Ilya's wedding - part 1.5
Chocolate #30. Joy with Sprinkles
Rating : PG-13
Timeframe : the night before the wedding (summer 1257)
Apparently the best way to NOT get a piece done is decide I really should work on it. Although it seems to be a great way to make myself write about just about anything else. So here is another piece of the wedding.
( Part 1)
Even in the deepening twilight, the summer heat hung heavily in the air. Dalton thrust his hands deep into his pockets and stepped from the terrace onto the lawn. He cast a glance behind, wishing the night were cool enough to permit him a cloak to hide in.
Dragging his feet through the grass, savoring the touch of the cool strands against his skin, he passed among the rows of blossom-laden shrubs. There was a time when he would have found it hard to imagine walking so slowly through the garden; when he raced breathlessly on the heels of the dainty blonde child who easily outpaced any boy that dared challenge her. Tonight he had half a mind to turn cartwheels through the yard, but his brothers would give him hell enough for strolling through the garden barefoot, should they find him; acrobatics were far from necessary.
Dalton gazed up at the softly lit windows of the upper floors. A swift count told him which was hers. He could easily cast a stone that far, but his sisters must be with her by now. There would be tomorrow, and many tomorrows to come. Long roads no longer separated them, Ilya was finally home.
He skimmed a hand over the roses, tracing random petals with his fingertips. For so many years the garden had been their retreat from the parents and caretakers who eyed them with smug satisfiction as if their love for each other had come by their design. Like everything else in his life, it had not felt right since the day she left.
The path wound its way past a towering oak. The tree’s thick roots carved a deep trench through the neat rows of bushes, wide enough that one could lie in it and disappear from sight. He recalled fondly the first time that found them there alone; the taste of her lips, the way the moonlight played upon her skin. Many sleepless nights to follow had led him back to the spot to find her waiting for him. Then the revelation that Terrel found the place as convenient as they did served to quash its romantic appeal.
Continuing through the yard, he heard a creaking. The corner he now approached was home to a swing. Its padded seat dangled on ancient chains from a sturdy wooden frame, set within the thickest patch of shade.A silhouette against the even darker backdrop, it could be seen tonight, gently gliding back and forth with a lone rider seated at its end.
“Good evening, Dalton,” came the greeting.
“Masakari.”
“I would think you would be with your brothers.”
“I managed to slip away.” He gave the distant window a frown. “I wish Ilya could too.”
“Patience,” she said with a smile.
He sat beside her, trailing his feet along the ground with the swaying of the swing. “I think I can manage one more night, though I would rather spend it alone than with my brothers. They seem to have some strange notions of freedom and what I should do with the last of mine.”
Masakari laughed. “Much as I pity Lonna, I thank the gods for Terrel’s inability to keep his hands to himself.”
“The other two are scarcely better.”
“Ilya is a lucky woman.”
Dalton felt a rush of warmth to his cheeks. “I… well…” He cleared his throat. “What brings you here tonight, anyway?”
“I have always found this a good place for thought. I will be needing a new white knight after tomorrow.”
“I am sorry for taking her from you. I know she hates to leave.”
“You need not be. We all knew this would come to pass one day. She has been a fine soldier, but she is home now.”
“Yes.” Dalton smiled up at the window. “She is home.”
( Part 2)
Rating : PG-13
Timeframe : the night before the wedding (summer 1257)
Apparently the best way to NOT get a piece done is decide I really should work on it. Although it seems to be a great way to make myself write about just about anything else. So here is another piece of the wedding.
( Part 1)
Even in the deepening twilight, the summer heat hung heavily in the air. Dalton thrust his hands deep into his pockets and stepped from the terrace onto the lawn. He cast a glance behind, wishing the night were cool enough to permit him a cloak to hide in.
Dragging his feet through the grass, savoring the touch of the cool strands against his skin, he passed among the rows of blossom-laden shrubs. There was a time when he would have found it hard to imagine walking so slowly through the garden; when he raced breathlessly on the heels of the dainty blonde child who easily outpaced any boy that dared challenge her. Tonight he had half a mind to turn cartwheels through the yard, but his brothers would give him hell enough for strolling through the garden barefoot, should they find him; acrobatics were far from necessary.
Dalton gazed up at the softly lit windows of the upper floors. A swift count told him which was hers. He could easily cast a stone that far, but his sisters must be with her by now. There would be tomorrow, and many tomorrows to come. Long roads no longer separated them, Ilya was finally home.
He skimmed a hand over the roses, tracing random petals with his fingertips. For so many years the garden had been their retreat from the parents and caretakers who eyed them with smug satisfiction as if their love for each other had come by their design. Like everything else in his life, it had not felt right since the day she left.
The path wound its way past a towering oak. The tree’s thick roots carved a deep trench through the neat rows of bushes, wide enough that one could lie in it and disappear from sight. He recalled fondly the first time that found them there alone; the taste of her lips, the way the moonlight played upon her skin. Many sleepless nights to follow had led him back to the spot to find her waiting for him. Then the revelation that Terrel found the place as convenient as they did served to quash its romantic appeal.
Continuing through the yard, he heard a creaking. The corner he now approached was home to a swing. Its padded seat dangled on ancient chains from a sturdy wooden frame, set within the thickest patch of shade.A silhouette against the even darker backdrop, it could be seen tonight, gently gliding back and forth with a lone rider seated at its end.
“Good evening, Dalton,” came the greeting.
“Masakari.”
“I would think you would be with your brothers.”
“I managed to slip away.” He gave the distant window a frown. “I wish Ilya could too.”
“Patience,” she said with a smile.
He sat beside her, trailing his feet along the ground with the swaying of the swing. “I think I can manage one more night, though I would rather spend it alone than with my brothers. They seem to have some strange notions of freedom and what I should do with the last of mine.”
Masakari laughed. “Much as I pity Lonna, I thank the gods for Terrel’s inability to keep his hands to himself.”
“The other two are scarcely better.”
“Ilya is a lucky woman.”
Dalton felt a rush of warmth to his cheeks. “I… well…” He cleared his throat. “What brings you here tonight, anyway?”
“I have always found this a good place for thought. I will be needing a new white knight after tomorrow.”
“I am sorry for taking her from you. I know she hates to leave.”
“You need not be. We all knew this would come to pass one day. She has been a fine soldier, but she is home now.”
“Yes.” Dalton smiled up at the window. “She is home.”
( Part 2)