Post by Tamari on Jun 14, 2014 13:11:15 GMT 10
Title: my hidden faults
Rating: G
Word Count: 1741
Bingo: Golden + Kiss + Swimming + Outdoors + Light
Summary: A swimming hole, a hot day, and too much staring.
The summer is the hottest Tortall’s seen in decades. Third Company spends their days at the palace drilling and training through the mornings and evenings, but they’re left to entertain themselves during the midday heat.
After only a few weeks of this routine, Lerant has already played hundreds, if not thousands, of card games. On this particularly hot day, he is sprawled across a bench on the practice courts, fanning himself. Some of the other men — Sergeant Dom, Emmet, Aiden — are trying to teach themselves to use the Yamani ladies’ pink and gold shukusens. Lerant would join in, but he has no desire to slice off his fingers. Not this early in the day, anyway.
His eyes water in the blinding sun. He blinks, first to clear his eyes, then in relief as a shadow falls over him.
“Hello, Lerant,” Mindelan says. She’s dressed for training, like he is, in a shirt, breeches and sturdy boots. If she’s overheated, she hides it well.
“Hello,” he says. Normally, he’d be suspicious of her cheeriness, but it’s too hot.
“Isn’t it a lovely day?”
He shifts to a more upright position. “Have you hit your head?”
Mindelan smiles. “Not that I can remember. Why aren’t you gambling with fate like your fellows over there?” She nods to the group of men.
Lerant glances over and immediately winces. Aiden has discovered the trick of spinning the fan up and catching it in his palm as the heavy, dull base faces down. From the looks of it, he’s trying to teach Wolset. This can’t end well.
“I like my limbs, thanks,” he drawls.
That surprises a laugh out of her. He tries not to stare. Mindelan spent four years with them during her squire years, so surely he’s heard her laugh before. But he can’t recall.
She stares at him for a moment. He raises his eyebrows, but she ignores it, her gaze sweeping over him. If he didn’t know better — if she was just a girl down in the pub — he’d come to a different conclusion, but she’s Mindelan. She’s probably calculating how many bruises she can leave on him with that wretched lance of hers. Not that he’d joust against her, even if he could.
Mindelan crosses her arms. “Say, Lerant,” she says. “Want to come swimming with us?”
He stares right back at her. “Swimming?” he echoes. Then, “Us?”
“Yeah, down at the old swimming hole. The boys and I — Neal and Merric and Owen, remember, and a few of my yearmates — are going to go cool off.” She shuffles, takes a step back.
Lerant looks back at the men, who are busy trying to get the perfect spin on the shukusen, and then back at Mindelan. “I guess I could come. If your friends aren’t too intolerable, that is.” He shrugs.
“It’s around the gardens, to the left of…” She gives him directions to the swimming hole. “You can come by now, if you like.”
A thought comes to him. “Aren’t you — I mean. You know.” He flushes.
“I don’t know.” She looks at him sideways. “What’s the problem?”
Lerant gestures at her helplessly. “You know, well, you’re a — a girl.”
“Oh!” she says. “No, don’t worry about it.”
She strolls off. He stands up, brushes dust off his breeches, and looks back to his friends, too engrossed in their game to notice Lerant. He heads off in the direction of the swimming hole.
When he gets there — taking only two wrong turns on the way — there are already shrieks and splashes. Merric of Hollyrose is in the water, looking supremely undignified and sputtering. Queenscove is doubled over laughing. Mindelan is standing with men Lerant doesn’t know (wait, is that the prince?). She sees him and waves. Lerant awkwardly maneuvers toward her, sidestepping Queenscove. She smiles at him, which makes his stomach feel weird.
It’s probably indigestion. The venison at midday meal did seem a bit dodgy.
“Eldorne, if I’m not mistaken? Sir Faleron of King’s Reach.” The man to the left of Mindelan, a tall and dark-haired fellow, bows. The formality is slightly marred by the splash and shriek Queenscove makes when Hollyrose pulls him, fully clothed, into the swimming hole.
“Lerant, yes.” Stiffly, he returns the bow. “Pleasure.”
“Kel!” Queenscove wails. “Aren’t you going to avenge my honor? This was my best tunic!”
She ignores him, an action Lerant can only commend her for. “Lerant, this is Faleron. And on my right here is Owen of Jesslaw. And his highness Prince Roald of Conté, if you haven’t met before.” She nods to her right, where the other two men are whispering to each other. Roald — the prince! — straightens and nods to Lerant. The other, who must be Jesslaw, runs a hand through his curls and gives Mindelan a sheepish look.
“Sorry, Kel,” Jesslaw says. “We were just talking about what a stifler it is today!”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you — Lerant, isn’t it?” says the prince. “Call me Roald.”
Lerant’s trying to process that when Jesslaw lets out a whoop. “Splash fight!” Jesslaw runs to join Merric and Queenscove, shedding his clothing on the way.
Lerant, Mindelan, King’s Reach, and the prince watch in bemusement as Jesslaw, in just a loincloth, catapults into the swimming hole. Queenscove seizes the moment to dunk Hollyrose.
“Shall we join?” Faleron says. “Might as well cool off.”
No one else seems to think this is awkward. Lerant stands there, still stunned, until Mindelan pulls off her shirt. He sputters. There’s not much modesty in the Own, but this is different.
Mindelan sees his red face and rolls her eyes. “Relax, Lerant. We’re all friends here.”
At least she’s wearing a breastband. Even so, he avoids looking. He notices with relief that the prince does the same.
“Look out!” King’s Reach shouts, just before he flings himself into the water.
The prince dives in, and Lerant, after an awkward peripheral glance at Mindelan, follows. The water is almost painfully cold after the hours he’s spent in the heat. It’s bliss. Lerant surfaces and almost chokes on a surge of water, sent his way by a cackling Queenscove. The ensuing water fight lasts hours.
One by one Mindelan’s friends beg off. It’s down to Queenscove, Lerant, and Mindelan when Queenscove leaves to return a book to the library.
Mindelan waves good-bye, still laughing about the joke Lerant told about the Player and the cactus. Then Queenscove walks off, and it’s just the two of them.
Lerant treads water and tries not to stare at Kel — Mindelan, that is. His stomach feels strange again. He has a feeling his palms would be sweaty, if they weren’t in the water.
“Have you been training hard?” she asks.
“What?” he says. “Oh. Yes, I suppose. It’s hard to get anything done in this heat.” He’s aware as he’s talking of just how inane he sounds. But that’s nothing new.
Kel dips her head below the water, and comes up with her short hair dripping. She wipes her face. “I’ve been working with Hoshi and Peachblossom, mostly. It’s good for them to be conditioned to all sorts of weather.”
“Right,” he says.
“Are you okay?”
He hmms and sinks in the water until it goes almost up to his nose. Kel’s staring at him again. He’s trying not to think and Kel’s looking at him and it’s still so hot...and when did Mindelan become Kel?
He’s purposefully not thinking about the time she defended his honor. Not that he needed defending, because he could have done it himself, and he didn’t need her butting in. Right.
Shoot, he is thinking about it.
“Do you think,” says Kel, “you’ll stay in the Own? For the next few years, you know.”
Lerant shrugs, the tops of his shoulders pushing out of the water. “As long as I can. Milord needs me,” he adds defensively.
“Lord Raoul cares about you,” Kel says. “You did take that arrow for him. Remember?”
“Yes,” he says wryly, looking down at a scar on his shoulder. “I remember.”
She snorts, which turns into a laugh. He laughs along, because she gets it. Her arms are scarred, too, from that infernal griffin. Mithros, he hated that griffin.
They reminisce about Kel’s years in Third company for a while, floating around. The air has cooled off some, but Lerant doesn’t really want to go back to watching his friends mess around. This is nice. Odd, but nice.
“I should go,” she says finally. “Jump will be wondering where I am.”
Jump’s that dog of hers, he thinks. “Me too. I mean, I should go. I don’t think your dog cares that much about me.”
Kel makes an amused sound. “Okay, Lerant. Tell the guys I said hi.” She swims to the side of the swimming hole and heaves herself out and onto her feet. She’s so strong that it’s an effortless, fluid movement.
“Wait,” he says.
She turns back to the water, pulling her shirt on over her head. “Yeah?”
He swims to the side and gets out. His heart is pounding, and he’s rethinking his decision already. But there are some chances that have to be taken. Lerant’s not a coward. He’s faced the kraken; he can do this.
“Thanks, Kel. For inviting me to swim with your friends.”
“It’s no problem.” She puts on her breeches.
He can always avoid her if he accidentally says too much. “I — I haven’t always been nice to you. I’m…sorry, I guess. Sorry.”
Kel hands him his own breeches and waits silently for him to dress. Once he has, she turns back toward him. He can’t tell how it happens, but they’re suddenly standing too close.
Her face is inches from his, but he can’t tell what she’s thinking. “It’s no problem,” she repeats.
He grins at her awkwardly, conscious of the water dripping from his bangs into his eyes. Can he do it?
He can’t. Instead he reaches down, takes one of her hands in his, and kisses it in the way of a lord with a lady. She doesn’t pull away, or snort, or flinch.
Lerant meets her eyes again, ready to cut and run.
Kel smiles, very softly, slightly, and places her other hand on his shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
They walk off together to the stables.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1741
Bingo: Golden + Kiss + Swimming + Outdoors + Light
Summary: A swimming hole, a hot day, and too much staring.
The summer is the hottest Tortall’s seen in decades. Third Company spends their days at the palace drilling and training through the mornings and evenings, but they’re left to entertain themselves during the midday heat.
After only a few weeks of this routine, Lerant has already played hundreds, if not thousands, of card games. On this particularly hot day, he is sprawled across a bench on the practice courts, fanning himself. Some of the other men — Sergeant Dom, Emmet, Aiden — are trying to teach themselves to use the Yamani ladies’ pink and gold shukusens. Lerant would join in, but he has no desire to slice off his fingers. Not this early in the day, anyway.
His eyes water in the blinding sun. He blinks, first to clear his eyes, then in relief as a shadow falls over him.
“Hello, Lerant,” Mindelan says. She’s dressed for training, like he is, in a shirt, breeches and sturdy boots. If she’s overheated, she hides it well.
“Hello,” he says. Normally, he’d be suspicious of her cheeriness, but it’s too hot.
“Isn’t it a lovely day?”
He shifts to a more upright position. “Have you hit your head?”
Mindelan smiles. “Not that I can remember. Why aren’t you gambling with fate like your fellows over there?” She nods to the group of men.
Lerant glances over and immediately winces. Aiden has discovered the trick of spinning the fan up and catching it in his palm as the heavy, dull base faces down. From the looks of it, he’s trying to teach Wolset. This can’t end well.
“I like my limbs, thanks,” he drawls.
That surprises a laugh out of her. He tries not to stare. Mindelan spent four years with them during her squire years, so surely he’s heard her laugh before. But he can’t recall.
She stares at him for a moment. He raises his eyebrows, but she ignores it, her gaze sweeping over him. If he didn’t know better — if she was just a girl down in the pub — he’d come to a different conclusion, but she’s Mindelan. She’s probably calculating how many bruises she can leave on him with that wretched lance of hers. Not that he’d joust against her, even if he could.
Mindelan crosses her arms. “Say, Lerant,” she says. “Want to come swimming with us?”
He stares right back at her. “Swimming?” he echoes. Then, “Us?”
“Yeah, down at the old swimming hole. The boys and I — Neal and Merric and Owen, remember, and a few of my yearmates — are going to go cool off.” She shuffles, takes a step back.
Lerant looks back at the men, who are busy trying to get the perfect spin on the shukusen, and then back at Mindelan. “I guess I could come. If your friends aren’t too intolerable, that is.” He shrugs.
“It’s around the gardens, to the left of…” She gives him directions to the swimming hole. “You can come by now, if you like.”
A thought comes to him. “Aren’t you — I mean. You know.” He flushes.
“I don’t know.” She looks at him sideways. “What’s the problem?”
Lerant gestures at her helplessly. “You know, well, you’re a — a girl.”
“Oh!” she says. “No, don’t worry about it.”
She strolls off. He stands up, brushes dust off his breeches, and looks back to his friends, too engrossed in their game to notice Lerant. He heads off in the direction of the swimming hole.
When he gets there — taking only two wrong turns on the way — there are already shrieks and splashes. Merric of Hollyrose is in the water, looking supremely undignified and sputtering. Queenscove is doubled over laughing. Mindelan is standing with men Lerant doesn’t know (wait, is that the prince?). She sees him and waves. Lerant awkwardly maneuvers toward her, sidestepping Queenscove. She smiles at him, which makes his stomach feel weird.
It’s probably indigestion. The venison at midday meal did seem a bit dodgy.
“Eldorne, if I’m not mistaken? Sir Faleron of King’s Reach.” The man to the left of Mindelan, a tall and dark-haired fellow, bows. The formality is slightly marred by the splash and shriek Queenscove makes when Hollyrose pulls him, fully clothed, into the swimming hole.
“Lerant, yes.” Stiffly, he returns the bow. “Pleasure.”
“Kel!” Queenscove wails. “Aren’t you going to avenge my honor? This was my best tunic!”
She ignores him, an action Lerant can only commend her for. “Lerant, this is Faleron. And on my right here is Owen of Jesslaw. And his highness Prince Roald of Conté, if you haven’t met before.” She nods to her right, where the other two men are whispering to each other. Roald — the prince! — straightens and nods to Lerant. The other, who must be Jesslaw, runs a hand through his curls and gives Mindelan a sheepish look.
“Sorry, Kel,” Jesslaw says. “We were just talking about what a stifler it is today!”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you — Lerant, isn’t it?” says the prince. “Call me Roald.”
Lerant’s trying to process that when Jesslaw lets out a whoop. “Splash fight!” Jesslaw runs to join Merric and Queenscove, shedding his clothing on the way.
Lerant, Mindelan, King’s Reach, and the prince watch in bemusement as Jesslaw, in just a loincloth, catapults into the swimming hole. Queenscove seizes the moment to dunk Hollyrose.
“Shall we join?” Faleron says. “Might as well cool off.”
No one else seems to think this is awkward. Lerant stands there, still stunned, until Mindelan pulls off her shirt. He sputters. There’s not much modesty in the Own, but this is different.
Mindelan sees his red face and rolls her eyes. “Relax, Lerant. We’re all friends here.”
At least she’s wearing a breastband. Even so, he avoids looking. He notices with relief that the prince does the same.
“Look out!” King’s Reach shouts, just before he flings himself into the water.
The prince dives in, and Lerant, after an awkward peripheral glance at Mindelan, follows. The water is almost painfully cold after the hours he’s spent in the heat. It’s bliss. Lerant surfaces and almost chokes on a surge of water, sent his way by a cackling Queenscove. The ensuing water fight lasts hours.
One by one Mindelan’s friends beg off. It’s down to Queenscove, Lerant, and Mindelan when Queenscove leaves to return a book to the library.
Mindelan waves good-bye, still laughing about the joke Lerant told about the Player and the cactus. Then Queenscove walks off, and it’s just the two of them.
Lerant treads water and tries not to stare at Kel — Mindelan, that is. His stomach feels strange again. He has a feeling his palms would be sweaty, if they weren’t in the water.
“Have you been training hard?” she asks.
“What?” he says. “Oh. Yes, I suppose. It’s hard to get anything done in this heat.” He’s aware as he’s talking of just how inane he sounds. But that’s nothing new.
Kel dips her head below the water, and comes up with her short hair dripping. She wipes her face. “I’ve been working with Hoshi and Peachblossom, mostly. It’s good for them to be conditioned to all sorts of weather.”
“Right,” he says.
“Are you okay?”
He hmms and sinks in the water until it goes almost up to his nose. Kel’s staring at him again. He’s trying not to think and Kel’s looking at him and it’s still so hot...and when did Mindelan become Kel?
He’s purposefully not thinking about the time she defended his honor. Not that he needed defending, because he could have done it himself, and he didn’t need her butting in. Right.
Shoot, he is thinking about it.
“Do you think,” says Kel, “you’ll stay in the Own? For the next few years, you know.”
Lerant shrugs, the tops of his shoulders pushing out of the water. “As long as I can. Milord needs me,” he adds defensively.
“Lord Raoul cares about you,” Kel says. “You did take that arrow for him. Remember?”
“Yes,” he says wryly, looking down at a scar on his shoulder. “I remember.”
She snorts, which turns into a laugh. He laughs along, because she gets it. Her arms are scarred, too, from that infernal griffin. Mithros, he hated that griffin.
They reminisce about Kel’s years in Third company for a while, floating around. The air has cooled off some, but Lerant doesn’t really want to go back to watching his friends mess around. This is nice. Odd, but nice.
“I should go,” she says finally. “Jump will be wondering where I am.”
Jump’s that dog of hers, he thinks. “Me too. I mean, I should go. I don’t think your dog cares that much about me.”
Kel makes an amused sound. “Okay, Lerant. Tell the guys I said hi.” She swims to the side of the swimming hole and heaves herself out and onto her feet. She’s so strong that it’s an effortless, fluid movement.
“Wait,” he says.
She turns back to the water, pulling her shirt on over her head. “Yeah?”
He swims to the side and gets out. His heart is pounding, and he’s rethinking his decision already. But there are some chances that have to be taken. Lerant’s not a coward. He’s faced the kraken; he can do this.
“Thanks, Kel. For inviting me to swim with your friends.”
“It’s no problem.” She puts on her breeches.
He can always avoid her if he accidentally says too much. “I — I haven’t always been nice to you. I’m…sorry, I guess. Sorry.”
Kel hands him his own breeches and waits silently for him to dress. Once he has, she turns back toward him. He can’t tell how it happens, but they’re suddenly standing too close.
Her face is inches from his, but he can’t tell what she’s thinking. “It’s no problem,” she repeats.
He grins at her awkwardly, conscious of the water dripping from his bangs into his eyes. Can he do it?
He can’t. Instead he reaches down, takes one of her hands in his, and kisses it in the way of a lord with a lady. She doesn’t pull away, or snort, or flinch.
Lerant meets her eyes again, ready to cut and run.
Kel smiles, very softly, slightly, and places her other hand on his shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
They walk off together to the stables.
