Post by sidonie on May 1, 2011 3:49:13 GMT 10
Title: Lutenist
Rating: PG
Word Count: 451
Pairing: Gary/Raoul – Team Moustache Curtains
Round/Fight: 2/C
Summary: Gary practices a song.
Author's Note: The song is the first two stanzas of a Bergerette (a form of virelai) by Antoine Busnois, Je ne puis vivre. It's a high medieval French song, and the topic is courtly love, expressions of longing and unrequited affection. I didn't translate it because google translations sound silly.
~~~~~~
The tune was intricate, a twisting melody requiring quick fingers and fierce concentration. While Gary owned the former, he couldn't seem to muster the latter, and so the notes turned sour. He put down the lute with a curse, but the gentleness of the motion belied his frustrated expression. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he steepled his fingers, regarding their callused tips balefully.
“Are you busy?” As usual, Raoul burst in without knocking, his large frame filling the room.
“Sometimes I believe I am, but then it escapes me,” Gary murmured.
The bigger squire settled beside his friend on the bed, picking up the lute and toying with it absentmindedly. “Gods, man, must you be so damn obtuse? Are you busy or aren't you?”
Gary gave a wry smile. “I'm not, I suppose.”
“Good. I need ideas for a Midwinter gift for our favorite prince.”
“Mithros, I don't know. I'm never certain what to give Jon.”
“Well, what did you get the others?”
Gary glanced at the lute in his friend's hands. “Actually, I was just working on a gift.” As soon as he said it, he glanced down, flushing slightly.
Seeing an opening, Raoul chuckled and nudged him. “What, Gary putting his fabled talent to work for a Midwinter present? She must be something special.”
“Yes, well, it wasn't going well. I can't finish.”
“Why's that?”
“Lack of inspiration.”
Raoul sprawled backwards on the bed, thrusting the instrument toward Gary. “Play me some of it, and I shall fill the gaps with my genius.”
“Shall you?” The other squire's tone was dryly amused, but he took the lute, absently checking its tuning. He fussed with the pegs, tightening them for a few moments. He ran his hands over the strings, checking that the gut was strong and flexible. He inspected the straightness of the bridge and stretched out his hand.
“Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith, stop dithering and play!” Raoul commanded.
“Yes, yes, all right. Patience.” Clearing his throat, Gary began the complex lute accompaniment. After a few moments, he joined in singing in the old bardic language, his voice a warm, clear baritone.
Je ne veux pas te mentir
Non, à présent je vais pouvoir, te le dire
Je ne peux vivre sans toi
Parce que je t'aime
Après tant de jours
En ton absence
Je me suis aperçu
Que tu me manques
He drew to a close with a flourish, fingers stilling the humming strings. Raoul sat up, his kind features pensive.
“That didn't sound incomplete,” he remarked. “It was beautiful.”
“I finished it,” Gary murmured, shrugging slightly.
“I thought you were uninspired.”
“Yes, well . . .” The lanky squire bit his lip, set the lute down, and reached out, taking Raoul's hand in his. “I suppose my inspiration returned.”
Raoul only smiled.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: PG
Word Count: 451
Pairing: Gary/Raoul – Team Moustache Curtains
Round/Fight: 2/C
Summary: Gary practices a song.
Author's Note: The song is the first two stanzas of a Bergerette (a form of virelai) by Antoine Busnois, Je ne puis vivre. It's a high medieval French song, and the topic is courtly love, expressions of longing and unrequited affection. I didn't translate it because google translations sound silly.
~~~~~~
The tune was intricate, a twisting melody requiring quick fingers and fierce concentration. While Gary owned the former, he couldn't seem to muster the latter, and so the notes turned sour. He put down the lute with a curse, but the gentleness of the motion belied his frustrated expression. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he steepled his fingers, regarding their callused tips balefully.
“Are you busy?” As usual, Raoul burst in without knocking, his large frame filling the room.
“Sometimes I believe I am, but then it escapes me,” Gary murmured.
The bigger squire settled beside his friend on the bed, picking up the lute and toying with it absentmindedly. “Gods, man, must you be so damn obtuse? Are you busy or aren't you?”
Gary gave a wry smile. “I'm not, I suppose.”
“Good. I need ideas for a Midwinter gift for our favorite prince.”
“Mithros, I don't know. I'm never certain what to give Jon.”
“Well, what did you get the others?”
Gary glanced at the lute in his friend's hands. “Actually, I was just working on a gift.” As soon as he said it, he glanced down, flushing slightly.
Seeing an opening, Raoul chuckled and nudged him. “What, Gary putting his fabled talent to work for a Midwinter present? She must be something special.”
“Yes, well, it wasn't going well. I can't finish.”
“Why's that?”
“Lack of inspiration.”
Raoul sprawled backwards on the bed, thrusting the instrument toward Gary. “Play me some of it, and I shall fill the gaps with my genius.”
“Shall you?” The other squire's tone was dryly amused, but he took the lute, absently checking its tuning. He fussed with the pegs, tightening them for a few moments. He ran his hands over the strings, checking that the gut was strong and flexible. He inspected the straightness of the bridge and stretched out his hand.
“Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith, stop dithering and play!” Raoul commanded.
“Yes, yes, all right. Patience.” Clearing his throat, Gary began the complex lute accompaniment. After a few moments, he joined in singing in the old bardic language, his voice a warm, clear baritone.
Je ne veux pas te mentir
Non, à présent je vais pouvoir, te le dire
Je ne peux vivre sans toi
Parce que je t'aime
Après tant de jours
En ton absence
Je me suis aperçu
Que tu me manques
He drew to a close with a flourish, fingers stilling the humming strings. Raoul sat up, his kind features pensive.
“That didn't sound incomplete,” he remarked. “It was beautiful.”
“I finished it,” Gary murmured, shrugging slightly.
“I thought you were uninspired.”
“Yes, well . . .” The lanky squire bit his lip, set the lute down, and reached out, taking Raoul's hand in his. “I suppose my inspiration returned.”
Raoul only smiled.
QC by: journeycat