Post by wordy on Dec 19, 2009 19:25:46 GMT 10
Title: The Wait
Rating: PG
Summary: Sandry finds it difficult to accept that feelings don't have anything to do with her notions about being noble.
A/N: I obviously still have unresolved Briar/Sandry issues
"Briar, we've discussed this. You're my brother." Sandry's voice was firm, her chin set mulishly. Only the pile of silks in her lap, quivering restlessly until she laid a gentle hand over them, betrayed some other feeling.
Briar watched her, noting the way that she avoided his gaze. "We're not actually related, you know."
She said nothing, but turned her shoulder to him.
It was the first time in weeks that they had been alone together. Tris was always around, cleaning and acting irritable. Her time at the university had been different than what she had expected, but she was still eager to go back. Finally, she had. The house was calm without her.
Daja, always working steadfastly in the small forge adjoining the house, was slower to leave. Only when Frostpine seduced her with talk of new metal techniques did she reluctantly go, though Briar had seen the small smile that couldn't be hidden on her stoic, bronze face.
"Would you just go," Sandry said suddenly, reclaiming Briar's attention. She looked tense, like a cat ready to pounce. Briar looked at the back of her neck - lightly tanned from sitting outside, doing embroidery in the midday sun - and had to hold tight to the table edge to stop himself from moving.
They had been close to something, once. At least, Briar had been close. Close enough to press his lips against her skin. But that had ended as abruptly as it had begun, with them springing apart like startled rabbits when Lark entered the room, oblivious. Sandry had avoided him, after that. Not avoided - more like, went on as if nothing had happened, caught up in her daily chores, and when she did look at him - only a passing glance, mind - her eyes had been cold, and burned him right through. He had felt it, like a plant at his core withering under too much ice, and he knew that if he wanted anything to change between them, he would have to confront her.
So he controlled himself now, made no bold or daring move to rush to her and kiss her like they had both been wanting. Because, yes - and he smiled to himself when he thought this - Sandry did want that. He could tell by the way she was acting now: tense, cold, uncaring. Another man would think she were truly unfeeling toward him, but Briar had grown up with Sandry, and knew all of her silly, noble thoughts, and even worse - he knew how much she wanted to be swept away, and how that wish went against everything she had felt as long as she had been a noble.
So he watched her. A little sadly, though he wouldn't admit it to himself, even. And he went, because she had asked him to.
And because he knew that one day, soon, she would come to him.
Rating: PG
Summary: Sandry finds it difficult to accept that feelings don't have anything to do with her notions about being noble.
A/N: I obviously still have unresolved Briar/Sandry issues
"Briar, we've discussed this. You're my brother." Sandry's voice was firm, her chin set mulishly. Only the pile of silks in her lap, quivering restlessly until she laid a gentle hand over them, betrayed some other feeling.
Briar watched her, noting the way that she avoided his gaze. "We're not actually related, you know."
She said nothing, but turned her shoulder to him.
It was the first time in weeks that they had been alone together. Tris was always around, cleaning and acting irritable. Her time at the university had been different than what she had expected, but she was still eager to go back. Finally, she had. The house was calm without her.
Daja, always working steadfastly in the small forge adjoining the house, was slower to leave. Only when Frostpine seduced her with talk of new metal techniques did she reluctantly go, though Briar had seen the small smile that couldn't be hidden on her stoic, bronze face.
"Would you just go," Sandry said suddenly, reclaiming Briar's attention. She looked tense, like a cat ready to pounce. Briar looked at the back of her neck - lightly tanned from sitting outside, doing embroidery in the midday sun - and had to hold tight to the table edge to stop himself from moving.
They had been close to something, once. At least, Briar had been close. Close enough to press his lips against her skin. But that had ended as abruptly as it had begun, with them springing apart like startled rabbits when Lark entered the room, oblivious. Sandry had avoided him, after that. Not avoided - more like, went on as if nothing had happened, caught up in her daily chores, and when she did look at him - only a passing glance, mind - her eyes had been cold, and burned him right through. He had felt it, like a plant at his core withering under too much ice, and he knew that if he wanted anything to change between them, he would have to confront her.
So he controlled himself now, made no bold or daring move to rush to her and kiss her like they had both been wanting. Because, yes - and he smiled to himself when he thought this - Sandry did want that. He could tell by the way she was acting now: tense, cold, uncaring. Another man would think she were truly unfeeling toward him, but Briar had grown up with Sandry, and knew all of her silly, noble thoughts, and even worse - he knew how much she wanted to be swept away, and how that wish went against everything she had felt as long as she had been a noble.
So he watched her. A little sadly, though he wouldn't admit it to himself, even. And he went, because she had asked him to.
And because he knew that one day, soon, she would come to him.