Her hands are soft and warm, and they’re safe. Sarai’s hands are cold from wandering around the palace at night, and rough from riding and training horses.
Sarai reaches up a tentative hand to touch Kalasin’s. Despite the fact that they are rough, and cold, Kalasin doesn’t flinch at the touch. Their breathing is heavy at first, but it slows down eventually, both of them breathing at the same time. Taking her other hand, Kalasin traces the outside of Sarai’s lips with one finger.
Then, impulsively, Kalasin kisses her on the lips, taking her hand onto the small of Sarai’s back, pulling her in. When they stop for a moment, Sarai is afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of that full feeling she had for a moment going away.
But then she realizes that the hole in heart is going away, being filled with something that all of the sweets in the world would never have filled. It feels like safety and warmth, and it makes her feel whole, if only for a brief moment.
“See?” says Kalasin, before working kisses up to Sarai’s ear, just under her high cheekbones. Her voice is husky when she whispers: “You don’t have to be empty anymore.”
“You’ve made me feel whole,” says Sarai, as a way of saying thank-you. Kalasin lets her hair down; Sarai does the same. When they kiss again, Sarai’s luscious raka black curls mix with Kalasin’s silky Conte black hair.
“I’ve been empty for far too long,” says Kalasin. Sarai kisses her eyelids. “And so have you.”
“Is this allowed?” Sarai murmurs, tracing the curve of Kalasin’s neck.
Kalasin raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, and kisses her again before answering.
“Of course it’s allowed,” she says. “I’m the empress, and I make the rules.”