Post by journeycat on Jul 1, 2011 16:26:07 GMT 10
Title: Tristan and Iseult
Rating: PG
Couple/Character: Kel/Faleron
Event: AU pole vault
Word Count: 558
Summary: Kel and Faleron need no love potion to begin what was written long ago.
-----
Faleron stood in the cold, teeth chattering and cloak pulled tight against the harsh coastal winds. The overcast sky made it seem like it was evening, though it was only mid-afternoon; he hoped the ladies disembarked soon, before the storm let loose. He wished to be far away from port when that happened.
“Taking th-their own sweet time, a-aren’t they?” Balduin muttered. “I’m freezing.”
“Tell me about it,” Faleron said. “We should have just told Roald to shove it and come fetch his own damn bride.”
His companion snorted, but said nothing; he knew it was all in jest. Roald was busy with the Scanran War, together with his father trying to figure out this business with the killing machines. None of them actually expected him to meet the Yamani entourage himself. And, well—Faleron was interested in seeing this girl who was born Tortallan and raised Yamani, close enough to the emperor that he considered the marriage a good alliance but with all the true blood of a Tortallan noblewoman. He was curious to see a pretty court lady fluttering a fan about as she moved in a kimono. The image was amusing. Still, he thought, it doesn’t make it any less cold here.
“Finally,” a man said. “Here they come.”
Sure enough, passengers were being to come down the ramp, a few servants with baggage, most of them ladies with unreadable faces and eyes of black chips and sleek hair styled just so. Their kimonos were all kinds of pretty patterns, some soft and others vibrant, but all of them strangely elegant.
And then—
“That must be her,” Balduin whispered to him. “I didn’t expect this.”
Neither did Faleron. A young woman followed a plump, peppery Yamani down the ramp, her expression similar to the rest in its blank composure—but that was all that she had in common with the others. She was tall and sturdy, with brown hair cut above the shoulders and a confident stride. She was also wearing a tunic and hose, a sharp contrast to the feminine kimonos the other ladies wore. The men were whispering around him—their prince is going to marry this, does he know what he’s getting into, she seems a handful—and he saw their point—
—and yet—
Their eyes met, and Faleron found himself stretched across this vast time, falling among stars and suffering this terrible ache in his chest, like the feeling of destiny thwarted, which was such a silly thing to think but he couldn’t quite shake it. Somewhere in the distance between their gazes, something was calling him, like a song in the forest, like a white hand beckoning in the mist. And even though he saw in his mind this image of betrayal and tragedy and broken hearts—he was no seer, but something about this feeling of impending doom rang true—he knew that he would answer this call. She’s beautiful to me.
“My lady,” Faleron murmured, and bowed. “I welcome you to Tortall. My name is Faleron, and I will escort you to the prince.”
Those ’witching eyes flickered but did not flee from his, and he knew she was answering the call, too. Maybe they never even had a choice. “And I am Keladry of Mindelan,” she said quietly. “I thank you for your welcome.”
Rating: PG
Couple/Character: Kel/Faleron
Event: AU pole vault
Word Count: 558
Summary: Kel and Faleron need no love potion to begin what was written long ago.
-----
Faleron stood in the cold, teeth chattering and cloak pulled tight against the harsh coastal winds. The overcast sky made it seem like it was evening, though it was only mid-afternoon; he hoped the ladies disembarked soon, before the storm let loose. He wished to be far away from port when that happened.
“Taking th-their own sweet time, a-aren’t they?” Balduin muttered. “I’m freezing.”
“Tell me about it,” Faleron said. “We should have just told Roald to shove it and come fetch his own damn bride.”
His companion snorted, but said nothing; he knew it was all in jest. Roald was busy with the Scanran War, together with his father trying to figure out this business with the killing machines. None of them actually expected him to meet the Yamani entourage himself. And, well—Faleron was interested in seeing this girl who was born Tortallan and raised Yamani, close enough to the emperor that he considered the marriage a good alliance but with all the true blood of a Tortallan noblewoman. He was curious to see a pretty court lady fluttering a fan about as she moved in a kimono. The image was amusing. Still, he thought, it doesn’t make it any less cold here.
“Finally,” a man said. “Here they come.”
Sure enough, passengers were being to come down the ramp, a few servants with baggage, most of them ladies with unreadable faces and eyes of black chips and sleek hair styled just so. Their kimonos were all kinds of pretty patterns, some soft and others vibrant, but all of them strangely elegant.
And then—
“That must be her,” Balduin whispered to him. “I didn’t expect this.”
Neither did Faleron. A young woman followed a plump, peppery Yamani down the ramp, her expression similar to the rest in its blank composure—but that was all that she had in common with the others. She was tall and sturdy, with brown hair cut above the shoulders and a confident stride. She was also wearing a tunic and hose, a sharp contrast to the feminine kimonos the other ladies wore. The men were whispering around him—their prince is going to marry this, does he know what he’s getting into, she seems a handful—and he saw their point—
—and yet—
Their eyes met, and Faleron found himself stretched across this vast time, falling among stars and suffering this terrible ache in his chest, like the feeling of destiny thwarted, which was such a silly thing to think but he couldn’t quite shake it. Somewhere in the distance between their gazes, something was calling him, like a song in the forest, like a white hand beckoning in the mist. And even though he saw in his mind this image of betrayal and tragedy and broken hearts—he was no seer, but something about this feeling of impending doom rang true—he knew that he would answer this call. She’s beautiful to me.
“My lady,” Faleron murmured, and bowed. “I welcome you to Tortall. My name is Faleron, and I will escort you to the prince.”
Those ’witching eyes flickered but did not flee from his, and he knew she was answering the call, too. Maybe they never even had a choice. “And I am Keladry of Mindelan,” she said quietly. “I thank you for your welcome.”