Post by wordy on Dec 21, 2016 22:29:24 GMT 10
Title: On Duty
Rating: PG
For: Idleness
Prompt: 2. The King's Own
Summary: Mischief at a Midwinter feast!
Notes and Warnings: This is set some time before Squire. Also, I was using the wiki for reference since I don’t have my books with me, so apologies if anything seems glaringly out of place.
Standing at ease near the royal table, Fulcher let his gaze wander over the room. Juniper berry boughs hung upon the walls and an excess of white tapers bathed the evening in a soft glow. Although the small band of musicians was working up a lively tune, the floor was empty of dancers; the Midwinter feast had only just begun and those in attendance were still at table.
Fulcher clenched his jaw in an attempt to smother a yawn. This was to be the first of several feasts and balls this season, and he was rostered to stand guard at half of them. Mithros bless the sergeant who made that decision.
“Psst!”
Turning his attention back to counting juniper berries across the room, Fulcher resolutely ignored the sound and did not turn his head.
“Psst!”
Unfortunately, Gildes of Veldine was accustomed to making himself the centre of attention, and apparently had no problem with doing so in the middle of a royal event when he was supposed to be blending in. Fulcher would have liked to ignore the fellow, but the fact that he was positioned only a few feet away made that difficult.
With a miniscule sigh, Fulcher turned his head in Gildes’ direction.
Seeing that he had finally caught Fulcher’s attention, the blond soldier grinned and revealed in his hand what appeared to be a grape. “Reckon I can make it?” he whispered, gesturing with his head.
A flush of warm horror swept over Fulcher. Gildes was, predictably, motioning towards one of the ladies who was seated at the table in front of them. Fulcher himself had noticed her entrance earlier in the evening: it would have been difficult not to, what with the daring cut of her gown and the ample décolletage that was on show. The lady’s generous bosom provided the perfect receptacle for a projectile.
Fulcher shook his head curtly, trying to warn Gildes off the idea. It was too late, though. He could see from the corner of his eye that Gildes had raised his arm slightly further—he was going with an underarm throw, so as not to draw attention to himself.
“Gildes,” Fulcher hissed through his teeth.
Then the grape was sailing through the air. Fulcher’s stomach was in his throat, his thoughts suddenly delirious—how in Mithros’ name would he explain this to Lord Raoul?—but someone must have heard his incoherent prayers, for the grape struck the back of the lady’s hair and bounced to the floor. She raised a hand as if waving away a fly, not even turning at the impact.
Fulcher exhaled with great relief, shooting a furious glance at Gildes, who merely looked confused that his aim had been so shoddy.
Serving folk were beginning to file into the room, signalling the end of the first course. Only a few hours left of this tedium. Fulcher rolled his neck slightly, stretching his muscles; it was easy to get stiff when you had to stand for so long. He could do this.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Fulcher found himself gaping, and had to school his expression back into place.
Gildes had another grape.
“I’m going to kill you,” Fulcher hissed.
“Here we go!” Gildes whispered.
Rating: PG
For: Idleness
Prompt: 2. The King's Own
Summary: Mischief at a Midwinter feast!
Notes and Warnings: This is set some time before Squire. Also, I was using the wiki for reference since I don’t have my books with me, so apologies if anything seems glaringly out of place.
Standing at ease near the royal table, Fulcher let his gaze wander over the room. Juniper berry boughs hung upon the walls and an excess of white tapers bathed the evening in a soft glow. Although the small band of musicians was working up a lively tune, the floor was empty of dancers; the Midwinter feast had only just begun and those in attendance were still at table.
Fulcher clenched his jaw in an attempt to smother a yawn. This was to be the first of several feasts and balls this season, and he was rostered to stand guard at half of them. Mithros bless the sergeant who made that decision.
“Psst!”
Turning his attention back to counting juniper berries across the room, Fulcher resolutely ignored the sound and did not turn his head.
“Psst!”
Unfortunately, Gildes of Veldine was accustomed to making himself the centre of attention, and apparently had no problem with doing so in the middle of a royal event when he was supposed to be blending in. Fulcher would have liked to ignore the fellow, but the fact that he was positioned only a few feet away made that difficult.
With a miniscule sigh, Fulcher turned his head in Gildes’ direction.
Seeing that he had finally caught Fulcher’s attention, the blond soldier grinned and revealed in his hand what appeared to be a grape. “Reckon I can make it?” he whispered, gesturing with his head.
A flush of warm horror swept over Fulcher. Gildes was, predictably, motioning towards one of the ladies who was seated at the table in front of them. Fulcher himself had noticed her entrance earlier in the evening: it would have been difficult not to, what with the daring cut of her gown and the ample décolletage that was on show. The lady’s generous bosom provided the perfect receptacle for a projectile.
Fulcher shook his head curtly, trying to warn Gildes off the idea. It was too late, though. He could see from the corner of his eye that Gildes had raised his arm slightly further—he was going with an underarm throw, so as not to draw attention to himself.
“Gildes,” Fulcher hissed through his teeth.
Then the grape was sailing through the air. Fulcher’s stomach was in his throat, his thoughts suddenly delirious—how in Mithros’ name would he explain this to Lord Raoul?—but someone must have heard his incoherent prayers, for the grape struck the back of the lady’s hair and bounced to the floor. She raised a hand as if waving away a fly, not even turning at the impact.
Fulcher exhaled with great relief, shooting a furious glance at Gildes, who merely looked confused that his aim had been so shoddy.
Serving folk were beginning to file into the room, signalling the end of the first course. Only a few hours left of this tedium. Fulcher rolled his neck slightly, stretching his muscles; it was easy to get stiff when you had to stand for so long. He could do this.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Fulcher found himself gaping, and had to school his expression back into place.
Gildes had another grape.
“I’m going to kill you,” Fulcher hissed.
“Here we go!” Gildes whispered.