Fic: On a Lone Winter Eve [J2]
Title: On a Lone Winter Eve
Pairing/rating: J2 AU, teen and up
Summary: Jared knew that the traveler in the cape has come to kill him. But things don’t go quite as expected.
Word count: ~2300
Notes: No historical accuracy claimed; all comments and constructive criticism appreciated. Title borrowed from Keats.
Jared knew his fate as soon as their eyes met. It was warm in the tavern, the fire in the hearth combining with the heat of so many people, all gathered in an attempt to avoid the winter’s chill. But the other man, the man whose glance had briefly met Jared’s, was still wrapped in leather and furs. His clothes were nondescript at first glance, but a closer look revealed their quiet wealth. The man seemed seemed unmoved by the warmth of the Solstice revelry, his gaze carefully blank as he looked away from Jared, his gloved hand wrapped around a cup of ale.
The singing and the chatter that filled the tavern, a moment ago so welcome, faded away as Jared faced what the man’s appearance met. He was surprised at his own equanimity. It’d been a five-year since he’d been forced to flee, forced to leave his home and his kingdom to avoid being killed by his uncle after his father’s death, an uncle who wanted the throne for himself and his sons. He’d grown from boy to man in that time, grown stronger and wiser, and he’d seen much of the wide world outside his kingdom’s small borders.
In the early days his uncle had sent would-be assassins hard and fast, but Jared had learned quickly how to hide, and how to fight. It’d been nearly a year since the last one, and Jared had hoped that his uncle had given up. Apparently he’d just been saving his farthings to hire an expert, because the man in the corner had all the hallmarks of the Black Guild. Jared had only heard rumors, but those were damning enough - a secret guild of assassins, stealthy and unstoppable. Jared knew he had no chance against such a man, no matter how much he’d grown and trained since his stripling years. That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t try - a man had his pride, after all.
The assassin (Jared nicknamed him Fur-Lined Cape in his head, since calling him The Assassin seemed like admitting defeat too easily) seemed in no hurry. He sat quietly in the corner, nursing his ale and shaking his head at Adrienne when she’d offered him a refill. He hadn’t looked directly at Jared since that first electric glance, but Jared felt his awareness like a warm blanket on a cold morning.
Adrienne sidled up to him under the guise of refilling a pitcher of wine. “Friend of yours, Tristan?,” she asked softly.
“Not exactly,” Jared replied.
“I can distract him, keep him busy while you sneak out through Ma’s kitchen,” she suggested.
Jared shook his head. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
Adrienne began to protest, but Jared held her gaze. “This is my problem, not yours. You and your family have been wonderful to me, taking me in and helping me find work, but I won’t have you harmed because of something you knew nothing of.”
After a brief staring contest, she relented, dropping a kiss on his cheek as she went by.
Not long after that, the man, Fur-Lined Cape, got up and slipped out of the door. He did it so quickly and quietly that Jared would have missed his departure entirely if he hadn’t been focused on the man’s every movement.
Jared wanted to stay in the tavern forever, filling glasses and toasting to the year gone by, safe with the friends who’d become the only family he’d known since his father had died and his world had turned upside down. But he knew that was impossible; besides, he didn’t want the assassin to get tired of waiting for him and take his frustration out on any of the townspeople.
When the crowd had subsided, he waved a quick goodbye to Adrienne and walked out the tavern door before his courage failed him. His senses were on high alert, and when he wasn’t instantly attacked, he bent to pull out the dagger he wore in a sheath by his ankle. It was nothing compared to the ceremonial sword he’d worn as a prince, but it’d seen him through many tough situations.
He waited, standing beside the back wall of the tavern, his dagger firmly in his hand. But the only sounds were those of the night, the cows lowing and the skitter of rats in the street. When he had waited for enough time for his tensed muscles to began to ache with the strain, Jared shifted, then slowly walked to his lodgings over the blacksmith’s shop, expecting to be attacked at any moment. There was nothing, not even when he was on the narrow stairs. Was the man waiting to kill him in his bed? If the assassin thought that Jared would blithely fall asleep so that he could be killed without even knowing what was happening... Jared determined to stay up waiting. He would not allow the other man to take him by surprise.
The first light of dawn shone through the small isinglass window and brought Jared to full awareness. His muscles protested having spent the night sitting up. He must have fallen asleep, despite his efforts. Strange that the man hadn’t tried to break in. The building was a glorified barn; it would have been easy to break down the flimsy door to Jared’s room.
It seemed odd to go to work when he was expecting to be killed at any moment. But Jared heard the forge being stoked downstairs, so he dressed and ate an apple before taking the stairs. He nodded to his boss, JD; the man wasn’t much of a morning person, and Jared’d learned quickly not to speak much until the sun was high.
He set to work, and his day was uneventful, punctuated only by Adrienne coming by at luncheon with some bread and cheese, and the news that Fur-Lined Cape had spent the night at Goodwife Ferris’s guesthouse and was asking about Jared around the village. He’d wanted to verify his facts, then. Tonight would be the night. But it wasn’t.
By the end of a sennight, Jared’s nerves were stretched thin. Each day Fur-Lined Cape made himself scarce, which was quite an achievement given that the entire town was smaller than the pasture where the village’s cows and goats spent their days. Each night he came to the tavern and lurked, drinking one mug of ale and sitting silently in the corner until he left quietly. Each night, Jared sat up with his dagger in his hands until sleep claimed him, and each morning he woke up unmolested. Jared had experimented with staying home one evening; Adrienne’d reported the man didn’t come to the tavern that night either. The next night Jared returned, and the man was already in the tavern, sitting in the corner as if he’d been planted there.
Perhaps the lack of restful sleep was to blame for what Jared did next. Before his reason could stop him, he walked directly to the corner where Fur-Lined Cape sat. “What do you want with me?”
The man lifted one eyebrow, his hood falling away from his face as he looked up at Jared. “Why ask such a question? I was not aware I indicated any such desire,” he said, and his voice was rich, deep, with the timbre of foreign lands.
Jared had to resist the urge to laugh, even though his heart was beating quick as a drum. “My wits are not addled,” he retorted.
The man looked him up and down. “Indeed.” A raised eyebrow was enough to suggest the man doubted that. Jared opened his mouth to say... something, probably stupid and insulting enough to get himself killed as he stood, but the man held up a hand. “This is not the place or time,” and at his head tilt Jared became aware that the usual buzz of the tavern had reduced to a quiet hum, and everyone in the place was attempting to overhear their conversation. “I will find you later, Tristan.” Was it just Jared’s imagination that the man had lingered a bit when speaking Jared’s assumed name, or had it just been his accent?
Fur-Lined Cape rose soundlessly to his feet and walked out of the tavern, leaving Jared standing by an empty table, his breath coming quickly as the sounds of the tavern returned to normal.
Once again, Jared was waiting for the assassin to come kill him. Strange to be in a hurry for your own death, he supposed, but he was tired of the uncertainty, and the sick feeling of fear unfulfilled. He wandered his small room, refolding the already tidy pile of possessions he’d placed on the rickety table. He hoped that someone in the village could find a use for them, after.
There was a rustling on the stairs and Jared rose, positioning himself flat beside the door. As it opened, he slid over, positioning his dagger at the other man’s neck.
“Well met, Jared Geraldson,” Fur-Lined Cape said calmly, his warm breath on Jared’s neck. Jared felt something sharp and looked down to see the other man’s knife at his ribs. Jared closed his eyes. This was it, then, the end. He could probably injure the other man, but there was a knife in striking distance to his heart, and Jared doubted that the assassin would miss.
The moment stretched out, and Jared was aware of nothing but his pounding heart, and the steady in and out breath of his killer. Time passed - seconds? Minutes? It felt like hours. Finally, Jared dared open his eyes, to see the man looking up at him, his lips quirked. “Perhaps a temporary truce could be reached?”, the man suggested.
A few moments later, all weapons sheathed, Fur-Lined Cape was sitting on Jared’s only chair while Jared lit a candle. His cheekbones looked sharp in the light; his eyes were focused on Jared’s face. “As you’ve clearly guessed, I was hired by your uncle, King Niles, to kill you.” The assassin’s face was as calm as if he had just ordered mead in the tavern. “That is, if you are indeed Jared Geraldson, son of King Gerald III, late ruler of Moldovia.”
Was that why the assassin hadn’t killed him yet? Because he needed him to confirm his identity? Jared bypassed the man’s implied question and asked one of his own. “Why didn’t you kill me right away?”
The assassin finally showed some emotion, looking down to the floor briefly. It might have been a trick of the candlelight, but Jared thought he saw color high on the man’s cheeks. “You covered your tracks well,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you for nearly two years. I needed to ascertain which of the stories were true and which false.”
“And what did you decide?”
Fur-Lined Cape answered his question with one of his own. “Why don’t you return to Moldovia, challenge your uncle for the throne? You’re a man full-grown now.”
Jared had considered it; nay, he’d dreamt of it, in the early days running and hiding, friendless and alone. But he hadn’t thought about it recently, reluctant to wish for more than the decent life he’d lucked into. He had no army of invasion, and no coin to raise one.
The other man was watching him intently. “The peasants are unhappy, and the courtiers restless. Taxes have been raised, and your uncle’s begun a series of border skirmishes that aren’t going well for him. Your cousins, his captains, are dullards with no skill at battle, and less at statecraft.”
Jared could feel the blank acceptance of his fate slowly fading, replaced by a bubbling fury. “Must you taunt me before you kill me? If you have studied the situation as closely as you say you have, then you must know that it would be impossible.”
“You’re angry.” The assassin’s words were said flatly, but he nonetheless sounded surprised.
“You tempt me with my birthright, with something I can never have, and you wonder at my anger?” Jared took a quick breath. “After my nerves have been stretched to the breaking point the last sennight, waiting for your killing stroke to fall. I have heard that the Black Guild is to be feared but not that they torture their victims needlessly.” Jared could feel his voice begin to rise, and forced a swallow through his dry throat. “If you have any mercy at all, you will kill me now and end this.”
Jared saw the assassin’s eyes flash as he rose from the chair. The man reached for the dagger at his hip, and Jared closed his eyes as the man approached. He tried to remember to breathe.
Then his hand was seized. He opened his eyes in startlement, to find that the assassin had kneeled in front of him, and lifted his dagger to his own throat, his pleasantly calloused hand wrapped around Jared’s on the handle of the knife.
“I have sworn an oath,” the man said quietly. “You may kill me if you wish. But if you want to regain the throne, I know those who can assist your quest.”
As a feared assassin offered his neck - or his fealty - to Jared, in the tiny attic room where he had grown to adulthood, Jared knew not what decision to make. This entry was originally posted at http://bonspiel.dreamwidth.org/26419.html.
Pairing/rating: J2 AU, teen and up
Summary: Jared knew that the traveler in the cape has come to kill him. But things don’t go quite as expected.
Word count: ~2300
Notes: No historical accuracy claimed; all comments and constructive criticism appreciated. Title borrowed from Keats.
Jared knew his fate as soon as their eyes met. It was warm in the tavern, the fire in the hearth combining with the heat of so many people, all gathered in an attempt to avoid the winter’s chill. But the other man, the man whose glance had briefly met Jared’s, was still wrapped in leather and furs. His clothes were nondescript at first glance, but a closer look revealed their quiet wealth. The man seemed seemed unmoved by the warmth of the Solstice revelry, his gaze carefully blank as he looked away from Jared, his gloved hand wrapped around a cup of ale.
The singing and the chatter that filled the tavern, a moment ago so welcome, faded away as Jared faced what the man’s appearance met. He was surprised at his own equanimity. It’d been a five-year since he’d been forced to flee, forced to leave his home and his kingdom to avoid being killed by his uncle after his father’s death, an uncle who wanted the throne for himself and his sons. He’d grown from boy to man in that time, grown stronger and wiser, and he’d seen much of the wide world outside his kingdom’s small borders.
In the early days his uncle had sent would-be assassins hard and fast, but Jared had learned quickly how to hide, and how to fight. It’d been nearly a year since the last one, and Jared had hoped that his uncle had given up. Apparently he’d just been saving his farthings to hire an expert, because the man in the corner had all the hallmarks of the Black Guild. Jared had only heard rumors, but those were damning enough - a secret guild of assassins, stealthy and unstoppable. Jared knew he had no chance against such a man, no matter how much he’d grown and trained since his stripling years. That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t try - a man had his pride, after all.
The assassin (Jared nicknamed him Fur-Lined Cape in his head, since calling him The Assassin seemed like admitting defeat too easily) seemed in no hurry. He sat quietly in the corner, nursing his ale and shaking his head at Adrienne when she’d offered him a refill. He hadn’t looked directly at Jared since that first electric glance, but Jared felt his awareness like a warm blanket on a cold morning.
Adrienne sidled up to him under the guise of refilling a pitcher of wine. “Friend of yours, Tristan?,” she asked softly.
“Not exactly,” Jared replied.
“I can distract him, keep him busy while you sneak out through Ma’s kitchen,” she suggested.
Jared shook his head. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
Adrienne began to protest, but Jared held her gaze. “This is my problem, not yours. You and your family have been wonderful to me, taking me in and helping me find work, but I won’t have you harmed because of something you knew nothing of.”
After a brief staring contest, she relented, dropping a kiss on his cheek as she went by.
Not long after that, the man, Fur-Lined Cape, got up and slipped out of the door. He did it so quickly and quietly that Jared would have missed his departure entirely if he hadn’t been focused on the man’s every movement.
Jared wanted to stay in the tavern forever, filling glasses and toasting to the year gone by, safe with the friends who’d become the only family he’d known since his father had died and his world had turned upside down. But he knew that was impossible; besides, he didn’t want the assassin to get tired of waiting for him and take his frustration out on any of the townspeople.
When the crowd had subsided, he waved a quick goodbye to Adrienne and walked out the tavern door before his courage failed him. His senses were on high alert, and when he wasn’t instantly attacked, he bent to pull out the dagger he wore in a sheath by his ankle. It was nothing compared to the ceremonial sword he’d worn as a prince, but it’d seen him through many tough situations.
He waited, standing beside the back wall of the tavern, his dagger firmly in his hand. But the only sounds were those of the night, the cows lowing and the skitter of rats in the street. When he had waited for enough time for his tensed muscles to began to ache with the strain, Jared shifted, then slowly walked to his lodgings over the blacksmith’s shop, expecting to be attacked at any moment. There was nothing, not even when he was on the narrow stairs. Was the man waiting to kill him in his bed? If the assassin thought that Jared would blithely fall asleep so that he could be killed without even knowing what was happening... Jared determined to stay up waiting. He would not allow the other man to take him by surprise.
The first light of dawn shone through the small isinglass window and brought Jared to full awareness. His muscles protested having spent the night sitting up. He must have fallen asleep, despite his efforts. Strange that the man hadn’t tried to break in. The building was a glorified barn; it would have been easy to break down the flimsy door to Jared’s room.
It seemed odd to go to work when he was expecting to be killed at any moment. But Jared heard the forge being stoked downstairs, so he dressed and ate an apple before taking the stairs. He nodded to his boss, JD; the man wasn’t much of a morning person, and Jared’d learned quickly not to speak much until the sun was high.
He set to work, and his day was uneventful, punctuated only by Adrienne coming by at luncheon with some bread and cheese, and the news that Fur-Lined Cape had spent the night at Goodwife Ferris’s guesthouse and was asking about Jared around the village. He’d wanted to verify his facts, then. Tonight would be the night. But it wasn’t.
By the end of a sennight, Jared’s nerves were stretched thin. Each day Fur-Lined Cape made himself scarce, which was quite an achievement given that the entire town was smaller than the pasture where the village’s cows and goats spent their days. Each night he came to the tavern and lurked, drinking one mug of ale and sitting silently in the corner until he left quietly. Each night, Jared sat up with his dagger in his hands until sleep claimed him, and each morning he woke up unmolested. Jared had experimented with staying home one evening; Adrienne’d reported the man didn’t come to the tavern that night either. The next night Jared returned, and the man was already in the tavern, sitting in the corner as if he’d been planted there.
Perhaps the lack of restful sleep was to blame for what Jared did next. Before his reason could stop him, he walked directly to the corner where Fur-Lined Cape sat. “What do you want with me?”
The man lifted one eyebrow, his hood falling away from his face as he looked up at Jared. “Why ask such a question? I was not aware I indicated any such desire,” he said, and his voice was rich, deep, with the timbre of foreign lands.
Jared had to resist the urge to laugh, even though his heart was beating quick as a drum. “My wits are not addled,” he retorted.
The man looked him up and down. “Indeed.” A raised eyebrow was enough to suggest the man doubted that. Jared opened his mouth to say... something, probably stupid and insulting enough to get himself killed as he stood, but the man held up a hand. “This is not the place or time,” and at his head tilt Jared became aware that the usual buzz of the tavern had reduced to a quiet hum, and everyone in the place was attempting to overhear their conversation. “I will find you later, Tristan.” Was it just Jared’s imagination that the man had lingered a bit when speaking Jared’s assumed name, or had it just been his accent?
Fur-Lined Cape rose soundlessly to his feet and walked out of the tavern, leaving Jared standing by an empty table, his breath coming quickly as the sounds of the tavern returned to normal.
Once again, Jared was waiting for the assassin to come kill him. Strange to be in a hurry for your own death, he supposed, but he was tired of the uncertainty, and the sick feeling of fear unfulfilled. He wandered his small room, refolding the already tidy pile of possessions he’d placed on the rickety table. He hoped that someone in the village could find a use for them, after.
There was a rustling on the stairs and Jared rose, positioning himself flat beside the door. As it opened, he slid over, positioning his dagger at the other man’s neck.
“Well met, Jared Geraldson,” Fur-Lined Cape said calmly, his warm breath on Jared’s neck. Jared felt something sharp and looked down to see the other man’s knife at his ribs. Jared closed his eyes. This was it, then, the end. He could probably injure the other man, but there was a knife in striking distance to his heart, and Jared doubted that the assassin would miss.
The moment stretched out, and Jared was aware of nothing but his pounding heart, and the steady in and out breath of his killer. Time passed - seconds? Minutes? It felt like hours. Finally, Jared dared open his eyes, to see the man looking up at him, his lips quirked. “Perhaps a temporary truce could be reached?”, the man suggested.
A few moments later, all weapons sheathed, Fur-Lined Cape was sitting on Jared’s only chair while Jared lit a candle. His cheekbones looked sharp in the light; his eyes were focused on Jared’s face. “As you’ve clearly guessed, I was hired by your uncle, King Niles, to kill you.” The assassin’s face was as calm as if he had just ordered mead in the tavern. “That is, if you are indeed Jared Geraldson, son of King Gerald III, late ruler of Moldovia.”
Was that why the assassin hadn’t killed him yet? Because he needed him to confirm his identity? Jared bypassed the man’s implied question and asked one of his own. “Why didn’t you kill me right away?”
The assassin finally showed some emotion, looking down to the floor briefly. It might have been a trick of the candlelight, but Jared thought he saw color high on the man’s cheeks. “You covered your tracks well,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you for nearly two years. I needed to ascertain which of the stories were true and which false.”
“And what did you decide?”
Fur-Lined Cape answered his question with one of his own. “Why don’t you return to Moldovia, challenge your uncle for the throne? You’re a man full-grown now.”
Jared had considered it; nay, he’d dreamt of it, in the early days running and hiding, friendless and alone. But he hadn’t thought about it recently, reluctant to wish for more than the decent life he’d lucked into. He had no army of invasion, and no coin to raise one.
The other man was watching him intently. “The peasants are unhappy, and the courtiers restless. Taxes have been raised, and your uncle’s begun a series of border skirmishes that aren’t going well for him. Your cousins, his captains, are dullards with no skill at battle, and less at statecraft.”
Jared could feel the blank acceptance of his fate slowly fading, replaced by a bubbling fury. “Must you taunt me before you kill me? If you have studied the situation as closely as you say you have, then you must know that it would be impossible.”
“You’re angry.” The assassin’s words were said flatly, but he nonetheless sounded surprised.
“You tempt me with my birthright, with something I can never have, and you wonder at my anger?” Jared took a quick breath. “After my nerves have been stretched to the breaking point the last sennight, waiting for your killing stroke to fall. I have heard that the Black Guild is to be feared but not that they torture their victims needlessly.” Jared could feel his voice begin to rise, and forced a swallow through his dry throat. “If you have any mercy at all, you will kill me now and end this.”
Jared saw the assassin’s eyes flash as he rose from the chair. The man reached for the dagger at his hip, and Jared closed his eyes as the man approached. He tried to remember to breathe.
Then his hand was seized. He opened his eyes in startlement, to find that the assassin had kneeled in front of him, and lifted his dagger to his own throat, his pleasantly calloused hand wrapped around Jared’s on the handle of the knife.
“I have sworn an oath,” the man said quietly. “You may kill me if you wish. But if you want to regain the throne, I know those who can assist your quest.”
As a feared assassin offered his neck - or his fealty - to Jared, in the tiny attic room where he had grown to adulthood, Jared knew not what decision to make. This entry was originally posted at http://bonspiel.dreamwidth.org/26419.html.