Post by Rosie on Dec 14, 2018 7:21:42 GMT 10
Title: Ducking Duties
Rating: PG
For: Kypriotha
Prompt: Older SOTL gang hijinks.
Summary: Gary isn’t usually one to shirk his duty, it’s just that Buri terrifies him.
Notes: Merry Christmas! I hope this was what you were looking for! I definitely did not put Nice Weather for Ducks anywhere in this fic.
--
"I was on Buri duty yesterday," Sacherell complained.
"Yes, but you drew the short straw," Gary explained, far more relaxed now he was sure he was out of the running. "It's the fairest way."
Douglass stretched out in his armchair, the book he'd been feigning interest in falling to the floor since he no longer had to pretend to be otherwise engaged. "Actually, the fairest way would be to let Raoul do it. I think she likes him best." Raoul looked up from where he was polishing his boots, his face unreadable. "Well. I think she'd kill him fastest. That's probably a sign of affection from her."
"She'll kill you fastest if you take her on another tour of your favourite ribbon shops," Sacherell pointed out, tugging his riding boots on. They'd discovered riding was the surest way of distracting Buri for any length of time, though Gary had had to pretend to get lost several times to give his cousin longer with Thayet. The things he did in service to the Crown. "What possessed you?"
"Gary bet me I couldn't," Douglass said serenely. "It was worth it."
"Probably not for Buriram."
They all scrambled to attention as Cythera of Elden made herself known, draping her hands over the back of the chair recently vacated by Douglass.
"Am I given to understand that a thirteen year old refugee is troubling our brave knights of the realm?"
Hot with shame, Gary didn't know where to look. He wasn't alone; Raoul was shifting beside him. Cythera didn't seem to expect an answer. Her eyes swept along the row of men, and Gary felt the weight of being measured and found wanting.
"I would have thought that the King would be eager to better acquaint himself with what little family Her Highness has left. It surprises me that you appear to view Buriram as an inconvenience, rather than a treasure. I find it difficult to believe His Majesty is like-minded."
She paused, as if to make certain they had no response, and then replaced the book of poetry Gary had lent her on the side. His eyes fell on it as she departed - he'd intended to discuss it with her. He'd pictured her reciting her favourite lines in that soft voice of hers, thought it might be a chance to improve their burgeoning intimacy. The chance was lost now, and he knew he deserved it.
"You should marry her. She'll keep you in line," Douglass whispered to Gary.
"Who's going to keep you in line?" Gary snapped back, and regretted it as soon as the words had left his mouth. He had yet to learn to maintain the same command over his temper his father had.
Douglass's eyes shifted to Sacherell, but his tone was steady and even arch as he answered, "Me? I'm a lost cause." He picked up the volume of Lord Percival's poetry Cythera had discarded, and turned it over in his hands. "All right, who's going to tell Jon he'll be spending the afternoon with the crabapple of his love's eye?"
Gary rubbed his face. "It had better be me." It would be a step towards persuading Cythera that he might not be a lost cause, if she should hear of it, and it was the right thing to do even if she shouldn't.
Besides, Jon's face was sure to be a picture.
--
"My lady, Princess Thayet is at the door."
Gwynnen smirked as Cythera instructed her maid to show Thayet in. "Not riding with the King, then. And you wonder if Sir Gareth is interested."
Cythera coloured, grateful that Thayet's presence provided a distraction and hoping Gwynnen wasn't so far removed from the convent that she would reference Gary's interest (potential or otherwise) in front of the princess. He was the King's cousin, after all. "Your Highness." They both curtsied, and Thayet looked faintly embarrassed by it.
"I hope you will forgive the intrusion - I found myself at rather a loose end, and I remembered you mentioning some embroidery you'd been working on. I see you've got company, so perhaps another time."
The excuse was weak, and Gwynnen and Cythera exchanged a glance. "Not at all, your highness. Lady Gwynnen and I are old friends, and welcome the opportunity of fresh ears for our stories."
"Oh, please, 'Thayet' is fine - I'm hardly used to people standing on ceremony for me."
Cythera and Gwynnen both entreated Thayet to use their first names, though the latter only after a pause. "Forgive me, is that Lord Percival of Queensgrace's collection of poetry?"
Cythera folded her hands in her lap, striving not to react. There was probably a good explanation for this - but Gary did like a pretty face, and it wasn't so very long ago that his head would turn with every new arrival at court. She couldn't regret telling him off, even so. But there was still a chance Thayet shared his awful taste in verse, and had opted for the book of her own free will.
"You've got a good eye," Thayet replied, turning over the book that had been in Cythera's own possession scant hours ago. "Jo- the King thought I might like it."
"How nice," Gwynnen pronounced, apparently enjoying herself hugely. "But you won't like it."
Cythera pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. "The King's cousin thought I might like it, too," she explained.
"She didn't," Gwynnen interjected helpfully. "There's about eight poems on ducks. The rhyming scheme is off, and there's a segment where he could be describing a broken heart or leprosy."
"Oh, good," Thayet said faintly.
"On the other hand, we're all very grateful that Sir Gareth has abandoned his own attempts at poetry."
They were lost in recounting largely unwanted tokens from admirers (Thayet won with her account of the man who had scaled a tower to sing her to sleep; Gwynnen's tale of somebody falling through the ice was discounted on the basis of poor skating not being romantic) when Cythera's maid interrupted again. "Her Highness's lady-in-waiting," she announced.
Cythera hadn't known Thayet had been assigned a lady-in-waiting, and, by the looks of it, Thayet was similarly in the dark. Then, Buri stomped through, and Thayet burst into laughter.
"Never again," Buri advised Thayet. "Tell him I approve of him, or tell him you don't approve of him, but I would rather go ribbon shopping with Sir Douglass any day of the week than sit and listen to the King talk about you. I nearly broke all his tiny cups."
From the look on her face, she was wishing she had.
Well. That would teach Cythera to meddle. Gwynnen had her handkerchief to her mouth, and she was struggling to suppress her laughter.
"They are very tiny cups," Cythera managed, when she thought she might be able to keep her voice level. "Buriram - would you mind if I called you that?"
"Yes," Buri answered flatly and then, after a nudge from Thayet, added, "Buri's fine."
It was, Cythera considered, not a world away from how Gwynnen might have responded. "Buri, then. Buri, what would you like to do? I'm afraid the King is likely to continue to take up Thayet's time. Gwynnen and I are happy for you to join us when you happen to find yourself at a loose end, but I think I'm right in saying you wouldn't enjoy that either."
Buri shrugged ungraciously, fidgeting. Had Cythera been this difficult as a teenager? Perhaps she should send the Daughters at the convent a Midwinter present.
"Something outdoors, perhaps?" Gwynnen suggested brightly, and Cythera decided on the perfect solution for everybody.
--
Gary scratched through his letter to the Gallan ambassador, sighing. It seemed everything he wrote today was borderline offensive. He didn't think Jon would approve of a war instead of a new trade agreement, all because Cythera was unhappy with him.
When the knock came, he assumed it was Timon bringing a missive from his father, and so he instructed the manservant to come in without bothering to look up from his correspondence.
"Is this your way of telling me you don't like being told what to do?"
He started, ruining another letter with an ink splotch. Never mind; it could wait. "Lady Cythera!" He got to his feet, wincing as he realised he couldn't have moved for hours. "I'm afraid I was miles away. What can I do for you?"
It might be his imagination, but she seemed to soften as she looked at him. "Sir Gareth. Perhaps you would be so good as to take a walk with me?"
Gary glanced down at his letters, with which he was making no progress, and up at Cythera. He could see her maid hovering just out of sight - well, at least their chaperone wouldn't be Lady Gwynnen. "I - first, I should make an apology. You were right to remonstrate with us earlier. Both the princess and Buriram are most welcome in the palace, and it was wrong of us to treat Buriram like a chore."
Cythera beamed at him, and he thought she could have asked him to do anything right then. He didn't know, of course, that she was about to put that to the test, but he found out pretty quickly when she led him to the lower practice courts.
"Buri likes to be kept active," Cythera told him, her eyes shining with what looked like mirth. "Sir Raoul has kindly offered to spar with her, and I believe she's rather enjoying it." She stepped back and, too late, he realised her maid had his practice sword in hand. "I understand today is sword-fighting, and tomorrow is archery. You're very fortunate; she studied under the Shang Dragon."
It was brilliant, Gary concluded with some reluctance. If she'd have him, she'd make a fine Prime Minister's wife. "Will you save the first two dances for me this evening?"
She smiled at him, and presented him with her handkerchief, rather like he was going off to war. "Consider them yours."
Rating: PG
For: Kypriotha
Prompt: Older SOTL gang hijinks.
Summary: Gary isn’t usually one to shirk his duty, it’s just that Buri terrifies him.
Notes: Merry Christmas! I hope this was what you were looking for! I definitely did not put Nice Weather for Ducks anywhere in this fic.
--
"I was on Buri duty yesterday," Sacherell complained.
"Yes, but you drew the short straw," Gary explained, far more relaxed now he was sure he was out of the running. "It's the fairest way."
Douglass stretched out in his armchair, the book he'd been feigning interest in falling to the floor since he no longer had to pretend to be otherwise engaged. "Actually, the fairest way would be to let Raoul do it. I think she likes him best." Raoul looked up from where he was polishing his boots, his face unreadable. "Well. I think she'd kill him fastest. That's probably a sign of affection from her."
"She'll kill you fastest if you take her on another tour of your favourite ribbon shops," Sacherell pointed out, tugging his riding boots on. They'd discovered riding was the surest way of distracting Buri for any length of time, though Gary had had to pretend to get lost several times to give his cousin longer with Thayet. The things he did in service to the Crown. "What possessed you?"
"Gary bet me I couldn't," Douglass said serenely. "It was worth it."
"Probably not for Buriram."
They all scrambled to attention as Cythera of Elden made herself known, draping her hands over the back of the chair recently vacated by Douglass.
"Am I given to understand that a thirteen year old refugee is troubling our brave knights of the realm?"
Hot with shame, Gary didn't know where to look. He wasn't alone; Raoul was shifting beside him. Cythera didn't seem to expect an answer. Her eyes swept along the row of men, and Gary felt the weight of being measured and found wanting.
"I would have thought that the King would be eager to better acquaint himself with what little family Her Highness has left. It surprises me that you appear to view Buriram as an inconvenience, rather than a treasure. I find it difficult to believe His Majesty is like-minded."
She paused, as if to make certain they had no response, and then replaced the book of poetry Gary had lent her on the side. His eyes fell on it as she departed - he'd intended to discuss it with her. He'd pictured her reciting her favourite lines in that soft voice of hers, thought it might be a chance to improve their burgeoning intimacy. The chance was lost now, and he knew he deserved it.
"You should marry her. She'll keep you in line," Douglass whispered to Gary.
"Who's going to keep you in line?" Gary snapped back, and regretted it as soon as the words had left his mouth. He had yet to learn to maintain the same command over his temper his father had.
Douglass's eyes shifted to Sacherell, but his tone was steady and even arch as he answered, "Me? I'm a lost cause." He picked up the volume of Lord Percival's poetry Cythera had discarded, and turned it over in his hands. "All right, who's going to tell Jon he'll be spending the afternoon with the crabapple of his love's eye?"
Gary rubbed his face. "It had better be me." It would be a step towards persuading Cythera that he might not be a lost cause, if she should hear of it, and it was the right thing to do even if she shouldn't.
Besides, Jon's face was sure to be a picture.
--
"My lady, Princess Thayet is at the door."
Gwynnen smirked as Cythera instructed her maid to show Thayet in. "Not riding with the King, then. And you wonder if Sir Gareth is interested."
Cythera coloured, grateful that Thayet's presence provided a distraction and hoping Gwynnen wasn't so far removed from the convent that she would reference Gary's interest (potential or otherwise) in front of the princess. He was the King's cousin, after all. "Your Highness." They both curtsied, and Thayet looked faintly embarrassed by it.
"I hope you will forgive the intrusion - I found myself at rather a loose end, and I remembered you mentioning some embroidery you'd been working on. I see you've got company, so perhaps another time."
The excuse was weak, and Gwynnen and Cythera exchanged a glance. "Not at all, your highness. Lady Gwynnen and I are old friends, and welcome the opportunity of fresh ears for our stories."
"Oh, please, 'Thayet' is fine - I'm hardly used to people standing on ceremony for me."
Cythera and Gwynnen both entreated Thayet to use their first names, though the latter only after a pause. "Forgive me, is that Lord Percival of Queensgrace's collection of poetry?"
Cythera folded her hands in her lap, striving not to react. There was probably a good explanation for this - but Gary did like a pretty face, and it wasn't so very long ago that his head would turn with every new arrival at court. She couldn't regret telling him off, even so. But there was still a chance Thayet shared his awful taste in verse, and had opted for the book of her own free will.
"You've got a good eye," Thayet replied, turning over the book that had been in Cythera's own possession scant hours ago. "Jo- the King thought I might like it."
"How nice," Gwynnen pronounced, apparently enjoying herself hugely. "But you won't like it."
Cythera pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. "The King's cousin thought I might like it, too," she explained.
"She didn't," Gwynnen interjected helpfully. "There's about eight poems on ducks. The rhyming scheme is off, and there's a segment where he could be describing a broken heart or leprosy."
"Oh, good," Thayet said faintly.
"On the other hand, we're all very grateful that Sir Gareth has abandoned his own attempts at poetry."
They were lost in recounting largely unwanted tokens from admirers (Thayet won with her account of the man who had scaled a tower to sing her to sleep; Gwynnen's tale of somebody falling through the ice was discounted on the basis of poor skating not being romantic) when Cythera's maid interrupted again. "Her Highness's lady-in-waiting," she announced.
Cythera hadn't known Thayet had been assigned a lady-in-waiting, and, by the looks of it, Thayet was similarly in the dark. Then, Buri stomped through, and Thayet burst into laughter.
"Never again," Buri advised Thayet. "Tell him I approve of him, or tell him you don't approve of him, but I would rather go ribbon shopping with Sir Douglass any day of the week than sit and listen to the King talk about you. I nearly broke all his tiny cups."
From the look on her face, she was wishing she had.
Well. That would teach Cythera to meddle. Gwynnen had her handkerchief to her mouth, and she was struggling to suppress her laughter.
"They are very tiny cups," Cythera managed, when she thought she might be able to keep her voice level. "Buriram - would you mind if I called you that?"
"Yes," Buri answered flatly and then, after a nudge from Thayet, added, "Buri's fine."
It was, Cythera considered, not a world away from how Gwynnen might have responded. "Buri, then. Buri, what would you like to do? I'm afraid the King is likely to continue to take up Thayet's time. Gwynnen and I are happy for you to join us when you happen to find yourself at a loose end, but I think I'm right in saying you wouldn't enjoy that either."
Buri shrugged ungraciously, fidgeting. Had Cythera been this difficult as a teenager? Perhaps she should send the Daughters at the convent a Midwinter present.
"Something outdoors, perhaps?" Gwynnen suggested brightly, and Cythera decided on the perfect solution for everybody.
--
Gary scratched through his letter to the Gallan ambassador, sighing. It seemed everything he wrote today was borderline offensive. He didn't think Jon would approve of a war instead of a new trade agreement, all because Cythera was unhappy with him.
When the knock came, he assumed it was Timon bringing a missive from his father, and so he instructed the manservant to come in without bothering to look up from his correspondence.
"Is this your way of telling me you don't like being told what to do?"
He started, ruining another letter with an ink splotch. Never mind; it could wait. "Lady Cythera!" He got to his feet, wincing as he realised he couldn't have moved for hours. "I'm afraid I was miles away. What can I do for you?"
It might be his imagination, but she seemed to soften as she looked at him. "Sir Gareth. Perhaps you would be so good as to take a walk with me?"
Gary glanced down at his letters, with which he was making no progress, and up at Cythera. He could see her maid hovering just out of sight - well, at least their chaperone wouldn't be Lady Gwynnen. "I - first, I should make an apology. You were right to remonstrate with us earlier. Both the princess and Buriram are most welcome in the palace, and it was wrong of us to treat Buriram like a chore."
Cythera beamed at him, and he thought she could have asked him to do anything right then. He didn't know, of course, that she was about to put that to the test, but he found out pretty quickly when she led him to the lower practice courts.
"Buri likes to be kept active," Cythera told him, her eyes shining with what looked like mirth. "Sir Raoul has kindly offered to spar with her, and I believe she's rather enjoying it." She stepped back and, too late, he realised her maid had his practice sword in hand. "I understand today is sword-fighting, and tomorrow is archery. You're very fortunate; she studied under the Shang Dragon."
It was brilliant, Gary concluded with some reluctance. If she'd have him, she'd make a fine Prime Minister's wife. "Will you save the first two dances for me this evening?"
She smiled at him, and presented him with her handkerchief, rather like he was going off to war. "Consider them yours."