Post by Inimiriel on Apr 10, 2015 14:28:16 GMT 10
Series: Cavall
Title: Failures
Rating: PG
Event: AUA - AU Archery
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 500
Summary: How different would life be if Wyldon had forgotten his honor and not let Keladry return?
She had to hear him say it. “I can’t come back then.”
The training master shook his head wearily. “No Keladry. You cannot.”
“Get up.” The words came in mildly accented common and cut through the haze of alcohol that fogged Wyldon’s brain. When he was finally able to focus on the figure in front of him, a pair of hazel eyes stared intently back into his own blood shot ones. “I never suspected that you would become the court drunk.”
The words were delivered in an even tone by a woman whose face was as unreadable as her voice. White rice makeup covered her face, charcoal darkening her brows and accenting her eyes. Her lips were painted a deep blood red that matched the trailing kimono she wore.
“Go away. You know nothing about me.”
“I know that you were the royal training master. I know that you were dismissed from your post after two squires failed their Ordeal of Knighthood this past winter.” Her voice was low and heated, her expression fiercely intent. “I know that three summers before that five pages were killed under your watch when they were ambushed by hill bandits.”
Wyldon gazed more closely at the Yamani woman who stood before him, finally noticing that her hair, though twisted back in the double domed style they favored, was light brown instead of black. And he recognized the determined set of her chin and the flashing determination in her hazel eyes. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Just a girl,” the woman replied, her face and voice smooth and expressionless once more. “But Nealan of Queenscove was my friend. And I wonder what chance he had when the man responsible for teaching him how to defend himself and others turns out to be nothing more than a drunken coward.”
Pain stabbed through Wyldon at each reminder of his failure, clearing the fog that alcohol had left over his mind. The numbness that he sought in drink was fading away, leaving him with only the agony of his failure, the burden of all those lives lost. But recognition crept in along with the pain. “Mindelan,” he gasped, bloodshot eyes widening.
Keladry did not respond, but just stared at him intently. Wyldon flinched under that unwavering gaze, feeling as if she were staring into his soul. Finally he had to look away, unable to meet her eyes any longer. “Get up,” she ordered again and then with a whisper of silk was gone.
For what felt like candlemarks, Wyldon stared at the half empty bottle of wine that still rested in the center of the table, fighting with himself. He wanted, craved, the numbness from the pain of his mistakes that the drink would bring, but every time he reached a trembling hand for the bottle, Keladry’s words came back to him. Finally, the man shoved himself up from the table and grabbing the bottle, stumbled to the privy and poured it down the drain in the floor.
Title: Failures
Rating: PG
Event: AUA - AU Archery
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 500
Summary: How different would life be if Wyldon had forgotten his honor and not let Keladry return?
She had to hear him say it. “I can’t come back then.”
The training master shook his head wearily. “No Keladry. You cannot.”
“Get up.” The words came in mildly accented common and cut through the haze of alcohol that fogged Wyldon’s brain. When he was finally able to focus on the figure in front of him, a pair of hazel eyes stared intently back into his own blood shot ones. “I never suspected that you would become the court drunk.”
The words were delivered in an even tone by a woman whose face was as unreadable as her voice. White rice makeup covered her face, charcoal darkening her brows and accenting her eyes. Her lips were painted a deep blood red that matched the trailing kimono she wore.
“Go away. You know nothing about me.”
“I know that you were the royal training master. I know that you were dismissed from your post after two squires failed their Ordeal of Knighthood this past winter.” Her voice was low and heated, her expression fiercely intent. “I know that three summers before that five pages were killed under your watch when they were ambushed by hill bandits.”
Wyldon gazed more closely at the Yamani woman who stood before him, finally noticing that her hair, though twisted back in the double domed style they favored, was light brown instead of black. And he recognized the determined set of her chin and the flashing determination in her hazel eyes. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Just a girl,” the woman replied, her face and voice smooth and expressionless once more. “But Nealan of Queenscove was my friend. And I wonder what chance he had when the man responsible for teaching him how to defend himself and others turns out to be nothing more than a drunken coward.”
Pain stabbed through Wyldon at each reminder of his failure, clearing the fog that alcohol had left over his mind. The numbness that he sought in drink was fading away, leaving him with only the agony of his failure, the burden of all those lives lost. But recognition crept in along with the pain. “Mindelan,” he gasped, bloodshot eyes widening.
Keladry did not respond, but just stared at him intently. Wyldon flinched under that unwavering gaze, feeling as if she were staring into his soul. Finally he had to look away, unable to meet her eyes any longer. “Get up,” she ordered again and then with a whisper of silk was gone.
For what felt like candlemarks, Wyldon stared at the half empty bottle of wine that still rested in the center of the table, fighting with himself. He wanted, craved, the numbness from the pain of his mistakes that the drink would bring, but every time he reached a trembling hand for the bottle, Keladry’s words came back to him. Finally, the man shoved himself up from the table and grabbing the bottle, stumbled to the privy and poured it down the drain in the floor.