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Requested by misura for the help_haiti auction. Tamora Pierce, 1671 words, post-TQ Aly, Dove, and Nawat. A series of moments.
---
Dove loves to watch Aly work, because Aly's work is not confined merely to ink and reports. No - her work is in the way her eyes seem to follow everyone in the room at once, noting every detail. It is in the way she sidles over to casually join a conversation nobody had realised was important up until that point, eyelashes batting, Nawat's knowing smile tucked safely into her heart.
Dove knows that Aly watches her, too, and it doesn't make her self-conscious: after all, they know each other a little too well by now to assume anything of importance can be hidden, or indeed ought to be. Still, one day, she slips a side-long smile to an Aly who is pretending to be interested entirely in her stitching, murmuring a banal and yet quietly-mutinous comment that needlework must be difficult if it demands the full attention of so talented a person as Aly Crow herself.
Aly sighs, resigned but playful. "Is it likely I'll ever catch Your Majesty unawares?"
The corners of Dove's lips twitch into a small, pleased smile; the comment had been more of a compliment than a question. "Would it make you lose respect for me?"
Aly pretends to consider it for a moment. "Ah, but as it is now my ego is bruised." She pouts, a pretty and entirely unconvincing picture. "Can Your Majesty really bear to wound me so?"
It is a side of Aly blossoming more completely into being now than Dove had ever seen it before: here like this, dressed in the riches that are her birthright, every word a performance with a Player's flourish, the playfulness that had always been Aly's wont is transformed and Dove sees more than ever the spoilt noble girl from whom her friend had grown. The thought is comforting; after all that has happened and been done, Dove is grateful for every reminder that Aly too was young once, is a human being every bit as much as she threatens to become a legend.
"I have met gods who failed to wound your ego, Aly. I could hardly assume myself capable of such a deed." Her words are laughing for all they are quiet.
Aly laughs in return, then turns back - though never quite completely - to her needlework.
---
Newcomers are as common as breathing in this new court and Aly finds, not at all to her surprise, that she does not mind them. In fact, the constant stream of faces to learn and threats to assess is as welcome a challenge as ever, and days are only tiring in the hours they consume, never the activities they entail.
"Aly Crow," she introduces herself each time, so often that it is said almost without conscious thought. Somewhere in the back of her mind she is savouring the way the words flow from her lips like honey, smooth and sweet. How strange, to call herself a name she'd've never imagined just two years ago; how comforting, to know every implication attached. Her eyes, more contemplative than she'd intended them to be, catch Nawat's from across the room.
"No," Nawat whispers later that night, as they linger on the edge of sleep. "You are also Aly Homewood. Alianne of Pirate's Swoop and Olau, too." His eyes are dark in their seriousness. "Just like I am Nawat the man, having come from Nawat the crow. We are all every part of our history, Aly."
Nawat could never bore her, Aly decides, not simply because he is intelligent and refreshing, but because he voices every thought like it is something worthwhile, as if every thought to be born is deserving of contemplation. "And if we grow into something else, it does not change who we really are, does it?"
The question is rhetorical, said more for her own benefit than Nawat's, but he chooses to answer nevertheless. "Then as I love all the parts of you now with all the parts of me, I will love all the things you choose to become." His tone is honest rather than solemn; the words are not said as a promise so much as an acknowledged truth and this - the surety of them in everything they are - is, she suspects, what is most precious of all.
---
Though not a seasoned courtier by any means, Dove has always had ways to hide what she is feeling from the world - though not, as Aly discovers this afternoon, from those close to her. From the hand that clutches a piece of parchments to the slightly-furrowed brows above dark eyes, something is wrong and it is written on every inch of Dove's body.
There is only one piece of parchment to cause Dove this particular sort of distress. "Sarai's letter." Aly's eyes flick anxiously to Dove's face, her voice tight. "Did something happen?"
Dove shakes her head, as if hoping she is capable of shaking off all worries with the movement. "I'm being silly." She meets Aly's eyes, her voice quiet. "Indulging in an emotion like this, when I know so many others have far more family members to miss..."
She has said enough. Dove, in all her intelligence and youth, is a figure that inspires protective tendencies. Dove, when she is upset, is someone you want to console until her frowns dissolve into laughter. Aly takes a seat at her side; Dove may be a queen, but Aly has never forgotten that more than anything she is and needs a friend. "It is never wrong to miss someone," she says quietly. "It isn't even wrong to stop missing them, eventually. Even though when that time comes we'll berate ourselves for forgetting to think about them every single day."
Dove is quiet for another moment. Then, in a somewhat lighter voice, "you have thought a lot about this, Aly."
"Too much," Aly agrees, not entirely regretful. Her eyes are serious and the expression is abrupt on her, so accustomed as everyone is with her more light-hearted moods. "None of us can be Sarai, but we will always support you, Dove."
A phrase so common as thank you is insulting to quite so sincere a sentiment, but Dove decides to say it all the same, knowing that Aly understands. "Thank you."
---
In the night sky, the stars blink as brightly and steadily as ever. If there is something somewhat more colourful about them, well, Aly concludes that she could only be imagining it.
"Very fond of gloating, isn't he?"
Ah, so she had not been the only person to notice. Aly leans back, relaxing her shoulders until Nawat is holding her from behind in so natural a position that they can only be said to thoroughly fit. "Funny, that he has so much time for showing off and yet none to grace us with even a shadow of his presence." She gives an indignant sniff, directing her comment at the god in question every bit as much as at Nawat. "Now that he has his Isles, I suppose he does not need me anymore."
Nawat's breath is warm (and smells, she is pleased to note, nothing like bugs) as it tickles the back of her neck. "And do you only need me because you do not have the god?"
Thankfully, Aly is now well-accustomed to his teasing; she has even decided that she enjoys it, under certain circumstances. "If that's what you believe, you can always win back my affections."
Enjoys it, that is, as long as she too can play that particular game. She slips from his hold with a grin and begins to walk back to their rooms, knowing he will catch up with her before she gets there.
---
"If Your Majesty spends one more dance with me, I fear your suitors will have me flayed alive."
Dove giggles, a movement at which she has had so much practice recently that it now looks as ladylike on her as it would on the most seasoned of courtiers. "It is Aly's wrath I am worried about, personally."
Turning Dove in a swift and fluid spin, eliciting yet another spurt of laughter from his queen, Nawat positions them until he is facing Aly's side of the room, his gaze cutting into Aly's conversation with Taybur to catch her laughing hazel eyes. "She is the one spending this time discussing work," Nawat replies with good humour, his attention never quite leaving Aly's conversation. "She cannot begrudge me."
Two steps to the side and she is whirled around once again. Her eyes follow the direction of Nawat's gaze. "Go," she says simply, then adds with a small wry grin, "I am capable of protecting myself from courtiers, you know."
Nawat's expression is amused as the dance concludes. "I never doubted it." A bow as he delivers her to her next partner, himself the perfect image of a courtier entertaining his queen, before quick, confident strides carry him across the dance floor and to Aly's side. Taybur has abandoned the conversation for a seat and a drink, and Aly's expression tells Nawat that his timing is very good. As Aly turns to face Nawat's intent gaze, her own expression shifts to something a little more serious and yet a little more mischievous at the same time. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me," Aly declares quietly, teasingly, watching him as he watches her.
His response does not come only in words. "And can you so easily forget about me?" His gaze never straying from her eyes, Nawat leads them to the shadows at their back with a tug on her sleeve and catches her lips in one long kiss, rendering his earlier suggestion quite impossible.
She emerges in a dramatic gasp of indignation. "Nawat Crow! Have you no sense of decorum?" she whispers fiercely against the exposed skin at his neck, her gleeful tone a stark contrast to the chiding words.
"No," he responds calmly, his eyes boring into hers as if there is nobody else in the room, as if nothing else in this world could possibly matter, and kisses her again.
- fin -
Hope you enjoyed! ♥
---
Dove loves to watch Aly work, because Aly's work is not confined merely to ink and reports. No - her work is in the way her eyes seem to follow everyone in the room at once, noting every detail. It is in the way she sidles over to casually join a conversation nobody had realised was important up until that point, eyelashes batting, Nawat's knowing smile tucked safely into her heart.
Dove knows that Aly watches her, too, and it doesn't make her self-conscious: after all, they know each other a little too well by now to assume anything of importance can be hidden, or indeed ought to be. Still, one day, she slips a side-long smile to an Aly who is pretending to be interested entirely in her stitching, murmuring a banal and yet quietly-mutinous comment that needlework must be difficult if it demands the full attention of so talented a person as Aly Crow herself.
Aly sighs, resigned but playful. "Is it likely I'll ever catch Your Majesty unawares?"
The corners of Dove's lips twitch into a small, pleased smile; the comment had been more of a compliment than a question. "Would it make you lose respect for me?"
Aly pretends to consider it for a moment. "Ah, but as it is now my ego is bruised." She pouts, a pretty and entirely unconvincing picture. "Can Your Majesty really bear to wound me so?"
It is a side of Aly blossoming more completely into being now than Dove had ever seen it before: here like this, dressed in the riches that are her birthright, every word a performance with a Player's flourish, the playfulness that had always been Aly's wont is transformed and Dove sees more than ever the spoilt noble girl from whom her friend had grown. The thought is comforting; after all that has happened and been done, Dove is grateful for every reminder that Aly too was young once, is a human being every bit as much as she threatens to become a legend.
"I have met gods who failed to wound your ego, Aly. I could hardly assume myself capable of such a deed." Her words are laughing for all they are quiet.
Aly laughs in return, then turns back - though never quite completely - to her needlework.
---
Newcomers are as common as breathing in this new court and Aly finds, not at all to her surprise, that she does not mind them. In fact, the constant stream of faces to learn and threats to assess is as welcome a challenge as ever, and days are only tiring in the hours they consume, never the activities they entail.
"Aly Crow," she introduces herself each time, so often that it is said almost without conscious thought. Somewhere in the back of her mind she is savouring the way the words flow from her lips like honey, smooth and sweet. How strange, to call herself a name she'd've never imagined just two years ago; how comforting, to know every implication attached. Her eyes, more contemplative than she'd intended them to be, catch Nawat's from across the room.
"No," Nawat whispers later that night, as they linger on the edge of sleep. "You are also Aly Homewood. Alianne of Pirate's Swoop and Olau, too." His eyes are dark in their seriousness. "Just like I am Nawat the man, having come from Nawat the crow. We are all every part of our history, Aly."
Nawat could never bore her, Aly decides, not simply because he is intelligent and refreshing, but because he voices every thought like it is something worthwhile, as if every thought to be born is deserving of contemplation. "And if we grow into something else, it does not change who we really are, does it?"
The question is rhetorical, said more for her own benefit than Nawat's, but he chooses to answer nevertheless. "Then as I love all the parts of you now with all the parts of me, I will love all the things you choose to become." His tone is honest rather than solemn; the words are not said as a promise so much as an acknowledged truth and this - the surety of them in everything they are - is, she suspects, what is most precious of all.
---
Though not a seasoned courtier by any means, Dove has always had ways to hide what she is feeling from the world - though not, as Aly discovers this afternoon, from those close to her. From the hand that clutches a piece of parchments to the slightly-furrowed brows above dark eyes, something is wrong and it is written on every inch of Dove's body.
There is only one piece of parchment to cause Dove this particular sort of distress. "Sarai's letter." Aly's eyes flick anxiously to Dove's face, her voice tight. "Did something happen?"
Dove shakes her head, as if hoping she is capable of shaking off all worries with the movement. "I'm being silly." She meets Aly's eyes, her voice quiet. "Indulging in an emotion like this, when I know so many others have far more family members to miss..."
She has said enough. Dove, in all her intelligence and youth, is a figure that inspires protective tendencies. Dove, when she is upset, is someone you want to console until her frowns dissolve into laughter. Aly takes a seat at her side; Dove may be a queen, but Aly has never forgotten that more than anything she is and needs a friend. "It is never wrong to miss someone," she says quietly. "It isn't even wrong to stop missing them, eventually. Even though when that time comes we'll berate ourselves for forgetting to think about them every single day."
Dove is quiet for another moment. Then, in a somewhat lighter voice, "you have thought a lot about this, Aly."
"Too much," Aly agrees, not entirely regretful. Her eyes are serious and the expression is abrupt on her, so accustomed as everyone is with her more light-hearted moods. "None of us can be Sarai, but we will always support you, Dove."
A phrase so common as thank you is insulting to quite so sincere a sentiment, but Dove decides to say it all the same, knowing that Aly understands. "Thank you."
---
In the night sky, the stars blink as brightly and steadily as ever. If there is something somewhat more colourful about them, well, Aly concludes that she could only be imagining it.
"Very fond of gloating, isn't he?"
Ah, so she had not been the only person to notice. Aly leans back, relaxing her shoulders until Nawat is holding her from behind in so natural a position that they can only be said to thoroughly fit. "Funny, that he has so much time for showing off and yet none to grace us with even a shadow of his presence." She gives an indignant sniff, directing her comment at the god in question every bit as much as at Nawat. "Now that he has his Isles, I suppose he does not need me anymore."
Nawat's breath is warm (and smells, she is pleased to note, nothing like bugs) as it tickles the back of her neck. "And do you only need me because you do not have the god?"
Thankfully, Aly is now well-accustomed to his teasing; she has even decided that she enjoys it, under certain circumstances. "If that's what you believe, you can always win back my affections."
Enjoys it, that is, as long as she too can play that particular game. She slips from his hold with a grin and begins to walk back to their rooms, knowing he will catch up with her before she gets there.
---
"If Your Majesty spends one more dance with me, I fear your suitors will have me flayed alive."
Dove giggles, a movement at which she has had so much practice recently that it now looks as ladylike on her as it would on the most seasoned of courtiers. "It is Aly's wrath I am worried about, personally."
Turning Dove in a swift and fluid spin, eliciting yet another spurt of laughter from his queen, Nawat positions them until he is facing Aly's side of the room, his gaze cutting into Aly's conversation with Taybur to catch her laughing hazel eyes. "She is the one spending this time discussing work," Nawat replies with good humour, his attention never quite leaving Aly's conversation. "She cannot begrudge me."
Two steps to the side and she is whirled around once again. Her eyes follow the direction of Nawat's gaze. "Go," she says simply, then adds with a small wry grin, "I am capable of protecting myself from courtiers, you know."
Nawat's expression is amused as the dance concludes. "I never doubted it." A bow as he delivers her to her next partner, himself the perfect image of a courtier entertaining his queen, before quick, confident strides carry him across the dance floor and to Aly's side. Taybur has abandoned the conversation for a seat and a drink, and Aly's expression tells Nawat that his timing is very good. As Aly turns to face Nawat's intent gaze, her own expression shifts to something a little more serious and yet a little more mischievous at the same time. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me," Aly declares quietly, teasingly, watching him as he watches her.
His response does not come only in words. "And can you so easily forget about me?" His gaze never straying from her eyes, Nawat leads them to the shadows at their back with a tug on her sleeve and catches her lips in one long kiss, rendering his earlier suggestion quite impossible.
She emerges in a dramatic gasp of indignation. "Nawat Crow! Have you no sense of decorum?" she whispers fiercely against the exposed skin at his neck, her gleeful tone a stark contrast to the chiding words.
"No," he responds calmly, his eyes boring into hers as if there is nobody else in the room, as if nothing else in this world could possibly matter, and kisses her again.
- fin -
Hope you enjoyed! ♥