Daybreak [NaNo] [1/30?]
Title: Daybreak, 1/(30?)
Wordcount: 1749
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Notes: NANOHMYGOD.
Excuse me while I pass out from stress. On the first day. OH GOD.
I think I've figured out why this starts on Nov. 1-- first off, to kill me before my birthday (Nov. 3), and secondly, so authors will have a large supply of Halloween candy at their disposal, to consume while they're too busy to do things like make breakfast or eat lunch.
This took me twelve hours to write. At the same time, I managed 226 words of fanfiction, one hour of television, about five cups of tea that cooled too quickly, and more fun-sized candy bars than my waistline wants to think about.
... tomorrow, I have three classes in the morning.
****
"Your Majesty," Marak cried, "Please!"
King Isak stared coolly down at him. "While I am sure you have a reason for your request, I've already announced that my son is dead to me. If he does make his way home on his own, it will be a cause for great celebration--" Marak looked desperately hopeful for a moment, "-- but I will not allow any of my soldiers or guards to actively search for him. There are things more important than the life of a fifth son, even a fifth son who is also a prince."
Marak couldn't believe it-- but he could, all too easily. The king wasn't a kind king at all, nor had he ever been; his cool, even-handed justice meant that someone always payed for a crime. But that 'someone' is going to be Zariak, this time, he thought to himself, as he kneeled on the floor before the low dais and bowed his head to his king's wishes.
"Very well, Your Majesty," he told the floor, "I will not disobey your orders." He stood up without waiting to be told, turned away, and left as quickly as he could.
---
"Adi, toss me that bag, will you?"
She did so without looking. "Packing a bit?"
He glanced a startled glance; "I never said that. Where would I be going?"
With a snort of laughter, she did look at him, and said, "The king ordered that Prince Zariak should be considered dead. You were thick as thieves with the boy, so you think the orders don't apply, right?" Her look was dark. "It's typical Esonian thinking."
There was a long silence between them as he stuffed his clothing into the bag. Finally, he replied, "I know the orders apply to me. I'm just making them, ah, not," and he smiled grimly.
"I'm not even going to ask," but she sounded intrigued, like a child watching a moth fly into a spiderweb.
"He won't allow any 'guards or soldiers' to search for his son," Marak explained, tying the top of the bag closed. Adi was silent in reply, and Marak glanced over at her, at her splinted leg and her familiar face, drawn into an even more familiar disapproving frown. "I'll miss you guys, but Zariak's a child--"
"--a child of sixteen summers?--"
"You know as well as I do that he's inexperienced with anything but turning the pages of a book!"
"You were the same age when you joined the palace guard, weren't you?" she snapped, angry. "If you could take up a sword at that age, so could he; it's his own fault if he doesn't."
"I'm not having this fight," he muttered, and sat heavily on his bed. "You know I trust you, Adi."
She sighed. "I won't swear upon your gods."
Grinning almost against his will, he shrugged. "Not asking you to. Though Tir will still watch over you--"
"--self-absorbed jerk, and don't deny it, I know the stories as well as anyone born here--"
"--but that's not the point." He tapped his fingertips against his leg. "I trust you, so I trust you to keep your silence, even without a vow."
Adi had no reply to that, though her eyebrows lifted in curiosity before her brow furrowed in another one of those ever-so-dissaproving frowns. "All right."
"It's my fault Zariak is missing."
---
The sun was setting as the patrol rode towards their camp, gilding the wisps of cloud overhead, painting the sky before them a purple deeper than the ripest blackberry and warming their backs, sending shadows scouting along the path ahead of them. The first bluish stars faded into sight as the first orange firelight flickered to life beyond the next bank of birches, and Dove breathed in deeply, woodsmoke and unfolding leaves and southern forest...
He wondered if he would ever become tired of this bit of wilderness, this gentle woodland at the edge of his country. He didn't think he would.
The rounded the bend in the path, and there was camp, lived-in and welcoming; the fourth shift was saddling their horses, gathering food for a midnight supper, waving hello to friends coming in as they went out. A few first-shifts were up and about, helping fourth-shift get ready, heating food for the second shift to devour before falling on their bedrolls.
Dove swung off his horse, patting the mare's reddish neck before handing her off to a first-shifter-- he recognized her face, pale and solemn, with a spray of freckles across her sun-rubbed cheekbones; she had only arrived a fortnight ago, when Frost and Thistle were sent back north with broken arms. He couldn't remember her name.
"Many thanks," Dove murmured, and set off for his tent and its thick-mattressed camp bed.
Halfway there, a small man with a courier's pendant hanging around his neck stopped Dove. "Captain," he said, respectfully, "I was told to bring you this message immediately." He handed over an envelope, heavy parchment sealed with a cloud-white ribbon and a thick circle of uncolored wax.
Orders, Dove thought, and frowned. "Where from?"
"The Esonian royal city."
Dove hmmd and turned parchment over in his hands. "Thank you, Courier. Feel free to spend the night-- there should be several unoccupied bedrolls until the third shift comes in." The courier bowed in thanks and turned towards where a no-shifter was ladling out large bowls of Anymeat stew; Dove watched him for a moment, then continued on to his tent.
He was aware that Orterian diplomats, spies, and merchants-- not mutually distinct groups in the least-- frequently converged on that city, but he had never received orders from there-- it was unusual, to say the least.
He entered his tent, and smiled when he saw the slender blanket-wrapped figure sleeping on his bed before lighting the wide-wicked oil lamp, drawing his knife, and loosening the seal.
They weren't orders at all.
He frowned down at the letter. Obviously, whatever diplomat had sent this (it was signed "Foxglove of North Pinewood", a name that meant nothing to him) didn't know Dove as anything other than Captain of the southern border patrol. "Use your discretion in this matter"-- huh. Foxglove's letter made it perfectly clear that Dove's discretion was to do such-and-such, and Dove didn't appreciate it. His discretion was his own.
The long day catching up with him, he began to yawn as he scribbled a message on the back of the letter. He suppressed them as he leaned out and waved down someone walking by. "Kite! Perfect."
Kite straightened-- slightly-- and smiled curiously at Dove. "Yes?"
Dove raised the refolded parchment and beckoned Kite closer. "Carry this along to Hazel, please. And go ahead and read it yourself, if you feel like it." (He had no doubt Kite would have done so anyway.) "Then get something to eat--"
"I already have."
"-- well, then get some rest. I'm sure you'll need it for when that pretty third-shifter gets back to camp."
Grinning, Kite took the message. "Yes, sir," he said, and turned to wind his way back through the tents.
It really has been a long day, Dove thought, going to sit on the edge of his bed (carefully not sitting on the person already there) and remove his boots. He shoved them under the edge of the bed and started unwrapping himself from his worn linen clothing.
Behind him, Sky stirred, letting out a soft sigh before wrapping an arm around Dove's waist, making it rather difficult to remove his undershirt. Chuckling quietly, Dove gently moved Sky's arm away and stripped down to his skin, then slipped under the warm blanket.
"Sleeping well?" he asked, and Sky nodded lethargically, one eye barely open. Dove smiled. "That's good. You should probably get back to it."
So Sky did, and Dove followed.
---
"So. There you go."
Adi's voice was muffled; she had buried her face in her hands several minutes ago. "Mar, you have to be the stupidest person I've ever met."
"I know! I know. You don't have to tell me." He sighed, running his hands through his hair before glaring at her. "Also, Marak. Please."
"You didn't think it would be dangerous? You didn't think it would be dangerous! You're just as bad as your vain little gods," and Adi looked up from her hands. "If I could walk, I'd come over there and strangle you."
"But I was still going to be there, and he looks like anyone-- do you know how many people share names with the royal children? No one should have suspected that Zariak was Prince Zariak!"
She scrunched her eyes closed, leaned her forehead against the heel of her hand. "Eight years in the guard, and you haven't yet learned how to take responsibility." She thought for a moment, then added, "Or found any sense."
Marak didn't look particularly happy, either. "You do see why I'm doing this, though. Right?"
"My god may never forgive me, but I do see. It's blindingly stupid." She sighed. "Well. Go ahead."
Sighing along with her, he went back to packing saddlebags. "You just don't know the boy like I do," he grumbled. "He's nice. It breaks your heart to see him unhappy, because he wants everyone to be happy, and he gets upset over being selfish." He turned and pointed rudely at Adi. "Which of the other royal children is like that?"
"Dina. Arak. The one bastard, you know, with the red hair? Tayak or Tarak or whatever his name is." The look she sent his way was venomous. "Zariak has never been special."
Marak stared down at his hastily-packed bags. "Yes, he has been. Those three are still children."
"I thought you said Zariak is still a child, too."
"Arak and Dina are half his age! Tayahak hasn't yet seen eleven summers. It's not the same."
Though she looked like she wanted to say something, Adi held her tongue and watched him gather his things, then watched as he turned to leave the barracks.
Finally, as the door was closing behind him, she muttered, "You haven't aged a day in wisdom since you joined the guard. No wonder you're so enamored of your little prince."
Marak heard her words, and didn't have it in him to not care that Adi-- a woman he had respected, looked up to, for a third of his life-- thought he was a fool.
Wordcount: 1749
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Notes: NANOHMYGOD.
Excuse me while I pass out from stress. On the first day. OH GOD.
I think I've figured out why this starts on Nov. 1-- first off, to kill me before my birthday (Nov. 3), and secondly, so authors will have a large supply of Halloween candy at their disposal, to consume while they're too busy to do things like make breakfast or eat lunch.
This took me twelve hours to write. At the same time, I managed 226 words of fanfiction, one hour of television, about five cups of tea that cooled too quickly, and more fun-sized candy bars than my waistline wants to think about.
... tomorrow, I have three classes in the morning.
****
"Your Majesty," Marak cried, "Please!"
King Isak stared coolly down at him. "While I am sure you have a reason for your request, I've already announced that my son is dead to me. If he does make his way home on his own, it will be a cause for great celebration--" Marak looked desperately hopeful for a moment, "-- but I will not allow any of my soldiers or guards to actively search for him. There are things more important than the life of a fifth son, even a fifth son who is also a prince."
Marak couldn't believe it-- but he could, all too easily. The king wasn't a kind king at all, nor had he ever been; his cool, even-handed justice meant that someone always payed for a crime. But that 'someone' is going to be Zariak, this time, he thought to himself, as he kneeled on the floor before the low dais and bowed his head to his king's wishes.
"Very well, Your Majesty," he told the floor, "I will not disobey your orders." He stood up without waiting to be told, turned away, and left as quickly as he could.
---
"Adi, toss me that bag, will you?"
She did so without looking. "Packing a bit?"
He glanced a startled glance; "I never said that. Where would I be going?"
With a snort of laughter, she did look at him, and said, "The king ordered that Prince Zariak should be considered dead. You were thick as thieves with the boy, so you think the orders don't apply, right?" Her look was dark. "It's typical Esonian thinking."
There was a long silence between them as he stuffed his clothing into the bag. Finally, he replied, "I know the orders apply to me. I'm just making them, ah, not," and he smiled grimly.
"I'm not even going to ask," but she sounded intrigued, like a child watching a moth fly into a spiderweb.
"He won't allow any 'guards or soldiers' to search for his son," Marak explained, tying the top of the bag closed. Adi was silent in reply, and Marak glanced over at her, at her splinted leg and her familiar face, drawn into an even more familiar disapproving frown. "I'll miss you guys, but Zariak's a child--"
"--a child of sixteen summers?--"
"You know as well as I do that he's inexperienced with anything but turning the pages of a book!"
"You were the same age when you joined the palace guard, weren't you?" she snapped, angry. "If you could take up a sword at that age, so could he; it's his own fault if he doesn't."
"I'm not having this fight," he muttered, and sat heavily on his bed. "You know I trust you, Adi."
She sighed. "I won't swear upon your gods."
Grinning almost against his will, he shrugged. "Not asking you to. Though Tir will still watch over you--"
"--self-absorbed jerk, and don't deny it, I know the stories as well as anyone born here--"
"--but that's not the point." He tapped his fingertips against his leg. "I trust you, so I trust you to keep your silence, even without a vow."
Adi had no reply to that, though her eyebrows lifted in curiosity before her brow furrowed in another one of those ever-so-dissaproving frowns. "All right."
"It's my fault Zariak is missing."
---
The sun was setting as the patrol rode towards their camp, gilding the wisps of cloud overhead, painting the sky before them a purple deeper than the ripest blackberry and warming their backs, sending shadows scouting along the path ahead of them. The first bluish stars faded into sight as the first orange firelight flickered to life beyond the next bank of birches, and Dove breathed in deeply, woodsmoke and unfolding leaves and southern forest...
He wondered if he would ever become tired of this bit of wilderness, this gentle woodland at the edge of his country. He didn't think he would.
The rounded the bend in the path, and there was camp, lived-in and welcoming; the fourth shift was saddling their horses, gathering food for a midnight supper, waving hello to friends coming in as they went out. A few first-shifts were up and about, helping fourth-shift get ready, heating food for the second shift to devour before falling on their bedrolls.
Dove swung off his horse, patting the mare's reddish neck before handing her off to a first-shifter-- he recognized her face, pale and solemn, with a spray of freckles across her sun-rubbed cheekbones; she had only arrived a fortnight ago, when Frost and Thistle were sent back north with broken arms. He couldn't remember her name.
"Many thanks," Dove murmured, and set off for his tent and its thick-mattressed camp bed.
Halfway there, a small man with a courier's pendant hanging around his neck stopped Dove. "Captain," he said, respectfully, "I was told to bring you this message immediately." He handed over an envelope, heavy parchment sealed with a cloud-white ribbon and a thick circle of uncolored wax.
Orders, Dove thought, and frowned. "Where from?"
"The Esonian royal city."
Dove hmmd and turned parchment over in his hands. "Thank you, Courier. Feel free to spend the night-- there should be several unoccupied bedrolls until the third shift comes in." The courier bowed in thanks and turned towards where a no-shifter was ladling out large bowls of Anymeat stew; Dove watched him for a moment, then continued on to his tent.
He was aware that Orterian diplomats, spies, and merchants-- not mutually distinct groups in the least-- frequently converged on that city, but he had never received orders from there-- it was unusual, to say the least.
He entered his tent, and smiled when he saw the slender blanket-wrapped figure sleeping on his bed before lighting the wide-wicked oil lamp, drawing his knife, and loosening the seal.
They weren't orders at all.
He frowned down at the letter. Obviously, whatever diplomat had sent this (it was signed "Foxglove of North Pinewood", a name that meant nothing to him) didn't know Dove as anything other than Captain of the southern border patrol. "Use your discretion in this matter"-- huh. Foxglove's letter made it perfectly clear that Dove's discretion was to do such-and-such, and Dove didn't appreciate it. His discretion was his own.
The long day catching up with him, he began to yawn as he scribbled a message on the back of the letter. He suppressed them as he leaned out and waved down someone walking by. "Kite! Perfect."
Kite straightened-- slightly-- and smiled curiously at Dove. "Yes?"
Dove raised the refolded parchment and beckoned Kite closer. "Carry this along to Hazel, please. And go ahead and read it yourself, if you feel like it." (He had no doubt Kite would have done so anyway.) "Then get something to eat--"
"I already have."
"-- well, then get some rest. I'm sure you'll need it for when that pretty third-shifter gets back to camp."
Grinning, Kite took the message. "Yes, sir," he said, and turned to wind his way back through the tents.
It really has been a long day, Dove thought, going to sit on the edge of his bed (carefully not sitting on the person already there) and remove his boots. He shoved them under the edge of the bed and started unwrapping himself from his worn linen clothing.
Behind him, Sky stirred, letting out a soft sigh before wrapping an arm around Dove's waist, making it rather difficult to remove his undershirt. Chuckling quietly, Dove gently moved Sky's arm away and stripped down to his skin, then slipped under the warm blanket.
"Sleeping well?" he asked, and Sky nodded lethargically, one eye barely open. Dove smiled. "That's good. You should probably get back to it."
So Sky did, and Dove followed.
---
"So. There you go."
Adi's voice was muffled; she had buried her face in her hands several minutes ago. "Mar, you have to be the stupidest person I've ever met."
"I know! I know. You don't have to tell me." He sighed, running his hands through his hair before glaring at her. "Also, Marak. Please."
"You didn't think it would be dangerous? You didn't think it would be dangerous! You're just as bad as your vain little gods," and Adi looked up from her hands. "If I could walk, I'd come over there and strangle you."
"But I was still going to be there, and he looks like anyone-- do you know how many people share names with the royal children? No one should have suspected that Zariak was Prince Zariak!"
She scrunched her eyes closed, leaned her forehead against the heel of her hand. "Eight years in the guard, and you haven't yet learned how to take responsibility." She thought for a moment, then added, "Or found any sense."
Marak didn't look particularly happy, either. "You do see why I'm doing this, though. Right?"
"My god may never forgive me, but I do see. It's blindingly stupid." She sighed. "Well. Go ahead."
Sighing along with her, he went back to packing saddlebags. "You just don't know the boy like I do," he grumbled. "He's nice. It breaks your heart to see him unhappy, because he wants everyone to be happy, and he gets upset over being selfish." He turned and pointed rudely at Adi. "Which of the other royal children is like that?"
"Dina. Arak. The one bastard, you know, with the red hair? Tayak or Tarak or whatever his name is." The look she sent his way was venomous. "Zariak has never been special."
Marak stared down at his hastily-packed bags. "Yes, he has been. Those three are still children."
"I thought you said Zariak is still a child, too."
"Arak and Dina are half his age! Tayahak hasn't yet seen eleven summers. It's not the same."
Though she looked like she wanted to say something, Adi held her tongue and watched him gather his things, then watched as he turned to leave the barracks.
Finally, as the door was closing behind him, she muttered, "You haven't aged a day in wisdom since you joined the guard. No wonder you're so enamored of your little prince."
Marak heard her words, and didn't have it in him to not care that Adi-- a woman he had respected, looked up to, for a third of his life-- thought he was a fool.