Post by wordy on Dec 11, 2013 15:20:46 GMT 10
Title: Shade
Rating: PG
For: Tamari
Prompt: #5 - Alex/Aly
Summary: She doesn’t always go looking for trouble; sometimes trouble finds her.
Notes and Warnings: Less romancin’ than I’d planned, but hopefully still good.
She had never much cared for magic, unGifted as she was. Perhaps that was why she always made a point of visiting the catacombs when on holiday at the palace; the boys were squeamish about it—Liam always made a brave face but excused himself after spending but a moment in the bottom level—yet the dusty stone and stillness of the air calmed her. Even the sight of Lightning, her mother’s old sword that was wedged in the floor, raised only curiosity.
Curiosity had always been her family’s undoing.
Her fifteenth birthday had come and gone, but the goings-on at court were beginning to bore her, when really she should have been delighted at the pretty young men and the prospect of dancing until her toes were numb. Somehow, her new gown looked much brighter against the yellowing stone of the catacombs; she swept a hand along the wall as she made her way down the last flight of steps, pausing only to shake cobwebs from her fingers. There were always torches burning upon the walls and so it should have been obvious to all who entered that there were only shadows to fear.
Something flickered in the corner of her eye. She excused it at first—her Sight often caught on the faintest trace of magic, no matter how deeply protection spells were pressed into the walls—but then the flickering moved, detaching from the edge of her vision until a shadowy figure was in front of her, growing more solid before her very eyes.
Stupidly, her first reaction was to glance towards Lightning. But if the woman who had put it there could not remove it, then there was no chance that a slim girl could succeed in doing so, even if she was afraid. Equally as stupid, running was not even her second reaction; she glanced back at the shifting figure in time to see him grow fully solid, taking on the form of a dark-haired young man.
Something eased in her chest, and she blurted, “You’re not him.”
The man arched an eyebrow, his smile secretive and sharp, like a cat. “No, I’m not,” he replied, seeming to know exactly who she was talking about. His dark eyes swept over her. “And you are…?”
“Aly,” she said, then regretted it immediately.
He examined her in silence for a moment, then shook his head, as if he had not discovered what he was looking for. But she was already piecing it together, remembering her parents’ stories, the tight press of her mother’s lips.
“Alex of Tirragen,” she said. That eyebrow rose again, but he did not answer. “You didn’t have the Gift,” she continued, feeling behind her slowly until the wall met her hand. The steps were to her left. Good. “How is it you came back?”
He shrugged. “Unfinished business, the tales would say. Though more likely some element of Roger’s magic got a hold of me. He is dead again, isn’t he.” Alex looked around the room, eyes lingering on her mother’s sword and the blackened floor surrounding it. His lips twitched. “I imagine this place would have been decorated much differently had he succeeded.”
Her hand was on the wall, her slippered foot ready to mount the first step. She hesitated. Did that mean he was trapped here? He certainly looked solid enough, but surely he was only a ghost. That made her want to laugh: she was talking to a ghost.
She lifted her chin and said, “There’s nothing left for you here.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re a traitor to the crown.”
“I did what was necessary,” he said, stepping towards her. “Even you would do the same, if it meant helping your family.”
She stood her ground. A ghost, she reminded herself. “I wouldn’t do what you did.”
He was close enough that she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted to; part of her did want to, just to be sure that he wasn’t real. But though her tongue had not deserted her, the rest of her body seemed frozen. His smile was beguiling. None of the boys she flirted with ever looked at her like that—like she was more than just a girl.
When his hand touched her face, her heart jumped in fear. He could touch her. Did that mean that he was real, more than just a shade? But her mind would go no further—the possibilities were too alarming.
Alex of Tirragen smiled, and Aly could not decide if the shiver it sent through her was fear or something else.
Rating: PG
For: Tamari
Prompt: #5 - Alex/Aly
Summary: She doesn’t always go looking for trouble; sometimes trouble finds her.
Notes and Warnings: Less romancin’ than I’d planned, but hopefully still good.
She had never much cared for magic, unGifted as she was. Perhaps that was why she always made a point of visiting the catacombs when on holiday at the palace; the boys were squeamish about it—Liam always made a brave face but excused himself after spending but a moment in the bottom level—yet the dusty stone and stillness of the air calmed her. Even the sight of Lightning, her mother’s old sword that was wedged in the floor, raised only curiosity.
Curiosity had always been her family’s undoing.
Her fifteenth birthday had come and gone, but the goings-on at court were beginning to bore her, when really she should have been delighted at the pretty young men and the prospect of dancing until her toes were numb. Somehow, her new gown looked much brighter against the yellowing stone of the catacombs; she swept a hand along the wall as she made her way down the last flight of steps, pausing only to shake cobwebs from her fingers. There were always torches burning upon the walls and so it should have been obvious to all who entered that there were only shadows to fear.
Something flickered in the corner of her eye. She excused it at first—her Sight often caught on the faintest trace of magic, no matter how deeply protection spells were pressed into the walls—but then the flickering moved, detaching from the edge of her vision until a shadowy figure was in front of her, growing more solid before her very eyes.
Stupidly, her first reaction was to glance towards Lightning. But if the woman who had put it there could not remove it, then there was no chance that a slim girl could succeed in doing so, even if she was afraid. Equally as stupid, running was not even her second reaction; she glanced back at the shifting figure in time to see him grow fully solid, taking on the form of a dark-haired young man.
Something eased in her chest, and she blurted, “You’re not him.”
The man arched an eyebrow, his smile secretive and sharp, like a cat. “No, I’m not,” he replied, seeming to know exactly who she was talking about. His dark eyes swept over her. “And you are…?”
“Aly,” she said, then regretted it immediately.
He examined her in silence for a moment, then shook his head, as if he had not discovered what he was looking for. But she was already piecing it together, remembering her parents’ stories, the tight press of her mother’s lips.
“Alex of Tirragen,” she said. That eyebrow rose again, but he did not answer. “You didn’t have the Gift,” she continued, feeling behind her slowly until the wall met her hand. The steps were to her left. Good. “How is it you came back?”
He shrugged. “Unfinished business, the tales would say. Though more likely some element of Roger’s magic got a hold of me. He is dead again, isn’t he.” Alex looked around the room, eyes lingering on her mother’s sword and the blackened floor surrounding it. His lips twitched. “I imagine this place would have been decorated much differently had he succeeded.”
Her hand was on the wall, her slippered foot ready to mount the first step. She hesitated. Did that mean he was trapped here? He certainly looked solid enough, but surely he was only a ghost. That made her want to laugh: she was talking to a ghost.
She lifted her chin and said, “There’s nothing left for you here.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re a traitor to the crown.”
“I did what was necessary,” he said, stepping towards her. “Even you would do the same, if it meant helping your family.”
She stood her ground. A ghost, she reminded herself. “I wouldn’t do what you did.”
He was close enough that she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted to; part of her did want to, just to be sure that he wasn’t real. But though her tongue had not deserted her, the rest of her body seemed frozen. His smile was beguiling. None of the boys she flirted with ever looked at her like that—like she was more than just a girl.
When his hand touched her face, her heart jumped in fear. He could touch her. Did that mean that he was real, more than just a shade? But her mind would go no further—the possibilities were too alarming.
Alex of Tirragen smiled, and Aly could not decide if the shiver it sent through her was fear or something else.