Post by stardustrial on Apr 9, 2013 15:30:16 GMT 10
Title: Year
Rating: PG
Word Count: 305
Pairing: Kalasin/Kaddar
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: They have ruled Carthak for only a year
It is a world of war and politics and more war. But yet – there is more to the world. They are frightened, they both are – of course they are, they are so damn young.
And yet –
They go to war and the sun rises. They sell grain and the sun rises. They make deals with Galla and Tyra and Sarain and the sun rises. The sun always rises, no matter what they do. Wind rustles in the lemon trees.
Ever after all that fear, spring is still coming.
The world smells fresh and new. Kalasin inspects the troops and Kaddar plants herbs in the garden just below their rooms. The sun slants out of the sky. Their first year of ruling has come, it has gone, it is over.
Their first year is over, and they could have died. Their first year is over, and they could have lived.
They kiss each other, they need each other, and they find each other, half a hundred times a day. Kalasin’s lips are warm and Kaddar’s scars are bright in the sun and half a hundred times a day the empress and emperor have their fingers tangled into a dusty comfort made from hope and half-cobbled foreign policy and each other.
They are tired of war; they are tired of politics. The blood they have shed has already turned to rust on the ground, so they kiss each other again and again and again, for the first time and the last time, in trees and temples and beds and gardens. They are so very tired, and the only empire is the one in the curves of their bodies, the lines in their lips, the warmth of their skin, the pulse of blood between their skin. They are both so very tired.
It has only been a year.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 305
Pairing: Kalasin/Kaddar
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: They have ruled Carthak for only a year
It is a world of war and politics and more war. But yet – there is more to the world. They are frightened, they both are – of course they are, they are so damn young.
And yet –
They go to war and the sun rises. They sell grain and the sun rises. They make deals with Galla and Tyra and Sarain and the sun rises. The sun always rises, no matter what they do. Wind rustles in the lemon trees.
Ever after all that fear, spring is still coming.
The world smells fresh and new. Kalasin inspects the troops and Kaddar plants herbs in the garden just below their rooms. The sun slants out of the sky. Their first year of ruling has come, it has gone, it is over.
Their first year is over, and they could have died. Their first year is over, and they could have lived.
They kiss each other, they need each other, and they find each other, half a hundred times a day. Kalasin’s lips are warm and Kaddar’s scars are bright in the sun and half a hundred times a day the empress and emperor have their fingers tangled into a dusty comfort made from hope and half-cobbled foreign policy and each other.
They are tired of war; they are tired of politics. The blood they have shed has already turned to rust on the ground, so they kiss each other again and again and again, for the first time and the last time, in trees and temples and beds and gardens. They are so very tired, and the only empire is the one in the curves of their bodies, the lines in their lips, the warmth of their skin, the pulse of blood between their skin. They are both so very tired.
It has only been a year.