Post by lelaofbast on Dec 30, 2011 3:09:38 GMT 10
Title: Assignments
Rating: G
Prompt: #58- “You're more trouble than you're worth.”
Summary: Lord Wyldon and Owen ponder the young knight's future after the war with Scanra.
Lord Wyldon could not decide whether the knock on his door was a welcome distraction or a frustrating interruption. He had been holed up in his office nearly all morning, trapped by a mountain of reports and requisitions that seemed never-ending. As a page and squire he had imagined the glory of war. He had imagined heroic deeds and tragic wounds, but it had never entered into his daydreams that he would drown in a sea of paper.
In the aftermath of the war with Scanra, there were a thousand things that needed to happen to restore the realm to a state of normalcy. Soldiers in the army, the King's Own, and the Queen's Riders had to be tallied, the wounded and killed replaced. There were supply caches to refurbish, towns to rebuild, and refugees to relocate. All of these efforts had to documented, and whether he wrote the reports or simply read them, it seemed like they all passed through Lord Wyldon's office. Even with the clerks he employed, Wyldon spent hours every day going through it all.
Throughout the morning he had paused his work periodically to glance out the window. It was a beautiful day, though still freezing out. The sun had finally broke through the cloud cover that had hidden it since October, making the snow-covered landscape around the fort glisten and sparkle. His examinations of the hills never lasted long, as the table just beneath the window was piled with more reports and letters.
This last time, the window had occupied him for longer, and he couldn't seem to focus on the census he had been reading from New Hope. He had just begun to wonder if he wanted to stop and take a walk when the sound of the knock reached his ears.
“Come in,” he said. The door opened and a young knight with a smiling, round face came in. “Do you need something, Jesslaw?”
“I just came to see if you needed help with anything, my lord,” his former squire informed him. Owen of Jesslaw was a cheerful, hard-working young man. When he had first taken the lad as a squire, Wyldon had not been sure that he was making the right choice, but after two years working together in the north, he had grown to like the boy. Two more years and he had even found that he enjoyed Owen's company.
“You finished collecting the inventory for the stockroom?” Wyldon asked.
“Yes Sir,” Owen said. “And I complied that with the lists from New Hope, Steadfast, and Giantkiller.” Wyldon suppressed a smile. He had learned that he did not need to praise everything that Owen did well; it only went to his head.
“You can start with that stack,” Wyldon said, pointing towards the overflow table by the window. “You know my system.”
They worked in silence for a time, which Wyldon found unexpected. The lad was usually full of chatter. The older knight was pondering the silence, waiting for the question that would inevitably fall from his former squire's lips. It never came.
Even more peculiar, a new aroma had entered the room with Owen. It was soap, but it was a sweet, fresh smell that contrasted greatly from the scent of the army-issued soap that he'd grown accustomed to.
Wyldon looked up at Owen, who was reading a document very slowly, the tip of his quill in his mouth as he concentrated. Not only had the boy washed, but his face was freshly shaved and he had attempted to comb his usually unruly brown curls.
As if he felt Wyldon's eyes on him, Owen looked up and smiled. The older knight set down his own quill. “Well?” he asked.
“Well what, Sir?” Owen asked, and then he immediately winced. “Sorry. I know you hate it when I answer a question with a question.”
“I do,” Wyldon said, “but that is not as frustrating as knowing you have a question but not knowing when it will be coming. I know something is on your mind, so what is it?”
“Well, I know that since the war is over we'll be going home soon,” Owen began. He seemed to have temporarily abandoned his habit of blurting out the first thing that came to mind, for he was choosing his words carefully.
“The army breaks as soon as the roads are clear. Only a few squads will be staying behind,” Wyldon told him.
“So I'll probably be sent to Corus until my service is needed elsewhere, right?” the young man continued.
“That's how it usually works, unless you have a unique talent or you are specifically requested to go somewhere specific.”
“Do you have any need for me at Cavall?”
“What are you playing at Jesslaw?” Wyldon asked. “You are a knight now. You don't need my supervision any longer.”
“It's not you- I mean, I do like you, but I was hoping that- well, I wanted to know... Margarry... and me...” Owen trailed off, succumbing to nervousness. He took a deep breath, and then blurted out, “I wanted to know if she's spoken for.”
Wyldon looked at the young man in realization. Owen wanted to marry his daughter, his little pearl. “My Margarry?” he asked. “Why?”
Owen looked grateful that his former knight-master had not beheaded him or put a dagger in his chest. He went on, slight encouragement entering his voice. “Well, Jo and I spent some time together when we were at Cavall, and we've been writing ever since. I think she's my soul-mate.”
“You've been spending too much time with Queenscove. You're starting to talk like him,” Wyldon told him dryly. He thought for a moment. His daughter could do far worse. Owen was smart and dependable, if a little tactless and passionate. He would make a good husband for his level-headed, book-loving daughter. “Margarry is not betrothed,” Wyldon said thoughtfully. “But are you really ready to marry? I thought that you wanted to chase bandits.”
“I did, sir,” Owen told him. “I think that being at war and being in love have changed my dreams a bit. I'll still take out any bandits that I can, of course, but I think I can balance that with being in love and having a family.”
Wyldon nodded and sighed, looking down at the abandoned report on his desk. “Do you think I'm too young to marry your daughter, Sir?” Owen asked.
“No. I was a year younger than you are when I married. I just need to be sure that you're serious about this. Put yourself in my shoes. She's my youngest daughter, and it's my job to look out for her until she marries.”
“I want to look after her after she marries,” Owen said.
“Yes, but why, exactly?” Wyldon pressed. He wanted to be sure before he made any decisions.
“Well, there's the usual things. She's beautiful and nice and all that, but like I said, we're soul mates. I can write and talk to her about almost anything,” Owen said dreamily. “Lately I find myself checking the roads several times a day to see if any couriers are coming with mail parcels. Yesterday I got a letter from my sisters, and I was disappointed that it wasn't from Jo.
“She sends me books to read, and then we discuss them. She told me all about the library at Cavall, and we have plans to visit the library at the University together. She likes reading and sewing, but she's no delicate flower. She out-shot me when we went hunting, and I'm told that she's a fair-hand with a sword, too.” He looked up, realizing that he was babbling at the man he was trying to impress. “I guess there's not just one reason that I want to marry Margarry. There are many, many little reasons all wrapped up into the fact that I love her.”
Wyldon looked at the man before him, remembering the small, round boy that had tripped into his office nine years ago. He'd grown up into the man who professed his love so bravely and unashamedly. The transformation impressed Wyldon enough to give away his precious pearl.
“Does Margarry feel the same way?”
“Yes Sir,” Owen said.
“Then you have my blessing,” Wyldon told him.
“That's wonderful, sir!” Owen said enthusiastically. He jumped up and attacked his future father-in-law with a move that was half handshake and half hug. “I have to write Jo and tell her the good news.”
He disappeared from the office, letting the door bang closed behind him.
Bewildered, Wyldon looked around at the office. So much for having help with the paperwork. Owen had read maybe half of a report, and that had fallen on the floor as he tornadoed away. Wyldon sighed, getting his coat. He would go on a much needed walk, during which he would ponder the temporary insanity that taken over his brain and allowed the young irritant to become a part of his family.
Rating: G
Prompt: #58- “You're more trouble than you're worth.”
Summary: Lord Wyldon and Owen ponder the young knight's future after the war with Scanra.
Early March,
Fort Mastiff,
in the 23rd year of the reign of
Jonathan IV and Thayet, his Queen,
462 H.E. (Human Era)
Fort Mastiff,
in the 23rd year of the reign of
Jonathan IV and Thayet, his Queen,
462 H.E. (Human Era)
Lord Wyldon could not decide whether the knock on his door was a welcome distraction or a frustrating interruption. He had been holed up in his office nearly all morning, trapped by a mountain of reports and requisitions that seemed never-ending. As a page and squire he had imagined the glory of war. He had imagined heroic deeds and tragic wounds, but it had never entered into his daydreams that he would drown in a sea of paper.
In the aftermath of the war with Scanra, there were a thousand things that needed to happen to restore the realm to a state of normalcy. Soldiers in the army, the King's Own, and the Queen's Riders had to be tallied, the wounded and killed replaced. There were supply caches to refurbish, towns to rebuild, and refugees to relocate. All of these efforts had to documented, and whether he wrote the reports or simply read them, it seemed like they all passed through Lord Wyldon's office. Even with the clerks he employed, Wyldon spent hours every day going through it all.
Throughout the morning he had paused his work periodically to glance out the window. It was a beautiful day, though still freezing out. The sun had finally broke through the cloud cover that had hidden it since October, making the snow-covered landscape around the fort glisten and sparkle. His examinations of the hills never lasted long, as the table just beneath the window was piled with more reports and letters.
This last time, the window had occupied him for longer, and he couldn't seem to focus on the census he had been reading from New Hope. He had just begun to wonder if he wanted to stop and take a walk when the sound of the knock reached his ears.
“Come in,” he said. The door opened and a young knight with a smiling, round face came in. “Do you need something, Jesslaw?”
“I just came to see if you needed help with anything, my lord,” his former squire informed him. Owen of Jesslaw was a cheerful, hard-working young man. When he had first taken the lad as a squire, Wyldon had not been sure that he was making the right choice, but after two years working together in the north, he had grown to like the boy. Two more years and he had even found that he enjoyed Owen's company.
“You finished collecting the inventory for the stockroom?” Wyldon asked.
“Yes Sir,” Owen said. “And I complied that with the lists from New Hope, Steadfast, and Giantkiller.” Wyldon suppressed a smile. He had learned that he did not need to praise everything that Owen did well; it only went to his head.
“You can start with that stack,” Wyldon said, pointing towards the overflow table by the window. “You know my system.”
They worked in silence for a time, which Wyldon found unexpected. The lad was usually full of chatter. The older knight was pondering the silence, waiting for the question that would inevitably fall from his former squire's lips. It never came.
Even more peculiar, a new aroma had entered the room with Owen. It was soap, but it was a sweet, fresh smell that contrasted greatly from the scent of the army-issued soap that he'd grown accustomed to.
Wyldon looked up at Owen, who was reading a document very slowly, the tip of his quill in his mouth as he concentrated. Not only had the boy washed, but his face was freshly shaved and he had attempted to comb his usually unruly brown curls.
As if he felt Wyldon's eyes on him, Owen looked up and smiled. The older knight set down his own quill. “Well?” he asked.
“Well what, Sir?” Owen asked, and then he immediately winced. “Sorry. I know you hate it when I answer a question with a question.”
“I do,” Wyldon said, “but that is not as frustrating as knowing you have a question but not knowing when it will be coming. I know something is on your mind, so what is it?”
“Well, I know that since the war is over we'll be going home soon,” Owen began. He seemed to have temporarily abandoned his habit of blurting out the first thing that came to mind, for he was choosing his words carefully.
“The army breaks as soon as the roads are clear. Only a few squads will be staying behind,” Wyldon told him.
“So I'll probably be sent to Corus until my service is needed elsewhere, right?” the young man continued.
“That's how it usually works, unless you have a unique talent or you are specifically requested to go somewhere specific.”
“Do you have any need for me at Cavall?”
“What are you playing at Jesslaw?” Wyldon asked. “You are a knight now. You don't need my supervision any longer.”
“It's not you- I mean, I do like you, but I was hoping that- well, I wanted to know... Margarry... and me...” Owen trailed off, succumbing to nervousness. He took a deep breath, and then blurted out, “I wanted to know if she's spoken for.”
Wyldon looked at the young man in realization. Owen wanted to marry his daughter, his little pearl. “My Margarry?” he asked. “Why?”
Owen looked grateful that his former knight-master had not beheaded him or put a dagger in his chest. He went on, slight encouragement entering his voice. “Well, Jo and I spent some time together when we were at Cavall, and we've been writing ever since. I think she's my soul-mate.”
“You've been spending too much time with Queenscove. You're starting to talk like him,” Wyldon told him dryly. He thought for a moment. His daughter could do far worse. Owen was smart and dependable, if a little tactless and passionate. He would make a good husband for his level-headed, book-loving daughter. “Margarry is not betrothed,” Wyldon said thoughtfully. “But are you really ready to marry? I thought that you wanted to chase bandits.”
“I did, sir,” Owen told him. “I think that being at war and being in love have changed my dreams a bit. I'll still take out any bandits that I can, of course, but I think I can balance that with being in love and having a family.”
Wyldon nodded and sighed, looking down at the abandoned report on his desk. “Do you think I'm too young to marry your daughter, Sir?” Owen asked.
“No. I was a year younger than you are when I married. I just need to be sure that you're serious about this. Put yourself in my shoes. She's my youngest daughter, and it's my job to look out for her until she marries.”
“I want to look after her after she marries,” Owen said.
“Yes, but why, exactly?” Wyldon pressed. He wanted to be sure before he made any decisions.
“Well, there's the usual things. She's beautiful and nice and all that, but like I said, we're soul mates. I can write and talk to her about almost anything,” Owen said dreamily. “Lately I find myself checking the roads several times a day to see if any couriers are coming with mail parcels. Yesterday I got a letter from my sisters, and I was disappointed that it wasn't from Jo.
“She sends me books to read, and then we discuss them. She told me all about the library at Cavall, and we have plans to visit the library at the University together. She likes reading and sewing, but she's no delicate flower. She out-shot me when we went hunting, and I'm told that she's a fair-hand with a sword, too.” He looked up, realizing that he was babbling at the man he was trying to impress. “I guess there's not just one reason that I want to marry Margarry. There are many, many little reasons all wrapped up into the fact that I love her.”
Wyldon looked at the man before him, remembering the small, round boy that had tripped into his office nine years ago. He'd grown up into the man who professed his love so bravely and unashamedly. The transformation impressed Wyldon enough to give away his precious pearl.
“Does Margarry feel the same way?”
“Yes Sir,” Owen said.
“Then you have my blessing,” Wyldon told him.
“That's wonderful, sir!” Owen said enthusiastically. He jumped up and attacked his future father-in-law with a move that was half handshake and half hug. “I have to write Jo and tell her the good news.”
He disappeared from the office, letting the door bang closed behind him.
Bewildered, Wyldon looked around at the office. So much for having help with the paperwork. Owen had read maybe half of a report, and that had fallen on the floor as he tornadoed away. Wyldon sighed, getting his coat. He would go on a much needed walk, during which he would ponder the temporary insanity that taken over his brain and allowed the young irritant to become a part of his family.
And the nickname is adorable!
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!