Fic: Wreckers (Arthurian Legend, Igraine)
Title: Wreckers
Author: tiamatschild
Fandom: Arthurian Legend
Rating: K
Characters: Igraine
Summary: “It’s an ill wind that blows no good to Cornwall.”
Notes: Written for mhari’s Impromptuthon prompt: “Igraine, salvage”.
Wreckers
Igraine was of Cornwall, where the coast was often steep and dangerous, and merchants and fishers alike braved the shifting waters out of necessity. Life was in the water, or across it, somewhere on the other side. You could sell tin, or wool, or food or fish, if you could make it to your landing intact.
Mostly people did. Igraine had watched the ships come and go all her life, and even sailed on them herself. So many times, in and out of the harbors and coves, everything went all right, and everyone came home safe.
Except, many times, they didn’t. Sometimes they didn’t, and the boat foundered, or shattered on the bar and then usually the crew died, and maybe the people on the land cried, and maybe they clicked their tongues and shook their heads and crossed themselves and then - when the tide was low again - they took what could from the wreck, all that was usable and often that which a woman like Igraine, who could balance books and balance a household, but not build a ship, could see no use for, and consigned the dead to the dead.
Igraine smoothed her gown close and flat against her body and closed her eyes. Her husband was gone, and there was an army at her gates, and she knew what it was there for. Uther had made himself very clear, after all. She had children living, two of them, her little girls, dear sweet Anna, so clever quiet and kind, and darling Morgan, funny and brave and just a little wild. She had two children living, and she was living, and so were her people, and they had to stay that way. They all had to stay that way.
The marriage proposal was even honorable.
She lifted her head, and stood to go and raise the gate.
Author: tiamatschild
Fandom: Arthurian Legend
Rating: K
Characters: Igraine
Summary: “It’s an ill wind that blows no good to Cornwall.”
Notes: Written for mhari’s Impromptuthon prompt: “Igraine, salvage”.
Wreckers
Igraine was of Cornwall, where the coast was often steep and dangerous, and merchants and fishers alike braved the shifting waters out of necessity. Life was in the water, or across it, somewhere on the other side. You could sell tin, or wool, or food or fish, if you could make it to your landing intact.
Mostly people did. Igraine had watched the ships come and go all her life, and even sailed on them herself. So many times, in and out of the harbors and coves, everything went all right, and everyone came home safe.
Except, many times, they didn’t. Sometimes they didn’t, and the boat foundered, or shattered on the bar and then usually the crew died, and maybe the people on the land cried, and maybe they clicked their tongues and shook their heads and crossed themselves and then - when the tide was low again - they took what could from the wreck, all that was usable and often that which a woman like Igraine, who could balance books and balance a household, but not build a ship, could see no use for, and consigned the dead to the dead.
Igraine smoothed her gown close and flat against her body and closed her eyes. Her husband was gone, and there was an army at her gates, and she knew what it was there for. Uther had made himself very clear, after all. She had children living, two of them, her little girls, dear sweet Anna, so clever quiet and kind, and darling Morgan, funny and brave and just a little wild. She had two children living, and she was living, and so were her people, and they had to stay that way. They all had to stay that way.
The marriage proposal was even honorable.
She lifted her head, and stood to go and raise the gate.