[Deaths] the De'Aths & the Morrigan
Title: once upon a time
'Verse/characters: Deaths; the brothers De'Ath, the Morrigan
Prompt: 63B "beautiful"
Word Count: 261
Notes: this concludes the seven requests for the deaths. Sometime after one more, likely before one two three, one two three . . . and affection.
In retrospect, it had been a stupid slip. Old friends were invited in, given food and drink, news exchanged from comfortable chairs, not taken out of the house and entertained in a more neutral territory.
They'd both forgotten who--and what--was riding along with this particular old friend, until she didn't return from going to wash her face clean of travel dust.
Edmund hit the threshold first, not yet armed--his daughter was at the grabby stage when she was awake, and after a couple of cuts and accompanying wails he'd stopped going armed inside the house--and froze, because the Morrigan was kneeling down beside the cradle, watching his daughter sleep.
Eduard, who was armed, stepped up behind his brother, tapped his brother's lower back, and Edmund began to slide aside.
"No, no," the Morrigan said, still looking intently at the sleeping child. "She's safe."
After a moment, she looked up, and for a moment it was easy the woman she'd been, her smile a little sad, instead of a little hungry. "There's never been glory in children," she said. "We're discussing what glory there is in young heros, versus old, but children have always been safe." Her smile thinned. "There's no sport in them, no meal of faith or war."
Edmund opened his mouth, then shut it again when she rose, shook out her hands. "No meal that isn't poisoned, too," she amended, then looked up at them. "She's beautiful."
"She is," her father agreed, stepping aside and gesturing their guest through the door with a courtly air. "Thank you for the compliment."
'Verse/characters: Deaths; the brothers De'Ath, the Morrigan
Prompt: 63B "beautiful"
Word Count: 261
Notes: this concludes the seven requests for the deaths. Sometime after one more, likely before one two three, one two three . . . and affection.
In retrospect, it had been a stupid slip. Old friends were invited in, given food and drink, news exchanged from comfortable chairs, not taken out of the house and entertained in a more neutral territory.
They'd both forgotten who--and what--was riding along with this particular old friend, until she didn't return from going to wash her face clean of travel dust.
Edmund hit the threshold first, not yet armed--his daughter was at the grabby stage when she was awake, and after a couple of cuts and accompanying wails he'd stopped going armed inside the house--and froze, because the Morrigan was kneeling down beside the cradle, watching his daughter sleep.
Eduard, who was armed, stepped up behind his brother, tapped his brother's lower back, and Edmund began to slide aside.
"No, no," the Morrigan said, still looking intently at the sleeping child. "She's safe."
After a moment, she looked up, and for a moment it was easy the woman she'd been, her smile a little sad, instead of a little hungry. "There's never been glory in children," she said. "We're discussing what glory there is in young heros, versus old, but children have always been safe." Her smile thinned. "There's no sport in them, no meal of faith or war."
Edmund opened his mouth, then shut it again when she rose, shook out her hands. "No meal that isn't poisoned, too," she amended, then looked up at them. "She's beautiful."
"She is," her father agreed, stepping aside and gesturing their guest through the door with a courtly air. "Thank you for the compliment."