Post by max on Feb 20, 2010 20:03:59 GMT 10
Bright Star VI
PG
458
Joren
1/E
The infamous touching-of-the-head moment. And its aftermath.
_____________________________________
The brightest stars burn so fiercely when they die that for many thousands of years, Men, to their folly, thought they were being born, and one day while he is watching her (she is hypnotic, that disparate mix of warrior and woman) he thinks I lose a little more each time and he gets the strangest feeling he will dissolve if he touches her (it has been three years) so he darts out a hand and brushes the silky soft hair of her head (softer than his own; and he is surprised she cares for it so) just to see if he will disappear on the spot in a sizzle and hiss and curl of smoke.
He doesn’t, but rather than reinforcing his invincibility he finds himself laid bare by it, caught in a honey-slow space and time in which he can feel the eyes of his teachers and fellow knights-in-training boring into his skin, and then Paxton is there, frowning, asking for a word, and his skin is turned to gooseflesh – and not by the mild evening air.
But these things are easily disguised, and when his master says,
‘I would not have taken you on had I known how deep this obsession ran,’ he shrugs, languorously, as if that word holds no weight at all (just a sequence of air flickering against his teeth and tongue and lips, rendered meaningless by repetition).
‘I would not put it that way my lord.’
‘Indeed? Then how would you describe your behaviour?’ And Paxton squeezes the bridge of his nose as if by doing so he will be able to tap into some previously unknown reservoir of patience, his shoulders squaring with a sigh.
‘I had heard of some trouble between you and Page Keladry,’ and he adds a touch of pressure to the word page that Joren can’t help but scowl at (because stars are not made of stone but burning fires, and his reactions aren’t yet so easily disguised) even knowing that his brother is betrothed to her sister. ‘But to let this carry on into your years as my squire is simply unacceptable.’
‘If that were how things stood, my lord, it would be. But upon my word as heir to Stone Mountain –’ because his father has the authority of a god, and even Paxton understands the weight of this ‘– they don’t.’
Paxton has deep-set brown eyes, and this forgives him his lesser faults; but when they measure him, searing into his skin like a branding iron, he is afraid. ‘Sometimes, Joren, I do not think you have any idea of who you are.’
‘Don’t – what in Mithros’ name is that supposed to mean?
But Paxton shrugs in a honey-slow movement and only says ‘You tell me.’
PG
458
Joren
1/E
The infamous touching-of-the-head moment. And its aftermath.
_____________________________________
The brightest stars burn so fiercely when they die that for many thousands of years, Men, to their folly, thought they were being born, and one day while he is watching her (she is hypnotic, that disparate mix of warrior and woman) he thinks I lose a little more each time and he gets the strangest feeling he will dissolve if he touches her (it has been three years) so he darts out a hand and brushes the silky soft hair of her head (softer than his own; and he is surprised she cares for it so) just to see if he will disappear on the spot in a sizzle and hiss and curl of smoke.
He doesn’t, but rather than reinforcing his invincibility he finds himself laid bare by it, caught in a honey-slow space and time in which he can feel the eyes of his teachers and fellow knights-in-training boring into his skin, and then Paxton is there, frowning, asking for a word, and his skin is turned to gooseflesh – and not by the mild evening air.
But these things are easily disguised, and when his master says,
‘I would not have taken you on had I known how deep this obsession ran,’ he shrugs, languorously, as if that word holds no weight at all (just a sequence of air flickering against his teeth and tongue and lips, rendered meaningless by repetition).
‘I would not put it that way my lord.’
‘Indeed? Then how would you describe your behaviour?’ And Paxton squeezes the bridge of his nose as if by doing so he will be able to tap into some previously unknown reservoir of patience, his shoulders squaring with a sigh.
‘I had heard of some trouble between you and Page Keladry,’ and he adds a touch of pressure to the word page that Joren can’t help but scowl at (because stars are not made of stone but burning fires, and his reactions aren’t yet so easily disguised) even knowing that his brother is betrothed to her sister. ‘But to let this carry on into your years as my squire is simply unacceptable.’
‘If that were how things stood, my lord, it would be. But upon my word as heir to Stone Mountain –’ because his father has the authority of a god, and even Paxton understands the weight of this ‘– they don’t.’
Paxton has deep-set brown eyes, and this forgives him his lesser faults; but when they measure him, searing into his skin like a branding iron, he is afraid. ‘Sometimes, Joren, I do not think you have any idea of who you are.’
‘Don’t – what in Mithros’ name is that supposed to mean?
But Paxton shrugs in a honey-slow movement and only says ‘You tell me.’