Post by devilinthedetails on Dec 23, 2022 3:58:36 GMT 10
Title: A Falcon Fit for a Prince
Rating: PG
Prompt: Holiday
Summary: During his first Midwinter at Legann, Roald receives a special present from Lord Imrah.
A Falcon Fit for a Prince
As he sat by the cackling fire in the tapestried hall of Legann castle, Roald thought he could hear the music of the white-foamed waves dancing in the Emerald Ocean before they crashed against the craggy shore over the cheery chatter of the members of his knightmaster’s family who were present on this bright Midwinter morning.
Lord Imrah himself was in attendance, of course. As was his wife, the indomitable Lady Marielle, and his two surviving daughters, Mattie and Julienne. (A third daughter had come into the world stillborn the same year Roald had entered it. Roald had seen her haunting marble tomb. Carved with her name and year of death.)
Lord Imrah’s oldest son, Sir Emeric, was stationed along the Scanran border with his squire, and there would have been no way for Sir Emeric to cut a path south on mountain roads made impassable by feet of hard-packed snow and ice. The family’s second son, Henri, was likewise in the north. Serving as an acolyte in the City of the Gods. Spending his Midwinter as he did all his days. Praying and studying solemnly under the strict guidance of the austere Mithran priests. Not a life Roald envied though a devout one sure to lead to rich rewards in the afterlife.
Roald’s parents had sent a large trunk–spelled with magic to keep the contents fresh–of Carthaki oranges to Legann castle with a letter wishing Lord Imrah’s entire household a happy Midwinter. A household Roald understood now included himself. He tried not to think of his mother and father too much while he nibbled at the tart, juicy slivers of Carthaki orange because remembering them made his heart ache with longing to be with them. To celebrate Midwinter around a blazing hearth with them. To hug and kiss them. To see them open in person the gifts he had sent up to them. An emerald necklace for his mother, and an illuminated tome on scrying for his father.
Roald had given Lady Marielle, an enthusiastic archer, a new set of supple leather arching gloves because he had noticed hers were starting to get frayed. Lady Marielle having a tendency to be frugal rather than indulgent when it came to managing the expenses of her personal wardrobe.
To Lord Imrah’s two living daughters, he gave ribbons, striped sticks of peppermint, and a book of songs for them to play on their lutes. All of which he had purchased from various vendors at Port Legann’s bustling Midwinter markets. The girls responded to his gifts with gleeful exclamations and a delighted shower of embraces and soft kisses on his cheek.
Much as his younger sisters Lianne and Vania would have done. Lianne and Vania, whom he had sent ribbons, sweet treats, and a silver bracelet apiece in honor of the holiday. For Kally, there had been candy and a notebook for her to fill with her clever caricatures of courtiers and others who vexed her.
This year, however, Roald was most proud of the gift he had purchased for Lord Imrah. From a purveyor of old books, scrolls, and maps in Port Legann, he had procured a map that showed in still sharp ink the jagged outline of the Legann coast four centuries ago.
“It’s a handsome map.” Lord Imrah’s hawk eyes swept over the map. Seeming to absorb every detail before lifting to meet Roald’s gaze again. “Thank you, lad. I will have it framed and hung in the library. What do you say to that?”
“It sounds very fine indeed, my lord.” Roald smiled. Feeling himself beginning to emerge from his carefully constructed shell. Lord Imrah often had that emboldening effect on him.
“I have a present for you as well.” Lord Imrah rose from the thick cushions of his upholstered chair. “But it is outside. Come. Put on your cloak, and I will show you.”
“Yes, sir.” Eagerly, Roald stood and donned his woolen cloak. Following Lord Imrah across the hall and out of the castle into the constant winds and mackerel gray sky of a Legann winter.
In Corus, Midwinter was a bitingly cold holiday. The air often so chilled that it hurt the lungs to breathe it. The frozen ground covered in a white mantle of snow. Bare tree limbs and stone roofs speared by clear icicles. In the south, it was a far warmer holiday. The gardens they passed through still green as Lord Imrah led Roald toward the mews where Lord Imrah kept his hawks and falcons.
Roald found himself missing the snow and the ice with a strange keenness as he thought of Corus. The only place he had ever celebrated Midwinter. It felt like a loss to be celebrating it anywhere else. Even if he was about to receive a gift from his knightmaster.
“You’ll want to wear these–” Lord Imrah withdrew a pair of gloves from his pocket. The strong gloves that falconers and hawkers slipped on to shield their hands and wrists from the piercing talons of their birds of prey. Offered them to Roald. “Before you see the rest of your gift.”
Once Roald’s hands disappeared into his new gloves, Lord Imrah asked, “How is the fit?”
“Perfect, my lord.” Roald flexed his fingers to demonstrate. “Tight as a glove.”
“Excellent.” Lord Imrah gestured for Roald to enter the mews. “In you go then.”
Roald obeyed and found his breath immediately stolen from him. His jaw gaping open as he beheld a spectacular creature he had never seen before perched in the first cage.
“She’s all yours, squire.” Lord Imrah ruffled Roald’s hair.
“She’s beautiful, my lord.” Roald stepped forward to admire her more closely. Soaking up the smoothness of her feathered wings. Marveling at the keen beadiness of her eyes.
“A peregrine falcon.” Lord Imrah’s voice radiated pleasure at Roald’s reaction. “A falcon fit for a prince or a king.”
“Does she have a name, sir?” Roald found it difficult to remove his gaze from the magnificent falcon that was now his.
“Not yet.” Lord Imrah shook his head. “I thought you might enjoy naming her yourself since she will be yours.”
“Niamh.” Roald pronounced a name that seemed to him to contain the sound of salty sea breezes and the music of foam-flecked waves. “I will name her Niamh.”
“Niamh.” Lord Imrah repeated the name. Nodding approval. “Well-chosen.”
“Thank you, sir.” Roald tried to imbue his tone with all the gratitude he felt toward his kindly knightmaster as he went on, “For the falcon and for making me feel at home this Midwinter.”
“I know your first Midwinter away from your home and family can be hard.” Lord Imrah clasped Roald’s shoulder gently. “But my lady wife and I want you to know that you are a part of our home and family as well.”
“You and your lady wife have made me feel very welcome.” Roald bowed because it felt polite and proper to do so. Something Master Oakbridge would expect him to do according to the immutable laws of courtesy and etiquette.
“That is why you didn’t give me coal for a Midwinter gift.” Lord Imrah grinned crookedly.
“Coal is only for misbehaving children.” Roald was mildly scandalized. “That’s what all the Midwinter rhymes say anyway.”
“Not for cruel knightmasters?” Lord Imrah chuckled. “What do cruel knightmasters receive then?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Roald felt his features softening into a slight smile. He couldn’t remain serious in the face of Lord Imrah’s joking for too long. “I’ve never had cause to research it, my lord.”
Rating: PG
Prompt: Holiday
Summary: During his first Midwinter at Legann, Roald receives a special present from Lord Imrah.
A Falcon Fit for a Prince
As he sat by the cackling fire in the tapestried hall of Legann castle, Roald thought he could hear the music of the white-foamed waves dancing in the Emerald Ocean before they crashed against the craggy shore over the cheery chatter of the members of his knightmaster’s family who were present on this bright Midwinter morning.
Lord Imrah himself was in attendance, of course. As was his wife, the indomitable Lady Marielle, and his two surviving daughters, Mattie and Julienne. (A third daughter had come into the world stillborn the same year Roald had entered it. Roald had seen her haunting marble tomb. Carved with her name and year of death.)
Lord Imrah’s oldest son, Sir Emeric, was stationed along the Scanran border with his squire, and there would have been no way for Sir Emeric to cut a path south on mountain roads made impassable by feet of hard-packed snow and ice. The family’s second son, Henri, was likewise in the north. Serving as an acolyte in the City of the Gods. Spending his Midwinter as he did all his days. Praying and studying solemnly under the strict guidance of the austere Mithran priests. Not a life Roald envied though a devout one sure to lead to rich rewards in the afterlife.
Roald’s parents had sent a large trunk–spelled with magic to keep the contents fresh–of Carthaki oranges to Legann castle with a letter wishing Lord Imrah’s entire household a happy Midwinter. A household Roald understood now included himself. He tried not to think of his mother and father too much while he nibbled at the tart, juicy slivers of Carthaki orange because remembering them made his heart ache with longing to be with them. To celebrate Midwinter around a blazing hearth with them. To hug and kiss them. To see them open in person the gifts he had sent up to them. An emerald necklace for his mother, and an illuminated tome on scrying for his father.
Roald had given Lady Marielle, an enthusiastic archer, a new set of supple leather arching gloves because he had noticed hers were starting to get frayed. Lady Marielle having a tendency to be frugal rather than indulgent when it came to managing the expenses of her personal wardrobe.
To Lord Imrah’s two living daughters, he gave ribbons, striped sticks of peppermint, and a book of songs for them to play on their lutes. All of which he had purchased from various vendors at Port Legann’s bustling Midwinter markets. The girls responded to his gifts with gleeful exclamations and a delighted shower of embraces and soft kisses on his cheek.
Much as his younger sisters Lianne and Vania would have done. Lianne and Vania, whom he had sent ribbons, sweet treats, and a silver bracelet apiece in honor of the holiday. For Kally, there had been candy and a notebook for her to fill with her clever caricatures of courtiers and others who vexed her.
This year, however, Roald was most proud of the gift he had purchased for Lord Imrah. From a purveyor of old books, scrolls, and maps in Port Legann, he had procured a map that showed in still sharp ink the jagged outline of the Legann coast four centuries ago.
“It’s a handsome map.” Lord Imrah’s hawk eyes swept over the map. Seeming to absorb every detail before lifting to meet Roald’s gaze again. “Thank you, lad. I will have it framed and hung in the library. What do you say to that?”
“It sounds very fine indeed, my lord.” Roald smiled. Feeling himself beginning to emerge from his carefully constructed shell. Lord Imrah often had that emboldening effect on him.
“I have a present for you as well.” Lord Imrah rose from the thick cushions of his upholstered chair. “But it is outside. Come. Put on your cloak, and I will show you.”
“Yes, sir.” Eagerly, Roald stood and donned his woolen cloak. Following Lord Imrah across the hall and out of the castle into the constant winds and mackerel gray sky of a Legann winter.
In Corus, Midwinter was a bitingly cold holiday. The air often so chilled that it hurt the lungs to breathe it. The frozen ground covered in a white mantle of snow. Bare tree limbs and stone roofs speared by clear icicles. In the south, it was a far warmer holiday. The gardens they passed through still green as Lord Imrah led Roald toward the mews where Lord Imrah kept his hawks and falcons.
Roald found himself missing the snow and the ice with a strange keenness as he thought of Corus. The only place he had ever celebrated Midwinter. It felt like a loss to be celebrating it anywhere else. Even if he was about to receive a gift from his knightmaster.
“You’ll want to wear these–” Lord Imrah withdrew a pair of gloves from his pocket. The strong gloves that falconers and hawkers slipped on to shield their hands and wrists from the piercing talons of their birds of prey. Offered them to Roald. “Before you see the rest of your gift.”
Once Roald’s hands disappeared into his new gloves, Lord Imrah asked, “How is the fit?”
“Perfect, my lord.” Roald flexed his fingers to demonstrate. “Tight as a glove.”
“Excellent.” Lord Imrah gestured for Roald to enter the mews. “In you go then.”
Roald obeyed and found his breath immediately stolen from him. His jaw gaping open as he beheld a spectacular creature he had never seen before perched in the first cage.
“She’s all yours, squire.” Lord Imrah ruffled Roald’s hair.
“She’s beautiful, my lord.” Roald stepped forward to admire her more closely. Soaking up the smoothness of her feathered wings. Marveling at the keen beadiness of her eyes.
“A peregrine falcon.” Lord Imrah’s voice radiated pleasure at Roald’s reaction. “A falcon fit for a prince or a king.”
“Does she have a name, sir?” Roald found it difficult to remove his gaze from the magnificent falcon that was now his.
“Not yet.” Lord Imrah shook his head. “I thought you might enjoy naming her yourself since she will be yours.”
“Niamh.” Roald pronounced a name that seemed to him to contain the sound of salty sea breezes and the music of foam-flecked waves. “I will name her Niamh.”
“Niamh.” Lord Imrah repeated the name. Nodding approval. “Well-chosen.”
“Thank you, sir.” Roald tried to imbue his tone with all the gratitude he felt toward his kindly knightmaster as he went on, “For the falcon and for making me feel at home this Midwinter.”
“I know your first Midwinter away from your home and family can be hard.” Lord Imrah clasped Roald’s shoulder gently. “But my lady wife and I want you to know that you are a part of our home and family as well.”
“You and your lady wife have made me feel very welcome.” Roald bowed because it felt polite and proper to do so. Something Master Oakbridge would expect him to do according to the immutable laws of courtesy and etiquette.
“That is why you didn’t give me coal for a Midwinter gift.” Lord Imrah grinned crookedly.
“Coal is only for misbehaving children.” Roald was mildly scandalized. “That’s what all the Midwinter rhymes say anyway.”
“Not for cruel knightmasters?” Lord Imrah chuckled. “What do cruel knightmasters receive then?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Roald felt his features softening into a slight smile. He couldn’t remain serious in the face of Lord Imrah’s joking for too long. “I’ve never had cause to research it, my lord.”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!