The Landscape After Cruelty [The Thief series, Eugenides/Attolia, general]
Fandom : The Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner
Title : The Landscape After Cruelty
Author : elanne
Rating : G
Characters & Pairings : Eugenides/Attolia
Length : ~2k words
Warnings : None
Summary : A story, say the people, of the god Eugenides, how he came down from the mountains - not in a blaze of flames, but with an outstretched hand.
My Rave Review :
Oh, God, this fic. So, the fact of the matter is, I adore Eugenides and Attolia together; I first read the books back in middle school and while I was horrified by the opening events of The Queen of Attolia (which I won't spoil for you if you haven't read the books), Megan Whalen Turner is frankly a master at building unconventional romances and Gen and Attolia? They're one of the greatest love stories of all time. (No, seriously.)
This fic is a tribute to that relationship. It doesn't shy away from their bloody and fraught history, or the flaws of the characters; it embraces all of that and in so doing weaves a story in which Eugenides and Attolia start to heal, begin to overcome their past and face the future together. It's also got lovely, lovely prose, and some simply gorgeously sweet little moments between the two of them. I love, love, love this story, and if this hasn't convinced you to read it, here's a quote:
Because he did not try to coax, she allowed him to take her by the hand (her right hand, his left, the empty space between them always uncertain).
Irene had not moved unnoticed inside her palace since she had been a girl of fourteen, ungainly and unwed. He knew the contours of her palace better than she did, so she allowed him to lead her through the winding passages, equally wary and trusting. It had always been this way with them - they knew the things they ought not know about each other, the secrets which should not be told: her tears on their wedding night, and how he sounds when he is dying.
High above the palace, they sat on cold roof tiles and watched the moon turn the leaves of the olive trees into silver.
Yeah. Read it.
(Me reccing this fic may, parenthetically, be part of my dastardly campaign to get more people to read this series. READ 'EM, FOLKS. They're some of my favourite books of all time; you won't regret it.)
Title : The Landscape After Cruelty
Author : elanne
Rating : G
Characters & Pairings : Eugenides/Attolia
Length : ~2k words
Warnings : None
Summary : A story, say the people, of the god Eugenides, how he came down from the mountains - not in a blaze of flames, but with an outstretched hand.
My Rave Review :
Oh, God, this fic. So, the fact of the matter is, I adore Eugenides and Attolia together; I first read the books back in middle school and while I was horrified by the opening events of The Queen of Attolia (which I won't spoil for you if you haven't read the books), Megan Whalen Turner is frankly a master at building unconventional romances and Gen and Attolia? They're one of the greatest love stories of all time. (No, seriously.)
This fic is a tribute to that relationship. It doesn't shy away from their bloody and fraught history, or the flaws of the characters; it embraces all of that and in so doing weaves a story in which Eugenides and Attolia start to heal, begin to overcome their past and face the future together. It's also got lovely, lovely prose, and some simply gorgeously sweet little moments between the two of them. I love, love, love this story, and if this hasn't convinced you to read it, here's a quote:
Because he did not try to coax, she allowed him to take her by the hand (her right hand, his left, the empty space between them always uncertain).
Irene had not moved unnoticed inside her palace since she had been a girl of fourteen, ungainly and unwed. He knew the contours of her palace better than she did, so she allowed him to lead her through the winding passages, equally wary and trusting. It had always been this way with them - they knew the things they ought not know about each other, the secrets which should not be told: her tears on their wedding night, and how he sounds when he is dying.
High above the palace, they sat on cold roof tiles and watched the moon turn the leaves of the olive trees into silver.
Yeah. Read it.
(Me reccing this fic may, parenthetically, be part of my dastardly campaign to get more people to read this series. READ 'EM, FOLKS. They're some of my favourite books of all time; you won't regret it.)