[Wild Roses] the first war
Title: decision made
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Duncan, Conall, Hazel
Prompt: 29C "support"
Word Count: 417
Notes: First arc, first war. The context is not written. No, you haven't met Duncan before.
"She's Kintarl, as much as she is Sabaey," Conall said softly, stretching out a big hand to pet her still baby-fine curls. "We'll take care of our own."
Duncan shook his head, hard enough that his sister mumbled a sleepy protest into his chest. "I can't."
"'Can't'?" Conall raised an eyebrow, deep voice for a moment echoing Duncan's father, or his own. "Can't take her with you? Can't leave her under guard with someone else?"
He closed his eyes, dropping his head to kiss his sister's hair, let his head rest there briefly before he looked up at the werewolf. "I can't raise her myself--and I can't trust that I, or anyone else, can keep her safe, here. Look at who we've already lost."
Conall didn't wince, but the curve of his mouth hardened. "Who would you give her to, then?"
"Her sire's alive." He couldn't force himself to name a prince his sister's father. Not with their father's coat sitting slightly-too-big across his shoulders.
Conall blinked. Blinked again. " . . . Have you met the prince Fintain?"
"Dad did." I did, once. I didn't like him much. He kissed his sister's hair again, smoothing his cheek along the grain, then lifted his head, pulled the remains of his persona as one of Hernén's riders around himself like his father's coat. "Is the man a Sabaey, and a prince, when steel's needed?"
"Yes," Conall said, without hesitating, then, carefully picking his words and thinking about them, "but he's not steel without the need. And they play very different games, in the harbours."
"Would they murder a child?"
" . . Not as they stand, no."
"Would he keep her, if they changed?"
"No. He might not catch them in time, though."
"Better odds, or worse, than another pack sliding past the borderlands?" His hand unintentionally tightened, and she squeaked, lifting her head to look at him reproachfully. He kissed her forehead in apology. She tried to bite his nose. He gave her a finger-knuckle to gnaw on instead, winced as she bit down hard, then settled into gnawing.
Conall had closed his eyes, and when Duncan clicked his tongue in inquiry, shook his head slightly.
Reluctantly, like the words were being forced from him, "I'd lay my money on the Sun-Queen's son, with what I know."
Duncan nodded, mostly for himself, then, softly, "Keep an eye on her for me?"
The werewolf's head snapped up, frowning as his eyes opened to meet Duncan's. Paused for a long moment without saying anything, then nodded back.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Duncan, Conall, Hazel
Prompt: 29C "support"
Word Count: 417
Notes: First arc, first war. The context is not written. No, you haven't met Duncan before.
"She's Kintarl, as much as she is Sabaey," Conall said softly, stretching out a big hand to pet her still baby-fine curls. "We'll take care of our own."
Duncan shook his head, hard enough that his sister mumbled a sleepy protest into his chest. "I can't."
"'Can't'?" Conall raised an eyebrow, deep voice for a moment echoing Duncan's father, or his own. "Can't take her with you? Can't leave her under guard with someone else?"
He closed his eyes, dropping his head to kiss his sister's hair, let his head rest there briefly before he looked up at the werewolf. "I can't raise her myself--and I can't trust that I, or anyone else, can keep her safe, here. Look at who we've already lost."
Conall didn't wince, but the curve of his mouth hardened. "Who would you give her to, then?"
"Her sire's alive." He couldn't force himself to name a prince his sister's father. Not with their father's coat sitting slightly-too-big across his shoulders.
Conall blinked. Blinked again. " . . . Have you met the prince Fintain?"
"Dad did." I did, once. I didn't like him much. He kissed his sister's hair again, smoothing his cheek along the grain, then lifted his head, pulled the remains of his persona as one of Hernén's riders around himself like his father's coat. "Is the man a Sabaey, and a prince, when steel's needed?"
"Yes," Conall said, without hesitating, then, carefully picking his words and thinking about them, "but he's not steel without the need. And they play very different games, in the harbours."
"Would they murder a child?"
" . . Not as they stand, no."
"Would he keep her, if they changed?"
"No. He might not catch them in time, though."
"Better odds, or worse, than another pack sliding past the borderlands?" His hand unintentionally tightened, and she squeaked, lifting her head to look at him reproachfully. He kissed her forehead in apology. She tried to bite his nose. He gave her a finger-knuckle to gnaw on instead, winced as she bit down hard, then settled into gnawing.
Conall had closed his eyes, and when Duncan clicked his tongue in inquiry, shook his head slightly.
Reluctantly, like the words were being forced from him, "I'd lay my money on the Sun-Queen's son, with what I know."
Duncan nodded, mostly for himself, then, softly, "Keep an eye on her for me?"
The werewolf's head snapped up, frowning as his eyes opened to meet Duncan's. Paused for a long moment without saying anything, then nodded back.