Post by Seek on Apr 14, 2013 7:05:09 GMT 10
Title: Enigma
Rating: G
Word Count: 597 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: AU, Alanna goes to the convent. Jonathan thinks about the new girl. And teaches her to fight.
Warnings: None.
-
Alanna of Trebond, Jon thought, was a puzzle. He'd first noticed her when she was the only lady at Court watching his practice duel with Sacherell, his squire. She had been standing next to Francis of Nond; they were talking. He didn't know what they were talking about, but that seemed to make her more interesting. Few ladies spoke to Francis of Nond. If Francis had anything special, it was in how he was particularly good at appearing so unremarkable that he seemed to fade into the background. Sir Myles had spoken of it, and called it a skill. Jon envied that ability, sometimes. He just wanted to be able to be nobody, sometimes. Not the Crown Prince, just Jon.
It was getting harder and harder to find such moments, these days.
Now that Alanna of Trebond had come to his attention, he noticed her, more and more. She came every morning to watch his exercises, and there was something rapt and hungry in her gaze as she observed every single movement of his sword. He heard, later as Captain Aram Sklaw complained to Uncle Gareth, that the Trebond girl was always sneaking in to his swordsmanship classes with the pages, and he couldn't be always removing her or asking ladies to escort her to something else, so if he'd please--
"What's wrong with that?" Jon asked.
Sklaw glanced at him, and grinned. "What's wrong with what, laddie?"
"Her," Jon said. "Being interested in swordsmanship, I mean."
Sklaw frowned. "It ain't for a lady," he said firmly. "And begging your pardon, your Highness, but I'm not here to deal with a noble father's outrage when he learns I've let his daughter around live steel, or even taught her how to fight, y'ken? It's not my job here. I'm teaching pages, not women."
"Hmm," Uncle Gareth said. And that was it.
But Jon noticed other things. He noticed the way Alanna of Trebond looked quiet and faded, just like Francis, except it was a different kind of faded; her violet eyes were bright and flashed fire, and then they were dull and just burning out when she moved through the games of Court, dancing, curtseying, and penning letters. It was as if she was a plant, he thought once, and she was withering because she had been planted in the wrong soil. Francis and Alanna of Trebond had, for some reason, become good friends. He watched as Francis and Alanna rode, once, and he saw Alanna laughing as she rode a spirited sand-coloured mare with a tail and mane like clouds, and then for a few moments, she seemed to come to life.
Those moments of animation were rarer and rarer.
One day, Jon wasn't sure exactly when, he picked up a second practice sword, and threw it at Alanna when she was watching him go through his exercises. She caught it, startled. Pale purple eyes deepened, became alive. "Hold it the way you've seen me hold it," Jon said at last. "No, your footwork is wrong." He strode over to her, prodded at her legs with the flat of his practise blade. "Like this--and like this--yes!" She had good muscle memory, he realised. When he had her shift from that ready stance to a striking stance and back, she held it precisely, to the perfection of a hair.
He corrected her grip on the sword, watching the deft way her hands wrapped around the hilt, imaging them shifting in an actual fight.
And for the first time, Alanna of Trebond was truly smiling at him.
Rating: G
Word Count: 597 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: AU, Alanna goes to the convent. Jonathan thinks about the new girl. And teaches her to fight.
Warnings: None.
-
Alanna of Trebond, Jon thought, was a puzzle. He'd first noticed her when she was the only lady at Court watching his practice duel with Sacherell, his squire. She had been standing next to Francis of Nond; they were talking. He didn't know what they were talking about, but that seemed to make her more interesting. Few ladies spoke to Francis of Nond. If Francis had anything special, it was in how he was particularly good at appearing so unremarkable that he seemed to fade into the background. Sir Myles had spoken of it, and called it a skill. Jon envied that ability, sometimes. He just wanted to be able to be nobody, sometimes. Not the Crown Prince, just Jon.
It was getting harder and harder to find such moments, these days.
Now that Alanna of Trebond had come to his attention, he noticed her, more and more. She came every morning to watch his exercises, and there was something rapt and hungry in her gaze as she observed every single movement of his sword. He heard, later as Captain Aram Sklaw complained to Uncle Gareth, that the Trebond girl was always sneaking in to his swordsmanship classes with the pages, and he couldn't be always removing her or asking ladies to escort her to something else, so if he'd please--
"What's wrong with that?" Jon asked.
Sklaw glanced at him, and grinned. "What's wrong with what, laddie?"
"Her," Jon said. "Being interested in swordsmanship, I mean."
Sklaw frowned. "It ain't for a lady," he said firmly. "And begging your pardon, your Highness, but I'm not here to deal with a noble father's outrage when he learns I've let his daughter around live steel, or even taught her how to fight, y'ken? It's not my job here. I'm teaching pages, not women."
"Hmm," Uncle Gareth said. And that was it.
But Jon noticed other things. He noticed the way Alanna of Trebond looked quiet and faded, just like Francis, except it was a different kind of faded; her violet eyes were bright and flashed fire, and then they were dull and just burning out when she moved through the games of Court, dancing, curtseying, and penning letters. It was as if she was a plant, he thought once, and she was withering because she had been planted in the wrong soil. Francis and Alanna of Trebond had, for some reason, become good friends. He watched as Francis and Alanna rode, once, and he saw Alanna laughing as she rode a spirited sand-coloured mare with a tail and mane like clouds, and then for a few moments, she seemed to come to life.
Those moments of animation were rarer and rarer.
One day, Jon wasn't sure exactly when, he picked up a second practice sword, and threw it at Alanna when she was watching him go through his exercises. She caught it, startled. Pale purple eyes deepened, became alive. "Hold it the way you've seen me hold it," Jon said at last. "No, your footwork is wrong." He strode over to her, prodded at her legs with the flat of his practise blade. "Like this--and like this--yes!" She had good muscle memory, he realised. When he had her shift from that ready stance to a striking stance and back, she held it precisely, to the perfection of a hair.
He corrected her grip on the sword, watching the deft way her hands wrapped around the hilt, imaging them shifting in an actual fight.
And for the first time, Alanna of Trebond was truly smiling at him.