Fic: Untitled
Title: Untitled
Author: Soujin
Characters/Pairings: Gaheris/Agravain
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Yes.
Disclaimer: Copyright has presumably expired.
Summary: A hunt gone awry.
Notes/Warnings: Written for theatrical_muse.
Swear to God, I should never have gone hunting with him. I don't hunt well; he does. He has a talent for it, for searching out what he wants to kill and then killing it. Me, I stumble around in the forest for hours and never see hide nor hair of a thing.
I should never have done it--but he never ordinarily has a bit of use for me, never a second thought, and that day he looked over his shoulder, casual as you please, and said,--
"Thou would come along?"
So I said yes. I only brought my long knife, no bow--I know I can't shoot worth a damn, so there'd be no point. At least I can usually dress a deer without cutting off my thumbs.
We left the castle, our uncle's castle, the King's. Neither of us suit the place. We're too far north, it shows. We stand by looking like we belong anywhere else in the world, and talk to each other in our own tongue, do our damnedest to be different. At least Gawain and Gareth can look like Britain is home.
We're not so good at it. Perhaps we're stubborn, or perhaps we're too much like our mother. I've heard it said. Strange and northern and fey, like her, though I've never seen anyone looked less fey than he does. But we're out of place in court, we two, and we went to the woods.
We have no woods at home, only short thick brush in places. Sometimes trees, that stand there looking like accidents. Britain's not like that; the forests are thick and green and you can get lost, there's that much of them. We went in and kept going. It was probably me, but we had bad luck--he had bad luck. I trailed along behind, making too much noise, and he glared at me over his shoulder and shifted his bow from hand to hand.
"Art like a wild boar behind me."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"And always sorry. A cringing boar, damn it. Lucky me."
"It's not a clear path."
"I can walk quietly."
"I'm sorry."
"Damn it!"
After which we said nothing, though we could hardly be said to have walked in silence. He has a temper like our father's, an angry man, and I could see the anger in his shoulders grow greater as we went.
It was afternoon, when we finally found a stream. He dropped to his knees, looking up the water towards the source, and I went into the middle and cupped my hands to drink. When I lifted my head he was watching me, so I waded back out, on his side, and asked him whether he'd seen any sign.
"No trace," he said.
"Should we go on, or--?"
"I'm not giving up that easy." He shouldered the bow.
"I should go back. Thou hast thy knife? There's no need for me--"
He took me by the shoulder and shook me, rough as he always is, and looked me in the face. "Little fool brother, we're hunting, all right. Thou'rt hunting with me."
"Not well. Thou wilt do better by thyself."
"Damn it, I have been by myself, even since we came to this damn country. Look at it, it's wooded, the water runs too cold, and everyone's too good to speak to us, think they're better than us, because Orkney's too small for anyone to care who lives there. The hell if I'm not tired of it. The girls won't even look at you."
He was right. I knew well enough he was right, and I understood--I thought I did. I'm not one for company, myself, but it was true we were different, and true enough we were laughed at, not Gawain, the King's nephew and favourite, but us less fair princes, me skilless and him too fierce and rough for this country. Too much wind off the sea on us.
"All right," I said. "I know. I know."
"Oh, thou dost," he said darkly. "I know what thou art."
Then he kissed me, not kindly, his hand at my neck.
"Art not?" he said. "I know thee. I know thy mind."
I didn't answer him. I had no answer for him. I only thought he must know how much I loved our absent brother, our half-brother, my mother's bastard--the last prince, the one who was still on the islands. I'm not for company, I sleep alone, and most days I find I'm by myself, and I don't mind it. Man who loves his brother, loves as I do mine, isn't much fit for good Christian people. But I had thought I'd done better at making the business a secret, and here, I thought, here he knew it. Damn fool, I thought.
"Come now," he said, and kissed me again.
We were both lonely, God knows. This place wasn't home, still isn't. We at least knew one another, we could understand what was wrong, even if we never understood one another. So I got him out of his clothes, and he tore mine when he pushed me up against the trees--damn trees--and it was quick and ugly and over fast, not what either of us wanted, not what we wanted from each other. We washed ourselves in the stream afterwards. It was too cold. Then we dressed again and I said,--
"I could go back to the court."
He shook his head. "Thy knife, I'll have use for it," he said; his voice is always gruff, and hard, the voice of a man made for fighting and not much else. Even his love-making is like a fight, a battle where everyone's meant to be dead by the end. But he can be graceful when he draws back his bow. I've seen him at practise, back home.
"Aye," I said. "All right."
It made no difference, I thought; I should have turned back long before.
Author: Soujin
Characters/Pairings: Gaheris/Agravain
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Yes.
Disclaimer: Copyright has presumably expired.
Summary: A hunt gone awry.
Notes/Warnings: Written for theatrical_muse.
Swear to God, I should never have gone hunting with him. I don't hunt well; he does. He has a talent for it, for searching out what he wants to kill and then killing it. Me, I stumble around in the forest for hours and never see hide nor hair of a thing.
I should never have done it--but he never ordinarily has a bit of use for me, never a second thought, and that day he looked over his shoulder, casual as you please, and said,--
"Thou would come along?"
So I said yes. I only brought my long knife, no bow--I know I can't shoot worth a damn, so there'd be no point. At least I can usually dress a deer without cutting off my thumbs.
We left the castle, our uncle's castle, the King's. Neither of us suit the place. We're too far north, it shows. We stand by looking like we belong anywhere else in the world, and talk to each other in our own tongue, do our damnedest to be different. At least Gawain and Gareth can look like Britain is home.
We're not so good at it. Perhaps we're stubborn, or perhaps we're too much like our mother. I've heard it said. Strange and northern and fey, like her, though I've never seen anyone looked less fey than he does. But we're out of place in court, we two, and we went to the woods.
We have no woods at home, only short thick brush in places. Sometimes trees, that stand there looking like accidents. Britain's not like that; the forests are thick and green and you can get lost, there's that much of them. We went in and kept going. It was probably me, but we had bad luck--he had bad luck. I trailed along behind, making too much noise, and he glared at me over his shoulder and shifted his bow from hand to hand.
"Art like a wild boar behind me."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"And always sorry. A cringing boar, damn it. Lucky me."
"It's not a clear path."
"I can walk quietly."
"I'm sorry."
"Damn it!"
After which we said nothing, though we could hardly be said to have walked in silence. He has a temper like our father's, an angry man, and I could see the anger in his shoulders grow greater as we went.
It was afternoon, when we finally found a stream. He dropped to his knees, looking up the water towards the source, and I went into the middle and cupped my hands to drink. When I lifted my head he was watching me, so I waded back out, on his side, and asked him whether he'd seen any sign.
"No trace," he said.
"Should we go on, or--?"
"I'm not giving up that easy." He shouldered the bow.
"I should go back. Thou hast thy knife? There's no need for me--"
He took me by the shoulder and shook me, rough as he always is, and looked me in the face. "Little fool brother, we're hunting, all right. Thou'rt hunting with me."
"Not well. Thou wilt do better by thyself."
"Damn it, I have been by myself, even since we came to this damn country. Look at it, it's wooded, the water runs too cold, and everyone's too good to speak to us, think they're better than us, because Orkney's too small for anyone to care who lives there. The hell if I'm not tired of it. The girls won't even look at you."
He was right. I knew well enough he was right, and I understood--I thought I did. I'm not one for company, myself, but it was true we were different, and true enough we were laughed at, not Gawain, the King's nephew and favourite, but us less fair princes, me skilless and him too fierce and rough for this country. Too much wind off the sea on us.
"All right," I said. "I know. I know."
"Oh, thou dost," he said darkly. "I know what thou art."
Then he kissed me, not kindly, his hand at my neck.
"Art not?" he said. "I know thee. I know thy mind."
I didn't answer him. I had no answer for him. I only thought he must know how much I loved our absent brother, our half-brother, my mother's bastard--the last prince, the one who was still on the islands. I'm not for company, I sleep alone, and most days I find I'm by myself, and I don't mind it. Man who loves his brother, loves as I do mine, isn't much fit for good Christian people. But I had thought I'd done better at making the business a secret, and here, I thought, here he knew it. Damn fool, I thought.
"Come now," he said, and kissed me again.
We were both lonely, God knows. This place wasn't home, still isn't. We at least knew one another, we could understand what was wrong, even if we never understood one another. So I got him out of his clothes, and he tore mine when he pushed me up against the trees--damn trees--and it was quick and ugly and over fast, not what either of us wanted, not what we wanted from each other. We washed ourselves in the stream afterwards. It was too cold. Then we dressed again and I said,--
"I could go back to the court."
He shook his head. "Thy knife, I'll have use for it," he said; his voice is always gruff, and hard, the voice of a man made for fighting and not much else. Even his love-making is like a fight, a battle where everyone's meant to be dead by the end. But he can be graceful when he draws back his bow. I've seen him at practise, back home.
"Aye," I said. "All right."
It made no difference, I thought; I should have turned back long before.