(no subject)
Pear #23. Law & Order
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1230's-70's
Word Count : 1153
I started these a few months ago. Ski is the last major character to get one. I might come back and do a few for minor characters if prompts present themselves. I decided to do this one like Reida's - from everyone's PoV except Ski's.
“Sit up straight now.”
“Use your fork… and wipe your mouth.”
“Is that mud on your new dress? Again?”
“Good gods, Lyssa. Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“You know,” Ski whispers when she’s sure no one is listening. “Sometimes it is much easier if you just let them win.”
Lyssa takes one look at her sister, all pressed and proper, and she does wipe her mouth then…with the back of her fist.
“This is Ilya,” the headmistress is saying. As if they were strangers. She scuffs her toes in the dust. It’s such a childish action, but it’s not as if they’re making her feel like anything else.
“Her father seems to think she will make something of a knight one day,” Kinari continues.
Masakari just stares at her, expressionless. She’s her cousin, sort of. They used to play together. But as Kinari instructs her, “I want you to teach her what you can,” it’s as if the girl is taking her measure, and she starts to think maybe Mother was right.
“Our parents would seem to think us a suitable match.”
The girl isn’t listening. She’s too preoccupied with straightening the silver around her empty plate.
“I must say I agree,” Terrel carries on, cocking his head in an attempt to catch her downcast eyes. “You are quite the beauty.”
At the brush of his foot along the inside of her leg, she snaps upright in her seat. “I suppose,” she says, with her steak knife tight in hand, “that a union of our houses would indeed be most wise. As would keeping your limbs to yourself.”
“This is not merely any assignment.” Kinari casually raps a stack of papers against the desk, quietly gaging her pupil’s reaction from a distance. “This comes from the King to me to you.” She can all but feel the pride flowing from her.
“You will have knights hand picked, fresh from their schooling. They answer yet to none but me. And you will have another.”
“Another?”
“A boy. Of the prophecies, the ‘hand that defies death.’” She’s holding her breath now, rigid in her chair. “He has been spotted in a temple in Durnan. You will go to him.”
He’s been trying all night to get her alone, wondering privately what she knows. Now that she’s here on the porch staring at the moon, he’s not sure what to say.
Never one to put stock in caution, Percy blurts, “You know, I wouldn’t put it past my father to have a hand in all this.”
She’s blinking at him as if he’s just sprouted another head.
“The demons. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re his doing.”
The look of horror that earns him tells him Masakari is not as much in Kinari’s confidence as she would like to think.
Rune doesn’t hear half of what’s said at the meeting. He’s too busy watching Ski. Straight in her chair with her hands folded in her lap, she hasn’t given him so much as a glance. And why should she? Seated at the far end of the table, he’s beginning to think he’s lucky they’ve given him a chair at all instead of kicking him under it like a dog. Ski’s at the head of the table, beside the ambassadors. She knows her place, and he figures he’s learning his.
Lyssa sighs and fights not to grind her teeth at the stone-stiff figure seated on the ground beside her. “Just breathe,” she says. When did she get to be the one teaching Ski?
Her sister takes a very tight and forced inhale and casts her a look both nervous and impatient. “I do not feel a thing.”
“We’re still warming up,” says Lyssa. “You’re not going to feel anything if you don’t let go.”
Ski’s already tight lips give a twist. “And once I have found it, what then will I do?”
Lyssa shakes her head. “Let it go too.”
“This child is not the blight you have been taught. Truly, he is a beacon. And I will defend him to the last breath, I swear to you.” She’s decked all in mail and leather, fresh from patroling, and in her sudden burst of devout heroics upon seeing them, she’s nearly as frightening as Reida.
Swallowing hard, Kairn turns a nervous look to the other woman, the one who looks much the same as the first but painted all in reds.
Lyssa gives him a hearty slap on the back and a grin. “Don’t mind Ski. She likes her theatrics.”
She’s toying with the ring on its chain around her neck and there’s a glow about her, as if she just might burst into laughter any moment, or perhaps even song. Tristan just shakes his head and smiles. He’s been doing a lot of that the last few days.
“She will accept it,” she’s saying. It’s a script they’ve gone through more times than he’d like, so he’s only half listening. He’d rather just stare at her anyway. “She’ll have to, I mean we have half the fort to vouch for us, after all. But really, she’s not so bad.”
“Not going to work, you know.”
Ronalta turns from the spectacle in the garden to meet a raised brow from Lyssa and wonders again when it was that her younger daughter became the reasonable one.
“Your sister knows her duty well enough. Surely she cannot say no to all of them.”
Lyssa snorts. “You’ve got an heir right in front of you,” she says with a wave at the toddler dancing between Ski and her date.
“Yes,” she says. “Well, I have you to thank for putting a hitch in that, don’t I?”
Dalton’s sitting in what should be Ilya’s seat, watching yet another meeting descend into chaos. Masakari is on her feet, her knuckles white against the table, rising to the bait slung her way.
“You are missing the point.” It’s become her mantra.
“And while your mother lives, you are simply warming that seat,” Danelle shoots back, “and should you wish to keep it, you’ll learn to hold your tongue.”
“I care far less for seats and crowns than the battles you refuse to fight.”
He reaches out to pull her back into her chair but quietly thinks better of it.
“Where do you think you are going?”
Mara looks up from the pack she’s been stuffing with her clothes. “Lady Kinari wishes me to accompany the dispatch to Rayurn. Did she not tell-”
Aunt Kari’s arms are stiffly folded across her breast. “Your mother would not approve.”
With a sniff, Mara stuffs another tunic in the bag. “From what I hear, she’s already there. Maybe my father is too. How fitting, a family reunion on the battlefield.”
Aunt Kari chokes. “Where are you going?” says Mara as she sweeps from the room.
“To fetch my sword and pack my bags.”
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1230's-70's
Word Count : 1153
I started these a few months ago. Ski is the last major character to get one. I might come back and do a few for minor characters if prompts present themselves. I decided to do this one like Reida's - from everyone's PoV except Ski's.
“Sit up straight now.”
“Use your fork… and wipe your mouth.”
“Is that mud on your new dress? Again?”
“Good gods, Lyssa. Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“You know,” Ski whispers when she’s sure no one is listening. “Sometimes it is much easier if you just let them win.”
Lyssa takes one look at her sister, all pressed and proper, and she does wipe her mouth then…with the back of her fist.
“This is Ilya,” the headmistress is saying. As if they were strangers. She scuffs her toes in the dust. It’s such a childish action, but it’s not as if they’re making her feel like anything else.
“Her father seems to think she will make something of a knight one day,” Kinari continues.
Masakari just stares at her, expressionless. She’s her cousin, sort of. They used to play together. But as Kinari instructs her, “I want you to teach her what you can,” it’s as if the girl is taking her measure, and she starts to think maybe Mother was right.
“Our parents would seem to think us a suitable match.”
The girl isn’t listening. She’s too preoccupied with straightening the silver around her empty plate.
“I must say I agree,” Terrel carries on, cocking his head in an attempt to catch her downcast eyes. “You are quite the beauty.”
At the brush of his foot along the inside of her leg, she snaps upright in her seat. “I suppose,” she says, with her steak knife tight in hand, “that a union of our houses would indeed be most wise. As would keeping your limbs to yourself.”
“This is not merely any assignment.” Kinari casually raps a stack of papers against the desk, quietly gaging her pupil’s reaction from a distance. “This comes from the King to me to you.” She can all but feel the pride flowing from her.
“You will have knights hand picked, fresh from their schooling. They answer yet to none but me. And you will have another.”
“Another?”
“A boy. Of the prophecies, the ‘hand that defies death.’” She’s holding her breath now, rigid in her chair. “He has been spotted in a temple in Durnan. You will go to him.”
He’s been trying all night to get her alone, wondering privately what she knows. Now that she’s here on the porch staring at the moon, he’s not sure what to say.
Never one to put stock in caution, Percy blurts, “You know, I wouldn’t put it past my father to have a hand in all this.”
She’s blinking at him as if he’s just sprouted another head.
“The demons. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re his doing.”
The look of horror that earns him tells him Masakari is not as much in Kinari’s confidence as she would like to think.
Rune doesn’t hear half of what’s said at the meeting. He’s too busy watching Ski. Straight in her chair with her hands folded in her lap, she hasn’t given him so much as a glance. And why should she? Seated at the far end of the table, he’s beginning to think he’s lucky they’ve given him a chair at all instead of kicking him under it like a dog. Ski’s at the head of the table, beside the ambassadors. She knows her place, and he figures he’s learning his.
Lyssa sighs and fights not to grind her teeth at the stone-stiff figure seated on the ground beside her. “Just breathe,” she says. When did she get to be the one teaching Ski?
Her sister takes a very tight and forced inhale and casts her a look both nervous and impatient. “I do not feel a thing.”
“We’re still warming up,” says Lyssa. “You’re not going to feel anything if you don’t let go.”
Ski’s already tight lips give a twist. “And once I have found it, what then will I do?”
Lyssa shakes her head. “Let it go too.”
“This child is not the blight you have been taught. Truly, he is a beacon. And I will defend him to the last breath, I swear to you.” She’s decked all in mail and leather, fresh from patroling, and in her sudden burst of devout heroics upon seeing them, she’s nearly as frightening as Reida.
Swallowing hard, Kairn turns a nervous look to the other woman, the one who looks much the same as the first but painted all in reds.
Lyssa gives him a hearty slap on the back and a grin. “Don’t mind Ski. She likes her theatrics.”
She’s toying with the ring on its chain around her neck and there’s a glow about her, as if she just might burst into laughter any moment, or perhaps even song. Tristan just shakes his head and smiles. He’s been doing a lot of that the last few days.
“She will accept it,” she’s saying. It’s a script they’ve gone through more times than he’d like, so he’s only half listening. He’d rather just stare at her anyway. “She’ll have to, I mean we have half the fort to vouch for us, after all. But really, she’s not so bad.”
“Not going to work, you know.”
Ronalta turns from the spectacle in the garden to meet a raised brow from Lyssa and wonders again when it was that her younger daughter became the reasonable one.
“Your sister knows her duty well enough. Surely she cannot say no to all of them.”
Lyssa snorts. “You’ve got an heir right in front of you,” she says with a wave at the toddler dancing between Ski and her date.
“Yes,” she says. “Well, I have you to thank for putting a hitch in that, don’t I?”
Dalton’s sitting in what should be Ilya’s seat, watching yet another meeting descend into chaos. Masakari is on her feet, her knuckles white against the table, rising to the bait slung her way.
“You are missing the point.” It’s become her mantra.
“And while your mother lives, you are simply warming that seat,” Danelle shoots back, “and should you wish to keep it, you’ll learn to hold your tongue.”
“I care far less for seats and crowns than the battles you refuse to fight.”
He reaches out to pull her back into her chair but quietly thinks better of it.
“Where do you think you are going?”
Mara looks up from the pack she’s been stuffing with her clothes. “Lady Kinari wishes me to accompany the dispatch to Rayurn. Did she not tell-”
Aunt Kari’s arms are stiffly folded across her breast. “Your mother would not approve.”
With a sniff, Mara stuffs another tunic in the bag. “From what I hear, she’s already there. Maybe my father is too. How fitting, a family reunion on the battlefield.”
Aunt Kari chokes. “Where are you going?” says Mara as she sweeps from the room.
“To fetch my sword and pack my bags.”