Post by wordy on Jun 26, 2014 15:36:39 GMT 10
Title: Endless Summer
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,369
Bingo: Family+Outdoors+Shadows+Nature+Sweat
Summary (and any Warnings): WotE AU. Sandry stays.
Notes: Title is the song by The Jezabels.
1044 KF
Namorn
The letter had been sealed, yet Sandry could not help but wonder if its contents had already made their way to her cousin, the empress, and what she had thought of them. It had been a swift lesson that few parts of Sandry’s life were private from Berenene and her spies; the thought of so many others being privy to these words, however, filled Sandry with a small bitterness that she buried quickly. That had been something else she’d learned well: hurtful emotions served little purpose.
She ran a thumb across the side of the page as she read it once more, admiring the careful hand and the dark ink, which was most certainly home-made. Earlier, she had raised the letter and sniffed at it, but there had only been the memory of home, nothing more.
There was no sense in attempting a link with any of her siblings—Summersea was far enough, and Tris was further abroad, besides—yet she had tried anyway.
“Fool,” she whispered, wiping away a tear, uncertain of who deserved the title most.
But when the light outside began to dim and a servant arrived to announce the evening meal, Sandry folded the letter and tucked it away, smiling.
Although she was still in possession of the Landreg estates, each visit she made there and to Landreg House left her feeling disconnected, and each return to the palace in Dancruan brought a mix of relief and guilt. Still, Ambros was the only person who she trusted was genuinely pleased at the news.
“This is good, surely,” he said one afternoon, her escort waiting patiently as she said her farewell to the man.
She laughed at his expression: no doubt he was recalling, fondly, how her adopted family’s last visit had unsettled him. “It is,” she agreed. For once, her mood was unfailingly bright.
He caught her gloved wrist after she had mounted her horse. “This is good for you, I meant,” he said quietly. “You may play the lady at court, but I know what staying in Namorn has cost you.”
Her smile suddenly felt tight. She twisted gently from his grip and closed her fingers over his. “Be well, Cousin,” she said
“And you, Sandry.”
Preparations were made. Berenene, predictably, was in high spirits. Sandry suspected that the rest of the court was less pleased—particulalry the gentlemen—but everyone played their parts well, eager to stay on the empress’s good side.
Then, the day had arrived.
Sandry remained a bundle of nerves all the morning long and she was certain that her face could not hide it. Her handkerchief was permanently in hand, only the spells she had woven through the material preventing it from becoming a crinkled mess. By the time evening fell, though, a sense of calm had returned. She had decided upon her dress for the party days ago, but the urge to look over her entire wardrobe took hold and she was unable to resist; eventually, slightly flustered from the effort, she was forced to admit that her original choice had been made with good reason: the almond gown and silky, blush-hued undergown complemented her complexion and the rose in her cheeks, plus, she had not yet had a chance to wear it. Astounding the court with her sewing was one of her dearest pastimes.
Once dressed, a lady came to style her hair, and then Sandry made her way to the Hall of Roses. Her presence at court had not been a spectacle for many months, but now there were unsubtle glances and murmured conversations that followed her through the hall and only stopped short when she approached the empress. Sandry rose from her curtsy, her fixed smile easing into something far more natural when she met the eyes of the young man who lounged against the arm of Berenene’s divan.
Briar grinned and came over to kiss Sandry’s hand. “Miss me?”
Catching the empress’s eye over his shoulder, Sandry smiled, voice mock-low and conspiratorial. “And here I thought that conceit was learned at court.”
That brought a rich laugh from Berenene. Amber light winked from the necklace at her throat and the ladies around her echoed the empress with a cascade of laughter. “Indeed, you are mistaken, Sandrilene,” Berenene said, crooking a finger at Briar, who returned obediently to the divan; she reached up and touched his cheek, briefly, which seemed to bother him not at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the attention. “It is the nature of men to think themselves the centre of everything.”
“Let me defend myself, at least,” Briar objected, “though I can’t claim to know the mind of anyone else.”
Berenene’s eyebrow arched. “Go on.”
“Well, some men might puff themselves up at every chance and think they’re the centre of everything, but at least I’m smart enough to know when I’m spinning ‘round the sun.”
By the significant glances exchanged by the surrounding ladies, it was obvious to Sandry that his compliment had not been too subtle. Berenene gave Briar a warm smile.
Suck up, Sandry thought.
She almost missed his answering wink. I try.
“I know you will want to catch up,” Berenene said, addressing Sandry once more. “Perhaps you will allow me to enjoy the charms of my new gardner a while longer.”
“Of course,” Sandry said, knowing there was no other answer she could give. “We have plenty of time. And I would not deprive you of such amusement, Cousin.”
“Glad to hear I’m so amusing,” Briar said dryly.
It was a little difficult to walk back through the crowd, then, and accept a crystal glass of sparkling juice with grace, even though she had half-expected such an outcome. The musicians were warming up, though, and when the dancing began she might better distract herself. As she had said to Berenene, there was plenty of time to speak with Briar. The thrum of their link was enough for the moment; their proximity made it stronger, a sensation that was almost physical, like thread pulled taut.
Sandry wrinkled her nose. “You smell like…”
“Like I’ve been working in the sun all day? ‘Cause I have. Don’t worry, I haven’t thrown out the clothes you gave me, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Briar sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Sweat glistened on his skin and there was dirt beneath his fingernails that looked as though it had lived there for years.
She thought on it a moment as he continued with the transplanting, settling the compressed roots of a flower she couldn’t name into the hollow of earth. “I’m assuming there’s a point to this,” she remarked finally.
“To this?”
“Sweating through your shirts and smelling horrid.”
He laughed. “We can’t all smell like roses, Clehame. And yes, there’s a point to it: being Berenene’s pet isn’t bad for a lark, but I need to stay on the good side of the other gardeners too. They need to see me working up a sweat and earning a few aches and pains.”
The forethought surprised her, and she scolded herself for that: Briar was no fool. Perhaps she had been separated from her family for too long.
Brushing the dirt from his hands, he came over and sat on the grass, leaning across her to steal the thermos of cold water that she had brought along. His throat worked as he gulped from it and Sandry averted her eyes, straightening the brim of her hat against the glare of morning sunlight. He finished drinking with a gasp of satisfaction that was quite ridiculous and handed the thermos back.
“Y’know, I wasn’t expecting us to have a chance to hang about like this,” he said.
“She has to at least give the impression that we can talk freely without fear of being spied upon,” Sandry said idly. She wished that it had occurred to her to bring some sandwiches, but wishing wouldn’t do much for her empty stomach.
Briar snorted. “I didn’t mean that, actually, but fair point. I was expecting to have to fight off a bunch of snotty suitors just to spend time with you.” He glanced up at the gardens around them as if someone would pop up and accost her at the mere suggestion.
“Oh, well.” She waved a hand. “Now that it’s been made clear that I have no intention of leaving Namorn, the ‘snotty suitors’ have calmed down slightly. They’re still quite a nuisance at times, though.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Do spit it out, if you have a smart comment to make.”
You do mean to stay, then, he said, obviously putting no trust in the assumption that they wouldn’t be overheard; Sandry let her gaze drift over the soft-sloped hedges and bright bursts of flora to give herself time to answer. If Berenene did have listening spells out here, they were subtle.
Briar was still watching her expectantly. She sighed and plucked at the lace cuff of her sleeve. That was the intention, yes. We’ve all talked about this – need I explain it again? Perhaps, in a few years, the opportunity would arise and I could find a way to go back on my promise…
But it’s too early for that.
“You’re not making a very good impression, lounging about like this,” she said. Not a smooth segue, admittedly, but the subject was still a sore one. “What would the gardeners think of your work ethic?”
Briar shrugged. “Can’t please everyone.” He did get up, though, and return to his work in the flowerbed.
The nights had turned warm, which meant more parties, and not only those hosted by the Empress. After receiving so many invitations to dances and star-viewings and whatever else the noble lords and ladies of the court could think up, Sandry was quite exhausted. She dared not refuse any of them; there was nothing else to fill her time, in any case, and the distraction was often welcome.
She was unpicking the embroidery from a gown—work which was considerably less fussy with magic than by hand, Mila be blessed—when there was a knock at her door; It opened before she could even rise from her seat, but her noble-bred fury dampered when she saw who it was. He closed the door behind him and took a step about the room, admiring the décor, or pretending to, at least.
“So this is where you hide,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her.
“I’m not hiding,” she said irritably. “I’ve been busy.”
“Oh, I know. I do get invited to some of the same parties as you.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to calm herself. Forever being told to ‘get off her high-horse’ had taught her patience, oddly. When she opened her eyes again, Briar’s expression was almost serious enough that she was tempted to apologise. She bit her lip.
“I have been busy,” she said finally. “And there’s a lot on my mind.” That last was painfully true: her traitorous thoughts had hardly wandered from the scenes that most disturbed her. It was almost sickening, the way that her royal cousin seemed to gloat over her pets. Sandry knew she was being ridiculous to even think such things, yet sharing any of it with Briar made her stomach turn awfully. She pressed her lips together and tried to focus on the material on her lap, but the threads danced in and out of focus now, making her eyes want to water.
“Sandry—”
“I’m fine.”
The noise he made wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’m no fool, and I didn’t think you were either—”
She looked up at him. “If you’ve just come here to poke fun at me, I’m really not in the mood.” The words felt sharp in her mouth; she couldn’t stop. “Go make your stupid jokes at someone who cares.”
“I knew it,” he said, and strangely, he was smiling now. “This is about her.”
Sandry knew who he was referring to; nether of them need say the name aloud. Somehow, that only served to vex her further. Her face felt unnaturally warm.
“Sandry.” He took a step closer, so that his legs were almost touching hers, effectually trapping her where she was seated near the wall. Though she refused to look at him, still trying to return to the embroidery that was half unravelled, he did not move away. “Sandry,” he said again. “I’ll admit to being fair charmed by her, at first, but nothing more. It’s hard to ignore when someone’s sweet to you. And the gardens would almost have been worth the job themselves, but they don’t even out with all that’s wrong here. I came back for you. Don’t you know that?”
Her tongue was suddenly dry as paper, so it took a moment to speak. “I know that.”
When his fingers brushed her face, she almost jerked away, so unexpected was the touch. Her heart was pounding furiously and it took such will to make herself look up and meet his eyes.
“Do you?” he asked, voice gentle.
The knock at the door was no louder than was usual, but the two of them sprang apart like startled rabbits at the sound. Briar was standing by the window when the serving woman entered and Sandry was so exasperated that no one in this palace could wait to be admitted to a room that she did not notice he had slipped out until the woman was bustling around and the door was standing open.
“Are you well, Clehame?” the woman asked, peering at her fearfully. “There’s a lot of colour in your face, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Sandry was certain that she blushed harder. “I’m well, thank you,” she told the woman politely, and scooped up the gown she had been fixing. Only when she was in her wardrobe and the room was quiet, the serving woman gone, did something in her chest ease and she could breathe again.
Her thoughts were racing, but along quite a different path than they had before.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,369
Bingo: Family+Outdoors+Shadows+Nature+Sweat
Summary (and any Warnings): WotE AU. Sandry stays.
Notes: Title is the song by The Jezabels.
1044 KF
Namorn
The letter had been sealed, yet Sandry could not help but wonder if its contents had already made their way to her cousin, the empress, and what she had thought of them. It had been a swift lesson that few parts of Sandry’s life were private from Berenene and her spies; the thought of so many others being privy to these words, however, filled Sandry with a small bitterness that she buried quickly. That had been something else she’d learned well: hurtful emotions served little purpose.
She ran a thumb across the side of the page as she read it once more, admiring the careful hand and the dark ink, which was most certainly home-made. Earlier, she had raised the letter and sniffed at it, but there had only been the memory of home, nothing more.
There was no sense in attempting a link with any of her siblings—Summersea was far enough, and Tris was further abroad, besides—yet she had tried anyway.
“Fool,” she whispered, wiping away a tear, uncertain of who deserved the title most.
But when the light outside began to dim and a servant arrived to announce the evening meal, Sandry folded the letter and tucked it away, smiling.
***
Although she was still in possession of the Landreg estates, each visit she made there and to Landreg House left her feeling disconnected, and each return to the palace in Dancruan brought a mix of relief and guilt. Still, Ambros was the only person who she trusted was genuinely pleased at the news.
“This is good, surely,” he said one afternoon, her escort waiting patiently as she said her farewell to the man.
She laughed at his expression: no doubt he was recalling, fondly, how her adopted family’s last visit had unsettled him. “It is,” she agreed. For once, her mood was unfailingly bright.
He caught her gloved wrist after she had mounted her horse. “This is good for you, I meant,” he said quietly. “You may play the lady at court, but I know what staying in Namorn has cost you.”
Her smile suddenly felt tight. She twisted gently from his grip and closed her fingers over his. “Be well, Cousin,” she said
“And you, Sandry.”
***
Preparations were made. Berenene, predictably, was in high spirits. Sandry suspected that the rest of the court was less pleased—particulalry the gentlemen—but everyone played their parts well, eager to stay on the empress’s good side.
Then, the day had arrived.
Sandry remained a bundle of nerves all the morning long and she was certain that her face could not hide it. Her handkerchief was permanently in hand, only the spells she had woven through the material preventing it from becoming a crinkled mess. By the time evening fell, though, a sense of calm had returned. She had decided upon her dress for the party days ago, but the urge to look over her entire wardrobe took hold and she was unable to resist; eventually, slightly flustered from the effort, she was forced to admit that her original choice had been made with good reason: the almond gown and silky, blush-hued undergown complemented her complexion and the rose in her cheeks, plus, she had not yet had a chance to wear it. Astounding the court with her sewing was one of her dearest pastimes.
Once dressed, a lady came to style her hair, and then Sandry made her way to the Hall of Roses. Her presence at court had not been a spectacle for many months, but now there were unsubtle glances and murmured conversations that followed her through the hall and only stopped short when she approached the empress. Sandry rose from her curtsy, her fixed smile easing into something far more natural when she met the eyes of the young man who lounged against the arm of Berenene’s divan.
Briar grinned and came over to kiss Sandry’s hand. “Miss me?”
Catching the empress’s eye over his shoulder, Sandry smiled, voice mock-low and conspiratorial. “And here I thought that conceit was learned at court.”
That brought a rich laugh from Berenene. Amber light winked from the necklace at her throat and the ladies around her echoed the empress with a cascade of laughter. “Indeed, you are mistaken, Sandrilene,” Berenene said, crooking a finger at Briar, who returned obediently to the divan; she reached up and touched his cheek, briefly, which seemed to bother him not at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the attention. “It is the nature of men to think themselves the centre of everything.”
“Let me defend myself, at least,” Briar objected, “though I can’t claim to know the mind of anyone else.”
Berenene’s eyebrow arched. “Go on.”
“Well, some men might puff themselves up at every chance and think they’re the centre of everything, but at least I’m smart enough to know when I’m spinning ‘round the sun.”
By the significant glances exchanged by the surrounding ladies, it was obvious to Sandry that his compliment had not been too subtle. Berenene gave Briar a warm smile.
Suck up, Sandry thought.
She almost missed his answering wink. I try.
“I know you will want to catch up,” Berenene said, addressing Sandry once more. “Perhaps you will allow me to enjoy the charms of my new gardner a while longer.”
“Of course,” Sandry said, knowing there was no other answer she could give. “We have plenty of time. And I would not deprive you of such amusement, Cousin.”
“Glad to hear I’m so amusing,” Briar said dryly.
It was a little difficult to walk back through the crowd, then, and accept a crystal glass of sparkling juice with grace, even though she had half-expected such an outcome. The musicians were warming up, though, and when the dancing began she might better distract herself. As she had said to Berenene, there was plenty of time to speak with Briar. The thrum of their link was enough for the moment; their proximity made it stronger, a sensation that was almost physical, like thread pulled taut.
***
Sandry wrinkled her nose. “You smell like…”
“Like I’ve been working in the sun all day? ‘Cause I have. Don’t worry, I haven’t thrown out the clothes you gave me, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Briar sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Sweat glistened on his skin and there was dirt beneath his fingernails that looked as though it had lived there for years.
She thought on it a moment as he continued with the transplanting, settling the compressed roots of a flower she couldn’t name into the hollow of earth. “I’m assuming there’s a point to this,” she remarked finally.
“To this?”
“Sweating through your shirts and smelling horrid.”
He laughed. “We can’t all smell like roses, Clehame. And yes, there’s a point to it: being Berenene’s pet isn’t bad for a lark, but I need to stay on the good side of the other gardeners too. They need to see me working up a sweat and earning a few aches and pains.”
The forethought surprised her, and she scolded herself for that: Briar was no fool. Perhaps she had been separated from her family for too long.
Brushing the dirt from his hands, he came over and sat on the grass, leaning across her to steal the thermos of cold water that she had brought along. His throat worked as he gulped from it and Sandry averted her eyes, straightening the brim of her hat against the glare of morning sunlight. He finished drinking with a gasp of satisfaction that was quite ridiculous and handed the thermos back.
“Y’know, I wasn’t expecting us to have a chance to hang about like this,” he said.
“She has to at least give the impression that we can talk freely without fear of being spied upon,” Sandry said idly. She wished that it had occurred to her to bring some sandwiches, but wishing wouldn’t do much for her empty stomach.
Briar snorted. “I didn’t mean that, actually, but fair point. I was expecting to have to fight off a bunch of snotty suitors just to spend time with you.” He glanced up at the gardens around them as if someone would pop up and accost her at the mere suggestion.
“Oh, well.” She waved a hand. “Now that it’s been made clear that I have no intention of leaving Namorn, the ‘snotty suitors’ have calmed down slightly. They’re still quite a nuisance at times, though.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Do spit it out, if you have a smart comment to make.”
You do mean to stay, then, he said, obviously putting no trust in the assumption that they wouldn’t be overheard; Sandry let her gaze drift over the soft-sloped hedges and bright bursts of flora to give herself time to answer. If Berenene did have listening spells out here, they were subtle.
Briar was still watching her expectantly. She sighed and plucked at the lace cuff of her sleeve. That was the intention, yes. We’ve all talked about this – need I explain it again? Perhaps, in a few years, the opportunity would arise and I could find a way to go back on my promise…
But it’s too early for that.
“You’re not making a very good impression, lounging about like this,” she said. Not a smooth segue, admittedly, but the subject was still a sore one. “What would the gardeners think of your work ethic?”
Briar shrugged. “Can’t please everyone.” He did get up, though, and return to his work in the flowerbed.
***
The nights had turned warm, which meant more parties, and not only those hosted by the Empress. After receiving so many invitations to dances and star-viewings and whatever else the noble lords and ladies of the court could think up, Sandry was quite exhausted. She dared not refuse any of them; there was nothing else to fill her time, in any case, and the distraction was often welcome.
She was unpicking the embroidery from a gown—work which was considerably less fussy with magic than by hand, Mila be blessed—when there was a knock at her door; It opened before she could even rise from her seat, but her noble-bred fury dampered when she saw who it was. He closed the door behind him and took a step about the room, admiring the décor, or pretending to, at least.
“So this is where you hide,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her.
“I’m not hiding,” she said irritably. “I’ve been busy.”
“Oh, I know. I do get invited to some of the same parties as you.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to calm herself. Forever being told to ‘get off her high-horse’ had taught her patience, oddly. When she opened her eyes again, Briar’s expression was almost serious enough that she was tempted to apologise. She bit her lip.
“I have been busy,” she said finally. “And there’s a lot on my mind.” That last was painfully true: her traitorous thoughts had hardly wandered from the scenes that most disturbed her. It was almost sickening, the way that her royal cousin seemed to gloat over her pets. Sandry knew she was being ridiculous to even think such things, yet sharing any of it with Briar made her stomach turn awfully. She pressed her lips together and tried to focus on the material on her lap, but the threads danced in and out of focus now, making her eyes want to water.
“Sandry—”
“I’m fine.”
The noise he made wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’m no fool, and I didn’t think you were either—”
She looked up at him. “If you’ve just come here to poke fun at me, I’m really not in the mood.” The words felt sharp in her mouth; she couldn’t stop. “Go make your stupid jokes at someone who cares.”
“I knew it,” he said, and strangely, he was smiling now. “This is about her.”
Sandry knew who he was referring to; nether of them need say the name aloud. Somehow, that only served to vex her further. Her face felt unnaturally warm.
“Sandry.” He took a step closer, so that his legs were almost touching hers, effectually trapping her where she was seated near the wall. Though she refused to look at him, still trying to return to the embroidery that was half unravelled, he did not move away. “Sandry,” he said again. “I’ll admit to being fair charmed by her, at first, but nothing more. It’s hard to ignore when someone’s sweet to you. And the gardens would almost have been worth the job themselves, but they don’t even out with all that’s wrong here. I came back for you. Don’t you know that?”
Her tongue was suddenly dry as paper, so it took a moment to speak. “I know that.”
When his fingers brushed her face, she almost jerked away, so unexpected was the touch. Her heart was pounding furiously and it took such will to make herself look up and meet his eyes.
“Do you?” he asked, voice gentle.
The knock at the door was no louder than was usual, but the two of them sprang apart like startled rabbits at the sound. Briar was standing by the window when the serving woman entered and Sandry was so exasperated that no one in this palace could wait to be admitted to a room that she did not notice he had slipped out until the woman was bustling around and the door was standing open.
“Are you well, Clehame?” the woman asked, peering at her fearfully. “There’s a lot of colour in your face, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Sandry was certain that she blushed harder. “I’m well, thank you,” she told the woman politely, and scooped up the gown she had been fixing. Only when she was in her wardrobe and the room was quiet, the serving woman gone, did something in her chest ease and she could breathe again.
Her thoughts were racing, but along quite a different path than they had before.