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Wow. This makes two drabbles in about a month. At my recent rate of productivity, that's fairly impressive.
Anyway, another totally random ficlet. ASOIAF fandom. I'm actually proud of this one, but it's difficult for me to tell with my own writing how good it actually is. :/
Title: Blood of Kings
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 859
Summary: Jon Snow had held council with Stannis Baratheon several times since the would-be king had taken up residence at the Wall. The strange red woman, the Lady Melisandre, had attended each time, but never before had she come alone.
Jon Snow had held council with Stannis Baratheon several times since the would-be king had taken up residence at the Wall. The discussion had for the most part been tedious, dealing mostly with acquiring provisions for the sudden excess of men and the length of the dead-weight army’s stay at Castle Black. The strange red woman, the Lady Melisandre, had attended each time, but never before had she come alone.
“My lady,” Jon greeted her, rising from a supper of cold venison and oat cakes when his guard admitted her into his makeshift solar. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
The ruby at her throat appeared almost liquid in the low light from the hearth. Moving slowly, she stepped further into the room. “I have come to beg your presence at the nightfire this evening, my lord.”
Jon had expected this. Stannis’s squires had come often to invite him to their nightly ritual, and he had always refused. This strange fire god of theirs held no appeal to him; especially here in the cold north, the old gods of the First Men were still far more palpable than the one the southron men had brought. And he had heard tell of mysterious deaths that the red priestess and her lord had left behind them as they went, and of shadows…
“I thank you for your kind invitation, my lady, but I have told your messengers before: I wish for no part in your faith. My prayers are answered by other gods.”
There was a pause as Melisandre gave him a look that seemed appraising. Then she turned her gaze on the small fire flickering in the hearth.
“You should know, my lord, that R’hollor can grant you more than just answers to your silent prayers. He can give you things far more substantial.”
“I have all that I could desire for myself, and can do little for aught else but the Watch. I need nothing that your god could offer.”
She stared at the flames. “Oh, I think you do, Jon Snow. I can see what you desire, what you long for. Even if you banish the thoughts from your own mind.” Jon said nothing. The red woman lowered her voice to a smooth, intimate tone. “I, by the grace of the Lord of Light, can give you everything that you are owed. Owed, my lord, by those who would rip your destiny from your hands, blindly obedient to false gods and the unjust laws of men."
Jon’s composure never faltered. He had heard versions of this speech before, in a tent in the Frostfangs, and his will to resist had been much weaker then. Even so, the familiarity of this refrain chilled him, though the room was hot. “You cannot win me to your cause by offending those gods. You forget, they are mine as well. And my destiny is here, at the Wall. I am the Lord Commander, I cannot wish for a greater or more honorable fate than that, even if I wanted one.”
“All men lust for power.” Melisandre’s eyes glittered, though she had turned her face from the fire in the hearth. “Even this King-Beyond-the-Wall. He speaks of freedom from the fealty of one man to another, and yet he styles himself a king.”
It was as if she could see into his mind. He tried not to show his surprise. “And all women?” he shot accusingly back at her. “What of them?”
“What do they lust for?” Her lips curved into a half-smile. “Can you not imagine, my lord?” She took a few steps toward him, moving uncomfortably close.
Jon Snow kept his ground but set his hand on the table beside him to steady himself against her advance. Carelessly, he slammed his palm into the dagger he had used to cut his meat, the palm that had been scarred by flame so long ago. Flinching only slightly, Jon kept his gaze on the red eyes so closely trained on his face.
“My lady, you presume too much. One shout and my guards will remove you from this room immediately.” She said not a word, but reached down to the table with one hand, brushing Jon’s arm lightly to reach a thin trickle of blood that ran from under his cut hand. As she touched the tip of one finger to the red line, the sly smile vanished from her face to be replaced by an emotion that might have been shock.
She drew in a sharp and shallow breath, her eyes snapping back to Jon’s. And for the second time during this encounter with this woman of fire, Jon Snow felt suddenly and inexplicably cold.
She stared at the spot of red on her finger and her eyes sparkled. “You have the fire within you, already, my lord. I think you need only learn to wield it.”
And with that, she turned and glided across the room, the flames in the hearth flickering as she withdrew.
Jon Snow did not sleep for many hours that night. When at last he did, his dreams were of cold and red, and flame.
~(*)~
Feedback is actually the highest form of flattery.
Anyway, another totally random ficlet. ASOIAF fandom. I'm actually proud of this one, but it's difficult for me to tell with my own writing how good it actually is. :/
Title: Blood of Kings
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 859
Summary: Jon Snow had held council with Stannis Baratheon several times since the would-be king had taken up residence at the Wall. The strange red woman, the Lady Melisandre, had attended each time, but never before had she come alone.
Jon Snow had held council with Stannis Baratheon several times since the would-be king had taken up residence at the Wall. The discussion had for the most part been tedious, dealing mostly with acquiring provisions for the sudden excess of men and the length of the dead-weight army’s stay at Castle Black. The strange red woman, the Lady Melisandre, had attended each time, but never before had she come alone.
“My lady,” Jon greeted her, rising from a supper of cold venison and oat cakes when his guard admitted her into his makeshift solar. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
The ruby at her throat appeared almost liquid in the low light from the hearth. Moving slowly, she stepped further into the room. “I have come to beg your presence at the nightfire this evening, my lord.”
Jon had expected this. Stannis’s squires had come often to invite him to their nightly ritual, and he had always refused. This strange fire god of theirs held no appeal to him; especially here in the cold north, the old gods of the First Men were still far more palpable than the one the southron men had brought. And he had heard tell of mysterious deaths that the red priestess and her lord had left behind them as they went, and of shadows…
“I thank you for your kind invitation, my lady, but I have told your messengers before: I wish for no part in your faith. My prayers are answered by other gods.”
There was a pause as Melisandre gave him a look that seemed appraising. Then she turned her gaze on the small fire flickering in the hearth.
“You should know, my lord, that R’hollor can grant you more than just answers to your silent prayers. He can give you things far more substantial.”
“I have all that I could desire for myself, and can do little for aught else but the Watch. I need nothing that your god could offer.”
She stared at the flames. “Oh, I think you do, Jon Snow. I can see what you desire, what you long for. Even if you banish the thoughts from your own mind.” Jon said nothing. The red woman lowered her voice to a smooth, intimate tone. “I, by the grace of the Lord of Light, can give you everything that you are owed. Owed, my lord, by those who would rip your destiny from your hands, blindly obedient to false gods and the unjust laws of men."
Jon’s composure never faltered. He had heard versions of this speech before, in a tent in the Frostfangs, and his will to resist had been much weaker then. Even so, the familiarity of this refrain chilled him, though the room was hot. “You cannot win me to your cause by offending those gods. You forget, they are mine as well. And my destiny is here, at the Wall. I am the Lord Commander, I cannot wish for a greater or more honorable fate than that, even if I wanted one.”
“All men lust for power.” Melisandre’s eyes glittered, though she had turned her face from the fire in the hearth. “Even this King-Beyond-the-Wall. He speaks of freedom from the fealty of one man to another, and yet he styles himself a king.”
It was as if she could see into his mind. He tried not to show his surprise. “And all women?” he shot accusingly back at her. “What of them?”
“What do they lust for?” Her lips curved into a half-smile. “Can you not imagine, my lord?” She took a few steps toward him, moving uncomfortably close.
Jon Snow kept his ground but set his hand on the table beside him to steady himself against her advance. Carelessly, he slammed his palm into the dagger he had used to cut his meat, the palm that had been scarred by flame so long ago. Flinching only slightly, Jon kept his gaze on the red eyes so closely trained on his face.
“My lady, you presume too much. One shout and my guards will remove you from this room immediately.” She said not a word, but reached down to the table with one hand, brushing Jon’s arm lightly to reach a thin trickle of blood that ran from under his cut hand. As she touched the tip of one finger to the red line, the sly smile vanished from her face to be replaced by an emotion that might have been shock.
She drew in a sharp and shallow breath, her eyes snapping back to Jon’s. And for the second time during this encounter with this woman of fire, Jon Snow felt suddenly and inexplicably cold.
She stared at the spot of red on her finger and her eyes sparkled. “You have the fire within you, already, my lord. I think you need only learn to wield it.”
And with that, she turned and glided across the room, the flames in the hearth flickering as she withdrew.
Jon Snow did not sleep for many hours that night. When at last he did, his dreams were of cold and red, and flame.
~(*)~
Feedback is actually the highest form of flattery.