Post by Rosie on Dec 11, 2021 1:44:54 GMT 10
Title: Midwinter Luck
Rating: PG
For: Lisa
Prompt: Tempted as I am to make this a placeholder response, think it just about squeezes into: 1. Found family(preferably focusing on the PotS study group?)
Summary: Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse
Notes and Warnings: Warning for my extremely rusty writing, I guess?
--
Maura paused on the threshold of the library, one hand resting on the doorframe, candle in the other. It wasn't that she thought she would be unwelcome within; it had been years since she had felt that way within Dunlath. She couldn't shake the sense that things would change if she went inside, and her world had been calm and steady for years.
She pushed the door open.
Alan was curled up in her favourite chair and wrapped in the blanket she had knitted for him years ago. Her now-practised eye found the loose stitches, but Alan steadfastly refused to acknowledge any flaws in it.
"Was the bedchamber not to your liking, so you had to commandeer my library instead?"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, setting his book aside. Awareness prickled at the nape of her neck; he knew she'd left the comfort of her bed for this, just as she knew he never slept well after coming off border patrol. "You know I'd never dare criticise anything in Dunlath. Douglass would have Iakoju fling me from your fief."
"He wouldn't," Maura said seriously, choosing an uncomfortable brocade seat Yolane had favoured. She set her candle on the floor. "Iakoju likes you too much, Douglass wouldn't trust her to fling you far enough." She fiddled with the fraying fabric on the arm of the chair as he chuckled, thinking how much Yolane would hate the chair now, how hopelessly outmoded she would think it.
It made her resolve to keep it until it fell apart; half-tribute to, half-condemnation of her half-sister.
"What are you reading?" she asked, trying to clear her mind of melancholy.
Alan held up the book. "Cook recommended it; I've already raided your kitchens, I'm afraid. It's about some fellow who finds out his sweetheart is betrothed to another man, and he rushes through the snow and ice to win her back."
It was Maura's turn to smile - her cook and Alan were fast friends, primarily for their shared taste in romantic literature, though Cook did appreciate how quickly Alan was able to put away his apple pies. "Don't you steal my cook away to Pirate's Swoop, now."
He fixed her with an earnest look, and Maura swallowed tightly, having intended to dispel the rising tension. "Maura, I wouldn't want to steal anything from Dunlath."
She pressed her hands to suddenly hot cheeks. "Alan, I-"
"I know," he said easily, and she could breathe again. "Now, tell me all the gossip - I was certain that Douglass would never go to bed, and I can't wait any longer to find out which of her suitors Lottie picked."
Maura laughed, appreciating the distraction, though she was mostly thinking about how Douglass had spent all evening loudly discussing how he had every intention of going into hibernation with Lord Theodore. There were not many chaperones, she suspected, who would allow her this sort of freedom. "You owe Tait two gold nobles."
Alan pulled a face. "I'll go see him tomorrow. Your cats have terrible taste."
"Sir Alan, you are determined to be thrown from my fief by one person or another, you know how Iakoju dotes on Lottie."
He huffed out his own laugh, but that undefinable something was back in the air, and he had a purposeful look in his eye again. "Seems I'm going to need an awful lot of luck to help me stay on your fief throughout Midwinter."
This was why she'd dismissed her maid without changing for bed, the little flutter that she'd felt when he'd been announced earlier. "And how," she enquired dryly, watching the candlelight flicker over his face, "do you intend to go about getting this luck?"
"I had a kiss in mind," Alan confessed, voice languid but gaze intent. "Do you think Douglass would mind doing the honours?"
Maura smirked, feigning deliberation. "He was very tired when he took to his bed, perhaps you had better make do with me."
Alan had crossed the space in two seconds, cupping his hands under her jaw, and tilting her face up. His kiss was as gentle as his movements had been purposeful, and she felt herself melt into it. He'd kissed her a few times before, light, cider-laden affairs, always the night before he was due to leave her. She let her fingers trail over his shoulders, pulling him closer, and his hands left her face to brace himself against the chair. "That," he said, dropping a kiss on her nose, "should do the trick."
"For now," she allowed, running her hand through his hair. "You do seem to have been on a run of bad luck recently, since you're snowed in here."
He dropped down to a crouching position, what she could make out of his expression looking sheepish. "I waited another week at the border so that the snow would be too thick for me to make it home for Midwinter," confessed Alan, with sudden frankness. "I wanted - I needed to see you, but I can go if it's too much. I could stay at the village."
"It isn't too much," she said slowly, though it was, in truth, more than she had expected. Maura wasn't accustomed to discussing matters of the heart. Her father and Yolane hadn't wanted declarations, and Douglass always knew what Maura wanted to say before she said it. She concentrated on breathing, feeling those tell-tale nerves stir again. It would be much easier if she could have Douglass ask for his intentions. "But - is it just kisses?"
Her face was on fire in the dark as she waited for his reply; perhaps they didn't even need the candlelight.
"Not for me," Alan answered seriously, taking her hand between both of his. "I - I'd like to make something of myself before asking anything, though I know people will talk anyway."
"There are those," Maura said carefully, "who say that I was only spared the route of the Progress because my family is related to the king, that our fields should have been sewn with salt for Yolane's crimes. Those people will say that I have deliberately pursued the son of the Lioness."
He was silent for a moment, and then kissed her knuckles. "We'll let them talk."
--
It was difficult to ignore Douglass's smug face the following morning, or his comments about he'd been lulled to sleep by the sounds of mice scurrying around the castle.
"Perhaps we could coax more of the village cats inside," he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. "It wouldn't surprise me if you told me worrying about the mice had kept you up all night, Maura, you do look rather tired."
"You know, one might say that as a knight protector, you're overstepping your boundaries."
Douglass paused and gave her a huge grin. "My apologies, my lady. I will do better to protect you from-" He coughed. "Night-time visitors."
Maura dropped her face into her hands, just as Alan appeared for breakfast.
"Nothing left, my boy," Douglass announced, getting to his feet. "Let me take you to the kitchens, we can have a word with Cook."
Alan's eyes swept along the feast Cook had prepared, and his lips quirked into a smile. "Of course," he said gravely, allowing Douglass to lead him out of the room.
Relieved that Douglass wouldn't make her squirm in front of Alan (or, not until after Alan had received a stern talking to), Maura reached for a bread roll. It looked like Alan's Midwinter luck would need a little refreshing.
Rating: PG
For: Lisa
Prompt: Tempted as I am to make this a placeholder response, think it just about squeezes into: 1. Found family
Summary: Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse
Notes and Warnings: Warning for my extremely rusty writing, I guess?
--
Maura paused on the threshold of the library, one hand resting on the doorframe, candle in the other. It wasn't that she thought she would be unwelcome within; it had been years since she had felt that way within Dunlath. She couldn't shake the sense that things would change if she went inside, and her world had been calm and steady for years.
She pushed the door open.
Alan was curled up in her favourite chair and wrapped in the blanket she had knitted for him years ago. Her now-practised eye found the loose stitches, but Alan steadfastly refused to acknowledge any flaws in it.
"Was the bedchamber not to your liking, so you had to commandeer my library instead?"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, setting his book aside. Awareness prickled at the nape of her neck; he knew she'd left the comfort of her bed for this, just as she knew he never slept well after coming off border patrol. "You know I'd never dare criticise anything in Dunlath. Douglass would have Iakoju fling me from your fief."
"He wouldn't," Maura said seriously, choosing an uncomfortable brocade seat Yolane had favoured. She set her candle on the floor. "Iakoju likes you too much, Douglass wouldn't trust her to fling you far enough." She fiddled with the fraying fabric on the arm of the chair as he chuckled, thinking how much Yolane would hate the chair now, how hopelessly outmoded she would think it.
It made her resolve to keep it until it fell apart; half-tribute to, half-condemnation of her half-sister.
"What are you reading?" she asked, trying to clear her mind of melancholy.
Alan held up the book. "Cook recommended it; I've already raided your kitchens, I'm afraid. It's about some fellow who finds out his sweetheart is betrothed to another man, and he rushes through the snow and ice to win her back."
It was Maura's turn to smile - her cook and Alan were fast friends, primarily for their shared taste in romantic literature, though Cook did appreciate how quickly Alan was able to put away his apple pies. "Don't you steal my cook away to Pirate's Swoop, now."
He fixed her with an earnest look, and Maura swallowed tightly, having intended to dispel the rising tension. "Maura, I wouldn't want to steal anything from Dunlath."
She pressed her hands to suddenly hot cheeks. "Alan, I-"
"I know," he said easily, and she could breathe again. "Now, tell me all the gossip - I was certain that Douglass would never go to bed, and I can't wait any longer to find out which of her suitors Lottie picked."
Maura laughed, appreciating the distraction, though she was mostly thinking about how Douglass had spent all evening loudly discussing how he had every intention of going into hibernation with Lord Theodore. There were not many chaperones, she suspected, who would allow her this sort of freedom. "You owe Tait two gold nobles."
Alan pulled a face. "I'll go see him tomorrow. Your cats have terrible taste."
"Sir Alan, you are determined to be thrown from my fief by one person or another, you know how Iakoju dotes on Lottie."
He huffed out his own laugh, but that undefinable something was back in the air, and he had a purposeful look in his eye again. "Seems I'm going to need an awful lot of luck to help me stay on your fief throughout Midwinter."
This was why she'd dismissed her maid without changing for bed, the little flutter that she'd felt when he'd been announced earlier. "And how," she enquired dryly, watching the candlelight flicker over his face, "do you intend to go about getting this luck?"
"I had a kiss in mind," Alan confessed, voice languid but gaze intent. "Do you think Douglass would mind doing the honours?"
Maura smirked, feigning deliberation. "He was very tired when he took to his bed, perhaps you had better make do with me."
Alan had crossed the space in two seconds, cupping his hands under her jaw, and tilting her face up. His kiss was as gentle as his movements had been purposeful, and she felt herself melt into it. He'd kissed her a few times before, light, cider-laden affairs, always the night before he was due to leave her. She let her fingers trail over his shoulders, pulling him closer, and his hands left her face to brace himself against the chair. "That," he said, dropping a kiss on her nose, "should do the trick."
"For now," she allowed, running her hand through his hair. "You do seem to have been on a run of bad luck recently, since you're snowed in here."
He dropped down to a crouching position, what she could make out of his expression looking sheepish. "I waited another week at the border so that the snow would be too thick for me to make it home for Midwinter," confessed Alan, with sudden frankness. "I wanted - I needed to see you, but I can go if it's too much. I could stay at the village."
"It isn't too much," she said slowly, though it was, in truth, more than she had expected. Maura wasn't accustomed to discussing matters of the heart. Her father and Yolane hadn't wanted declarations, and Douglass always knew what Maura wanted to say before she said it. She concentrated on breathing, feeling those tell-tale nerves stir again. It would be much easier if she could have Douglass ask for his intentions. "But - is it just kisses?"
Her face was on fire in the dark as she waited for his reply; perhaps they didn't even need the candlelight.
"Not for me," Alan answered seriously, taking her hand between both of his. "I - I'd like to make something of myself before asking anything, though I know people will talk anyway."
"There are those," Maura said carefully, "who say that I was only spared the route of the Progress because my family is related to the king, that our fields should have been sewn with salt for Yolane's crimes. Those people will say that I have deliberately pursued the son of the Lioness."
He was silent for a moment, and then kissed her knuckles. "We'll let them talk."
--
It was difficult to ignore Douglass's smug face the following morning, or his comments about he'd been lulled to sleep by the sounds of mice scurrying around the castle.
"Perhaps we could coax more of the village cats inside," he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. "It wouldn't surprise me if you told me worrying about the mice had kept you up all night, Maura, you do look rather tired."
"You know, one might say that as a knight protector, you're overstepping your boundaries."
Douglass paused and gave her a huge grin. "My apologies, my lady. I will do better to protect you from-" He coughed. "Night-time visitors."
Maura dropped her face into her hands, just as Alan appeared for breakfast.
"Nothing left, my boy," Douglass announced, getting to his feet. "Let me take you to the kitchens, we can have a word with Cook."
Alan's eyes swept along the feast Cook had prepared, and his lips quirked into a smile. "Of course," he said gravely, allowing Douglass to lead him out of the room.
Relieved that Douglass wouldn't make her squirm in front of Alan (or, not until after Alan had received a stern talking to), Maura reached for a bread roll. It looked like Alan's Midwinter luck would need a little refreshing.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!