Post by sesquipedalian on Feb 14, 2012 21:02:08 GMT 10
To: Tinn
Message: Happy Valentine's Day!
From: sesquipedalian
Title: Stones
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1036
Wishlist item: *Mastiff Pairing
Summary: *SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS* Farmer worries.
A/N: For those individuals who don't want to read something depressing (i.e., this) on Valentine's, an unofficially Tinn's piece is posted in the Tortall section of Fanworks. It has Neal in it.
Farmer may not have been a Dog, but he wasn’t as oblivious as he liked others to think, and she should have known that.
He started to notice things four months into their marriage. She started to disappear at scheduled times, and came back with hair bedraggled and eyes red, like she’d been out in the seasonal rain crying, no explanation. He asked her about it, one night.
“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head and looking down.
Farmer grabbed her chin and raised her head. “Beka,” he said gently, “is this something I should worry about?”
She shook her head firmly. “No,” she said. “Nothing like that.”
“Well then,” he said, slapping a hand on his knee, “I won’t worry about it.”
And he didn’t, for another month. His Beka knew how to do her job; if she didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t.
But he grew suspicious: Beka would talk freely about other cases; occasionally, she brought them home with her. But she was uncommonly quiet about this one, and it confused him: her face was too famous for her to go undercover, so it couldn’t be that she had a case she couldn’t discuss.
She had told him not to worry. But he was a contrary man.
It hadn’t been a conscious decision, going. It was just that she had realized that she was married, four months into the thing, properly fit for childbearing, childrearing, and other things related to domesticity. Not that she was unfamiliar with children--she had plenty of siblings, thank you--it was just that it was different when you were carrying them. When you were, quite literally, tied down to them.
There was, after all, a reason most female Dogs waited to have them. Especially one as well known as she.
After three months married, it seemed like such a simple thing to her. With the chain off she was married, loved, and in love. With the chain on, she could be anyone.
So after four months the rush came, and she realized what she had done, hearing about another brave young man with his own reasons, she supposed. Not the same ones, she told herself. She had learned to keep her memories separate from the present, especially with that. And then she’d found herself there, and then she found herself coming back. Coming back to that godsdamned foolish young man.
He’d watch as she returned home, sometimes uncommonly late, eyes red in an unfamiliar way. He started to get anxious, after a while, though he’d never see her drink much more than wine.
Finally, he followed her, using a lock of her hair to find her, and located her in the middle of the city. He walked quickly past a small church—he couldn’t have told you which, not being very familiar with Corus then. He approached a gate and opened it, realizing too late where he was.
She should have heard him coming, but it took her until the creaking of the gate to catch him. When she did see him, she couldn’t have named her feelings. She knew it would be him, knew that eventually, he would have to find out.
There were spots arrayed on the ground where there was marble instead of grass, on them were inscribed the names of the dead. Phrases caught his eye: “Died in Action”, “Loving Father, Hard Dog”.
He understood why his Beka was here.
Beka turned to face him when she heard the door open, and she looked shocked.
“Farmer,” she said, half accusing, half relieved.
“Sorry, love,” he said, trying to think of a proper way to explain, “I wanted to know.”
“Ever consider just asking?” she told him.
He gave her a weak smile, and walked over to where she was standing, near a marble slab marked “Holborn Shaftstall”.
They stood in silence, and she finally spoke.
“I couldn’t cry the day we buried him,” she said, barely over a whisper. “People told me it was because of shock, or loss, but I knew. I had been thinking of leaving him.
“And then he had to go and get himself gods-curst killed for me!” she said louder, voice breaking.
Farmer put a comforting hand on her arm. She wiped her eyes with her other hand.
“No one’d ever tell me, but I still heard. Still knew he’d gone out to impress me. And I knew—I know—that wasn’t my fault, but…he’s still dead.”
“A death is a death,” he agreed.
“The day we buried him I went to the dust spinner, over there,” she continued, pointing. “There was a mother and her son’s conversation in there, about the rocks the Dogs put on the graves. She told him he’d understand when he was older, and I remember thinking I once would have preparing to tell that to our child.
“I hadn’t thought then that I would have to say what the mother had said to her child. I hadn’t realized that someday, I’d have to tell my child about the stones that are put on Dog’s tombstones.”
He looked at her, remembering her sudden visits to the graveyard, her mood swings. He hadn’t understood why she was here.
“I’m pregnant, Farmer,” she told him levelly.
He put his arms around her, and for a fleeting moment she felt safe and protected. But it couldn’t last forever, and that washed away the safeness; she knew that however much you wanted to, you couldn’t protect someone you loved indefinitely.
“Farmer, I don’t want to tell our child that someday they’ll be putting stones on me,” she sobbed, more worried, he thought, about the child being told than the actual acts themselves.
He didn’t shush her then, or make comforting noises as some husbands do. He let her cry herself out on his shoulder, in the spring rain, and told her, “The world won’t get better, Beka, no matter how much you try. There will always be crime, and greed, and evil, and all you can do is keep it from spreading too much. But we can give our child the best possible tools to fight all the bad in the world, and past that, it’s up to them.”
As they made their way out of the graveyard, he knew that they both would have to be content with that.
Message: Happy Valentine's Day!
From: sesquipedalian
Title: Stones
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1036
Wishlist item: *Mastiff Pairing
Summary: *SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS* Farmer worries.
A/N: For those individuals who don't want to read something depressing (i.e., this) on Valentine's, an unofficially Tinn's piece is posted in the Tortall section of Fanworks. It has Neal in it.
Farmer may not have been a Dog, but he wasn’t as oblivious as he liked others to think, and she should have known that.
He started to notice things four months into their marriage. She started to disappear at scheduled times, and came back with hair bedraggled and eyes red, like she’d been out in the seasonal rain crying, no explanation. He asked her about it, one night.
“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head and looking down.
Farmer grabbed her chin and raised her head. “Beka,” he said gently, “is this something I should worry about?”
She shook her head firmly. “No,” she said. “Nothing like that.”
“Well then,” he said, slapping a hand on his knee, “I won’t worry about it.”
And he didn’t, for another month. His Beka knew how to do her job; if she didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t.
But he grew suspicious: Beka would talk freely about other cases; occasionally, she brought them home with her. But she was uncommonly quiet about this one, and it confused him: her face was too famous for her to go undercover, so it couldn’t be that she had a case she couldn’t discuss.
She had told him not to worry. But he was a contrary man.
--
It hadn’t been a conscious decision, going. It was just that she had realized that she was married, four months into the thing, properly fit for childbearing, childrearing, and other things related to domesticity. Not that she was unfamiliar with children--she had plenty of siblings, thank you--it was just that it was different when you were carrying them. When you were, quite literally, tied down to them.
There was, after all, a reason most female Dogs waited to have them. Especially one as well known as she.
After three months married, it seemed like such a simple thing to her. With the chain off she was married, loved, and in love. With the chain on, she could be anyone.
So after four months the rush came, and she realized what she had done, hearing about another brave young man with his own reasons, she supposed. Not the same ones, she told herself. She had learned to keep her memories separate from the present, especially with that. And then she’d found herself there, and then she found herself coming back. Coming back to that godsdamned foolish young man.
--
He’d watch as she returned home, sometimes uncommonly late, eyes red in an unfamiliar way. He started to get anxious, after a while, though he’d never see her drink much more than wine.
Finally, he followed her, using a lock of her hair to find her, and located her in the middle of the city. He walked quickly past a small church—he couldn’t have told you which, not being very familiar with Corus then. He approached a gate and opened it, realizing too late where he was.
She should have heard him coming, but it took her until the creaking of the gate to catch him. When she did see him, she couldn’t have named her feelings. She knew it would be him, knew that eventually, he would have to find out.
There were spots arrayed on the ground where there was marble instead of grass, on them were inscribed the names of the dead. Phrases caught his eye: “Died in Action”, “Loving Father, Hard Dog”.
He understood why his Beka was here.
Beka turned to face him when she heard the door open, and she looked shocked.
“Farmer,” she said, half accusing, half relieved.
“Sorry, love,” he said, trying to think of a proper way to explain, “I wanted to know.”
“Ever consider just asking?” she told him.
He gave her a weak smile, and walked over to where she was standing, near a marble slab marked “Holborn Shaftstall”.
They stood in silence, and she finally spoke.
“I couldn’t cry the day we buried him,” she said, barely over a whisper. “People told me it was because of shock, or loss, but I knew. I had been thinking of leaving him.
“And then he had to go and get himself gods-curst killed for me!” she said louder, voice breaking.
Farmer put a comforting hand on her arm. She wiped her eyes with her other hand.
“No one’d ever tell me, but I still heard. Still knew he’d gone out to impress me. And I knew—I know—that wasn’t my fault, but…he’s still dead.”
“A death is a death,” he agreed.
“The day we buried him I went to the dust spinner, over there,” she continued, pointing. “There was a mother and her son’s conversation in there, about the rocks the Dogs put on the graves. She told him he’d understand when he was older, and I remember thinking I once would have preparing to tell that to our child.
“I hadn’t thought then that I would have to say what the mother had said to her child. I hadn’t realized that someday, I’d have to tell my child about the stones that are put on Dog’s tombstones.”
He looked at her, remembering her sudden visits to the graveyard, her mood swings. He hadn’t understood why she was here.
“I’m pregnant, Farmer,” she told him levelly.
He put his arms around her, and for a fleeting moment she felt safe and protected. But it couldn’t last forever, and that washed away the safeness; she knew that however much you wanted to, you couldn’t protect someone you loved indefinitely.
“Farmer, I don’t want to tell our child that someday they’ll be putting stones on me,” she sobbed, more worried, he thought, about the child being told than the actual acts themselves.
He didn’t shush her then, or make comforting noises as some husbands do. He let her cry herself out on his shoulder, in the spring rain, and told her, “The world won’t get better, Beka, no matter how much you try. There will always be crime, and greed, and evil, and all you can do is keep it from spreading too much. But we can give our child the best possible tools to fight all the bad in the world, and past that, it’s up to them.”
As they made their way out of the graveyard, he knew that they both would have to be content with that.