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edenfallingThis is a semi-direct sequel to Mother of Exiles.
Aravis and Cor want to be together; Lune is less than enthusiastic. Fortunately, Aravis has a friend. (925 words)
(The revised and greatly expanded final version of this chapter is now up on ff.net.)
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Which Give Value to Survival
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Human body speech was still an awkward second language to Hwin, despite the years she had spent studying her slave-masters for hints of their moods. Bree had a sharper eye -- or perhaps battle had given him greater incentive to learn -- so he was the one who drew her aside shortly after their arrival in Anvard.
"Something's amiss between Cor and Aravis," Bree whispered. "Let's get them apart from each other and see what mess they've churned up this time." His lips tickled Hwin's ear, and she shifted sideways to jostle his hindquarters with her own.
But spending time alone with Aravis was never a hardship, so Hwin agreed. Now, as she and Aravis stood in the guest stables and Hwin took full advantage of such civilized amenities as hoof picks, combs, curry brushes, and a friend who knew the best ways to use them, she realized Bree had been correct. Aravis was stewing furiously over something, and doing her best to pretend nothing was wrong.
Hwin flicked her ears in amused resignation. After all they had won through together, did Aravis still think she had to maintain a brave act for her friends? How silly. But she was still young, and the young grew upset about so many, many things. How to raise a question delicately, without sending Aravis into a tirade or a sulk?
Hwin leaned into the currying, chewing over and rejecting various phrases, but before she found a good approach, Cor stuck his head around the doorway of the stables, possibly looking for Bree. Aravis looked up at the sound of his footsteps -- their eyes met -- and Cor's golden cream skin turned bright red. He mumbled a strangled sort of apology and ducked away.
Aravis lifted the curry brush from Hwin's side and absently touched the bracelet of bells that encircled her left wrist. Then she glanced down and yanked her fingers away, as if they had betrayed her, and hastily returned to her work. "I hate King Lune," she growled, pressing too hard and digging the bristles into Hwin's flesh. "He calls the Tisroc (may he die of indigestion) a villain for placing politics over common decency, but he's just as bad."
Hwin looked Aravis up and down with her right eye, trying to remember all the little signs and motions she'd translated over the years. Aravis had her jaw clenched tight -- anger or frustration -- and her light buckskin complexion had darkened a shade or two with a flush -- anger or cold or... Suddenly the odd scent that had hovered around both Aravis and Cor made sense. Arousal. They were mating.
Hwin sighed gustily. Humans could be so strange about such a simple thing, but then, fillies and colts could be downright unreasonable in their own ways. Also, now she didn't have to think of a polite way to ask Aravis why she was behaving oddly around Cor.
"Forbidding a betrothal is not quite the same as starting a war by treachery," Hwin said gently. "For one thing, you are still alive and free to argue your... your suit?"
"Lune won't listen to me, and Cor is being a milksop," said Aravis, tossing the brush to the rush-strewn floor and springing up to sit on the low wall that marked Hwin's bed out as a semi-private space. "He says it won't kill us to wait a year or two for Lune to come around to the idea. Fool! A year will only give Lune time to arrange marriage alliances with other northern lands and lords. I'll be separated from Cor by his own sense of duty and gratitude, and the sun will be darkened for our hearts until the end of our days, from the loss of each other."
Aravis was slipping into high Calormene formality. That was never a good sign, if what you wanted was a rational discussion. "Surely King Lune wouldn't make his own son miserable," Hwin ventured.
Aravis scowled. "Not intentionally," she allowed, "but Cor would have to be lying on his deathbed before he'd tell his father he felt less than perfectly happy. He hates to worry anyone (except me, for some reason), and he's still afraid Lune will tell him it's all been a terrible mistake and he'll have to go back to being a fisherman." She leaned against the outer wall of the stables and closed her eyes, sinking into a willful sulk.
"Ah," said Hwin. She flicked her tail thoughtfully, and chewed over a new set of options. Cor wouldn't solve the problem, and if Aravis said King Lune wouldn't give her audience, Hwin believed her. Therefore, someone else had to solve the problem.
Hwin's skin shuddered, as if a swarm of flies had suddenly landed on her withers. Oh, she hated speaking out to people. She hated arguments and strife. But Bree would only be insulting -- negotiating with humans required delicacy, not bullheadedness -- and Hwin hated even more to see Aravis unhappy.
"What if I spoke with the king?" she said to Aravis.
Aravis opened her eyes in evident shock. Then she leapt down from the wall and threw her arms around Hwin's neck, rubbing the newly brushed hair the wrong way. "Would you? Would you really? I'm at my wits' end, I swear I am, and it would mean so much for someone to take my side."
"Of course I will," said Hwin, twisting around to nuzzle Aravis's fine, dark hair. "Explain everything to me, and we'll work out a speech together."
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Back to Mother of Exiles
Forward to Speak Softly
Read the final version on ff.net
---------------------------------------------
...I kind of want to write the discussion with Lune, now. What can I say -- politics is interesting! (And then maybe the wedding, and/or the wedding night? But no, I don't have time. *thwaps plot bunnies*)
And now I am off to rescue my (hopefully dry) laundry from the laundromat.
Aravis and Cor want to be together; Lune is less than enthusiastic. Fortunately, Aravis has a friend. (925 words)
(The revised and greatly expanded final version of this chapter is now up on ff.net.)
---------------------------------------------
Which Give Value to Survival
---------------------------------------------
Human body speech was still an awkward second language to Hwin, despite the years she had spent studying her slave-masters for hints of their moods. Bree had a sharper eye -- or perhaps battle had given him greater incentive to learn -- so he was the one who drew her aside shortly after their arrival in Anvard.
"Something's amiss between Cor and Aravis," Bree whispered. "Let's get them apart from each other and see what mess they've churned up this time." His lips tickled Hwin's ear, and she shifted sideways to jostle his hindquarters with her own.
But spending time alone with Aravis was never a hardship, so Hwin agreed. Now, as she and Aravis stood in the guest stables and Hwin took full advantage of such civilized amenities as hoof picks, combs, curry brushes, and a friend who knew the best ways to use them, she realized Bree had been correct. Aravis was stewing furiously over something, and doing her best to pretend nothing was wrong.
Hwin flicked her ears in amused resignation. After all they had won through together, did Aravis still think she had to maintain a brave act for her friends? How silly. But she was still young, and the young grew upset about so many, many things. How to raise a question delicately, without sending Aravis into a tirade or a sulk?
Hwin leaned into the currying, chewing over and rejecting various phrases, but before she found a good approach, Cor stuck his head around the doorway of the stables, possibly looking for Bree. Aravis looked up at the sound of his footsteps -- their eyes met -- and Cor's golden cream skin turned bright red. He mumbled a strangled sort of apology and ducked away.
Aravis lifted the curry brush from Hwin's side and absently touched the bracelet of bells that encircled her left wrist. Then she glanced down and yanked her fingers away, as if they had betrayed her, and hastily returned to her work. "I hate King Lune," she growled, pressing too hard and digging the bristles into Hwin's flesh. "He calls the Tisroc (may he die of indigestion) a villain for placing politics over common decency, but he's just as bad."
Hwin looked Aravis up and down with her right eye, trying to remember all the little signs and motions she'd translated over the years. Aravis had her jaw clenched tight -- anger or frustration -- and her light buckskin complexion had darkened a shade or two with a flush -- anger or cold or... Suddenly the odd scent that had hovered around both Aravis and Cor made sense. Arousal. They were mating.
Hwin sighed gustily. Humans could be so strange about such a simple thing, but then, fillies and colts could be downright unreasonable in their own ways. Also, now she didn't have to think of a polite way to ask Aravis why she was behaving oddly around Cor.
"Forbidding a betrothal is not quite the same as starting a war by treachery," Hwin said gently. "For one thing, you are still alive and free to argue your... your suit?"
"Lune won't listen to me, and Cor is being a milksop," said Aravis, tossing the brush to the rush-strewn floor and springing up to sit on the low wall that marked Hwin's bed out as a semi-private space. "He says it won't kill us to wait a year or two for Lune to come around to the idea. Fool! A year will only give Lune time to arrange marriage alliances with other northern lands and lords. I'll be separated from Cor by his own sense of duty and gratitude, and the sun will be darkened for our hearts until the end of our days, from the loss of each other."
Aravis was slipping into high Calormene formality. That was never a good sign, if what you wanted was a rational discussion. "Surely King Lune wouldn't make his own son miserable," Hwin ventured.
Aravis scowled. "Not intentionally," she allowed, "but Cor would have to be lying on his deathbed before he'd tell his father he felt less than perfectly happy. He hates to worry anyone (except me, for some reason), and he's still afraid Lune will tell him it's all been a terrible mistake and he'll have to go back to being a fisherman." She leaned against the outer wall of the stables and closed her eyes, sinking into a willful sulk.
"Ah," said Hwin. She flicked her tail thoughtfully, and chewed over a new set of options. Cor wouldn't solve the problem, and if Aravis said King Lune wouldn't give her audience, Hwin believed her. Therefore, someone else had to solve the problem.
Hwin's skin shuddered, as if a swarm of flies had suddenly landed on her withers. Oh, she hated speaking out to people. She hated arguments and strife. But Bree would only be insulting -- negotiating with humans required delicacy, not bullheadedness -- and Hwin hated even more to see Aravis unhappy.
"What if I spoke with the king?" she said to Aravis.
Aravis opened her eyes in evident shock. Then she leapt down from the wall and threw her arms around Hwin's neck, rubbing the newly brushed hair the wrong way. "Would you? Would you really? I'm at my wits' end, I swear I am, and it would mean so much for someone to take my side."
"Of course I will," said Hwin, twisting around to nuzzle Aravis's fine, dark hair. "Explain everything to me, and we'll work out a speech together."
---------------------------------------------
Back to Mother of Exiles
Forward to Speak Softly
Read the final version on ff.net
---------------------------------------------
...I kind of want to write the discussion with Lune, now. What can I say -- politics is interesting! (And then maybe the wedding, and/or the wedding night? But no, I don't have time. *thwaps plot bunnies*)
And now I am off to rescue my (hopefully dry) laundry from the laundromat.
