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dolevalanTitle: Homecoming
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13
He waited impatiently at the door, his eyes glued to the small ribbon of road winding its way through the ever-moving wheat fields on either side. The sun beat down, making each color pop vividly to life in the young man’s gaze.
She was due home any time now, though it would depend on how far she had to walk before catching a wagon. It was always tricky, trying to time the journey home correctly. But he wanted to be sure that the moment she came into view, he’d be there, waiting to welcome her back with open arms.
Derek grinned to himself as he pictured her cool reserve at returning, a small treacherous smile playing at the edge of her lips and giving her utterly away. She always grumbled about his over-enthusiastic hugs, but the way she returned them said volumes about how much she enjoyed them in spite of herself. And though he seldom heard her laugh, her jade eyes were a code that he alone knew how to read, at times.
He tensed as he heard a cart approaching, but sighed and leaned against the door frame as the rickety mail carriage came over the hill. The mail cart never took passengers of any sort; probably best as the ancient donkey had enough trouble pulling the fragile collection of planks and the wiry driver from one place to another as it was. As he watched the cart make its steady progress down the road, he wondered if her being a solider had changed her. The Karanestis were still getting used to the idea that the church was accepting women for the guard, but the mercenary guild had been accepting women for years, so everyone had known it was simply a matter of time.
It was easy for Derek to picture his grave, solemn sister at prayer before first light, and pledging her life to the service of the gods. Harder to imagine was the small, blonde girl with an eye for flower arrangement finding herself in the thick of combat, wielding a sword almost as long as she was tall. Would he be able to tell, he wondered, by looking at her face, whether she’d had to kill a man yet? Though the day was unseasonably warm, he shivered a little.
Minutes stretched on, each seeming like an hour, before the next cart came laboring up the hill. It was a big coach, clearly from the city, and as it slowed, Derek ran to meet it. He could tell the curtains within were drawn, which was odd; on such a sunny day, he would imagine the passengers would be eager to watch the countryside pass.
The driver looked down, beefy face serious. “Are you Iram Coldevdon?”
Derek blinked. “No… I’m his brother, though. What is it?”
The man seemed to be debating something, then got down. “I’m sorry – this is going to be a shock.”
Derek felt his heart freeze, a dread premonition of what was coming making him dread the opening of the coach’s door. But open it did, to reveal his sister, lying across the seat. Cora looked like she was sleeping, her expression peaceful, but the dull, rusty brown stains on her tunic belied the illusion. Her eyes were closed.
He might never know if she’d killed a man. But staring at his sister’s corpse in the shaded interior of the coach, Derek knew without a doubt that someday...he most certainly would.
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13
He waited impatiently at the door, his eyes glued to the small ribbon of road winding its way through the ever-moving wheat fields on either side. The sun beat down, making each color pop vividly to life in the young man’s gaze.
She was due home any time now, though it would depend on how far she had to walk before catching a wagon. It was always tricky, trying to time the journey home correctly. But he wanted to be sure that the moment she came into view, he’d be there, waiting to welcome her back with open arms.
Derek grinned to himself as he pictured her cool reserve at returning, a small treacherous smile playing at the edge of her lips and giving her utterly away. She always grumbled about his over-enthusiastic hugs, but the way she returned them said volumes about how much she enjoyed them in spite of herself. And though he seldom heard her laugh, her jade eyes were a code that he alone knew how to read, at times.
He tensed as he heard a cart approaching, but sighed and leaned against the door frame as the rickety mail carriage came over the hill. The mail cart never took passengers of any sort; probably best as the ancient donkey had enough trouble pulling the fragile collection of planks and the wiry driver from one place to another as it was. As he watched the cart make its steady progress down the road, he wondered if her being a solider had changed her. The Karanestis were still getting used to the idea that the church was accepting women for the guard, but the mercenary guild had been accepting women for years, so everyone had known it was simply a matter of time.
It was easy for Derek to picture his grave, solemn sister at prayer before first light, and pledging her life to the service of the gods. Harder to imagine was the small, blonde girl with an eye for flower arrangement finding herself in the thick of combat, wielding a sword almost as long as she was tall. Would he be able to tell, he wondered, by looking at her face, whether she’d had to kill a man yet? Though the day was unseasonably warm, he shivered a little.
Minutes stretched on, each seeming like an hour, before the next cart came laboring up the hill. It was a big coach, clearly from the city, and as it slowed, Derek ran to meet it. He could tell the curtains within were drawn, which was odd; on such a sunny day, he would imagine the passengers would be eager to watch the countryside pass.
The driver looked down, beefy face serious. “Are you Iram Coldevdon?”
Derek blinked. “No… I’m his brother, though. What is it?”
The man seemed to be debating something, then got down. “I’m sorry – this is going to be a shock.”
Derek felt his heart freeze, a dread premonition of what was coming making him dread the opening of the coach’s door. But open it did, to reveal his sister, lying across the seat. Cora looked like she was sleeping, her expression peaceful, but the dull, rusty brown stains on her tunic belied the illusion. Her eyes were closed.
He might never know if she’d killed a man. But staring at his sister’s corpse in the shaded interior of the coach, Derek knew without a doubt that someday...he most certainly would.
