Post by devilinthedetails on Sept 14, 2018 5:05:41 GMT 10
Title: Questions and Answers
Rating: PG-13 with warnings for references to abuse
Prompt: Conversations
Summary: Geoffrey, Alex, and the questions with and without answers they have for each other.
Questions and Answers
Geoffrey sat on a crenelation in a rampart that stared out over the black Olorun that danced with the golden and silver lights emanating from the moon, the stars, and the candles still burning in Corus windows. The shadows hid him from the patrolling sentries–necessary because he could receive hours of punishment work for sneaking out after curfew–and in the darkness he could imagine that he was a defender on a palace wall that hadn’t been besieged in centuries. He could pretend that he had a bowstring notched and drawn taut, ready to fire on any enemy who dared storm the ramparts.
His visions of the glory that could be his if he could slay that menace marching against the palace took his mind away from the memory of how his father had berated him with words far more cutting than the practice swords he and Alan had wielded against each other for losing his duel in the courtyard to Alan. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the shouts of his imagined battle and forget how his father had hissed in his ear, “Do you have any ambition to be the best–any pride in yourself and your family name–at all, Geoffrey? I only ask because your pitiful display in the courtyard suggests that you don’t.”
“There’s no shame in being defeated after a good fight, Father.” Geoffrey risked contradicting his ever stern and implacable father because Father was fair if he was nothing else, and Geoffrey believed he had solid ground on which to defend himself. “You were yourself beaten by Duke Gareth and bowed to him with courtesy as I did to Alan.”
Father had waged a fierce but friendly duel with Duke Gareth not long after his arrival in Corus. He had lost the fight but gained the admiration of the many onlookers who had assembled to watch. Victory could take many forms, Geoffrey thought. It didn’t have to end with your sword under your opponent’s throat. It could be a gracious bow with a sincere compliment after an exhilarating duel with a friend. A win could be just as much about seeing a yearmate who had sweated and persevered through such much mockery from Sklaw finally achieve a triumph. You didn’t have to see your opponent’s win as coming at your expense unless you chose to do so, and Geoffrey didn’t. His shame hadn’t come from being beaten by Alan in a fair fight; it had come from his father scornful reaction, the disapproval that had hardened into disgust.
“I behaved with dignity in my defeat.” Father’s lips were blade thin. “It would have been even more of a shame than losing to not do so, but I came away determined to win the next fight. I saw no such determination in you. I only saw happiness at losing.”
“Not happiness at losing.” Geoffrey shook his head. “Happiness at my friend’s victory.”
“You’re so soft. I despair of you ever becoming a man.” Father spun on his heel and strode swiftly away, leaving Geoffrey with no doubt that he, his father’s only child after his mother’s early death, was deemed an utterly inadequate heir.
Geoffrey, his imaginary battle cries unable to wipe out the memory of his father’s derision, wondered if he would hear those with their accompanying sneer resounding inside his head forever. Over the echo in his ears, it was remarkable that he could discern the murmur that emerged from the shadows behind him.
“You come out here for the quiet and the darkness.” Alex’s voice and body blended into the night around Geoffrey, and he had crept so catlike behind Geoffrey that Geoffrey would have started if Alex didn’t lay a light hand on his shoulder.
“Is that so strange?” Geoffrey took courage from the fact that Alex hadn’t berated him for venturing out after curfew. Squires didn’t have curfew, and certainly nobody would have told Alex, who served Duke Roger, that he was forbidden to roam anywhere at any time. It was understood that Alex was always about his knightmaster’s bidding with which nobody ever dared to interfere. Duke Roger was permitted to go everywhere, and therefore nowhere was prohibited to his squire. “Don’t you do the same?”
“Is that what you think?” Alex arched an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying, and further emboldening Geoffrey.
“I do.” Geoffrey lifted his chin, courting defiance in his declaration.
“If I do, that’s my secret, and I trust you to keep it.” Alex’s smile was small as it was secretive, inviting Geoffrey into his confidence at the same time it prevented him from penetrating Alex’s mysteries. It flickered to nothing as Alex went on, neither dwelling upon nor excusing Geoffrey’s failure to beat Alan, which hadn’t felt like a failure until his father reproached him for it, “Next time you will spot the trap of a sword before it is wrapped around yours, and you won’t fall for that classic maneuver again in the future. You must learn from your mistake and move on from it, not letting it weaken you.”
Geoffrey nodded, silently absorbing the wisdom of a swordsman who only seemed surpassed by Duke Gareth. Alex often gave him such short advice that might not have felt so special to Geoffrey if Alex wasn’t so reserved–almost begrudging–in his comments to everyone else. It was only to Geoffrey that Alex revealed any of his fencing tips, and Geoffrey hoped that meant that Alex thought he had promise, that his daydreams of Alex asking him to serve as his squire after passed his Ordeal of Knighthood this Midwinter weren’t entirely unfounded fantasy.
“Drop by my quarters tomorrow after dinner and help me pack for my trip south.” Alex released Geoffrey’s shoulder, and Geoffrey was surprised to discover that he missed the soft touch. “I want your guidance on how to survive the desert.”
“I can’t guarantee that you’ll survive the desert, nobody can”– That was the first harsh lesson the desert taught anyone who was raised in it as Geoffrey had been–“but I’ll do my best to prepare you for the desert.”
“Good.” Alex sounded so satisfied that Geoffrey decided not to tell him that no one could truly be prepared for the dry heat of the desert during the day when the sun burned overhead and for the sudden descent into cold after the sun set and the empty ground could hold no warmth.
Instead the next night after dinner, he sat cross-legged on the floorboards of Alex’s room, lifting a waterskin before he tucked it into a satchel Alex could sling along his saddle. “You’ll want to bring more waterskins than you think you could ever possibly need and refill them all at every oasis you come to, because in the desert, water is life, and you can never have enough water or life.”
“I think I’ll need six waterskins.” Alex packed more waterskins with every word.
“Best double that and make a round dozen.” Geoffrey spoke briskly as he slipped still more waterskins into Alex’s bags. “You’ll want loose, thin clothes that shield you from the sun but don’t trap too much of your body heat. In Persopolis, you could buy a burnoose in the Bazhir style.”
“That would work well until someone mistook me for a Bazhir.” Alex snorted.
Geoffrey couldn’t deny that Alex’s dusky skin was the same tone as a Bazhir’s, so instead, because he had spent his childhood listening to Ali Mukhatab’s Bazhir legends and nibbling on the treats Ali slid between his fingers, he asked, “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Once I was asked the way to the nearest oasis and couldn’t give an answer, yes.” Alex’s bark of laughter was so abrupt that Geoffrey almost couldn’t blame Duke Roger for poking his head in from the next room.
“What is this racket, squire?” Duke Roger’s frown mirrored the one in his forehead. “It’s loud enough to waken the dead in here. I thought you were packing for your journey south.”
“We are packing, sir.” Alex bobbed his head in hasty assurance, every hint of amusement fading from his face like rays of sun ducking behind clouds. “Geoffrey is helping me.”
“I see.” For the first time, Duke Roger seemed to notice Alex had company. His gaze swept over Geoffrey, icy blue eyes casting a chill that didn’t dissipate when he attempted a warm grin. “It’s kind of you to help Alex pack, Geoffrey, but I’m afraid that I’m engaged in some sensitive spell work that could go awry from even the tiniest disturbance with grave consequences for the whole palace. I believe I explained that to Alex but it must have slipped his mind. Perhaps you would be so gracious as to return another time?”
Duke Roger posed the question with such a casual confidence that he would be obeyed without hesitation that Geoffrey could do no more than rise, bow, and exit with a murmured, “Of course, Your Grace.” As he departed, he felt a shiver climb up and down his spine, though he couldn’t have explained even to himself why he was uneasy about leaving Alex alone with the most charming man at court.
He didn’t see Alex again until Alex returned from the desert. Alex refused to speculate on the rumors circulating about how Prince Jonathan and Alan might have vanquished demons that Geoffrey had always regarded as Bazhir legend Ali had retold to scare him and encourage good behavior in him. Instead Alex only remarked, “While we were in the south, Jon asked Alan to serve as his squire should he pass his Ordeal, and Alan accepted.”
Geoffrey kept his face blank. He had known, even if Alan with his crazy belief that the Crown Prince might choose Geoffrey for his fencing skill hadn’t, that Prince Jonathan would pick Alan. The news that he had done so was neither a shock nor a disappointment to Geoffrey.
Maybe Geoffrey’s lack of express was exactly what spurred Alex to continue, “Should I pass my Ordeal, will you be my squire, Geoffrey of Meron?”
“You’ll pass your Ordeal”– Geoffrey bowed to hide a broad beam since he was well-aware of how Alex disliked displays of emotion–“and I’ll serve you as faithfully as I have Duke Roger.”
“Yes, as faithfully as I have Duke Roger.” Alex’s tone concealed more than it revealed, and his closed face reminded Geoffrey of a slammed door, making Geoffrey contemplate what he had done to offend the man who would be his knightmaster after Midwinter and what had prompted Alex to build a barricade against him.
Rating: PG-13 with warnings for references to abuse
Prompt: Conversations
Summary: Geoffrey, Alex, and the questions with and without answers they have for each other.
Questions and Answers
Geoffrey sat on a crenelation in a rampart that stared out over the black Olorun that danced with the golden and silver lights emanating from the moon, the stars, and the candles still burning in Corus windows. The shadows hid him from the patrolling sentries–necessary because he could receive hours of punishment work for sneaking out after curfew–and in the darkness he could imagine that he was a defender on a palace wall that hadn’t been besieged in centuries. He could pretend that he had a bowstring notched and drawn taut, ready to fire on any enemy who dared storm the ramparts.
His visions of the glory that could be his if he could slay that menace marching against the palace took his mind away from the memory of how his father had berated him with words far more cutting than the practice swords he and Alan had wielded against each other for losing his duel in the courtyard to Alan. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the shouts of his imagined battle and forget how his father had hissed in his ear, “Do you have any ambition to be the best–any pride in yourself and your family name–at all, Geoffrey? I only ask because your pitiful display in the courtyard suggests that you don’t.”
“There’s no shame in being defeated after a good fight, Father.” Geoffrey risked contradicting his ever stern and implacable father because Father was fair if he was nothing else, and Geoffrey believed he had solid ground on which to defend himself. “You were yourself beaten by Duke Gareth and bowed to him with courtesy as I did to Alan.”
Father had waged a fierce but friendly duel with Duke Gareth not long after his arrival in Corus. He had lost the fight but gained the admiration of the many onlookers who had assembled to watch. Victory could take many forms, Geoffrey thought. It didn’t have to end with your sword under your opponent’s throat. It could be a gracious bow with a sincere compliment after an exhilarating duel with a friend. A win could be just as much about seeing a yearmate who had sweated and persevered through such much mockery from Sklaw finally achieve a triumph. You didn’t have to see your opponent’s win as coming at your expense unless you chose to do so, and Geoffrey didn’t. His shame hadn’t come from being beaten by Alan in a fair fight; it had come from his father scornful reaction, the disapproval that had hardened into disgust.
“I behaved with dignity in my defeat.” Father’s lips were blade thin. “It would have been even more of a shame than losing to not do so, but I came away determined to win the next fight. I saw no such determination in you. I only saw happiness at losing.”
“Not happiness at losing.” Geoffrey shook his head. “Happiness at my friend’s victory.”
“You’re so soft. I despair of you ever becoming a man.” Father spun on his heel and strode swiftly away, leaving Geoffrey with no doubt that he, his father’s only child after his mother’s early death, was deemed an utterly inadequate heir.
Geoffrey, his imaginary battle cries unable to wipe out the memory of his father’s derision, wondered if he would hear those with their accompanying sneer resounding inside his head forever. Over the echo in his ears, it was remarkable that he could discern the murmur that emerged from the shadows behind him.
“You come out here for the quiet and the darkness.” Alex’s voice and body blended into the night around Geoffrey, and he had crept so catlike behind Geoffrey that Geoffrey would have started if Alex didn’t lay a light hand on his shoulder.
“Is that so strange?” Geoffrey took courage from the fact that Alex hadn’t berated him for venturing out after curfew. Squires didn’t have curfew, and certainly nobody would have told Alex, who served Duke Roger, that he was forbidden to roam anywhere at any time. It was understood that Alex was always about his knightmaster’s bidding with which nobody ever dared to interfere. Duke Roger was permitted to go everywhere, and therefore nowhere was prohibited to his squire. “Don’t you do the same?”
“Is that what you think?” Alex arched an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying, and further emboldening Geoffrey.
“I do.” Geoffrey lifted his chin, courting defiance in his declaration.
“If I do, that’s my secret, and I trust you to keep it.” Alex’s smile was small as it was secretive, inviting Geoffrey into his confidence at the same time it prevented him from penetrating Alex’s mysteries. It flickered to nothing as Alex went on, neither dwelling upon nor excusing Geoffrey’s failure to beat Alan, which hadn’t felt like a failure until his father reproached him for it, “Next time you will spot the trap of a sword before it is wrapped around yours, and you won’t fall for that classic maneuver again in the future. You must learn from your mistake and move on from it, not letting it weaken you.”
Geoffrey nodded, silently absorbing the wisdom of a swordsman who only seemed surpassed by Duke Gareth. Alex often gave him such short advice that might not have felt so special to Geoffrey if Alex wasn’t so reserved–almost begrudging–in his comments to everyone else. It was only to Geoffrey that Alex revealed any of his fencing tips, and Geoffrey hoped that meant that Alex thought he had promise, that his daydreams of Alex asking him to serve as his squire after passed his Ordeal of Knighthood this Midwinter weren’t entirely unfounded fantasy.
“Drop by my quarters tomorrow after dinner and help me pack for my trip south.” Alex released Geoffrey’s shoulder, and Geoffrey was surprised to discover that he missed the soft touch. “I want your guidance on how to survive the desert.”
“I can’t guarantee that you’ll survive the desert, nobody can”– That was the first harsh lesson the desert taught anyone who was raised in it as Geoffrey had been–“but I’ll do my best to prepare you for the desert.”
“Good.” Alex sounded so satisfied that Geoffrey decided not to tell him that no one could truly be prepared for the dry heat of the desert during the day when the sun burned overhead and for the sudden descent into cold after the sun set and the empty ground could hold no warmth.
Instead the next night after dinner, he sat cross-legged on the floorboards of Alex’s room, lifting a waterskin before he tucked it into a satchel Alex could sling along his saddle. “You’ll want to bring more waterskins than you think you could ever possibly need and refill them all at every oasis you come to, because in the desert, water is life, and you can never have enough water or life.”
“I think I’ll need six waterskins.” Alex packed more waterskins with every word.
“Best double that and make a round dozen.” Geoffrey spoke briskly as he slipped still more waterskins into Alex’s bags. “You’ll want loose, thin clothes that shield you from the sun but don’t trap too much of your body heat. In Persopolis, you could buy a burnoose in the Bazhir style.”
“That would work well until someone mistook me for a Bazhir.” Alex snorted.
Geoffrey couldn’t deny that Alex’s dusky skin was the same tone as a Bazhir’s, so instead, because he had spent his childhood listening to Ali Mukhatab’s Bazhir legends and nibbling on the treats Ali slid between his fingers, he asked, “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Once I was asked the way to the nearest oasis and couldn’t give an answer, yes.” Alex’s bark of laughter was so abrupt that Geoffrey almost couldn’t blame Duke Roger for poking his head in from the next room.
“What is this racket, squire?” Duke Roger’s frown mirrored the one in his forehead. “It’s loud enough to waken the dead in here. I thought you were packing for your journey south.”
“We are packing, sir.” Alex bobbed his head in hasty assurance, every hint of amusement fading from his face like rays of sun ducking behind clouds. “Geoffrey is helping me.”
“I see.” For the first time, Duke Roger seemed to notice Alex had company. His gaze swept over Geoffrey, icy blue eyes casting a chill that didn’t dissipate when he attempted a warm grin. “It’s kind of you to help Alex pack, Geoffrey, but I’m afraid that I’m engaged in some sensitive spell work that could go awry from even the tiniest disturbance with grave consequences for the whole palace. I believe I explained that to Alex but it must have slipped his mind. Perhaps you would be so gracious as to return another time?”
Duke Roger posed the question with such a casual confidence that he would be obeyed without hesitation that Geoffrey could do no more than rise, bow, and exit with a murmured, “Of course, Your Grace.” As he departed, he felt a shiver climb up and down his spine, though he couldn’t have explained even to himself why he was uneasy about leaving Alex alone with the most charming man at court.
He didn’t see Alex again until Alex returned from the desert. Alex refused to speculate on the rumors circulating about how Prince Jonathan and Alan might have vanquished demons that Geoffrey had always regarded as Bazhir legend Ali had retold to scare him and encourage good behavior in him. Instead Alex only remarked, “While we were in the south, Jon asked Alan to serve as his squire should he pass his Ordeal, and Alan accepted.”
Geoffrey kept his face blank. He had known, even if Alan with his crazy belief that the Crown Prince might choose Geoffrey for his fencing skill hadn’t, that Prince Jonathan would pick Alan. The news that he had done so was neither a shock nor a disappointment to Geoffrey.
Maybe Geoffrey’s lack of express was exactly what spurred Alex to continue, “Should I pass my Ordeal, will you be my squire, Geoffrey of Meron?”
“You’ll pass your Ordeal”– Geoffrey bowed to hide a broad beam since he was well-aware of how Alex disliked displays of emotion–“and I’ll serve you as faithfully as I have Duke Roger.”
“Yes, as faithfully as I have Duke Roger.” Alex’s tone concealed more than it revealed, and his closed face reminded Geoffrey of a slammed door, making Geoffrey contemplate what he had done to offend the man who would be his knightmaster after Midwinter and what had prompted Alex to build a barricade against him.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!