Post by journeycat on Feb 17, 2010 16:15:37 GMT 10
Title: Love Lives On
Rating: PG
Length: 1,058 words
Competitor: Raoul
Round/Fight: 1/C
Summary: She's always known something's missing, but too young to understand / and someday she's gonna ask me what kind of man you were / I'll tell her all the ways I loved you / and all of you I see in her. Love Lives On by Mallary Hope.
-----
“What kind of man was Papa?”
Keladry glanced down at her young daughter, taken aback. That was an odd question—she knew what kind of man her father was.
“You know he’s a brave knight,” she began, “and very patient, and gentle—”
“No,” Rialle said patiently. “What kind of man was my real papa? Did he laugh a lot and did he have a nice voice and what was his favorite color?”
Kel stared at her. For the first time, she took a good look at her: eleven-years-old and one year into page training, tall for her age, like she herself had been, but slimmer, with curly dark hair worn long (her one true vanity, as few could resist complimenting on her masses of tight curls) and snapping dark eyes, a delicate nose and full mouth. She was going to be beautiful one day, she realized, feeling a pang. When she grows into those legs, and fills out, and loses the baby fat in her face—she’s going to be a pretty thing.
“You haven’t asked about him in forever,” she said finally. “I thought you’d forgotten Seaver wasn’t your real father.”
Rialle tugged on a curl, looking away. “I usually do,” she admitted. “Papa treats me just like does Seav and Wyl. People even say I look like him, just because we’re both dark.”
There was pain in her voice and not a little guilt. Seaver had adopted her when she was too young to remember life without a father; she thought she fell in love with him a little more when he said he didn’t care if they had no children together, as long as he considered Rialle his own child. She gave him two sons, Seaver and Wyldon, the heirs according to the primogeniture of Tasride, but he treated her like she was his true daughter.
“Walk with me in the gardens,” Kel said softly.
The summer day was bright and warm, but not unpleasantly so. The Tasride gardens smelled sweet, and Kel felt at peace as she walked slowly through the gardens.
“You don’t need to be ashamed,” she said at last. “Seaver knew you’d be curious about your real father one day. He understands. It won’t make you any less his daughter.”
“I know,” Rialle said hesitantly. “It’s just—before the pages left the palace for summer, Uncle Neal told all the first-years about the Giantkiller. Everyone looked at me funny, and he took me aside after class and apologized for bringing it up. I’m just so tired of hearing all about how he was Knight Commander and Giantkiller and this great knight, because I know all about it, and I’m tired of people feeling sorry for me. I want to know who he was.”
A small part of Kel, deep inside, feared this day. It meant dragging up the past—those pain-filled days of love and infidelity, when she couldn’t look Buri in the eye but couldn’t live without him. That was generally forgotten; yet another reason to love Seaver, because his adoption made it easy for most to forget the circumstances of her birth, if not the fact that she was born illegitimate. She plucked a rose from a bush and twirled it through her fingers, heeding the thorns.
“He was much taller than me,” Kel said without looking at her daughter. “You have his eyes, and his curls. You arch your eyebrow like he did. He was expressive. He smiled more than he frowned and laughed more than he smiled. He wasn’t without his temper, but he never used it unnecessarily. He looked out for people, and always gave the underdog a chance. He took me as his squire and took a lot of hits for it.”
Rialle’s eyes widened. “You were his squire?”
Kel smiled crookedly. “He was much older than me. When our—relationship—came out, it caused so many problems. Half the court insisted I slept my way to my knighthood.”
The girl’s brow furrowed unhappily, but Kel didn’t regret telling her. Lady knights were a fairly common occurrence nowadays, but it was still a difficult process. There would always be conservatives at court, and there will always be those men growing up on stories about the days when women were in their proper place. Rialle was one of three female pages in her year, the smallest number in eight years, and she would have been introduced to the snide remarks and stigmas early.
“He was charismatic, and caring. Men followed him because they knew he honored them, and would mourn for their deaths. He had a quirky sense of humor, and he was the best jouster in all of Tortall, right up there with Sir Wyldon of Cavall. In fact, the latter was the only one who could ever unseat him on the field.”
Rialle was quiet. “Lord Padraig says I’m one of the best tilters he’s seen for my age. I always thought I got it from you.”
Kel tucked the rose behind Rialle’s ear. “You got it from both of us, love. It’s in your blood.”
“Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Yes, but I have something just as good.”
“What?”
“You.”
Rialle made to smile doubtfully, and Kel smoothed back her hair. “It’s true,” she told her. “All those things that described him describe you, too. Every day I see more of him, like the cock of the eyebrow and the way you smile. You have a temper, but you use it to protect those that need it. One day, people will look to you to lead them, and you’ll do it as naturally as breathing. I see his same spark in you.”
“I wish I could’ve met him,” Rialle whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Me too,” Kel murmured, pulling her into a hug. “And he would’ve loved you with every part of his huge heart if he could have met you before he died. You are the daughter of three knights, and don’t you ever forget it.”
She held her close, feeling her small shoulders shake with quiet sobs, and finally allowed herself the tears she refused to shed. Oh, Raoul, she thought in agony, if you could only see your daughter now. You’d be so proud of her. I know you would.
Rating: PG
Length: 1,058 words
Competitor: Raoul
Round/Fight: 1/C
Summary: She's always known something's missing, but too young to understand / and someday she's gonna ask me what kind of man you were / I'll tell her all the ways I loved you / and all of you I see in her. Love Lives On by Mallary Hope.
-----
“What kind of man was Papa?”
Keladry glanced down at her young daughter, taken aback. That was an odd question—she knew what kind of man her father was.
“You know he’s a brave knight,” she began, “and very patient, and gentle—”
“No,” Rialle said patiently. “What kind of man was my real papa? Did he laugh a lot and did he have a nice voice and what was his favorite color?”
Kel stared at her. For the first time, she took a good look at her: eleven-years-old and one year into page training, tall for her age, like she herself had been, but slimmer, with curly dark hair worn long (her one true vanity, as few could resist complimenting on her masses of tight curls) and snapping dark eyes, a delicate nose and full mouth. She was going to be beautiful one day, she realized, feeling a pang. When she grows into those legs, and fills out, and loses the baby fat in her face—she’s going to be a pretty thing.
“You haven’t asked about him in forever,” she said finally. “I thought you’d forgotten Seaver wasn’t your real father.”
Rialle tugged on a curl, looking away. “I usually do,” she admitted. “Papa treats me just like does Seav and Wyl. People even say I look like him, just because we’re both dark.”
There was pain in her voice and not a little guilt. Seaver had adopted her when she was too young to remember life without a father; she thought she fell in love with him a little more when he said he didn’t care if they had no children together, as long as he considered Rialle his own child. She gave him two sons, Seaver and Wyldon, the heirs according to the primogeniture of Tasride, but he treated her like she was his true daughter.
“Walk with me in the gardens,” Kel said softly.
The summer day was bright and warm, but not unpleasantly so. The Tasride gardens smelled sweet, and Kel felt at peace as she walked slowly through the gardens.
“You don’t need to be ashamed,” she said at last. “Seaver knew you’d be curious about your real father one day. He understands. It won’t make you any less his daughter.”
“I know,” Rialle said hesitantly. “It’s just—before the pages left the palace for summer, Uncle Neal told all the first-years about the Giantkiller. Everyone looked at me funny, and he took me aside after class and apologized for bringing it up. I’m just so tired of hearing all about how he was Knight Commander and Giantkiller and this great knight, because I know all about it, and I’m tired of people feeling sorry for me. I want to know who he was.”
A small part of Kel, deep inside, feared this day. It meant dragging up the past—those pain-filled days of love and infidelity, when she couldn’t look Buri in the eye but couldn’t live without him. That was generally forgotten; yet another reason to love Seaver, because his adoption made it easy for most to forget the circumstances of her birth, if not the fact that she was born illegitimate. She plucked a rose from a bush and twirled it through her fingers, heeding the thorns.
“He was much taller than me,” Kel said without looking at her daughter. “You have his eyes, and his curls. You arch your eyebrow like he did. He was expressive. He smiled more than he frowned and laughed more than he smiled. He wasn’t without his temper, but he never used it unnecessarily. He looked out for people, and always gave the underdog a chance. He took me as his squire and took a lot of hits for it.”
Rialle’s eyes widened. “You were his squire?”
Kel smiled crookedly. “He was much older than me. When our—relationship—came out, it caused so many problems. Half the court insisted I slept my way to my knighthood.”
The girl’s brow furrowed unhappily, but Kel didn’t regret telling her. Lady knights were a fairly common occurrence nowadays, but it was still a difficult process. There would always be conservatives at court, and there will always be those men growing up on stories about the days when women were in their proper place. Rialle was one of three female pages in her year, the smallest number in eight years, and she would have been introduced to the snide remarks and stigmas early.
“He was charismatic, and caring. Men followed him because they knew he honored them, and would mourn for their deaths. He had a quirky sense of humor, and he was the best jouster in all of Tortall, right up there with Sir Wyldon of Cavall. In fact, the latter was the only one who could ever unseat him on the field.”
Rialle was quiet. “Lord Padraig says I’m one of the best tilters he’s seen for my age. I always thought I got it from you.”
Kel tucked the rose behind Rialle’s ear. “You got it from both of us, love. It’s in your blood.”
“Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Yes, but I have something just as good.”
“What?”
“You.”
Rialle made to smile doubtfully, and Kel smoothed back her hair. “It’s true,” she told her. “All those things that described him describe you, too. Every day I see more of him, like the cock of the eyebrow and the way you smile. You have a temper, but you use it to protect those that need it. One day, people will look to you to lead them, and you’ll do it as naturally as breathing. I see his same spark in you.”
“I wish I could’ve met him,” Rialle whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Me too,” Kel murmured, pulling her into a hug. “And he would’ve loved you with every part of his huge heart if he could have met you before he died. You are the daughter of three knights, and don’t you ever forget it.”
She held her close, feeling her small shoulders shake with quiet sobs, and finally allowed herself the tears she refused to shed. Oh, Raoul, she thought in agony, if you could only see your daughter now. You’d be so proud of her. I know you would.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!