Post by Kit on Jun 24, 2010 21:45:36 GMT 10
Title: Grafting
Rating: PG
Length: 615
Summary: “You can’t tell me you don’t like power,” she said. “Just because you’ve given up the worldly sort.” Briar returns to Namorn.
Author's note: podfic available here: www.megaupload.com/?d=8F0YL9ZU
“Now you come, darling?”
Her phrasing was all there. Memory had traced and kept her inflections, and it was all sparkling and cut—as inescapable, perhaps, as her own posture. Clematis had trailed into her office, a lighter mix of blue and purples and greens than the plush rugs beneath Briar’s visiting feet. The window it slipped through, if he were any judge, had not been closed in years. She caught his look, stroked a tendril with her little finger. “Honestly, and you a Dedicate, too. It’s all rather bad taste.”
Briar grinned, bowing with divine correctness. “Good to see you, too, Berenene.”
She snorted. “Tell me truly, now. Is it all a joke? Are you naked under there? Or did you really waste all that wickedness on Gods?”
Briar, peering beneath the collar of his heavy green robes and shrugging, could not help his own laughter.
Her hair was silver, now. He had been a little shocked to see it, but changing bronze for the richer metal suited her. She wore it coiled in a style Sandry sometimes favoured. And, he realised with a pang, carried it off with greater aplomb. “Aren’t you supposed to go all soft and circumspect, as a Dowager Empress?”
“Ah!” She let the exclamation shatter delicately over her window, addressing the flower. “Now he shows colours. Coming to me when my power has waned. Is this about your Wheel?”
He shook his head. “It’s fair amazing, lady, that you let Maederyn step up. And she’s married now?”
“Kidnapped the groom.” She sighed, wistfully. “Would have been delightful if he hadn’t gone so willingly. You should be kneeling for me, you know.”
“Should I?”
“I don’t let people walk away and then come back, dear boy. Even if you have grown rather—“ She coughed.
Briar rolled his eyes. “You’ve grown less subtle.”
“You don’t need it. And you shall kneel.”
He smiled, holding out his hands and feeling the happy shiver of the flowering vine in his thoughts. “Never.”
“Even if I ask very prettily?”
“That’s hardly the point, I thought.”
Berenene laughed. “You can’t tell me you don’t like power,” she said. “Just because you’ve given up the worldly sort.”
“You,” said Briar, “Are a little bit disgusting. So are orchids, you know. A—”
“—if you turn me into a carnivorous plant metaphor, Briar Moss, I
shall have you whipped.
“It’s all one now,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“My name: Briarmoss. I’d already picked this one, so there didn’t seem a point on getting a new one when I got all shiny and Dedicated.”
Berenene dor Ocmore, Dowager Empress of Namorn, yawned into her hand.
“You look—“
“—don’t say it. It’ll be too much.” The woman leaned forward on her desk, hands entwined before her and dark eyes fixed on his. “Why,” she said, “are you here?”
Briar swallowed, feeling the now-jagged tone. “Word was, you're not long for Dancruan,” he said.
Not quite a flinch, not from her, but close. “I taught Maederyn well,” she said. “And so, you come to mock me?”
Briar shook his head. “Orchids, they’re—”
“—It’s precisely the sort of risk-ridden stupidity I’d expect from a man so—”
“—They’re fragile.”
Berenene’s hands fell apart, landing softly on her desk.
“If you want to move your greenhouse safely, you’re going to need help,” He stepped toward her, took her limp hand in his, only shivering a little as she stirred and scraped a fingernail over the vines that bloomed at the base of his thumb. She had been gentler to the clematis.
“I have mages, dear boy.
“Oh, sure,” said Briar. “But you haven’t got me.”
Rating: PG
Length: 615
Summary: “You can’t tell me you don’t like power,” she said. “Just because you’ve given up the worldly sort.” Briar returns to Namorn.
Author's note: podfic available here: www.megaupload.com/?d=8F0YL9ZU
“Now you come, darling?”
Her phrasing was all there. Memory had traced and kept her inflections, and it was all sparkling and cut—as inescapable, perhaps, as her own posture. Clematis had trailed into her office, a lighter mix of blue and purples and greens than the plush rugs beneath Briar’s visiting feet. The window it slipped through, if he were any judge, had not been closed in years. She caught his look, stroked a tendril with her little finger. “Honestly, and you a Dedicate, too. It’s all rather bad taste.”
Briar grinned, bowing with divine correctness. “Good to see you, too, Berenene.”
She snorted. “Tell me truly, now. Is it all a joke? Are you naked under there? Or did you really waste all that wickedness on Gods?”
Briar, peering beneath the collar of his heavy green robes and shrugging, could not help his own laughter.
Her hair was silver, now. He had been a little shocked to see it, but changing bronze for the richer metal suited her. She wore it coiled in a style Sandry sometimes favoured. And, he realised with a pang, carried it off with greater aplomb. “Aren’t you supposed to go all soft and circumspect, as a Dowager Empress?”
“Ah!” She let the exclamation shatter delicately over her window, addressing the flower. “Now he shows colours. Coming to me when my power has waned. Is this about your Wheel?”
He shook his head. “It’s fair amazing, lady, that you let Maederyn step up. And she’s married now?”
“Kidnapped the groom.” She sighed, wistfully. “Would have been delightful if he hadn’t gone so willingly. You should be kneeling for me, you know.”
“Should I?”
“I don’t let people walk away and then come back, dear boy. Even if you have grown rather—“ She coughed.
Briar rolled his eyes. “You’ve grown less subtle.”
“You don’t need it. And you shall kneel.”
He smiled, holding out his hands and feeling the happy shiver of the flowering vine in his thoughts. “Never.”
“Even if I ask very prettily?”
“That’s hardly the point, I thought.”
Berenene laughed. “You can’t tell me you don’t like power,” she said. “Just because you’ve given up the worldly sort.”
“You,” said Briar, “Are a little bit disgusting. So are orchids, you know. A—”
“—if you turn me into a carnivorous plant metaphor, Briar Moss, I
shall have you whipped.
“It’s all one now,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“My name: Briarmoss. I’d already picked this one, so there didn’t seem a point on getting a new one when I got all shiny and Dedicated.”
Berenene dor Ocmore, Dowager Empress of Namorn, yawned into her hand.
“You look—“
“—don’t say it. It’ll be too much.” The woman leaned forward on her desk, hands entwined before her and dark eyes fixed on his. “Why,” she said, “are you here?”
Briar swallowed, feeling the now-jagged tone. “Word was, you're not long for Dancruan,” he said.
Not quite a flinch, not from her, but close. “I taught Maederyn well,” she said. “And so, you come to mock me?”
Briar shook his head. “Orchids, they’re—”
“—It’s precisely the sort of risk-ridden stupidity I’d expect from a man so—”
“—They’re fragile.”
Berenene’s hands fell apart, landing softly on her desk.
“If you want to move your greenhouse safely, you’re going to need help,” He stepped toward her, took her limp hand in his, only shivering a little as she stirred and scraped a fingernail over the vines that bloomed at the base of his thumb. She had been gentler to the clematis.
“I have mages, dear boy.
“Oh, sure,” said Briar. “But you haven’t got me.”