Post by indifferentred on Aug 26, 2013 6:22:04 GMT 10
Title: A Constant Companion
Rating: PG-13
Category: Tortall >1000 words
Length: 1, 092 words
Original and Subsequent Haunts: None
Summary: The first few months in the marriage of Cleon of Kennan and Ermelian of Aminar
Notes: References to sex.
His proposal to Ermelian is quiet, and brief, made in the small courtyard garden of her widowed mother’s home in Corus. She is silent while he speaks, head bowed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Everything about Ermelian is neat, it seems, right from the top of her smooth strawberry-blonde head, to the tips of her immaculately polished boots.
When he has finished, she looks up at him and offers a sad little smile. They both know that she will accept - her brother has made that quite clear; Kennan is an old house and Cleon is doing her a great honour, even with his family’s financial difficulties. But she must still say the words. He has been good enough to make the offer in person, after all - it could all have been arranged by family members and mutual acquaintances. She stands. “I accept your proposal, Sir Cleon.”
He nods and bows, but says nothing. The rumours are true, then, about him and Keladry of Mindelan. Quiet whispers, nothing loud enough to have damaged either of them yet, but they are there all the same, and true. Suddenly, her sympathy for him doubles. He is as unwilling as she is. She reaches out hesitantly and touches his arm. “Cleon - “ He looks at her questioningly. She squeezes his elbow. “I am sorry. I… I won’t make things any more difficult for you than they already are.” Ermelian is blushing, he notes, and then his own cheeks grow hot as he realises what she is implying, what propriety will not allow her to say openly. If you wish to take a mistress, I will not stand in your way.
He is filled with a new respect for this woman - girl, really - who has agreed to marry him with next to no knowledge about him and who stands before him now, offering him comfort for ruining her life. He shrivels up inside with shame.
Flouting convention, she writes to him when he goes to the front. Her letters are short at first, hesitant - hopes that he is well, news from the city and from her daily life. He senses that she wants to know him better, that she is trying hard at this. He writes back, encouraging her to open herself up to him. He tells her about his childhood, his time as a page and a squire (somehow managing to avoid any mention of Kel), his rebellious sister, disowned for joining the Queens’ Riders.
In return, he learns about her family and life - learns how she is still quietly grieving for her father, dead for five years already; how she adores her two younger sisters and treats her older brother, who spends his time hunting and whoring, with barely concealed contempt; how she is offering her services as a healer at a small military hospital that has been set up in the Lower City. Her brother and mother disapprove, of course, and Cleon makes sure to express his own surprised pleasure and pride in his next letter - offering her a weapon with which to fight the confinements they try to place on her.
They are married two months later, in a quiet ceremony at the temple of the Goddess in Corus, while he is on leave. Ermelian, he has to admit, looks beautiful in her white gown and gauzy veil. He feels clumsy and altogether too unworthy, and envies her her calm composure. Cleon feels as if the whole day is a lie and his skin prickles with guilt as he speaks his vows, promises to love and honour and cherish his wife.
They spend their wedding night at his mother’s townhouse, opened especially for the occasion. He must return to the Front the next morning, early - he has put off that particular duty for long enough - but there is still the night to be got through. He is grateful to Ermelian, for making it all so easy - easy to admit that he is afraid of hurting her, afraid of making her hate him, afraid of lying with a woman for the first time… She merely smiles and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing a bold kiss to his lips. “We’ll manage,” she reassures him. Then, quieter, “Please don’t be afraid.”
Later, when it is done, and she lies naked beside him as his wife, Cleon admits to himself that it could have been much worse. He rather enjoyed it, the feel of being so completely wrapped up in Ermelian’s safety and warmth, and the way that she clutched at his shoulders convulsively at the end and gasped his name convinces him that it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience for her either.
That night, he dreams of hair the colour of autumn leaves and the scent of lilies, and wakes oddly content.
He wonders whether she will write to him, now that they are married and he is back at the front, but he needn’t have worried. A letter from her awaits him at Fort Mastiff when he arrives there a week later, having stopped off at Giantkiller on his way; she must have begun composing it as his horse wended its way out of Corus. She signs herself Meli now, he notes, and recalls that this is the name her sisters know her by.
Cleon ponders the fact for several days, but when he finally does set pen to paper, it is the first word he writes.
He groans and tries to open his eyes. His whole left side is on fire and his head feels stuffed with dust. His throat is parched, too. He has no idea where he is and can’t summon the energy to lift himself and look about. He is inside somewhere - he can make out rough wooden beams above him - but just concentrating on this makes his head swim, so he stops.
A pale, pretty face moves into his line of sight, and he can see that her eyes are glittering with unshed tears. “Thank Mithros,” she whispers and he attempts a smile. When did she get here?
His arm feels unbelievably heavy, but this is important, so he struggles until he can manage to clasp her hand in his own.
The words don’t come easily - he has to think of them and then remind his mouth how to work, and the thirst has made his voice almost unintelligibly rough - but he will be glad that he has made the effort when he sees the effect they have on her face.
“Meli. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Rating: PG-13
Category: Tortall >1000 words
Length: 1, 092 words
Original and Subsequent Haunts: None
Summary: The first few months in the marriage of Cleon of Kennan and Ermelian of Aminar
Notes: References to sex.
His proposal to Ermelian is quiet, and brief, made in the small courtyard garden of her widowed mother’s home in Corus. She is silent while he speaks, head bowed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Everything about Ermelian is neat, it seems, right from the top of her smooth strawberry-blonde head, to the tips of her immaculately polished boots.
When he has finished, she looks up at him and offers a sad little smile. They both know that she will accept - her brother has made that quite clear; Kennan is an old house and Cleon is doing her a great honour, even with his family’s financial difficulties. But she must still say the words. He has been good enough to make the offer in person, after all - it could all have been arranged by family members and mutual acquaintances. She stands. “I accept your proposal, Sir Cleon.”
He nods and bows, but says nothing. The rumours are true, then, about him and Keladry of Mindelan. Quiet whispers, nothing loud enough to have damaged either of them yet, but they are there all the same, and true. Suddenly, her sympathy for him doubles. He is as unwilling as she is. She reaches out hesitantly and touches his arm. “Cleon - “ He looks at her questioningly. She squeezes his elbow. “I am sorry. I… I won’t make things any more difficult for you than they already are.” Ermelian is blushing, he notes, and then his own cheeks grow hot as he realises what she is implying, what propriety will not allow her to say openly. If you wish to take a mistress, I will not stand in your way.
He is filled with a new respect for this woman - girl, really - who has agreed to marry him with next to no knowledge about him and who stands before him now, offering him comfort for ruining her life. He shrivels up inside with shame.
Flouting convention, she writes to him when he goes to the front. Her letters are short at first, hesitant - hopes that he is well, news from the city and from her daily life. He senses that she wants to know him better, that she is trying hard at this. He writes back, encouraging her to open herself up to him. He tells her about his childhood, his time as a page and a squire (somehow managing to avoid any mention of Kel), his rebellious sister, disowned for joining the Queens’ Riders.
In return, he learns about her family and life - learns how she is still quietly grieving for her father, dead for five years already; how she adores her two younger sisters and treats her older brother, who spends his time hunting and whoring, with barely concealed contempt; how she is offering her services as a healer at a small military hospital that has been set up in the Lower City. Her brother and mother disapprove, of course, and Cleon makes sure to express his own surprised pleasure and pride in his next letter - offering her a weapon with which to fight the confinements they try to place on her.
They are married two months later, in a quiet ceremony at the temple of the Goddess in Corus, while he is on leave. Ermelian, he has to admit, looks beautiful in her white gown and gauzy veil. He feels clumsy and altogether too unworthy, and envies her her calm composure. Cleon feels as if the whole day is a lie and his skin prickles with guilt as he speaks his vows, promises to love and honour and cherish his wife.
They spend their wedding night at his mother’s townhouse, opened especially for the occasion. He must return to the Front the next morning, early - he has put off that particular duty for long enough - but there is still the night to be got through. He is grateful to Ermelian, for making it all so easy - easy to admit that he is afraid of hurting her, afraid of making her hate him, afraid of lying with a woman for the first time… She merely smiles and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing a bold kiss to his lips. “We’ll manage,” she reassures him. Then, quieter, “Please don’t be afraid.”
Later, when it is done, and she lies naked beside him as his wife, Cleon admits to himself that it could have been much worse. He rather enjoyed it, the feel of being so completely wrapped up in Ermelian’s safety and warmth, and the way that she clutched at his shoulders convulsively at the end and gasped his name convinces him that it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience for her either.
That night, he dreams of hair the colour of autumn leaves and the scent of lilies, and wakes oddly content.
He wonders whether she will write to him, now that they are married and he is back at the front, but he needn’t have worried. A letter from her awaits him at Fort Mastiff when he arrives there a week later, having stopped off at Giantkiller on his way; she must have begun composing it as his horse wended its way out of Corus. She signs herself Meli now, he notes, and recalls that this is the name her sisters know her by.
Cleon ponders the fact for several days, but when he finally does set pen to paper, it is the first word he writes.
He groans and tries to open his eyes. His whole left side is on fire and his head feels stuffed with dust. His throat is parched, too. He has no idea where he is and can’t summon the energy to lift himself and look about. He is inside somewhere - he can make out rough wooden beams above him - but just concentrating on this makes his head swim, so he stops.
A pale, pretty face moves into his line of sight, and he can see that her eyes are glittering with unshed tears. “Thank Mithros,” she whispers and he attempts a smile. When did she get here?
His arm feels unbelievably heavy, but this is important, so he struggles until he can manage to clasp her hand in his own.
The words don’t come easily - he has to think of them and then remind his mouth how to work, and the thirst has made his voice almost unintelligibly rough - but he will be glad that he has made the effort when he sees the effect they have on her face.
“Meli. I’m so glad you’re here.”