(no subject)
Title: Weary O' The Darning
Author: Soujin
Characters/Pairings: Sagramore/Clarissant
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Sure
Disclaimer: Copyright has presumably expired.
Summary: A great youthful romance.
Notes: Double-drabble for get_laid25.
He meets her by mistake, following his heroes to their home in the north. She looks at him unblinking from the easy shadow of a wall, a woman with dark hair that falls like a curtain around her, as beautiful as her brothers and considerably further out of reach.
He's still young, still moderate in his lovers. His eyes are as dark as her hair. Later on he searches for her, finds her in the lee of the stables, making flowers out of straw.
"Lady--" he says.
She looks at him unblinking. "Clarissant. No. I'm not a replacement."
"What?"
"I won't fill in. Go away."
The next summer he comes again, and finds her hidden in the cellar, refusing to look at him or anywhere. He uncurls her arms from around her knees, and kisses her forehead, smooths back her hair, tells her it's well until her small body stops trembling--whereupon she suddenly looks up at him with her unblinking eyes he can't forget.
"You're trading now. Fair."
He doesn't ask. He doesn't dare. His hands are shaking, but he undresses her and holds her reverently, losing himself in her (her skin smells like heather, her mouth is autumn).
Author: Soujin
Characters/Pairings: Sagramore/Clarissant
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Sure
Disclaimer: Copyright has presumably expired.
Summary: A great youthful romance.
Notes: Double-drabble for get_laid25.
He meets her by mistake, following his heroes to their home in the north. She looks at him unblinking from the easy shadow of a wall, a woman with dark hair that falls like a curtain around her, as beautiful as her brothers and considerably further out of reach.
He's still young, still moderate in his lovers. His eyes are as dark as her hair. Later on he searches for her, finds her in the lee of the stables, making flowers out of straw.
"Lady--" he says.
She looks at him unblinking. "Clarissant. No. I'm not a replacement."
"What?"
"I won't fill in. Go away."
The next summer he comes again, and finds her hidden in the cellar, refusing to look at him or anywhere. He uncurls her arms from around her knees, and kisses her forehead, smooths back her hair, tells her it's well until her small body stops trembling--whereupon she suddenly looks up at him with her unblinking eyes he can't forget.
"You're trading now. Fair."
He doesn't ask. He doesn't dare. His hands are shaking, but he undresses her and holds her reverently, losing himself in her (her skin smells like heather, her mouth is autumn).