Post by wordy on Jul 3, 2011 16:00:14 GMT 10
Title: Virtue and Vice
Rating: PG
Couple/Character: Daja/Wyldon
Event: 4x100 word sin relay
Words: 400
Summary: Tortall is more like Emelan than she had thought.
envy
All of the former training master’s daughters were grown and married, but Cavall was still bursting with life. Grandchildren, visiting noblemen, knights fresh from patrol, hounds and horses and sons-in-law that had all been broken in.
Daja had thought that Wyldon would shrink from such fuss and bustle, but the older man surprised her with the unassuming way he seemed to fit in amongst the chaos, as much a part of it as fire and metal and magic were a part of her.
She rubbed her palm and wished that, today, the voices that she reached for would whisper back.
greed
It was curiosity that had first brought her to Wyldon of Cavall, and greed that made her stay.
Not since Namorn had she felt such a profound connection to another person. She was drawn to Wyldon as if there was a magnetic forced pulling them—forcing them—together.
His skin was scarred, and his soul with it. Perhaps she was attracted to things that were broken. (Memories of yellow and metal and a wall she couldn’t penetrate.)
His touch was never enough. But still she took all that he had to offer her, closing her eyes and dreaming of another.
pride
In a way, he reminded her of Sandry. Odd notions of right and wrong, moving the pieces around until they fit.
“I thought that you resigned.”
His answer, stiff. “I did. That doesn’t mean -”
“I know,” said Daja gently. Her palms were open, metal glinting. Like talking to a skittish horse.
Perhaps he recognised that he was being unreasonable. She couldn’t make him meet her eyes, couldn’t read the tightness of his lips.
“You weren’t the first training master in Corus,” she said, her tone reprimanding. “And you certainly aren’t the last. You are more than what you were.”
lust
You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
It had been his wife’s favourite saying, uttered many times over the dining table or a lapful of embroidery. Not so much a reminder, but a challenge.
The mage was the centre of attention at court, a dancing flame surrounded by the kindling of her admirers. He had noticed the way that Numair Salmalin looked at her, like she was an old book to be picked clean, rather than a woman.
She met his eyes from across the room, her expression calculating. For the first time in months, Wyldon felt himself smile.
Rating: PG
Couple/Character: Daja/Wyldon
Event: 4x100 word sin relay
Words: 400
Summary: Tortall is more like Emelan than she had thought.
envy
All of the former training master’s daughters were grown and married, but Cavall was still bursting with life. Grandchildren, visiting noblemen, knights fresh from patrol, hounds and horses and sons-in-law that had all been broken in.
Daja had thought that Wyldon would shrink from such fuss and bustle, but the older man surprised her with the unassuming way he seemed to fit in amongst the chaos, as much a part of it as fire and metal and magic were a part of her.
She rubbed her palm and wished that, today, the voices that she reached for would whisper back.
greed
It was curiosity that had first brought her to Wyldon of Cavall, and greed that made her stay.
Not since Namorn had she felt such a profound connection to another person. She was drawn to Wyldon as if there was a magnetic forced pulling them—forcing them—together.
His skin was scarred, and his soul with it. Perhaps she was attracted to things that were broken. (Memories of yellow and metal and a wall she couldn’t penetrate.)
His touch was never enough. But still she took all that he had to offer her, closing her eyes and dreaming of another.
pride
In a way, he reminded her of Sandry. Odd notions of right and wrong, moving the pieces around until they fit.
“I thought that you resigned.”
His answer, stiff. “I did. That doesn’t mean -”
“I know,” said Daja gently. Her palms were open, metal glinting. Like talking to a skittish horse.
Perhaps he recognised that he was being unreasonable. She couldn’t make him meet her eyes, couldn’t read the tightness of his lips.
“You weren’t the first training master in Corus,” she said, her tone reprimanding. “And you certainly aren’t the last. You are more than what you were.”
lust
You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
It had been his wife’s favourite saying, uttered many times over the dining table or a lapful of embroidery. Not so much a reminder, but a challenge.
The mage was the centre of attention at court, a dancing flame surrounded by the kindling of her admirers. He had noticed the way that Numair Salmalin looked at her, like she was an old book to be picked clean, rather than a woman.
She met his eyes from across the room, her expression calculating. For the first time in months, Wyldon felt himself smile.