Post by hawksandfeathers on Dec 10, 2012 9:37:03 GMT 10
To: loveretriever
Message: Merry Ficmas & happy reading!
From: hawksandfeathers
Title: Shivering
Rating: PG
Prompt: "Frostpine/Crane - not a pairing, otherwise can be any story"
Summary: Frostpine and a dying Crane talk over Crane's father's will.
Word Count: 808
They were sitting in Niko's office, waiting for him to come back. Between them was a small table and a pot of willowbark tea. It was only sunset, but the fireplace stayed lit anyway. Crane needed the heat as much as Frostpine. One sat hunched, shivering, and the other leaned forward in concentration.
"Okay," Frostpine said heavily, "Let's work this out."
Crane sat opposite him; his face was unreadable. He almost rolled his eyes, but all that showed was an irritated twitch.
"Your father left you his estate, Crane. You must come to terms with that. You don't have to take the place, but I advise you to."
"I don't need your advice, Frostpine," Crane snarled. His sallow face sagged in the lamplight.
"Evidently, you do," the other man said wearily. "I'm not letting you wallow away in your cursed greenhouse. I know you want the money, but what will you do with it?"
Crane grunted and turned away. "I don't want his filthy gold."
"To fulfil your miserly needs, I suspect that you will be wanting it shortly," Frostpine snapped. "Admit it."
"My father's money was ill-gotten and I have no desire for it. I also have no desire for an amateur lawyer to go searching through my personal documents." Crane wrapped his robe tighter around himself.
Frostpine took no heed of Crane's many wants. "Why do you hate your father?" he asked.
"A lawyer and a therapist, now? I am being kind by not telling you."
"Just spit it out. Not only are you a miser in terms of money, but I've now discovered you're a determined information withholder."
Crane's eyes narrowed. "He abused me, alright? 'Count' was a pretty accurate name for him, considering all he did was keep track of our money. I guess that trait is hereditary, according to you."
I'm sorry, that was callous." Frostpine sighed. "What about your mother? Did you love her?"
"I wish I could tell you that she was a sweet, gentle woman who secretly adored me. However, that would be a lie. It wouldn't do my mother justice." Crane's mouth twisted.
"I apologize, Crane." Frostpine's eyes gazed at him remorsefully. "But you've got to deal with what they've given you."
"Deal with it?" Crane's eyes were flat.
"Fine. So tell me about Niva, then. Before you die."
Crane's throat caught and he coughed hoarsely. His brown eyes filled with resentment. "Niva?"
"Ah, emotion. How refreshing."
Crane stiffened. "No. You have no right to ask me such things." He stooped slightly in his chair, and his thin mouth quivered. For a while he just stared at the wall. Frostpine watched carefully. He got up to get more willowbark without taking his eyes off the other man.
Crane spoke suddenly, unmoving. "But tell her - before I die -" He closed his eyes slowly. "That I loved the sandalwood cream…" He paused. "And I'm sorry I didn't wear it." A tear ran from his eye in one frenzied moment. It dripped onto his robe and faded into the fabric. Crane stared at that spot, looking genuinely surprised.
Frostpine didn't respond. Idleness and misery would eat Crane away. Quietly he rekindled the fire and got Crane another blanket from the cupboard.
"Tell the boy - Briar - that I thank him for saving Niva's life. And tell him that the shakkan was his all along."
Frostpine looked grim. "I don't really think you'll die soon, Crane. You tell him."
" I can't," he croaked. "I'll write a note, if that will please. And Frostpine?" Crane asked timidly, still watching the wall. "Read me the will, would you?"
"I'm not skipping anything," Frostpine said with renewed iron in his voice.
"Of course not."
Frostpine opened it cautiously. "'The Last Will and Testament of Count Imider of Olart, overseen by Tervain of Olart.'"
"Tervain, of course," Crane muttered. "Go on."
"'To my wife Holly, I leave our bed, if she is still alive.'" Crane hissed and turned around to face Frostpine. It was hard to gauge his reaction, but Crane was content.
"'To the governess, I leave Isas' toys, knowing that he is all that ever mattered to you. He is lucky to have someone. Finally to my son Isas, I leave the estate, and his schoolbooks, in hopes that he will live up to his scholarly habits.'" Frostpine did not comment.
"Well, Father, you'll be happy to know that I satisfied your wishes," Crane said venomously, "Without those books."
Frostpine looked at him sadly.
"Well. I expected that." Crane's eyes darted disorientedly. "Pass me some willowbark?"
"Certainly."
Wind blew over the moors near Winding Circle temple, stirring the grasses. The harvest moon shone with luminous hope. Crane watched at the window and hoped his lilies would stay through the winter.
Message: Merry Ficmas & happy reading!
From: hawksandfeathers
Title: Shivering
Rating: PG
Prompt: "Frostpine/Crane - not a pairing, otherwise can be any story"
Summary: Frostpine and a dying Crane talk over Crane's father's will.
Word Count: 808
They were sitting in Niko's office, waiting for him to come back. Between them was a small table and a pot of willowbark tea. It was only sunset, but the fireplace stayed lit anyway. Crane needed the heat as much as Frostpine. One sat hunched, shivering, and the other leaned forward in concentration.
"Okay," Frostpine said heavily, "Let's work this out."
Crane sat opposite him; his face was unreadable. He almost rolled his eyes, but all that showed was an irritated twitch.
"Your father left you his estate, Crane. You must come to terms with that. You don't have to take the place, but I advise you to."
"I don't need your advice, Frostpine," Crane snarled. His sallow face sagged in the lamplight.
"Evidently, you do," the other man said wearily. "I'm not letting you wallow away in your cursed greenhouse. I know you want the money, but what will you do with it?"
Crane grunted and turned away. "I don't want his filthy gold."
"To fulfil your miserly needs, I suspect that you will be wanting it shortly," Frostpine snapped. "Admit it."
"My father's money was ill-gotten and I have no desire for it. I also have no desire for an amateur lawyer to go searching through my personal documents." Crane wrapped his robe tighter around himself.
Frostpine took no heed of Crane's many wants. "Why do you hate your father?" he asked.
"A lawyer and a therapist, now? I am being kind by not telling you."
"Just spit it out. Not only are you a miser in terms of money, but I've now discovered you're a determined information withholder."
Crane's eyes narrowed. "He abused me, alright? 'Count' was a pretty accurate name for him, considering all he did was keep track of our money. I guess that trait is hereditary, according to you."
I'm sorry, that was callous." Frostpine sighed. "What about your mother? Did you love her?"
"I wish I could tell you that she was a sweet, gentle woman who secretly adored me. However, that would be a lie. It wouldn't do my mother justice." Crane's mouth twisted.
"I apologize, Crane." Frostpine's eyes gazed at him remorsefully. "But you've got to deal with what they've given you."
"Deal with it?" Crane's eyes were flat.
"Fine. So tell me about Niva, then. Before you die."
Crane's throat caught and he coughed hoarsely. His brown eyes filled with resentment. "Niva?"
"Ah, emotion. How refreshing."
Crane stiffened. "No. You have no right to ask me such things." He stooped slightly in his chair, and his thin mouth quivered. For a while he just stared at the wall. Frostpine watched carefully. He got up to get more willowbark without taking his eyes off the other man.
Crane spoke suddenly, unmoving. "But tell her - before I die -" He closed his eyes slowly. "That I loved the sandalwood cream…" He paused. "And I'm sorry I didn't wear it." A tear ran from his eye in one frenzied moment. It dripped onto his robe and faded into the fabric. Crane stared at that spot, looking genuinely surprised.
Frostpine didn't respond. Idleness and misery would eat Crane away. Quietly he rekindled the fire and got Crane another blanket from the cupboard.
"Tell the boy - Briar - that I thank him for saving Niva's life. And tell him that the shakkan was his all along."
Frostpine looked grim. "I don't really think you'll die soon, Crane. You tell him."
" I can't," he croaked. "I'll write a note, if that will please. And Frostpine?" Crane asked timidly, still watching the wall. "Read me the will, would you?"
"I'm not skipping anything," Frostpine said with renewed iron in his voice.
"Of course not."
Frostpine opened it cautiously. "'The Last Will and Testament of Count Imider of Olart, overseen by Tervain of Olart.'"
"Tervain, of course," Crane muttered. "Go on."
"'To my wife Holly, I leave our bed, if she is still alive.'" Crane hissed and turned around to face Frostpine. It was hard to gauge his reaction, but Crane was content.
"'To the governess, I leave Isas' toys, knowing that he is all that ever mattered to you. He is lucky to have someone. Finally to my son Isas, I leave the estate, and his schoolbooks, in hopes that he will live up to his scholarly habits.'" Frostpine did not comment.
"Well, Father, you'll be happy to know that I satisfied your wishes," Crane said venomously, "Without those books."
Frostpine looked at him sadly.
"Well. I expected that." Crane's eyes darted disorientedly. "Pass me some willowbark?"
"Certainly."
Wind blew over the moors near Winding Circle temple, stirring the grasses. The harvest moon shone with luminous hope. Crane watched at the window and hoped his lilies would stay through the winter.