Post by wordy on Jul 30, 2014 20:30:31 GMT 10
To: Tamari
Message: Surprise! Happy Ficmas in July! You had some great prompts on your wishlist and it was hard to choose what to write, but in the end I couldn’t go past this pairing. It’s by no means a love story, but I hope you’re satisfied with it anyway!
From: Em
Title: Rumour Has It
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2,018
Wishlist Item: #1 – Lerant/Kel
Summary (and any warnings): Post-Lady Knight. Kel is at the palace for a happy occasion, with a lot on her mind.
A:N: Apologies, I think I’ve used this title before.
The quintain’s shield swung aside and Peachblossom thundered past, only pulling up when Kel stopped him with a laugh. It had been too long since she had jousted—there was little opportunity for it at New Hope, where drills on-foot and minding the crops were more important—so even tilting against a dummy was better than the alternative.
“We’ve still got it,” she whispered, stroking Peachblossom’s neck.
When she turned for a second run, a figure slouched against the fence caught her eye. Her heartbeat stuttered, but then she saw that it was only Lerant. Hefting the lance and resting it across the saddle in front of her, she nudged Peachblossom towards the fence.
Lerant eyed the horse with well-deserved suspicion then raised his eyes to where she towered over him. “How do you make it look so easy?”
He sounded sincere. Hoping that her surprise had not shown in her face, Kel replied, “Practise.”
“You would say that.”
She held back a sigh. “What would you prefer me to say?”
He shrugged. His tunic was wrinkled, as though he had thrown it on in a hurry or kept it on the floor. In combination with his untidy blond-brown hair, his appearance today did not give the impression that his position as standard bearer for Lord Raoul was a particularly cherished one, though Kel knew that the opposite was true.
Put off by the growing silence, perhaps, Lerant said, “I’m looking for Sergeant Domitan.”
Kel stiffened. “He’s not here. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Lerant agreed. “Do you know where he is?”
“I’d hazard a guess that he’s celebrating with his soon-to-be wed cousin. Last I know, Neal was having lunch with his father.”
Lerant nodded and straightened, stepping back from the fence. A breeze ruffled his hair as it passed. “Thanks.”
She didn’t reply. As he walked away, back towards the palace, she turned Peachblossom with her knees and took the weight of the lance in hand once more.
She would never get used to staying in the palace, though so many years had been spent here during her page-training. This was not her old room: perhaps that was what made it feel so odd. No waving cats stood upon the mantel-piece; Lalasa was not sitting by the window with a lapful of material. There was only the glow of fading daylight through the shutters and the warm water sloshing around her as Kel hurried her bath.
Once dried and dressed in her undergarments, she approached the dress that lay upon the bed, fingertips brushing the fawn-coloured cloth. It was a modest design; the only frippery was the tiny pearls scattered along the ivory neckline. She imagined Lalasa working early into the morning, attaching each pearl with care, thread like spider-silk running through the eye of the needle.
She imagined how much easier getting into the damned thing would be if Lalasa were here.
Somehow, she managed alone, though it was tighter across the ribs and chest than she would have liked and her first few breaths held a trembling fear that all the seams would split apart. The only mirror available to her was the small travel mirror she had packed in her saddlebags, so she used it to comb her hair and apply some colour to her lips; she would have to trust that the rest of her looked presentable.
With the shutters drawn and everything back in its place, the room looked even emptier. There were no sparrows to tilt their heads and hop along the windowsill, and Jump was at New Hope, probably causing mischief.
Though she was becoming sick to death of weddings, she would not allow herself to be late. Yuki was waiting for her. With a final glance at her temporary living quarters, Kel slid her stockinged feet into her good slippers and closed the door behind her.
The hour was much later than she had intended, but it had been difficult to leave the joyous atmosphere of her friends’ wedding feast. She had caught up with year-mates she had not expected to see for many months—or years—and their stories were both amusing and sobering to hear. Now, sitting in the dark of her room, Kel’s heart ached for New Hope. The routine of fort life had grown on her, and with the Scanran war showing no signs of stopping, she wanted nothing more than to go home and finish her duty in relative peace.
“I fail to see how a man who devotes his life to ceremony could have raised such an unappreciative daughter,” Neal had said earlier in the evening. He had dragged himself away from Yuki to collect the congratulations and slaps on the back that were owed him, and to steal sips from Kel’s untouched wine glass, apparently.
“I wouldn’t call it ‘ceremony’,” she said, finishing her venison before he could start on that as well. “You make my father sound like Master Oakbridge.”
Neal snorted.
“I like dancing and fancy dinners as much as the next girl, but you can’t tell me that you won’t pass the next week without a single thought of New Hope,” she said. “Mithros knows you’re a romantic, but you’re devoted to your work as much as I am.”
“Kel.” He covered her hand with his. “Wyldon will give you a few extra days in Corus. Just take it. Or you’ll end up like a grumpy old stump, and I can’t let that happen.”
She twitched his hand off with a laugh. “Don’t be horrible. And I know he’d give me more time off, but that’s not what I want, okay?”
“Well, if you’re sure. Just don’t come crying to me when you start losing your hair and grow a stick up your—”
“Isn’t one lady enough for you, Queenscove? Leave some for the rest of us.” Faleron of King’s Reach stood over them, dark and handsome in an emerald-green tunic. He jerked his thumb at Neal. “You’re in my seat.”
Kel covered her smile by taking a drink from her water glass as Neal got up with a put-on sigh. He looked down his nose at Faleron. “You’re one to talk. Don’t you have a gaggle of lords’ daughters on a leash?”
Faleron glanced around. “I don’t seem to, no.”
“Hmph.”
When Neal was gone, Faleron grinned at her and resumed his meal. She smiled back. There was a jewelled pin at the neck of his tunic, which she resolved to tease him about later: it had certainly not been there at the beginning of the feast. Turning back to her own plate, her gaze caught a familiar face across the room. Dom was laughing at something, head tipped back; her stomach fluttered, but she forced herself to look away.
She realised that she was still sitting on her bed in the dark, replaying that moment in her mind. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she got up and lit a candle so that she could get ready for bed.
Dressed in her nightgown and her eyelids finally feeling heavy, Kel was about to blow out the candle when there was a knock at her door. She turned and looked at it. The knock came again.
Opening the door, she found Lerant of Eldorne standing there. A foolish hope that had risen in her disappeared at the sight of him, replaced quickly by annoyance. “If you’re looking for Sergeant Domitan, he’s not here,” she said.
“I’m not,” Lerant said, irritation crossing his face.
“Oh.” Her face grew hot, but the light was dim enough that he hopefully wouldn’t notice her blushing. “Sorry. What is it?”
“Third Company’s moving out in the morning,” he said. “Lord Raoul wanted you to know.”
“Oh,” she said again, nodding. They’d planned to catch up the following evening. “Please tell him that I’ll likely be gone before he gets back. We’ll just have to see each other another time.”
Lerant nodded. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, into the darkened room beyond, then he turned to go. Kel couldn’t hold her tongue.
“What?” she demanded.
He looked surpised. “What what?”
Glancing down the corridor, she lowered her voice. “They all think I’m sleeping with him, don’t they?”
Lerant averted his eyes from hers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry, or throw her hands up in despair. While she and Dom had only been together once, once was apparently enough for word of it to spread through the Own. Mithros, what a thought: one squad knowing about their tryst would be bearable, but did the entire King’s Own know? While most of the Own were good men who wouldn’t think ill of her, she didn’t like the idea of her personal life being so…public.
Lerant shifted on his feet, obviously weighing up whether he should stay or go. She made the decision for him and began to close the door, but he pushed his hand against it. Kel glared at him.
“Just…wait,” he said.
Kel waited, watching as he ran a hand through his hair. It occurred to her that he almost seemed nervous; she could not recall ever seeing Lerant being anything of the sort.
“Damn,” he mumbled finally, then looked up at her. “There aren’t any rumours about you and Sergeant Domitan, okay? None that I’ve heard, anyway. No one knows, or think they know…anything.”
Now it was Kel’s turn to look surprised. Something in her chest eased. “Are you—really?”
“I swear it,” he said.
She believed him. It was a relief to know that her worries had been misplaced, but it didn’t explain Lerant’s behaviour. Frowning, she said, “You’ve sort of been acting…odd.”
He hesitated. “I was curious. It was just me, not the Own.”
“You were curious,” she said flatly. Why had she not seen it? Lerant had always thought poorly of her, so she shouldn’t really be surprised to find that he was trying to nose about in her business.
She was so caught up in rebuking herself that she didn’t realise he had moved closer until she felt his hand on her arm, and jumped. His expression was not quite soft, but cautious, as though he were approaching a skittish horse. With a sinking feeling, Kel realised that she had been mistaken: Lerant had not been unkind to her for years, not since she was a squire. They had not seen each other very often since then, but it was true all the same.
His hand was still on her arm, just above her wrist; he was watching her carefully. When she didn’t move, he leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time, she realised, to pull away.
And then his lips were on hers. She closed her eyes out of habit more than anything, not knowing what else to do. His lips were dry but he was almost gentle. The touch of his hand on her wrist was a hot mark on her skin and something brushed her cheek, like a hand on her hair. Her hazy thought to reach out for his tunic and kiss him back was only half-formed when he pulled away. He let go of her arm and looked at her for a moment, a pink blush spreading across his face.
“Bye,” he said, then turned and walked quickly away down the corridor.
Kel stared at the wall opposite her doorway, at a loss. She raised a hand to her face, which was still warm; her heart was beginning to slow again. The kiss had been unexpected, certainly, but not bad. And she had let it happen. Perhaps it would not be so bad if she let it happen again.
She was standing in the doorway in her nightgown, which was probably not the appropriate place to have such thoughts, where anyone could walk by. Before now, she would not have thought it appropriate to have such thoughts about Lerant at all. Closing the door, she wondered how in Mithros’ name she would be able to sleep.
Message: Surprise! Happy Ficmas in July! You had some great prompts on your wishlist and it was hard to choose what to write, but in the end I couldn’t go past this pairing. It’s by no means a love story, but I hope you’re satisfied with it anyway!
From: Em
Title: Rumour Has It
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2,018
Wishlist Item: #1 – Lerant/Kel
Summary (and any warnings): Post-Lady Knight. Kel is at the palace for a happy occasion, with a lot on her mind.
A:N: Apologies, I think I’ve used this title before.
The quintain’s shield swung aside and Peachblossom thundered past, only pulling up when Kel stopped him with a laugh. It had been too long since she had jousted—there was little opportunity for it at New Hope, where drills on-foot and minding the crops were more important—so even tilting against a dummy was better than the alternative.
“We’ve still got it,” she whispered, stroking Peachblossom’s neck.
When she turned for a second run, a figure slouched against the fence caught her eye. Her heartbeat stuttered, but then she saw that it was only Lerant. Hefting the lance and resting it across the saddle in front of her, she nudged Peachblossom towards the fence.
Lerant eyed the horse with well-deserved suspicion then raised his eyes to where she towered over him. “How do you make it look so easy?”
He sounded sincere. Hoping that her surprise had not shown in her face, Kel replied, “Practise.”
“You would say that.”
She held back a sigh. “What would you prefer me to say?”
He shrugged. His tunic was wrinkled, as though he had thrown it on in a hurry or kept it on the floor. In combination with his untidy blond-brown hair, his appearance today did not give the impression that his position as standard bearer for Lord Raoul was a particularly cherished one, though Kel knew that the opposite was true.
Put off by the growing silence, perhaps, Lerant said, “I’m looking for Sergeant Domitan.”
Kel stiffened. “He’s not here. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Lerant agreed. “Do you know where he is?”
“I’d hazard a guess that he’s celebrating with his soon-to-be wed cousin. Last I know, Neal was having lunch with his father.”
Lerant nodded and straightened, stepping back from the fence. A breeze ruffled his hair as it passed. “Thanks.”
She didn’t reply. As he walked away, back towards the palace, she turned Peachblossom with her knees and took the weight of the lance in hand once more.
*
She would never get used to staying in the palace, though so many years had been spent here during her page-training. This was not her old room: perhaps that was what made it feel so odd. No waving cats stood upon the mantel-piece; Lalasa was not sitting by the window with a lapful of material. There was only the glow of fading daylight through the shutters and the warm water sloshing around her as Kel hurried her bath.
Once dried and dressed in her undergarments, she approached the dress that lay upon the bed, fingertips brushing the fawn-coloured cloth. It was a modest design; the only frippery was the tiny pearls scattered along the ivory neckline. She imagined Lalasa working early into the morning, attaching each pearl with care, thread like spider-silk running through the eye of the needle.
She imagined how much easier getting into the damned thing would be if Lalasa were here.
Somehow, she managed alone, though it was tighter across the ribs and chest than she would have liked and her first few breaths held a trembling fear that all the seams would split apart. The only mirror available to her was the small travel mirror she had packed in her saddlebags, so she used it to comb her hair and apply some colour to her lips; she would have to trust that the rest of her looked presentable.
With the shutters drawn and everything back in its place, the room looked even emptier. There were no sparrows to tilt their heads and hop along the windowsill, and Jump was at New Hope, probably causing mischief.
Though she was becoming sick to death of weddings, she would not allow herself to be late. Yuki was waiting for her. With a final glance at her temporary living quarters, Kel slid her stockinged feet into her good slippers and closed the door behind her.
*
The hour was much later than she had intended, but it had been difficult to leave the joyous atmosphere of her friends’ wedding feast. She had caught up with year-mates she had not expected to see for many months—or years—and their stories were both amusing and sobering to hear. Now, sitting in the dark of her room, Kel’s heart ached for New Hope. The routine of fort life had grown on her, and with the Scanran war showing no signs of stopping, she wanted nothing more than to go home and finish her duty in relative peace.
“I fail to see how a man who devotes his life to ceremony could have raised such an unappreciative daughter,” Neal had said earlier in the evening. He had dragged himself away from Yuki to collect the congratulations and slaps on the back that were owed him, and to steal sips from Kel’s untouched wine glass, apparently.
“I wouldn’t call it ‘ceremony’,” she said, finishing her venison before he could start on that as well. “You make my father sound like Master Oakbridge.”
Neal snorted.
“I like dancing and fancy dinners as much as the next girl, but you can’t tell me that you won’t pass the next week without a single thought of New Hope,” she said. “Mithros knows you’re a romantic, but you’re devoted to your work as much as I am.”
“Kel.” He covered her hand with his. “Wyldon will give you a few extra days in Corus. Just take it. Or you’ll end up like a grumpy old stump, and I can’t let that happen.”
She twitched his hand off with a laugh. “Don’t be horrible. And I know he’d give me more time off, but that’s not what I want, okay?”
“Well, if you’re sure. Just don’t come crying to me when you start losing your hair and grow a stick up your—”
“Isn’t one lady enough for you, Queenscove? Leave some for the rest of us.” Faleron of King’s Reach stood over them, dark and handsome in an emerald-green tunic. He jerked his thumb at Neal. “You’re in my seat.”
Kel covered her smile by taking a drink from her water glass as Neal got up with a put-on sigh. He looked down his nose at Faleron. “You’re one to talk. Don’t you have a gaggle of lords’ daughters on a leash?”
Faleron glanced around. “I don’t seem to, no.”
“Hmph.”
When Neal was gone, Faleron grinned at her and resumed his meal. She smiled back. There was a jewelled pin at the neck of his tunic, which she resolved to tease him about later: it had certainly not been there at the beginning of the feast. Turning back to her own plate, her gaze caught a familiar face across the room. Dom was laughing at something, head tipped back; her stomach fluttered, but she forced herself to look away.
She realised that she was still sitting on her bed in the dark, replaying that moment in her mind. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she got up and lit a candle so that she could get ready for bed.
Dressed in her nightgown and her eyelids finally feeling heavy, Kel was about to blow out the candle when there was a knock at her door. She turned and looked at it. The knock came again.
Opening the door, she found Lerant of Eldorne standing there. A foolish hope that had risen in her disappeared at the sight of him, replaced quickly by annoyance. “If you’re looking for Sergeant Domitan, he’s not here,” she said.
“I’m not,” Lerant said, irritation crossing his face.
“Oh.” Her face grew hot, but the light was dim enough that he hopefully wouldn’t notice her blushing. “Sorry. What is it?”
“Third Company’s moving out in the morning,” he said. “Lord Raoul wanted you to know.”
“Oh,” she said again, nodding. They’d planned to catch up the following evening. “Please tell him that I’ll likely be gone before he gets back. We’ll just have to see each other another time.”
Lerant nodded. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, into the darkened room beyond, then he turned to go. Kel couldn’t hold her tongue.
“What?” she demanded.
He looked surpised. “What what?”
Glancing down the corridor, she lowered her voice. “They all think I’m sleeping with him, don’t they?”
Lerant averted his eyes from hers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry, or throw her hands up in despair. While she and Dom had only been together once, once was apparently enough for word of it to spread through the Own. Mithros, what a thought: one squad knowing about their tryst would be bearable, but did the entire King’s Own know? While most of the Own were good men who wouldn’t think ill of her, she didn’t like the idea of her personal life being so…public.
Lerant shifted on his feet, obviously weighing up whether he should stay or go. She made the decision for him and began to close the door, but he pushed his hand against it. Kel glared at him.
“Just…wait,” he said.
Kel waited, watching as he ran a hand through his hair. It occurred to her that he almost seemed nervous; she could not recall ever seeing Lerant being anything of the sort.
“Damn,” he mumbled finally, then looked up at her. “There aren’t any rumours about you and Sergeant Domitan, okay? None that I’ve heard, anyway. No one knows, or think they know…anything.”
Now it was Kel’s turn to look surprised. Something in her chest eased. “Are you—really?”
“I swear it,” he said.
She believed him. It was a relief to know that her worries had been misplaced, but it didn’t explain Lerant’s behaviour. Frowning, she said, “You’ve sort of been acting…odd.”
He hesitated. “I was curious. It was just me, not the Own.”
“You were curious,” she said flatly. Why had she not seen it? Lerant had always thought poorly of her, so she shouldn’t really be surprised to find that he was trying to nose about in her business.
She was so caught up in rebuking herself that she didn’t realise he had moved closer until she felt his hand on her arm, and jumped. His expression was not quite soft, but cautious, as though he were approaching a skittish horse. With a sinking feeling, Kel realised that she had been mistaken: Lerant had not been unkind to her for years, not since she was a squire. They had not seen each other very often since then, but it was true all the same.
His hand was still on her arm, just above her wrist; he was watching her carefully. When she didn’t move, he leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time, she realised, to pull away.
And then his lips were on hers. She closed her eyes out of habit more than anything, not knowing what else to do. His lips were dry but he was almost gentle. The touch of his hand on her wrist was a hot mark on her skin and something brushed her cheek, like a hand on her hair. Her hazy thought to reach out for his tunic and kiss him back was only half-formed when he pulled away. He let go of her arm and looked at her for a moment, a pink blush spreading across his face.
“Bye,” he said, then turned and walked quickly away down the corridor.
Kel stared at the wall opposite her doorway, at a loss. She raised a hand to her face, which was still warm; her heart was beginning to slow again. The kiss had been unexpected, certainly, but not bad. And she had let it happen. Perhaps it would not be so bad if she let it happen again.
She was standing in the doorway in her nightgown, which was probably not the appropriate place to have such thoughts, where anyone could walk by. Before now, she would not have thought it appropriate to have such thoughts about Lerant at all. Closing the door, she wondered how in Mithros’ name she would be able to sleep.