Post by Seek on Apr 14, 2013 0:42:33 GMT 10
Title: New Girl
Rating: PG
Word Count: 834 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Francis watches. There is a new girl at Court. AU.
Warnings: None.
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Francis of Nond was a quiet one. And so he watched.
He watched as a carriage came from the Convent, bringing the latest group of young women to the palace. Girls-not-quite-women who laughed and tittered and practised embroidery and danced. Who rode horses, and hawked and generally made eyes at the sons of dukes and lords. His family was in the Book of Gold, but Francis was not in the line of inheritance, except as Cousin Paxton's heir. And so he watched, and few of them approached him. Perhaps, hiding in Raoul's shadow helped too. If he had a Gift, it was unnoticeable. No one picked him out in a crowded room.
He watched as the same carriage brought a girl with the strangest eyes and pretty Delia of Eldorne who soon had Douglas and Gary fighting a duel over one of her riding gloves. He watched; Delia never looked his way. But he watched especially Alanna of Trebond, the girl with the flaming red hair and the violet eyes, who looked quiet and faded in her pale silk gown.
Because he was looking, Francis saw things that the others often did not. He noticed as Alanna of Trebond woke up at the crack of dawn to sneak into the practise courts, watching the pages learn swordplay under Captain Aram Sklaw, torn with such a fierce longing that he felt her pain as sharply as if it was his own. He watched as she was chivvied off, and firmly pointed in the direction of a ladies tea being held by Yvette of Rosemark. He watched as she laid a hand--just a hand--on a discarded practice sword, lifted it, and tried to copy one of the moves she'd seen with it. She saw him, then. She dropped the sword like a red-hot branding iron, cheeks flaming.
He said nothing. He left. He only watched.
They first spoke at a duel held for the pleasure of their visitors from Tusaine. She was there--of course she would be, he hadn't expected otherwise--just inches from him, watching rapt as the two fought a practise bout. "Sacherell's the best in our year," he said quietly. He still wasn't sure what had possessed him to speak up. She startled; glanced over at him. He continued, evenly, "The other's Prince Jonathan. He's a fine hand with a sword, and he took Sacherell as his squire."
She said, "Ah." Her eyes were drawn to the Prince, of course. He was a fine figure, with his dark hair and Conte blue eyes, shirt slipping off him in the midday heat. Suddenly, Jonathan dodged a strike from Sacherell, made a quick twist with his sword, almost too fast for the eye to see. Sacherell knew what he was doing, of course, and he parried wide. But he'd been outmaneuvered and the sword slipped from his hand, flying through the air to plant itself in the boards at Alanna's feet. It was a blunted practice sword, but even the dull edge had a bite. Alanna stared at the sword, hand out-stretched as if to pull it. Francis nudged her; she remembered herself, and did, even as the Prince and Sacherell came forward to collect the blade.
"Curse it, Jon," Sacherell said, laughing. "Must you do this in front of the lady?"
Silently, Alanna held out his sword to him, hilt-first. For a moment, as his fingers closed around it and he accepted it from her, Francis thought Alanna would draw back her hand and keep it. But she did not. "And who are you, my lady?" Jon asked, with that confident Conte smile. "I would have thought I would have seen you around at Court."
But you haven't, Francis thought. Because she's been watching the pages and staying as far away from Court events as possible.
Alanna coloured and managed a curtsey. "Alanna of Trebond, your Highness." She didn't hold out her hand, and as Jon returned the gesture with a gallant bow, Francis saw the flicker of puzzlement across her face. "I've come only recently to Court."
"Well, so do you like Court, Alanna of Trebond?" Jon asked. He slipped his practise sword back into his sheath. Sacherell tossed a waterskin to Jon, and he drank deeply from it.
"I wouldn't know, your Highness," Alanna said. And added, "I could probably tell you some other time, if you want."
Amusement in those blue eyes. "I will be interested in your opinion."
Alanna flushed. "You fence well," she offered.
"Thank you. I practise in the mornings at the third courtyard. Perhaps you'd be interested in watching, sometime...? If, of course, such things do not bore you, my lady."
"They do not, your Highness."
Jon flashed her that stubbornly charming smile, the sort that regularly dazzled young noblemen's daughters at court. It lit up his otherwise serious face, and those merry blue eyes. "My friends call me Jon."
"Are we friends, your Highness?"
"Perhaps," Jon said. "I'd like to be. Wouldn't you?"
Rating: PG
Word Count: 834 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Francis watches. There is a new girl at Court. AU.
Warnings: None.
-
Francis of Nond was a quiet one. And so he watched.
He watched as a carriage came from the Convent, bringing the latest group of young women to the palace. Girls-not-quite-women who laughed and tittered and practised embroidery and danced. Who rode horses, and hawked and generally made eyes at the sons of dukes and lords. His family was in the Book of Gold, but Francis was not in the line of inheritance, except as Cousin Paxton's heir. And so he watched, and few of them approached him. Perhaps, hiding in Raoul's shadow helped too. If he had a Gift, it was unnoticeable. No one picked him out in a crowded room.
He watched as the same carriage brought a girl with the strangest eyes and pretty Delia of Eldorne who soon had Douglas and Gary fighting a duel over one of her riding gloves. He watched; Delia never looked his way. But he watched especially Alanna of Trebond, the girl with the flaming red hair and the violet eyes, who looked quiet and faded in her pale silk gown.
Because he was looking, Francis saw things that the others often did not. He noticed as Alanna of Trebond woke up at the crack of dawn to sneak into the practise courts, watching the pages learn swordplay under Captain Aram Sklaw, torn with such a fierce longing that he felt her pain as sharply as if it was his own. He watched as she was chivvied off, and firmly pointed in the direction of a ladies tea being held by Yvette of Rosemark. He watched as she laid a hand--just a hand--on a discarded practice sword, lifted it, and tried to copy one of the moves she'd seen with it. She saw him, then. She dropped the sword like a red-hot branding iron, cheeks flaming.
He said nothing. He left. He only watched.
They first spoke at a duel held for the pleasure of their visitors from Tusaine. She was there--of course she would be, he hadn't expected otherwise--just inches from him, watching rapt as the two fought a practise bout. "Sacherell's the best in our year," he said quietly. He still wasn't sure what had possessed him to speak up. She startled; glanced over at him. He continued, evenly, "The other's Prince Jonathan. He's a fine hand with a sword, and he took Sacherell as his squire."
She said, "Ah." Her eyes were drawn to the Prince, of course. He was a fine figure, with his dark hair and Conte blue eyes, shirt slipping off him in the midday heat. Suddenly, Jonathan dodged a strike from Sacherell, made a quick twist with his sword, almost too fast for the eye to see. Sacherell knew what he was doing, of course, and he parried wide. But he'd been outmaneuvered and the sword slipped from his hand, flying through the air to plant itself in the boards at Alanna's feet. It was a blunted practice sword, but even the dull edge had a bite. Alanna stared at the sword, hand out-stretched as if to pull it. Francis nudged her; she remembered herself, and did, even as the Prince and Sacherell came forward to collect the blade.
"Curse it, Jon," Sacherell said, laughing. "Must you do this in front of the lady?"
Silently, Alanna held out his sword to him, hilt-first. For a moment, as his fingers closed around it and he accepted it from her, Francis thought Alanna would draw back her hand and keep it. But she did not. "And who are you, my lady?" Jon asked, with that confident Conte smile. "I would have thought I would have seen you around at Court."
But you haven't, Francis thought. Because she's been watching the pages and staying as far away from Court events as possible.
Alanna coloured and managed a curtsey. "Alanna of Trebond, your Highness." She didn't hold out her hand, and as Jon returned the gesture with a gallant bow, Francis saw the flicker of puzzlement across her face. "I've come only recently to Court."
"Well, so do you like Court, Alanna of Trebond?" Jon asked. He slipped his practise sword back into his sheath. Sacherell tossed a waterskin to Jon, and he drank deeply from it.
"I wouldn't know, your Highness," Alanna said. And added, "I could probably tell you some other time, if you want."
Amusement in those blue eyes. "I will be interested in your opinion."
Alanna flushed. "You fence well," she offered.
"Thank you. I practise in the mornings at the third courtyard. Perhaps you'd be interested in watching, sometime...? If, of course, such things do not bore you, my lady."
"They do not, your Highness."
Jon flashed her that stubbornly charming smile, the sort that regularly dazzled young noblemen's daughters at court. It lit up his otherwise serious face, and those merry blue eyes. "My friends call me Jon."
"Are we friends, your Highness?"
"Perhaps," Jon said. "I'd like to be. Wouldn't you?"