Post by Seek on Aug 11, 2009 3:02:16 GMT 10
Title: Roads
Rating: PG-13 for safety, but be warned because there is a homosexual relationship within.
Length: 2592 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: Five roads from Francis of Nond’s wedding to Cecelia of King’s Reach. Done for the Peculiar Pairings fic-a-thon on the Goldenlake forums. AU, in the Missing Pieces universe.
Peculiar Pairing: Raoul/Francis
Sir Raoul of Goldenlake stands behind Sir Francis of Nond, his closest friend. He is Francis’ best man, and they both know Francis wouldn’t have picked anyone else.
Francis is nervous, and tries not to show it. Raoul gives his friend a supportive smile, rests his large hands on Francis’ shoulders for a moment, in silent support and silent blessing. They both know it is a miracle Raoul isn’t limping from the wounds he sustained in the Coronation Day Battle, and even then, Raoul’s favouring his left leg.
The priest of Mithros is ready, the two garlands of marigolds in the hands of his acolyte, and the kindling ready for the striking of fire at their feet.
And he sees Cecelia, radiant with pale joy, bright gold hair neatly pinned up, grey eyes a little misty, perhaps with excitement, and he follows as Francis takes his place next to Cecelia.
He wonders why he feels saddened, and a little bit of hatred towards Cecelia.
Francis is nervous, and excited.
He wonders if he should be nervous on his wedding day, and if it was normal. But all the preparations had been made. Still, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go into a lifetime commitment afraid. But he knew he loved Cecelia. Or at least, he felt for her, strongly enough to propose to her.
A strange thought popped into his head then- that if he wasn’t marrying Cecelia, the only other person he would have felt comfortable marrying was Raoul. He laughed silently at that thought. He loved Raoul, his close friend, and he knew Raoul loved him back- a mutual love that was enough. But to find out if anything ran deeper- the part of Francis that had always been shy rebelled at that thought.
He had considered doing so, a few days earlier, when he and Raoul hit a tavern and drank the night away, and talked. But by the time the wine had lent Francis any kind of courage, Raoul was too drunk to offer him any kind of answer.
The ritual continues, now, as the priest speaks, words hallowed over centuries of use, and perhaps love. Francis knows he is lucky, because he isn’t in the path of inheritance for Nond, and Nond is financially secure and that means he gets freedom to choose who he marries. Many past have been unable to marry for love.
And he does love Cecelia, doesn’t he?
He listens, as the priest comes to the point where he calls out for objections- if any. In the ballads, this is when his true love- or perhaps Cecelia’s true love- would come rushing in to stop the marriage. In reality, this moment would pass.
And then he would be a married man.
1.
my happy ending
A sound escapes Raoul’s mouth.
Francis tenses, all the worry and nervousness he feels collapsing into a single moment, a single instant. He wonders if no one has heard- perhaps he even hopes so, but then the priest turns steel eyes to his best man.
So does Cecelia.
“Um.” Raoul said, stuttering, uncertain. Francis sees his friend is just as anxious, just as worried, and just as afraid. He is torn, between hope, longing, despair, fear, anxiety- and so many emotions. Between them all, he stands, he stares. He feels Cecelia’s fingers brush his arm- he wonders if she’s just as afraid as he is. “I…they…I…”
Raoul cannot seem to get the words out. The priest looks meaningfully at Raoul, and Francis sees Raoul swallow painfully, before drawing his sword from his scabbard and plunging it downwards, into the tinder pile.
He steps away, the sword sticks, upright, thrusting the shadow of challenge to the marriage. Francis feels like laughing at the irony of it all- as his best man, Raoul is supposed to defend this union from challenges. Instead, Raoul is the one who is challenging the union.
And he knows, that whatever happens…he doesn’t want to have to draw his sword against Raoul. Not now, not ever.
The Mithran looks at the sword of challenge, and looks at Raoul and Francis in turn.
And then, he speaks, quietly, amind the hush and whispers that descend upon their small chapel. “Perhaps we’d best talk about this in my office.” He tells the three of them.
Funny how a life can change so suddenly from a single moment, Francis thinks. It’s afternoon now, and he still isn’t married. Cecelia is in tears, and threatening to bring this to the temple of the Goddess, and those courts. Raoul sits beside him, close enough to touch, hand reassuringly closed around his own.
He knows Cecelia will never speak to him again, and he’s angered his own parents, and probably the whole of King’s Reach.
But with Raoul’s skin against his, his dark eyes glittering with tears and a love that they’ve somehow missed all along, Francis decides it’s worth it.
It is a few months later, and Francis is the first to awake, clad in the thin cotton sheets. Raoul still sleeps, and Francis knows he’s tired- the role of the Knight Commander of the King’s Own is a difficult one, although it protects the two of them from the worst of the court scandal that could take place.
Raoul is out all day, sometimes, for nights, and he’s tired when he returns. Francis rides with him as a knight, save that they have to be professional when it’s Raoul, Knight Commander on the road, rather than Sir Raoul of Goldenlake, the one Francis is married to.
The sun peeps in through the shutters, bright rays of Mithran gold that bless Raoul’s hair in dust-motes of gold.
His shifting doesn’t wake Raoul, and the larger man stirs before going back to sleep. The radiant, open smile on his face is beautiful to see, and Francis thinks to himself that it was definitely worth it.
The anger of his parents have cooled, and although some members of King’s Reach have still carried a grudge- Raoul always takes them down at the lance. Francis can beat them on the dueling courts any day. They don’t win there either.
Francis feels the warmth of Raoul’s body against his, curled up in bed together, on a beautiful, clear, sunny day, and basks in the sheer beauty and joy of the moment. They have a long road ahead of them, together, but he’s aiming for his happily ever after.
2.
fairy tale fractured
“No.” The word from Raoul carries surprisingly, despite the fact it is whispered. Raoul whips out his sword and plunges it into the tinder pile, standing before the priest, erect and tall.
The murmurs carry, in waves, through the gathered people present- and even the Mithran priest looks surprised, and then conceals it.
“No?” Cecelia repeats, by Francis’ side- she is stunned, hopeful, pleading, and Francis knows she’s hoping Raoul will say no, that he will recant-
Francis knows Raoul won’t. His friend is stubborn.
“I’m sorry,” Raoul says, to all of them, and to Cecelia, and perhaps to Francis as well. He looks directly at Francis now, and Francis sees promises of a love so clear and obvious he wonders how he could ever miss them.
“I need you,” He says to Francis, softly, desperately.
Francis feels numb. His heart pounds in his chest now, and it doesn’t stop easily. He knows that he can’t turn Raoul down. How can he? They have shared tears, fought side by side in battle, shared their deepest likes, dislikes…
And in hindsight, he should have seen all the signs past that said his friend loves him, and he loves Raoul too, but only now in the light this moment sheds are the pieces illumined, like the glow of moonshine on a soft haze.
He opens his mouth. “I’m sorry, Celia.” He says, quietly. “I can’t do this.”
Cecelia hates him now. He was brought up before one of the Goddess’ courts, although he was finally acquited. He can never forget the hate, though. Many a King’s Reach knight has challenged he and Raoul to duels and jousts, and while Francis can handle himself with the sword, he does go flying into the mud occasionally at the lance.
There is a kind of scandal and stigma attached to their names at court, and Raoul is often away from court due to his duties with the King’s Own. Soon, Francis follows him out to the field.
And things just aren’t always working. They are the best of friends, but now they’re learning that doesn’t mean they could love each other in marriage.
Neither of their parents are happy with their union, and Francis has been taken out of the line of inheritance.
He’d like to say it doesn’t matter to him, only that he suspects Raoul has something going with Buriram Tourakom, the commander of the Queen’s Riders. Once, he’s seen her walk out of Raoul’s quarters, clad in rumpled clothing.
He doesn’t want to blame Raoul, because he’s had his own dalliances with a flower-seller at a tavern in the Lower City of Corus.
One day, he realises Raoul had never said, “I love you,” only, “I need you.”
3.
too late
Francis hears a soft mumble from Raoul- he turns to look at his friend, and he can see Raoul’s hesitation. His heart nearly skips a beat, but Raoul says nothing, and no one’s heard.
The ceremony continues, and in a matter of minutes, Francis is now married to Cecelia of King’s Reach. He doesn’t feel nervous any more, only a calm sense of happiness and wonder as he kisses her. She doesn’t kiss as strongly or passionately as Raoul does- she has all of his gentleness but none of his passion and fire, and he wonders why he’s comparing his wife’s kiss to his friend’s.
And as those gathered cheer as the fire burns, Francis tries to remove all such thoughts from his head.
Later that night, he walks out, because the press at dinner is too crowded- with all the people coming to congratulate him, and all the festivities. He thinks of times when he evaded social functions with Raoul a little longingly, as he looks at the glimmering stars overhead, and he realising they glitter because of the tears in his eyes.
He feels slightly less smothered, out in the night air, but still smothered and still crowded, and he wonders now, too late, if the decision he made has been the right one.
He hears the sound of breathing in the silence, and by instinct as well as sense, detects the second shape emerging from the castle of Fief Nond. He calls a small magelight to his hand, the glittering frost-green fire balling in his cupped palm, and in the light, he sees Raoul’s features illumined.
It’s also quite obvious Raoul has been drinking- the smell of wine on the breeze, the look in his eyes, the slight flush on Raoul’s ruddy cheeks.
“You can’t do this..” He says, partly slurred. “Don’t marry Cecelia. I love you.”
Aghast, Francis stares at Raoul. “Raoul,” He says, slowly, “It’s too late. I’ve married Cecelia this afternoon, remember? I love her.”
“I love you.” Raoul repeats, simply, not registering Francis’ words. Carefully, Francis gives Raoul a one-armed hug, but Raoul deepens it, clingling (clutching?) him with desperation. He tries to pull away carefully, but Raoul is strong- has always been.
“Raoul, you’re drunk.” He says, carefully. He levers himself free of Raoul’s arms, struggling to maintain the reason that keeps him detached enough to resist whatever Raoul’s trying to do. Because Francis knows that it isn’t just the wine speaking. It’s Raoul.
He can smell the wine on Raoul’s breath. He has extinguished his light already, and he doesn’t feel like calling it up again, in this deep moment of personal revelation.
But Raoul holds on, and then pulls him closer, and Francis closes his eyes, and doesn’t resist the kiss that sends fire racing through his body. Especially in the nether region. His conscience screams for him to step back, and with difficulty, he begins to pull away.
But it’s too late.
Cecelia steps out into the night, a lantern in hand. In the glow of the lantern, she sees her husband, and Raoul share a kiss.
And before Francis can explain, regret, speak-
She walks back in. The light extinguishes, but the look of betrayal and hurt on her face is burned into his mind as the darkness blankets them all.
4.
smile, smile, smile
“I object,” Raoul says, loud and clear, “On the grounds that Sir Francis is deeply and madly in love with me.” He grins wickedly, and the tension leaks away from Francis and the congregation.
Francis laughs, and elbows his friend. What can he expect, with Raoul’s wicked sense of humor? Raoul is often serious, but when his sense of humor emerges, it is undeniably evil. “Raoul, darling, you joker.” He says, for a tease.
Cecelia grins (in relief?), swatting at Raoul lightly. “You probably just gave the priest a good fright,” She adds.
Indeed, the priest splutters, but recovers immediately, and the wedding ceremony proceeds without a hitch. When it is over, Raoul smiles and claps Francis on the back. And if Francis reads his friend well, and sees the smile is troubled, he says nothing because Raoul says nothing either.
5.
this time, this place
Raoul says nothing, he clears his throat, however, hand on his sword hilt, and some blanch, while others laugh. Raoul’s prowess as a knight is well-known, even if it pales next to tales of Alanna the Lioness.
Francis shoots a grateful smile at his friend as the ceremony continues, and very soon, he and Cecelia are wed. Raoul slaps him on the back by means of congratulation, and they resolve to share a drink together one of these days.
It is now their anniversary- his and Cecelia’s. Francis has ridden in from border patrol, Ivan of Wellam, his squire, in tow. He doesn’t forget to give his lady wife a chaste kiste as he dismounts from Selian, and the mare stirs only a little restlessly.
She fusses over Ivan already; for all their tries, they have never been able to have children, although they are fortunate anyway, because he isn’t in the direct line of inheritance- Paxton is.
Sometimes, he wonders if he’s misunderstood what love means, because there’s no passion between Cecelia and he, but they are friends, and they can live together, and he supposes that in itself is a blessing.
Like every once in a while, he wonders if it would have been better if he’d managed to scrape together the courage to tell Raoul that he loved him, before the wedding. But he’s not sure if that would have been a better decision.
He has no children, but he is content, anyway. As much as he can be.
And yet, he resolves to drop by on Raoul at the palace, to watch Raoul joust with whoever happens to be available. His old squire, Keladry of Mindelan has already become a knight, just as Francis’ old squire, Merric of Hollyrose has.
He supposes he keeps picking squires because his wife hates the empty house, the reminder of her inability to conceive.
And perhaps, when he is with Raoul, when they joust, or just talk over a drink of fruit juice, and reminisce-
Francis of Nond can allow himself to think about what might have been.
A/N: . For those who are unclear, 5. is the ‘real’ world- or what at least happened in this AU-verse I came up with.
I really hated myself for putting Francis/Cecelia in 5. because I’d feel awfully bad about Francis/Raoul in Missing Pieces. But I suppose it would be bad of me to put Cecelia as horrible, because it gets easier for Francis to decide whether to be with Raoul or not to.
And for me to make the choice easy is to cheapen the depth of relationship I wanted.
Rating: PG-13 for safety, but be warned because there is a homosexual relationship within.
Length: 2592 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: Five roads from Francis of Nond’s wedding to Cecelia of King’s Reach. Done for the Peculiar Pairings fic-a-thon on the Goldenlake forums. AU, in the Missing Pieces universe.
Peculiar Pairing: Raoul/Francis
Sir Raoul of Goldenlake stands behind Sir Francis of Nond, his closest friend. He is Francis’ best man, and they both know Francis wouldn’t have picked anyone else.
Francis is nervous, and tries not to show it. Raoul gives his friend a supportive smile, rests his large hands on Francis’ shoulders for a moment, in silent support and silent blessing. They both know it is a miracle Raoul isn’t limping from the wounds he sustained in the Coronation Day Battle, and even then, Raoul’s favouring his left leg.
The priest of Mithros is ready, the two garlands of marigolds in the hands of his acolyte, and the kindling ready for the striking of fire at their feet.
And he sees Cecelia, radiant with pale joy, bright gold hair neatly pinned up, grey eyes a little misty, perhaps with excitement, and he follows as Francis takes his place next to Cecelia.
He wonders why he feels saddened, and a little bit of hatred towards Cecelia.
Francis is nervous, and excited.
He wonders if he should be nervous on his wedding day, and if it was normal. But all the preparations had been made. Still, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go into a lifetime commitment afraid. But he knew he loved Cecelia. Or at least, he felt for her, strongly enough to propose to her.
A strange thought popped into his head then- that if he wasn’t marrying Cecelia, the only other person he would have felt comfortable marrying was Raoul. He laughed silently at that thought. He loved Raoul, his close friend, and he knew Raoul loved him back- a mutual love that was enough. But to find out if anything ran deeper- the part of Francis that had always been shy rebelled at that thought.
He had considered doing so, a few days earlier, when he and Raoul hit a tavern and drank the night away, and talked. But by the time the wine had lent Francis any kind of courage, Raoul was too drunk to offer him any kind of answer.
The ritual continues, now, as the priest speaks, words hallowed over centuries of use, and perhaps love. Francis knows he is lucky, because he isn’t in the path of inheritance for Nond, and Nond is financially secure and that means he gets freedom to choose who he marries. Many past have been unable to marry for love.
And he does love Cecelia, doesn’t he?
He listens, as the priest comes to the point where he calls out for objections- if any. In the ballads, this is when his true love- or perhaps Cecelia’s true love- would come rushing in to stop the marriage. In reality, this moment would pass.
And then he would be a married man.
1.
my happy ending
A sound escapes Raoul’s mouth.
Francis tenses, all the worry and nervousness he feels collapsing into a single moment, a single instant. He wonders if no one has heard- perhaps he even hopes so, but then the priest turns steel eyes to his best man.
So does Cecelia.
“Um.” Raoul said, stuttering, uncertain. Francis sees his friend is just as anxious, just as worried, and just as afraid. He is torn, between hope, longing, despair, fear, anxiety- and so many emotions. Between them all, he stands, he stares. He feels Cecelia’s fingers brush his arm- he wonders if she’s just as afraid as he is. “I…they…I…”
Raoul cannot seem to get the words out. The priest looks meaningfully at Raoul, and Francis sees Raoul swallow painfully, before drawing his sword from his scabbard and plunging it downwards, into the tinder pile.
He steps away, the sword sticks, upright, thrusting the shadow of challenge to the marriage. Francis feels like laughing at the irony of it all- as his best man, Raoul is supposed to defend this union from challenges. Instead, Raoul is the one who is challenging the union.
And he knows, that whatever happens…he doesn’t want to have to draw his sword against Raoul. Not now, not ever.
The Mithran looks at the sword of challenge, and looks at Raoul and Francis in turn.
And then, he speaks, quietly, amind the hush and whispers that descend upon their small chapel. “Perhaps we’d best talk about this in my office.” He tells the three of them.
Funny how a life can change so suddenly from a single moment, Francis thinks. It’s afternoon now, and he still isn’t married. Cecelia is in tears, and threatening to bring this to the temple of the Goddess, and those courts. Raoul sits beside him, close enough to touch, hand reassuringly closed around his own.
He knows Cecelia will never speak to him again, and he’s angered his own parents, and probably the whole of King’s Reach.
But with Raoul’s skin against his, his dark eyes glittering with tears and a love that they’ve somehow missed all along, Francis decides it’s worth it.
It is a few months later, and Francis is the first to awake, clad in the thin cotton sheets. Raoul still sleeps, and Francis knows he’s tired- the role of the Knight Commander of the King’s Own is a difficult one, although it protects the two of them from the worst of the court scandal that could take place.
Raoul is out all day, sometimes, for nights, and he’s tired when he returns. Francis rides with him as a knight, save that they have to be professional when it’s Raoul, Knight Commander on the road, rather than Sir Raoul of Goldenlake, the one Francis is married to.
The sun peeps in through the shutters, bright rays of Mithran gold that bless Raoul’s hair in dust-motes of gold.
His shifting doesn’t wake Raoul, and the larger man stirs before going back to sleep. The radiant, open smile on his face is beautiful to see, and Francis thinks to himself that it was definitely worth it.
The anger of his parents have cooled, and although some members of King’s Reach have still carried a grudge- Raoul always takes them down at the lance. Francis can beat them on the dueling courts any day. They don’t win there either.
Francis feels the warmth of Raoul’s body against his, curled up in bed together, on a beautiful, clear, sunny day, and basks in the sheer beauty and joy of the moment. They have a long road ahead of them, together, but he’s aiming for his happily ever after.
2.
fairy tale fractured
“No.” The word from Raoul carries surprisingly, despite the fact it is whispered. Raoul whips out his sword and plunges it into the tinder pile, standing before the priest, erect and tall.
The murmurs carry, in waves, through the gathered people present- and even the Mithran priest looks surprised, and then conceals it.
“No?” Cecelia repeats, by Francis’ side- she is stunned, hopeful, pleading, and Francis knows she’s hoping Raoul will say no, that he will recant-
Francis knows Raoul won’t. His friend is stubborn.
“I’m sorry,” Raoul says, to all of them, and to Cecelia, and perhaps to Francis as well. He looks directly at Francis now, and Francis sees promises of a love so clear and obvious he wonders how he could ever miss them.
“I need you,” He says to Francis, softly, desperately.
Francis feels numb. His heart pounds in his chest now, and it doesn’t stop easily. He knows that he can’t turn Raoul down. How can he? They have shared tears, fought side by side in battle, shared their deepest likes, dislikes…
And in hindsight, he should have seen all the signs past that said his friend loves him, and he loves Raoul too, but only now in the light this moment sheds are the pieces illumined, like the glow of moonshine on a soft haze.
He opens his mouth. “I’m sorry, Celia.” He says, quietly. “I can’t do this.”
Cecelia hates him now. He was brought up before one of the Goddess’ courts, although he was finally acquited. He can never forget the hate, though. Many a King’s Reach knight has challenged he and Raoul to duels and jousts, and while Francis can handle himself with the sword, he does go flying into the mud occasionally at the lance.
There is a kind of scandal and stigma attached to their names at court, and Raoul is often away from court due to his duties with the King’s Own. Soon, Francis follows him out to the field.
And things just aren’t always working. They are the best of friends, but now they’re learning that doesn’t mean they could love each other in marriage.
Neither of their parents are happy with their union, and Francis has been taken out of the line of inheritance.
He’d like to say it doesn’t matter to him, only that he suspects Raoul has something going with Buriram Tourakom, the commander of the Queen’s Riders. Once, he’s seen her walk out of Raoul’s quarters, clad in rumpled clothing.
He doesn’t want to blame Raoul, because he’s had his own dalliances with a flower-seller at a tavern in the Lower City of Corus.
One day, he realises Raoul had never said, “I love you,” only, “I need you.”
3.
too late
Francis hears a soft mumble from Raoul- he turns to look at his friend, and he can see Raoul’s hesitation. His heart nearly skips a beat, but Raoul says nothing, and no one’s heard.
The ceremony continues, and in a matter of minutes, Francis is now married to Cecelia of King’s Reach. He doesn’t feel nervous any more, only a calm sense of happiness and wonder as he kisses her. She doesn’t kiss as strongly or passionately as Raoul does- she has all of his gentleness but none of his passion and fire, and he wonders why he’s comparing his wife’s kiss to his friend’s.
And as those gathered cheer as the fire burns, Francis tries to remove all such thoughts from his head.
Later that night, he walks out, because the press at dinner is too crowded- with all the people coming to congratulate him, and all the festivities. He thinks of times when he evaded social functions with Raoul a little longingly, as he looks at the glimmering stars overhead, and he realising they glitter because of the tears in his eyes.
He feels slightly less smothered, out in the night air, but still smothered and still crowded, and he wonders now, too late, if the decision he made has been the right one.
He hears the sound of breathing in the silence, and by instinct as well as sense, detects the second shape emerging from the castle of Fief Nond. He calls a small magelight to his hand, the glittering frost-green fire balling in his cupped palm, and in the light, he sees Raoul’s features illumined.
It’s also quite obvious Raoul has been drinking- the smell of wine on the breeze, the look in his eyes, the slight flush on Raoul’s ruddy cheeks.
“You can’t do this..” He says, partly slurred. “Don’t marry Cecelia. I love you.”
Aghast, Francis stares at Raoul. “Raoul,” He says, slowly, “It’s too late. I’ve married Cecelia this afternoon, remember? I love her.”
“I love you.” Raoul repeats, simply, not registering Francis’ words. Carefully, Francis gives Raoul a one-armed hug, but Raoul deepens it, clingling (clutching?) him with desperation. He tries to pull away carefully, but Raoul is strong- has always been.
“Raoul, you’re drunk.” He says, carefully. He levers himself free of Raoul’s arms, struggling to maintain the reason that keeps him detached enough to resist whatever Raoul’s trying to do. Because Francis knows that it isn’t just the wine speaking. It’s Raoul.
He can smell the wine on Raoul’s breath. He has extinguished his light already, and he doesn’t feel like calling it up again, in this deep moment of personal revelation.
But Raoul holds on, and then pulls him closer, and Francis closes his eyes, and doesn’t resist the kiss that sends fire racing through his body. Especially in the nether region. His conscience screams for him to step back, and with difficulty, he begins to pull away.
But it’s too late.
Cecelia steps out into the night, a lantern in hand. In the glow of the lantern, she sees her husband, and Raoul share a kiss.
And before Francis can explain, regret, speak-
She walks back in. The light extinguishes, but the look of betrayal and hurt on her face is burned into his mind as the darkness blankets them all.
4.
smile, smile, smile
“I object,” Raoul says, loud and clear, “On the grounds that Sir Francis is deeply and madly in love with me.” He grins wickedly, and the tension leaks away from Francis and the congregation.
Francis laughs, and elbows his friend. What can he expect, with Raoul’s wicked sense of humor? Raoul is often serious, but when his sense of humor emerges, it is undeniably evil. “Raoul, darling, you joker.” He says, for a tease.
Cecelia grins (in relief?), swatting at Raoul lightly. “You probably just gave the priest a good fright,” She adds.
Indeed, the priest splutters, but recovers immediately, and the wedding ceremony proceeds without a hitch. When it is over, Raoul smiles and claps Francis on the back. And if Francis reads his friend well, and sees the smile is troubled, he says nothing because Raoul says nothing either.
5.
this time, this place
Raoul says nothing, he clears his throat, however, hand on his sword hilt, and some blanch, while others laugh. Raoul’s prowess as a knight is well-known, even if it pales next to tales of Alanna the Lioness.
Francis shoots a grateful smile at his friend as the ceremony continues, and very soon, he and Cecelia are wed. Raoul slaps him on the back by means of congratulation, and they resolve to share a drink together one of these days.
It is now their anniversary- his and Cecelia’s. Francis has ridden in from border patrol, Ivan of Wellam, his squire, in tow. He doesn’t forget to give his lady wife a chaste kiste as he dismounts from Selian, and the mare stirs only a little restlessly.
She fusses over Ivan already; for all their tries, they have never been able to have children, although they are fortunate anyway, because he isn’t in the direct line of inheritance- Paxton is.
Sometimes, he wonders if he’s misunderstood what love means, because there’s no passion between Cecelia and he, but they are friends, and they can live together, and he supposes that in itself is a blessing.
Like every once in a while, he wonders if it would have been better if he’d managed to scrape together the courage to tell Raoul that he loved him, before the wedding. But he’s not sure if that would have been a better decision.
He has no children, but he is content, anyway. As much as he can be.
And yet, he resolves to drop by on Raoul at the palace, to watch Raoul joust with whoever happens to be available. His old squire, Keladry of Mindelan has already become a knight, just as Francis’ old squire, Merric of Hollyrose has.
He supposes he keeps picking squires because his wife hates the empty house, the reminder of her inability to conceive.
And perhaps, when he is with Raoul, when they joust, or just talk over a drink of fruit juice, and reminisce-
Francis of Nond can allow himself to think about what might have been.
A/N: . For those who are unclear, 5. is the ‘real’ world- or what at least happened in this AU-verse I came up with.
I really hated myself for putting Francis/Cecelia in 5. because I’d feel awfully bad about Francis/Raoul in Missing Pieces. But I suppose it would be bad of me to put Cecelia as horrible, because it gets easier for Francis to decide whether to be with Raoul or not to.
And for me to make the choice easy is to cheapen the depth of relationship I wanted.