Post by mistrali on Aug 24, 2013 18:11:41 GMT 10
Title: A Worthwhile Fight
Rating: PG-13
Category: Tortall >1000
Summary: Kally/Kaddar drabbles for SMACKDOWN 2013.
Length: 2616
Original and Subsequent Haunts: Glake (link goes to KK subforum), AO3, FFN
Notes: Warning for alcohol use. Title from Taylor Swift's "State of Grace".
Inspired by a scene in TQ, and by a bit in Marie Ellen's fic 'Kalasin's Story' on FFN, where Kally heals poor people.
Chapter 1: Opals
She couldn't help but think how his eyes reminded her a little of opals themselves, sentimental as that sounded. Unlike Jasson and Vania, Kally wasn't normally given to poetry, but after that first mortifying conversation she'd begun to associate the jewels with him, and his eyes in particular. They seemed bland and dark at first sight, but became enchanting when they lit up with some theory he'd been mulling over, or when he spoke about his garden and the useful, beautiful plants he tended there.
Maybe she would tell him that someday, if they ever became comfortable enough around each other to laugh over such notions.
Chapter 2: Victory
"Elephant captures camel! I win again," said Kaddar, entirely too gleefully. Kally knew she'd have behaved the same way, but that didn't stop her from grumbling about Carthakis and their idiotic menagerie names for chess pieces.
"Well, yours have such sensible names, like 'castle' and 'priest' and 'knight'," he teased, at which she threw a cushion in his direction.
"I don't stand for insults to my homeland, Your Majesty," she said, eyes dancing.
"You just hate to lose," he countered, smirking, and plucked the ebony queen from the board with a flourish.
"We'll see who's laughing next game," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.
Chapter 3: A Wish Your Heart Makes
You're Empress Kalasin of Carthak, now, she reminded herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. An empress shouldn't mourn for a home that never belonged to her.
Instead she drew up the sky-blue brocade curtains of the carriage and stared out of the sheer gauze at her new realm. Was this dry, windblown land to be hers, then, this place that seemed nothing but light brown dust and heat?
Even under shelter, with slaves fanning her and handing her cups of chilled pomegranate juice, she could feel it; there were no trees to soften or cool the landscape. She handed back her cup and took another, smiling a little uncertainly at the slave who appeared at her elbow. He bowed and clasped his hands together in reply, and Kally noted with approval that he did not seem afraid. Kaddar treats his slaves well, she thought, hopeful at this first clue to his nature. That means he might be a good man. He'd seemed pleasant enough at the betrothal ceremony and the meetings beforehand, but any prince or princess learnt to hide behind a mask of diplomacy by the age of seven. He'd bowed and smiled, the picture of courtesy, but there hadn't been much in the way of personality. Then again, it had been a formal occasion; maybe her impression of him would change when she saw him in a more relaxed environment.
She lost herself in speculation - would he have a sense of humour? Was he fond of hunting or scholarship or dancing, fresh fruits or dried, walks in the evening or at dawn? And might he love her? For although it was a question she knew better than to voice, Kally had seen the shine in her noble friends' eyes when a new man or woman flirted with them or gave them presents. Neither she nor her siblings had any illusions about their marriages, though Kally was thankful she had been able to negotiate for Carthak rather than being handed off to, gods forbid, the Copper Isles or Scanra, whose rulers were notoriously cruel.
All the same, it would be nice to have a husband she could talk to, at least.
I hope he's not a bardash who beds me for show and goes courting the noblemen, she thought with a sigh. On the other hand, better a husband who respects me than one who just wants a prince-maker for a wife, I suppose.
Then she started at the commotion, for they were rolling into a city as fine and crowded and filthy, in its way, as Corus.
Chapter 4: Not of One Feather
The colours were fresh on the scroll, belying a date of some thousand years previous. Kally had to admire the oils and spellwork that had made the image last so long. She didn't know much about painting, but from what Kaddar had told her, mages had to be careful that the magic used to preserve a painting would not harm it. The bird was perched with its wings half-spread, settling into a resting position.
"It's a crimson-winged finch, I believe," said Kaddar, who was curled in his chair like a cat. She looked at him, surprised and reminded more than a little of Lianne, who knew tidbits about everything from all the reading she did.
"My uncle loved birds, especially his finches," explained Kaddar. "He used to make me memorise everything about the creatures - names, plumage, mating and feeding habits. He treated them like his children."
"I didn't know you were close to your uncle," she said. She'd heard stories of Ozorne from Alanna and her father, and read about the Immortals War in history books, and Kaddar didn't strike her as the grasping type. By all accounts Ozorne had been clever but cruel.
"We weren't close, though I had a healthy respect for him," he said abruptly. "It didn't take a fool to see he was capable of being ruthless: he had two of my cousins killed for treason, which is not pleasant when you're in the line of succession. So I trod carefully around him. The one time we seriously disagreed about policy was... memorable," he said, laughing, but there was a twist to his mouth that made her wonder just how much he had disliked Ozorne, or feared him.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Tortall >1000
Summary: Kally/Kaddar drabbles for SMACKDOWN 2013.
Length: 2616
Original and Subsequent Haunts: Glake (link goes to KK subforum), AO3, FFN
Notes: Warning for alcohol use. Title from Taylor Swift's "State of Grace".
Inspired by a scene in TQ, and by a bit in Marie Ellen's fic 'Kalasin's Story' on FFN, where Kally heals poor people.
Chapter 1: Opals
She couldn't help but think how his eyes reminded her a little of opals themselves, sentimental as that sounded. Unlike Jasson and Vania, Kally wasn't normally given to poetry, but after that first mortifying conversation she'd begun to associate the jewels with him, and his eyes in particular. They seemed bland and dark at first sight, but became enchanting when they lit up with some theory he'd been mulling over, or when he spoke about his garden and the useful, beautiful plants he tended there.
Maybe she would tell him that someday, if they ever became comfortable enough around each other to laugh over such notions.
Chapter 2: Victory
"Elephant captures camel! I win again," said Kaddar, entirely too gleefully. Kally knew she'd have behaved the same way, but that didn't stop her from grumbling about Carthakis and their idiotic menagerie names for chess pieces.
"Well, yours have such sensible names, like 'castle' and 'priest' and 'knight'," he teased, at which she threw a cushion in his direction.
"I don't stand for insults to my homeland, Your Majesty," she said, eyes dancing.
"You just hate to lose," he countered, smirking, and plucked the ebony queen from the board with a flourish.
"We'll see who's laughing next game," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.
Chapter 3: A Wish Your Heart Makes
You're Empress Kalasin of Carthak, now, she reminded herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. An empress shouldn't mourn for a home that never belonged to her.
Instead she drew up the sky-blue brocade curtains of the carriage and stared out of the sheer gauze at her new realm. Was this dry, windblown land to be hers, then, this place that seemed nothing but light brown dust and heat?
Even under shelter, with slaves fanning her and handing her cups of chilled pomegranate juice, she could feel it; there were no trees to soften or cool the landscape. She handed back her cup and took another, smiling a little uncertainly at the slave who appeared at her elbow. He bowed and clasped his hands together in reply, and Kally noted with approval that he did not seem afraid. Kaddar treats his slaves well, she thought, hopeful at this first clue to his nature. That means he might be a good man. He'd seemed pleasant enough at the betrothal ceremony and the meetings beforehand, but any prince or princess learnt to hide behind a mask of diplomacy by the age of seven. He'd bowed and smiled, the picture of courtesy, but there hadn't been much in the way of personality. Then again, it had been a formal occasion; maybe her impression of him would change when she saw him in a more relaxed environment.
She lost herself in speculation - would he have a sense of humour? Was he fond of hunting or scholarship or dancing, fresh fruits or dried, walks in the evening or at dawn? And might he love her? For although it was a question she knew better than to voice, Kally had seen the shine in her noble friends' eyes when a new man or woman flirted with them or gave them presents. Neither she nor her siblings had any illusions about their marriages, though Kally was thankful she had been able to negotiate for Carthak rather than being handed off to, gods forbid, the Copper Isles or Scanra, whose rulers were notoriously cruel.
All the same, it would be nice to have a husband she could talk to, at least.
I hope he's not a bardash who beds me for show and goes courting the noblemen, she thought with a sigh. On the other hand, better a husband who respects me than one who just wants a prince-maker for a wife, I suppose.
Then she started at the commotion, for they were rolling into a city as fine and crowded and filthy, in its way, as Corus.
Chapter 4: Not of One Feather
The colours were fresh on the scroll, belying a date of some thousand years previous. Kally had to admire the oils and spellwork that had made the image last so long. She didn't know much about painting, but from what Kaddar had told her, mages had to be careful that the magic used to preserve a painting would not harm it. The bird was perched with its wings half-spread, settling into a resting position.
"It's a crimson-winged finch, I believe," said Kaddar, who was curled in his chair like a cat. She looked at him, surprised and reminded more than a little of Lianne, who knew tidbits about everything from all the reading she did.
"My uncle loved birds, especially his finches," explained Kaddar. "He used to make me memorise everything about the creatures - names, plumage, mating and feeding habits. He treated them like his children."
"I didn't know you were close to your uncle," she said. She'd heard stories of Ozorne from Alanna and her father, and read about the Immortals War in history books, and Kaddar didn't strike her as the grasping type. By all accounts Ozorne had been clever but cruel.
"We weren't close, though I had a healthy respect for him," he said abruptly. "It didn't take a fool to see he was capable of being ruthless: he had two of my cousins killed for treason, which is not pleasant when you're in the line of succession. So I trod carefully around him. The one time we seriously disagreed about policy was... memorable," he said, laughing, but there was a twist to his mouth that made her wonder just how much he had disliked Ozorne, or feared him.