Love Stories, Prompts 6-10
Dec. 13th, 2011 05:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninedaysaqueenTitle: Love Stories, Prompts 6-10
Author: ninedaysaqueen
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
openedlocket
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of The Thief, The Queen of Attolia, The King of Attolia, A Conspiracy of Kings, nor of any characters, locations, and elephants contained within. All rights of the Queen's Thief series belong exclusively to Megan Whalen Turner and her respective publishers.
Spoilers: Books 1-4
Rating: PG/K+
Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor/Angst/Fluff
Word Count: 2,700
Summary: Five ships, five songs, five requests, and what comes of it! Dedicated to all the romances of the QT world. - They are at war. Prompts 1-5 are here.
Author's Notes: Written fortheorangethief, elle_winters, amolegere, and Annalibelle.
Thanks tofreenarnian for the roof dancing idea!
Enjoy!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
#6: Battlefield by Jordan Sparks -theorangethief (Gen/Irene)
They are at war.
In their hearts, in their minds. Churning, boiling, and pushing; pulling them towards the fall. Forged by time, suffering, and the trials of their lives, it's only fitting that it would begin this way. Beneath the city, late at night, a fire between them, surrounded by iron. Fitting... And very, very cruel.
Life is cruel.
She takes his hand as he sleeps next to her. Wisps of his dark hair cover his eyes, and she sees how sleep easies the lines that web his face during the waking hours--lines of worry, fear, and grief. She squeezes his hand, his only hand; and he stirs slightly before waking.
“Something wrong?” he speaks with the milky tones of his Eddisian accent, as he always does when he first wakes. She smiles slightly, comforted with the knowledge that his mask is not so permanent as her own.
She shakes her head and instead of speaking presses her check against the crock of his shoulder. He pulls her to him, his fingers tangling in her wavy hair.
“Clingy today, aren't we?” he asks; and she smirks, knowing he can feel the movement of her lips against his neck even if he cannot see her face.
“Are you complaining?”
“Complaining would insinuate irritation, which I don't see how that made its way into the conversation at all.”
“You're an idiot,” she mutters drily.
“Hmm...” he agrees.
They stay like that for a long moment, her breath against his neck; the tips of his fingers stroking her temple. “We'll have to get up soon,” he shatters the quiet. “Dawn breaks within the hour.”
She knows, but she does not choose to move. Moments of peace are rare for those who wage war in their hearts, against the world and against themselves. Rest is precious and so very dear when they rest in each another's arms.
The morning air is hazy with the refracted light of dawn, scattered by the heavy rain clouds--rolling and churning and boiling--the promise of a threat. Always the promise, the threshold of battle and strife. Her country's lifeblood spilled across the farm fields. She shifts in the bed, settling further under the covers.
His hold tightens slightly, and she closes her eyes in rest. Forget the dawn and the thunder. For the moment she is safe in her repose, below the canopy of her honey-colored chambers, comforted by the warmth of his hand.
A hand that tightly holds her own. And, for some reason, she thinks always will.
Life is cruel in its mechanics, the motions of battle that war in her soul. But the respite? Moments spent by low fires, spoons dipped in honey, and cold toes tucked beneath warm sheets? That... She smiles.
Is a great deal sweeter.
#7: Crazier by Taylor Swift -elle_winters (Gen/Irene)
She likes to watch the birds fly.
Wings outstretched, poised towards the sun, skimming the air, flapping to freedom. Free...
She's never been free.
When she was young, she used to watch the children in the city from her balcony. She'd watch their silly dances and excited spins around the maypole, stumbling over themselves in their joy. While she watched, she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand hidden by her long sleeves.
She used to watch the girl who is now Eddis from across the state room. As a young princess, Irene stood in the center of the mosaic floor, showcased in her country's emblem. Her nursemaids used to tell her how much prettier and more talented she was than Eddis's princess. How her features where more delicate, and how she poised herself with a finer air.
Eddis stood to the far side of the room next to the prancing hart; her hand held tightly by one of her older brothers.
It was that day Irene learned to hate.
Now the queen of Attolia, she runs her slim fingers across the decorative brickwork that arcs off her door sill like a spark. If only she could wrap her fingers around the lights of fire and power as easily as she could smother herself with gild and froth.
“You look lost in thought,” Eugenides observes from behind her. Her husband joins her outside in the spring chill.
“Simply enjoying the view,” she answers with an elegant shrug.
She not use to having a husband, and she's a little embarrassed to be caught daydreaming as opposed to working, writing, or some other task one might expect to find a queen engaged in.
She wonders if she'll ever stop being stupid.
“Are you...?” he observes cryptically, not betraying a hint of what he thinks of her. “Is is the city, the mountains, or the golden fields that interest you?”
She's noticed he enjoys these games. Poking and prodding her with vague questions till he gets a genuine answer. It should irritate her more than it does.
“All is part of my kingdom, is it not?”
“I didn't ask about your kingdom,” he responds. “I asked about you.”
She sighs; her expression resembling that of a flat line. “I was watching the birds fly. Nothing more.” She sounds surly, even to her own ears. She can't remember the last time she let herself sound surly.
He smirks, teasingly smug. “Ahh... Flight... Beautiful as it is terrifying, don't you agree?”
She narrows her eyes, and he laughs, meeting her smooth expression with a boyish grin. She smiles faintly and offers her hand.
He laces her fingers with his.
She wonders if she could ever fathom the endless pits of thought and tradition that spatter this man's soul. She wonders if she needs to.
She finds she wants to try. “Sounds like the sea or the sky... or winter in the highlands. You think I compare to all that?”
She can see the smile in his eyes. “That and more, my queen.”
#8: So She Dances by Josh Groban -amolegere (Gen/Irene, orange tree dancing scene)
Eugenides was not stuck.
He was merely having a little difficulty reaching the lower branch that would allow him to shimmy down the trunk and back into the grove.
He was not stuck, he repeated to himself, feeling very stuck indeed.
He'd been waiting for his grandfather, and in his boredom, Eugenides had scrabbled up a fruit tree to pluck a sweet orb hanging heavy on its vine. Unlike the fox in his mother's stories, Eugenides could reach his sour grapes, but he still found their juices to be anything but sweet.
The door to the courtyard swung opened with a faint creak.
Knowing that he was far from a welcome visitor, Eugenides hid himself behind the leaves, assuming a position of extreme stillness.
It was a young girl, he observed, peeking his head around a nest of green. She angrily scuffed her slippers across the glossy marble pavers as if the stones had personally insulted her. Kicking off her shoes, the girl climbed hand over knee and lowered herself across the small rail that skirted the courtyard marble. The ground was damp with yesternight's rain, and her bare feet sunk into the dirt. She sighed, as if the mud were a balm to an unseen wound.
Raising her skirts, far too heavy for late spring, she began to twirl, adding a little skip to her performance every few steps. She smiled awkwardly, as if the muscles along her mouth were not used to the expression. As she spun faster, she abandoned her skirts and twirled down a line. Forming an imaginary circle, she came in and out of the dancing shape, reaching out her hands to clasps those of the sisters and friends she did not have.
Very quietly and very softly, Eugenides felt his heart break
She was dancing the harvest circle. A child's dance performed with friends and siblings in merry turns to celebrate the fruits of the year and pray for prosperity in the years to come. Eugenides plucked another orange from the tree and peeled the rind; his gaze still fixed on the figure below him. He wanted to know her name; he wanted to know who she was... He wanted to know everything.
The door opened.
This time it was an older woman, finely dressed but with the sedated colors of servitude. She called to the girl, voice pitched in fear as she said something about 'your father' and him being 'so angry.' The spirited light that Eugenides had watched shimmer, shy and delicate, from the young girl's figure went out like cold breath to a candle.
His heart broke just a little more.
Sighing, the girl raised her skirts and rushed back inside.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The next night, after Eugenides came home to his family and to the familiar warmth of cold snow, he wandered up to the roof to where his mother would be dancing on such a clear night.
“Mother,” he called, and she stopped her twirls upon the parapet.
“Yes, dear?” she said, hopping done from her perch. Her feet bare against the stones.
“Um, could you tell me...” he began. “Why do you... Why you dance alone?”
His mother pursed her lips. “Well...” she thought for a moment, coming closer to her son and taking his shoulders in her hands. She knelt to his eye level. “It makes me feel... Oh, how should I put this? Free. It makes me feel free.”
Eugenides considered this for a moment. “Do you... Do you think...” His mother raised her eyebrows. “That I could dance with you sometimes?”
She smiled, broad and bright. Eugenides often wondered if she hid the very sun in that smile. Taking his hands tightly in her own, she pulled him to the parapet, instructing him to remove his own shoes. Together they danced with only the music of the stars to guide them.
Eugenides didn't have to dance alone.
For the rest of his life, Eugenides knew he would remember that girl--a lone figure in a vast sea of empty, a spark in a land void of flame.
If no one else would dance with her... Well... Let's just say... When he was older, when he was the Thief...
He planned to do something about it.
#9: She's a Lady by Forever the Sickest Kids - Annalibelle (Gen/Irene)
“Were you planning on telling me?”
He'd been sneaking in through the closed chamber doors, quiet and soft, hoping he'd find her asleep. She looked far from tired.
Shutting the door behind him, Eugenides leaned against the solid wood. There were many things he could say that might sooth her anger, cull the blade, chill the fire, but all of them would be insincere.
His queen was reclined in her desk chair, her elbows pressed into her writing parchment. If he followed the delicate drape of her dress to her interlocked fingers, he could see that her fists were clenched, fingernails tightly pressed into her palms. The pulsating light of her writing lamp told him nothing more.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded weak even to his ears. “I was mostly hoping you wouldn't find out.”
She snorts, none too delicately. “That's your story, isn't it? Put yourself at such great risks and hope no one who cares about you will find out and stop you?” She hangs her shoulders, looking away. “Sometimes I don't think you know the difference between enemies and friend, Eugenides.”
He shrugs. They remain reticent.
“If I did...” he begins gently, “would I have married you?”
Her head turns sharply, her eyes a pinning light. “And if you had not married me would you be in such situations? Torn between loyalties? Not able to trust me with the simplest of things?”
“I do trust-” he begins but she cuts him short.
“No, you don't!” she shouts, loud enough for those in the anti-chambers to hear. “I am not Eddis, Eugenides. You share so little of yourself; so little of your plans. So little that I often wonder what is so awful that you cannot tell me.” She looks away. So does he. “I often wonder if you remember that I'm not only your queen but your wife, and you cannot simply be my thief. Do you understand?”
There is a long suffering silence, which neither of them knows how to fill. Eugenides walks closer leaning his elbow against the chimney stones, a strange light awash on his face. “I swore an oath...” he begins, and she looks up to study his eyes. “When I became the Thief, I swore an oath and took a service that only one person alive knows about... And that's me.” He locks his gaze with hers, and she can see his profile shadowed in the wall, dark and deep. “Sworn never to tell. Sworn never to break. A secret so steeped in tradition and fear that I couldn't...” His voice breaks, and he lightly taps his fingers against the wall, full of frantic energy. “Can't hope to be separated from it. That's who I am. That's what I know...”
She has nothing to say to that.
“I will fight for you. You must know that.” he says, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeve.
She takes the challenge. “But what will you fight for me as? That's what I need to know.”
He shakes his head, speaking slowly, “Everything and nothing. Anything you may need.”
“I want you to be my king and my husband... And I need to know that I am your wife and not just someone you serve... However and whenever you see fit.” She swallows. “I need to know that you trust me...” Her gaze falls to his cuffed wrist, and she shakes her head. “Or at the very least... could come to trust me.”
It's a long moment before either speaks. He shatters the quiet with a mild sigh. “You want to know the rest of the plan, then? Well... are you certain you can handle it?” His expression is bright now, a challenge disguised as an offering.
She knows the answer to that. “I handle you, don't I?”
“Not all the time.”
She objects. “You're a liar.”
He smirks “I know.”
#10: Bound by Suzanne Vega - extra special bonus fic! (Sophos/Helen)
Dedicated tobooksrgood4u for being such an awesome reviewer and extra proof-reader! - <3
It was a quiet love, theirs. No red ink bleeding down the walls, no swords smashed against shields, and no hidden looks or complex dances of lies and intrigue. Dreams of libraries, crocked noses, childhood fancies, apricots ripe on the tree, and bunnies.
She smiled.
The tokens of their love were scattered throughout the extremes of their lives. Small, pretty childhood wishes held close to the hearts of ones so damaged by the duty of their birth and the circumstances of their trials.
She lightly touches the raise on her poorly healed nose.
It was an easy love. One of convenience, political power, and desire. It was all too precious, some might say. A fairytale soon to be shattered by the lives they must lead outside the books read by the fire.
Reality...
She took his hand over the altar of Hephestia. Their eyes curved in a secret smile.
Bound.
Not by ceremony or by law, but by love. Bounds of their own making. Names written on the hearts of time, throne, and deity.
They had the same dream.
They always have. And now it was true.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for reading,
ninedaysaqueen
Author: ninedaysaqueen
Beta:
openedlocket Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of The Thief, The Queen of Attolia, The King of Attolia, A Conspiracy of Kings, nor of any characters, locations, and elephants contained within. All rights of the Queen's Thief series belong exclusively to Megan Whalen Turner and her respective publishers.
Spoilers: Books 1-4
Rating: PG/K+
Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor/Angst/Fluff
Word Count: 2,700
Summary: Five ships, five songs, five requests, and what comes of it! Dedicated to all the romances of the QT world. - They are at war. Prompts 1-5 are here.
Author's Notes: Written for
theorangethief, elle_winters, amolegere, and Annalibelle.Thanks to
freenarnian for the roof dancing idea!Enjoy!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
#6: Battlefield by Jordan Sparks -
theorangethief (Gen/Irene)They are at war.
In their hearts, in their minds. Churning, boiling, and pushing; pulling them towards the fall. Forged by time, suffering, and the trials of their lives, it's only fitting that it would begin this way. Beneath the city, late at night, a fire between them, surrounded by iron. Fitting... And very, very cruel.
Life is cruel.
She takes his hand as he sleeps next to her. Wisps of his dark hair cover his eyes, and she sees how sleep easies the lines that web his face during the waking hours--lines of worry, fear, and grief. She squeezes his hand, his only hand; and he stirs slightly before waking.
“Something wrong?” he speaks with the milky tones of his Eddisian accent, as he always does when he first wakes. She smiles slightly, comforted with the knowledge that his mask is not so permanent as her own.
She shakes her head and instead of speaking presses her check against the crock of his shoulder. He pulls her to him, his fingers tangling in her wavy hair.
“Clingy today, aren't we?” he asks; and she smirks, knowing he can feel the movement of her lips against his neck even if he cannot see her face.
“Are you complaining?”
“Complaining would insinuate irritation, which I don't see how that made its way into the conversation at all.”
“You're an idiot,” she mutters drily.
“Hmm...” he agrees.
They stay like that for a long moment, her breath against his neck; the tips of his fingers stroking her temple. “We'll have to get up soon,” he shatters the quiet. “Dawn breaks within the hour.”
She knows, but she does not choose to move. Moments of peace are rare for those who wage war in their hearts, against the world and against themselves. Rest is precious and so very dear when they rest in each another's arms.
The morning air is hazy with the refracted light of dawn, scattered by the heavy rain clouds--rolling and churning and boiling--the promise of a threat. Always the promise, the threshold of battle and strife. Her country's lifeblood spilled across the farm fields. She shifts in the bed, settling further under the covers.
His hold tightens slightly, and she closes her eyes in rest. Forget the dawn and the thunder. For the moment she is safe in her repose, below the canopy of her honey-colored chambers, comforted by the warmth of his hand.
A hand that tightly holds her own. And, for some reason, she thinks always will.
Life is cruel in its mechanics, the motions of battle that war in her soul. But the respite? Moments spent by low fires, spoons dipped in honey, and cold toes tucked beneath warm sheets? That... She smiles.
Is a great deal sweeter.
#7: Crazier by Taylor Swift -
elle_winters (Gen/Irene)She likes to watch the birds fly.
Wings outstretched, poised towards the sun, skimming the air, flapping to freedom. Free...
She's never been free.
When she was young, she used to watch the children in the city from her balcony. She'd watch their silly dances and excited spins around the maypole, stumbling over themselves in their joy. While she watched, she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand hidden by her long sleeves.
She used to watch the girl who is now Eddis from across the state room. As a young princess, Irene stood in the center of the mosaic floor, showcased in her country's emblem. Her nursemaids used to tell her how much prettier and more talented she was than Eddis's princess. How her features where more delicate, and how she poised herself with a finer air.
Eddis stood to the far side of the room next to the prancing hart; her hand held tightly by one of her older brothers.
It was that day Irene learned to hate.
Now the queen of Attolia, she runs her slim fingers across the decorative brickwork that arcs off her door sill like a spark. If only she could wrap her fingers around the lights of fire and power as easily as she could smother herself with gild and froth.
“You look lost in thought,” Eugenides observes from behind her. Her husband joins her outside in the spring chill.
“Simply enjoying the view,” she answers with an elegant shrug.
She not use to having a husband, and she's a little embarrassed to be caught daydreaming as opposed to working, writing, or some other task one might expect to find a queen engaged in.
She wonders if she'll ever stop being stupid.
“Are you...?” he observes cryptically, not betraying a hint of what he thinks of her. “Is is the city, the mountains, or the golden fields that interest you?”
She's noticed he enjoys these games. Poking and prodding her with vague questions till he gets a genuine answer. It should irritate her more than it does.
“All is part of my kingdom, is it not?”
“I didn't ask about your kingdom,” he responds. “I asked about you.”
She sighs; her expression resembling that of a flat line. “I was watching the birds fly. Nothing more.” She sounds surly, even to her own ears. She can't remember the last time she let herself sound surly.
He smirks, teasingly smug. “Ahh... Flight... Beautiful as it is terrifying, don't you agree?”
She narrows her eyes, and he laughs, meeting her smooth expression with a boyish grin. She smiles faintly and offers her hand.
He laces her fingers with his.
She wonders if she could ever fathom the endless pits of thought and tradition that spatter this man's soul. She wonders if she needs to.
She finds she wants to try. “Sounds like the sea or the sky... or winter in the highlands. You think I compare to all that?”
She can see the smile in his eyes. “That and more, my queen.”
#8: So She Dances by Josh Groban -
amolegere (Gen/Irene, orange tree dancing scene)Eugenides was not stuck.
He was merely having a little difficulty reaching the lower branch that would allow him to shimmy down the trunk and back into the grove.
He was not stuck, he repeated to himself, feeling very stuck indeed.
He'd been waiting for his grandfather, and in his boredom, Eugenides had scrabbled up a fruit tree to pluck a sweet orb hanging heavy on its vine. Unlike the fox in his mother's stories, Eugenides could reach his sour grapes, but he still found their juices to be anything but sweet.
The door to the courtyard swung opened with a faint creak.
Knowing that he was far from a welcome visitor, Eugenides hid himself behind the leaves, assuming a position of extreme stillness.
It was a young girl, he observed, peeking his head around a nest of green. She angrily scuffed her slippers across the glossy marble pavers as if the stones had personally insulted her. Kicking off her shoes, the girl climbed hand over knee and lowered herself across the small rail that skirted the courtyard marble. The ground was damp with yesternight's rain, and her bare feet sunk into the dirt. She sighed, as if the mud were a balm to an unseen wound.
Raising her skirts, far too heavy for late spring, she began to twirl, adding a little skip to her performance every few steps. She smiled awkwardly, as if the muscles along her mouth were not used to the expression. As she spun faster, she abandoned her skirts and twirled down a line. Forming an imaginary circle, she came in and out of the dancing shape, reaching out her hands to clasps those of the sisters and friends she did not have.
Very quietly and very softly, Eugenides felt his heart break
She was dancing the harvest circle. A child's dance performed with friends and siblings in merry turns to celebrate the fruits of the year and pray for prosperity in the years to come. Eugenides plucked another orange from the tree and peeled the rind; his gaze still fixed on the figure below him. He wanted to know her name; he wanted to know who she was... He wanted to know everything.
The door opened.
This time it was an older woman, finely dressed but with the sedated colors of servitude. She called to the girl, voice pitched in fear as she said something about 'your father' and him being 'so angry.' The spirited light that Eugenides had watched shimmer, shy and delicate, from the young girl's figure went out like cold breath to a candle.
His heart broke just a little more.
Sighing, the girl raised her skirts and rushed back inside.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The next night, after Eugenides came home to his family and to the familiar warmth of cold snow, he wandered up to the roof to where his mother would be dancing on such a clear night.
“Mother,” he called, and she stopped her twirls upon the parapet.
“Yes, dear?” she said, hopping done from her perch. Her feet bare against the stones.
“Um, could you tell me...” he began. “Why do you... Why you dance alone?”
His mother pursed her lips. “Well...” she thought for a moment, coming closer to her son and taking his shoulders in her hands. She knelt to his eye level. “It makes me feel... Oh, how should I put this? Free. It makes me feel free.”
Eugenides considered this for a moment. “Do you... Do you think...” His mother raised her eyebrows. “That I could dance with you sometimes?”
She smiled, broad and bright. Eugenides often wondered if she hid the very sun in that smile. Taking his hands tightly in her own, she pulled him to the parapet, instructing him to remove his own shoes. Together they danced with only the music of the stars to guide them.
Eugenides didn't have to dance alone.
For the rest of his life, Eugenides knew he would remember that girl--a lone figure in a vast sea of empty, a spark in a land void of flame.
If no one else would dance with her... Well... Let's just say... When he was older, when he was the Thief...
He planned to do something about it.
#9: She's a Lady by Forever the Sickest Kids - Annalibelle (Gen/Irene)
“Were you planning on telling me?”
He'd been sneaking in through the closed chamber doors, quiet and soft, hoping he'd find her asleep. She looked far from tired.
Shutting the door behind him, Eugenides leaned against the solid wood. There were many things he could say that might sooth her anger, cull the blade, chill the fire, but all of them would be insincere.
His queen was reclined in her desk chair, her elbows pressed into her writing parchment. If he followed the delicate drape of her dress to her interlocked fingers, he could see that her fists were clenched, fingernails tightly pressed into her palms. The pulsating light of her writing lamp told him nothing more.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded weak even to his ears. “I was mostly hoping you wouldn't find out.”
She snorts, none too delicately. “That's your story, isn't it? Put yourself at such great risks and hope no one who cares about you will find out and stop you?” She hangs her shoulders, looking away. “Sometimes I don't think you know the difference between enemies and friend, Eugenides.”
He shrugs. They remain reticent.
“If I did...” he begins gently, “would I have married you?”
Her head turns sharply, her eyes a pinning light. “And if you had not married me would you be in such situations? Torn between loyalties? Not able to trust me with the simplest of things?”
“I do trust-” he begins but she cuts him short.
“No, you don't!” she shouts, loud enough for those in the anti-chambers to hear. “I am not Eddis, Eugenides. You share so little of yourself; so little of your plans. So little that I often wonder what is so awful that you cannot tell me.” She looks away. So does he. “I often wonder if you remember that I'm not only your queen but your wife, and you cannot simply be my thief. Do you understand?”
There is a long suffering silence, which neither of them knows how to fill. Eugenides walks closer leaning his elbow against the chimney stones, a strange light awash on his face. “I swore an oath...” he begins, and she looks up to study his eyes. “When I became the Thief, I swore an oath and took a service that only one person alive knows about... And that's me.” He locks his gaze with hers, and she can see his profile shadowed in the wall, dark and deep. “Sworn never to tell. Sworn never to break. A secret so steeped in tradition and fear that I couldn't...” His voice breaks, and he lightly taps his fingers against the wall, full of frantic energy. “Can't hope to be separated from it. That's who I am. That's what I know...”
She has nothing to say to that.
“I will fight for you. You must know that.” he says, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeve.
She takes the challenge. “But what will you fight for me as? That's what I need to know.”
He shakes his head, speaking slowly, “Everything and nothing. Anything you may need.”
“I want you to be my king and my husband... And I need to know that I am your wife and not just someone you serve... However and whenever you see fit.” She swallows. “I need to know that you trust me...” Her gaze falls to his cuffed wrist, and she shakes her head. “Or at the very least... could come to trust me.”
It's a long moment before either speaks. He shatters the quiet with a mild sigh. “You want to know the rest of the plan, then? Well... are you certain you can handle it?” His expression is bright now, a challenge disguised as an offering.
She knows the answer to that. “I handle you, don't I?”
“Not all the time.”
She objects. “You're a liar.”
He smirks “I know.”
#10: Bound by Suzanne Vega - extra special bonus fic! (Sophos/Helen)
Dedicated to
booksrgood4u for being such an awesome reviewer and extra proof-reader! - <3It was a quiet love, theirs. No red ink bleeding down the walls, no swords smashed against shields, and no hidden looks or complex dances of lies and intrigue. Dreams of libraries, crocked noses, childhood fancies, apricots ripe on the tree, and bunnies.
She smiled.
The tokens of their love were scattered throughout the extremes of their lives. Small, pretty childhood wishes held close to the hearts of ones so damaged by the duty of their birth and the circumstances of their trials.
She lightly touches the raise on her poorly healed nose.
It was an easy love. One of convenience, political power, and desire. It was all too precious, some might say. A fairytale soon to be shattered by the lives they must lead outside the books read by the fire.
Reality...
She took his hand over the altar of Hephestia. Their eyes curved in a secret smile.
Bound.
Not by ceremony or by law, but by love. Bounds of their own making. Names written on the hearts of time, throne, and deity.
They had the same dream.
They always have. And now it was true.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for reading,
ninedaysaqueen
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 02:41 pm (UTC)It's just so perfectly Gen and Irene!! I love fics where Irene shows her softer side :)
There were just a few typo - I know I'm such a pain!
Alway(s) the promise,
daydreaming as oppose(d) to working
She smiled, brood(I'm thinking you meant broad?) and bright.
You did such a great job...The more Gen and Irene the better...but I also loved the last, the one about Helen and Sophos. They do have such a sweet relationship...Awwwww
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 05:30 pm (UTC)I wanted to do the Meme you posted on your yournal a while ago, the one with the icons, and I copied the coding but I can't figure out where the pictures go.....*feels exceedingly dense*
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 11:32 pm (UTC)If I remember correctly, you highlight (double click) each individual box in Rich Text, and it will bring up the option box for inserting images. You just need to enter in the raw URL and press okay. Repeat till you've got all fifteen. You can bring up the raw image URL simple by clicking on the image. Almost all images on the internet have their own hosting address.
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Date: 2011-12-14 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 09:27 pm (UTC)Great Job!!!
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Date: 2011-12-18 06:58 am (UTC)I want to write more for the Stolen-Verse soon. There are several ideas in my story notes. Also a Gen's Mum/MoW shipper then, I assume? You should try writing about her for the Minor Character Challenge.