Post by Seek on May 4, 2013 7:10:23 GMT 10
Title: Respite
Rating: PG
Word count: 626 words
Summary: Buri and Raoul are in adjacent encampments.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Slow Burn series.
-
The night before the battle for Port Legann is quiet, and far too still.
Raoul rises from the glowing coals of the campfire when he spies a shape at the neighbouring encampment, sitting outside a tent. He knows who it is, even though he can’t make out her features well enough in the dark.
“Buri,” he says, voice pitched low so only she can hear it. Maybe she can’t hear it, but she turns anyway and looks in his direction. A moment later, she rises and crosses from the Rider’s camp into his.
“Put out that thing already,” she snaps.
“If they were going to throw anything at us because they’ve seen the light from a dying cookfire,” Raoul says, “They’d already have done so hours ago. They’re not doing so because they’re saving up everything, Buri. For tomorrow.”
Her hands clench by her side, momentarily, and then relax. He wonders if she’s even aware of it. “Tomorrow,” she agrees.
Out across the distance, the fires of the besieging armies set the horizon aflame. They’re so vast, and the Tortallan army set to defend Legann barely big enough. They both know the ratios required for an attacker to take a city. They know, too, that Daine and her dragon allies are their best bet for defending Legann.
But they’re commanders. They deal in men and blood and horses and screaming casualties and corpses, and right now, Raoul can’t see a way out of this. Legann’s a death trap, but they can’t afford to lose Legann, and with all the forces committed to Legann, it seems that the enemy can’t afford to let them have it either. It’ll end one way or another tomorrow, for certain.
“Raoul?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s twice you owe me now.” The Own had walked right into an ambush; a Scanran war party bolstered by Stormwing war magic, except that Buri’s Rider Groups had charged right in the middle of the melee, and shot the two Stormwings out of the sky. The Riders and the Own had both suffered terrible losses, but they’d walked away. It was one small victory, at least, no matter what the cost.
They’d both learned to count those.
“Aww, Buri.”
“Don’t ‘aww Buri’ me. I did pull that pretty hide of yours out of the fire.”
“Yes, but I saved your Riders three times.”
“Three? How do you even count?”
“Fresh. Supplies.”
“I’ve told you, it was a bribe! It doesn’t count!” Buri says, glaring at him.
“Fine,” Raoul says, the picture of offended dignity. “See if I’ll bring you a mug of warm tea next time, you ungrateful lout.”
They both sit by the last cookfire, covered in cracking mud, too weary to continue, when Buri says, “It’ll start at dawn. We’re to attack their supplies, right after they make for the city walls again.”
Raoul shakes his head slowly. “Wrong side of the battlefield.”
“Oh. Looks like it means you’re going to have to pull yourself out of the fire this time.”
“We’ll manage perfectly well, thank you. You’ll have to cope without hot food—”
“We’ll manage,” Buri says, icily. Supplies are running low, and they’re back down to the last of the pease-porridge and are rationing water.
“After the battle,” Raoul says, tiredly, “The first thing I’m going to find is a nice, warm bath and dunk myself in it until every last bit of mud comes off.” He looks at her, and he looks like he’s going to say something but he doesn’t quite say it.
Buri stands up, and kicks dirt into the last of the fire. “Go to sleep, Raoul. I’ll do your back if you’ll do mine.”
His startled laughter follows her back into the Rider’s encampment, and into her tent.
Rating: PG
Word count: 626 words
Summary: Buri and Raoul are in adjacent encampments.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Slow Burn series.
-
The night before the battle for Port Legann is quiet, and far too still.
Raoul rises from the glowing coals of the campfire when he spies a shape at the neighbouring encampment, sitting outside a tent. He knows who it is, even though he can’t make out her features well enough in the dark.
“Buri,” he says, voice pitched low so only she can hear it. Maybe she can’t hear it, but she turns anyway and looks in his direction. A moment later, she rises and crosses from the Rider’s camp into his.
“Put out that thing already,” she snaps.
“If they were going to throw anything at us because they’ve seen the light from a dying cookfire,” Raoul says, “They’d already have done so hours ago. They’re not doing so because they’re saving up everything, Buri. For tomorrow.”
Her hands clench by her side, momentarily, and then relax. He wonders if she’s even aware of it. “Tomorrow,” she agrees.
Out across the distance, the fires of the besieging armies set the horizon aflame. They’re so vast, and the Tortallan army set to defend Legann barely big enough. They both know the ratios required for an attacker to take a city. They know, too, that Daine and her dragon allies are their best bet for defending Legann.
But they’re commanders. They deal in men and blood and horses and screaming casualties and corpses, and right now, Raoul can’t see a way out of this. Legann’s a death trap, but they can’t afford to lose Legann, and with all the forces committed to Legann, it seems that the enemy can’t afford to let them have it either. It’ll end one way or another tomorrow, for certain.
“Raoul?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s twice you owe me now.” The Own had walked right into an ambush; a Scanran war party bolstered by Stormwing war magic, except that Buri’s Rider Groups had charged right in the middle of the melee, and shot the two Stormwings out of the sky. The Riders and the Own had both suffered terrible losses, but they’d walked away. It was one small victory, at least, no matter what the cost.
They’d both learned to count those.
“Aww, Buri.”
“Don’t ‘aww Buri’ me. I did pull that pretty hide of yours out of the fire.”
“Yes, but I saved your Riders three times.”
“Three? How do you even count?”
“Fresh. Supplies.”
“I’ve told you, it was a bribe! It doesn’t count!” Buri says, glaring at him.
“Fine,” Raoul says, the picture of offended dignity. “See if I’ll bring you a mug of warm tea next time, you ungrateful lout.”
They both sit by the last cookfire, covered in cracking mud, too weary to continue, when Buri says, “It’ll start at dawn. We’re to attack their supplies, right after they make for the city walls again.”
Raoul shakes his head slowly. “Wrong side of the battlefield.”
“Oh. Looks like it means you’re going to have to pull yourself out of the fire this time.”
“We’ll manage perfectly well, thank you. You’ll have to cope without hot food—”
“We’ll manage,” Buri says, icily. Supplies are running low, and they’re back down to the last of the pease-porridge and are rationing water.
“After the battle,” Raoul says, tiredly, “The first thing I’m going to find is a nice, warm bath and dunk myself in it until every last bit of mud comes off.” He looks at her, and he looks like he’s going to say something but he doesn’t quite say it.
Buri stands up, and kicks dirt into the last of the fire. “Go to sleep, Raoul. I’ll do your back if you’ll do mine.”
His startled laughter follows her back into the Rider’s encampment, and into her tent.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!