Post by Kit on Mar 15, 2011 20:47:59 GMT 10
Title: Foregn Travel [1]
Rating: G
Word Count: 432
Pairing: Kalasin/Wyldon
Round/Fight: 1/C
Summary: Wyldon is discomfitted and far from home.
She was the Empress. Light of a thousand suns; the delight of the countless minor nations—all sewn into the colonial carpet Carthak had made for itself with more tradition than its emperor could unravel in a decade. Kalasin the Beautiful, her grandmother had been. Thayet wore Peerless as if it were perfume. But Thayet’s daughter, in her own domain, was Glorious.
And Wyldon of Cavall was uncomfortable.
“I don’t think anyone ever thought to see you here, my Lord.”
She had been a still child, when she wasn’t trying to prove to the world that she was brighter and louder and more vibrant than a serious older brother. Left to herself, she had been more like Roald than not, her posture quiet and position underplayed. The sort to gentle new puppies instead of riling them up to barking frenzy.
Kalasin had little of that stillness here. She paced her own audience chamber, sandaled feet light at the precise border of carpet and floor. Bangles at wrist and angle caught every motion and her eyes were dark and curious, full of a deep amusement.
“I go where I’m sent, of course, your M—”
“—oh, don’t, please.” She shook her head, setting off a tintinnabulation in copper and gold and brass. “Having you call me Majesty would be as strange as Papa calling me mother.”
Wyldon felt his face twist, and the Empress paused.
“Yes, My Lord. Quite strange.” She grinned. An expression that owed nothing to her parents. “And, of course, you’re welcome. It’s only that you—if you’ll forgive me—are the least likely candidate for an ambassador I have ever seen.”
“I believe you’ll find the Embassy is quite safe from me, Your Majesty,” he said, very quiet. “But your father did think it prudent for someone with experience to talk to your guard about Hurroks, since your latest infestation.”
“Of course.” It was Kalasin’s face that twisted, now. A faint, tired movement. “I was teasing," she said. "I know you don’t take it well. And Kaddar is grateful, and sorry he cannot be here to greet you himself. I trust I’m doing a tolerable job of it?”
“My Lady. Self deprecation was never a strength in you.” The words, loosened by a long journey and humidity that seemed intent upon stretching out every space between his bones, were out before he could stop them. The young woman flushed.
“You always did give unsolicited advice.” She paused, considering him. “I like it, though.”
“The opinions of old men?”
“My lady,” said the Empress. “It’s a good name in your mouth.”
QC by: jazzyjess
Rating: G
Word Count: 432
Pairing: Kalasin/Wyldon
Round/Fight: 1/C
Summary: Wyldon is discomfitted and far from home.
She was the Empress. Light of a thousand suns; the delight of the countless minor nations—all sewn into the colonial carpet Carthak had made for itself with more tradition than its emperor could unravel in a decade. Kalasin the Beautiful, her grandmother had been. Thayet wore Peerless as if it were perfume. But Thayet’s daughter, in her own domain, was Glorious.
And Wyldon of Cavall was uncomfortable.
“I don’t think anyone ever thought to see you here, my Lord.”
She had been a still child, when she wasn’t trying to prove to the world that she was brighter and louder and more vibrant than a serious older brother. Left to herself, she had been more like Roald than not, her posture quiet and position underplayed. The sort to gentle new puppies instead of riling them up to barking frenzy.
Kalasin had little of that stillness here. She paced her own audience chamber, sandaled feet light at the precise border of carpet and floor. Bangles at wrist and angle caught every motion and her eyes were dark and curious, full of a deep amusement.
“I go where I’m sent, of course, your M—”
“—oh, don’t, please.” She shook her head, setting off a tintinnabulation in copper and gold and brass. “Having you call me Majesty would be as strange as Papa calling me mother.”
Wyldon felt his face twist, and the Empress paused.
“Yes, My Lord. Quite strange.” She grinned. An expression that owed nothing to her parents. “And, of course, you’re welcome. It’s only that you—if you’ll forgive me—are the least likely candidate for an ambassador I have ever seen.”
“I believe you’ll find the Embassy is quite safe from me, Your Majesty,” he said, very quiet. “But your father did think it prudent for someone with experience to talk to your guard about Hurroks, since your latest infestation.”
“Of course.” It was Kalasin’s face that twisted, now. A faint, tired movement. “I was teasing," she said. "I know you don’t take it well. And Kaddar is grateful, and sorry he cannot be here to greet you himself. I trust I’m doing a tolerable job of it?”
“My Lady. Self deprecation was never a strength in you.” The words, loosened by a long journey and humidity that seemed intent upon stretching out every space between his bones, were out before he could stop them. The young woman flushed.
“You always did give unsolicited advice.” She paused, considering him. “I like it, though.”
“The opinions of old men?”
“My lady,” said the Empress. “It’s a good name in your mouth.”
QC by: jazzyjess