Post by EymberFyire on Mar 29, 2010 18:23:47 GMT 10
Title: Jealousy IX
Rating: PG
Length: 552
Competitor: Owen
Round/Fight: Final
Summary: Iden calls Owen out.
A/N: Forgive typos. I am exhausted.
Dawn is just breaking over the walls of Fort Mastiff as Owen accepts a bowl of porridge from the cook. He slouches his way over to a table at the far side of the mess and sets his bowl down hard enough to spill food over the sides, earning a startled look from a sergeant at the next table.
“Well met, cousin.” A light, lilting voice draws his attention away from the mess and he looks up to see Iden strolling over, his black hair swept to the side and his hazel eyes flashing.
“Nothing good about it.” Owen growls as he pokes the slop around in his bowl.
“Well, you’re in a particularly fine mood.” Iden has grown to be tall and lithe, with long, graceful fingers. “Has your Lord Stump been using the rowels again?” He pulls the bench across from Owen out and sits down.
Instead of answering, Owen glares across the mess to where two squads of the Kings Own sit, as newly arrived as Iden himself. At the head of one of the tables is a lively, laughing sergeant.
“You still haven’t told her.” Iden’s statement is flat and filled with reproach, and Owen turns back to his cousin, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“It’s not that simple!”
“It could be.”
“And yet it isn’t.”
“Because you are acting like a coward.”
Owen glares at Iden, who merely raises his elegant brows. “Have you told Ragnal yet?”
Iden sits back, lacing his fingers together. “That’s different.”
Owen snorts. “You can’t call me a coward and then tell me it’s different.”
“Of course it is!” Iden’s shout draws curious glances and he leans in, points of scarlet gracing his high cheekbones. He lowers his voice. “If you tell her you run the risk of feeling like a fool. If I tell him I run the risk of never getting my shield. Don’t think to tell me it’s the same.”
They lean away, each to consider their own thoughts for a moment. Finally, Iden asks stiffly, “I take it she has a suitor among the Own?”
“She pines after him.” Owen’s voice is mournful as he watches the men across the hall from him. “Masbolle. That blue-eyed sergeant at the first table.”
Iden follows his line of sight and whistles appreciatively. “Isn’t he the handsome fellow?”
“I know!” Owen growls in frustration. “I mean, look at him!”
“No urging necessary, Cousin.”
“How would I ever have a chance against that, Iden? He’s taller than me, he’s got broad shoulders, a manly physique, the perfect hair and that chiseled jaw line and cleft chin." As a visiting Rider squad passes by one of them breaks off to lay her hand on his arm, giggling. "He walks into a room and the women flock to him! Kel fawns all over him and he never even notices her.”
He shakes his head, glaring at Domitan. “All he sees are those women with painted faces and delicate giggles. The man wouldn’t know a real woman if she rode by and speared him with her lance”.
“You really are quite smitten, aren’t you cousin?” Iden’s smile is soft. Owen pauses, then nods once, very slowly.
“I would follow her anywhere. She could march us into the Realm of Chaos itself and I would go.” He smiles, his eyes far away.
Later, when Iden realized his mad cousin had deserted and taken off into the wilds of Scanra after Keladry of Mindelan, he would remember this conversation and shake his head at the folly of love.
Rating: PG
Length: 552
Competitor: Owen
Round/Fight: Final
Summary: Iden calls Owen out.
A/N: Forgive typos. I am exhausted.
Dawn is just breaking over the walls of Fort Mastiff as Owen accepts a bowl of porridge from the cook. He slouches his way over to a table at the far side of the mess and sets his bowl down hard enough to spill food over the sides, earning a startled look from a sergeant at the next table.
“Well met, cousin.” A light, lilting voice draws his attention away from the mess and he looks up to see Iden strolling over, his black hair swept to the side and his hazel eyes flashing.
“Nothing good about it.” Owen growls as he pokes the slop around in his bowl.
“Well, you’re in a particularly fine mood.” Iden has grown to be tall and lithe, with long, graceful fingers. “Has your Lord Stump been using the rowels again?” He pulls the bench across from Owen out and sits down.
Instead of answering, Owen glares across the mess to where two squads of the Kings Own sit, as newly arrived as Iden himself. At the head of one of the tables is a lively, laughing sergeant.
“You still haven’t told her.” Iden’s statement is flat and filled with reproach, and Owen turns back to his cousin, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“It’s not that simple!”
“It could be.”
“And yet it isn’t.”
“Because you are acting like a coward.”
Owen glares at Iden, who merely raises his elegant brows. “Have you told Ragnal yet?”
Iden sits back, lacing his fingers together. “That’s different.”
Owen snorts. “You can’t call me a coward and then tell me it’s different.”
“Of course it is!” Iden’s shout draws curious glances and he leans in, points of scarlet gracing his high cheekbones. He lowers his voice. “If you tell her you run the risk of feeling like a fool. If I tell him I run the risk of never getting my shield. Don’t think to tell me it’s the same.”
They lean away, each to consider their own thoughts for a moment. Finally, Iden asks stiffly, “I take it she has a suitor among the Own?”
“She pines after him.” Owen’s voice is mournful as he watches the men across the hall from him. “Masbolle. That blue-eyed sergeant at the first table.”
Iden follows his line of sight and whistles appreciatively. “Isn’t he the handsome fellow?”
“I know!” Owen growls in frustration. “I mean, look at him!”
“No urging necessary, Cousin.”
“How would I ever have a chance against that, Iden? He’s taller than me, he’s got broad shoulders, a manly physique, the perfect hair and that chiseled jaw line and cleft chin." As a visiting Rider squad passes by one of them breaks off to lay her hand on his arm, giggling. "He walks into a room and the women flock to him! Kel fawns all over him and he never even notices her.”
He shakes his head, glaring at Domitan. “All he sees are those women with painted faces and delicate giggles. The man wouldn’t know a real woman if she rode by and speared him with her lance”.
“You really are quite smitten, aren’t you cousin?” Iden’s smile is soft. Owen pauses, then nods once, very slowly.
“I would follow her anywhere. She could march us into the Realm of Chaos itself and I would go.” He smiles, his eyes far away.
Later, when Iden realized his mad cousin had deserted and taken off into the wilds of Scanra after Keladry of Mindelan, he would remember this conversation and shake his head at the folly of love.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!