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rainbowfic2012-08-18 09:50 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2012-08-18 09:50 pm
Heart Gold #17, White Opal #13, Sapphire #8
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Ten Hours
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Heart Gold #17. Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable. - Henry Ward Beecher, White Opal #13. Castles in the sky, Sapphire #8. crystal
Supplies and Materials: photography, brush (peruse), acrylic, stain, charcoal, chalk, beading wire, glitter ("If you want to know where your heart is, look where your mind goes when it wanders." - Bernard Byer),
Word Count: 480
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sorell
Warnings: Character death
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
He visited Nida's grave that morning. He didn't bring flowers--she'd never been especially fond of them anyway--but rather stories. What the grandchildren--particularly little Nava--had been up to since the last time he'd visited, what he'd been doing since, the progress of the war. There were things he didn't need to say, things he knew she knew, wherever she was--things like "I love you" and "I miss you". They'd been married thirty-seven years before her death. Such things went without saying.
Then there was the usual round of business--meeting with various ministers, Kellom reporting in from the walls. Nothing of particular note. The wall was holding, so were the invaders. The same as yesterday, and the day before, and, as far as he knew, tomorrow.
He spent the evening with Sola. Most of his children--even Tana and Andrell, who were unmarried--had more or less their own households within the larger world of the palace. He liked to visit them all in turn, spend an evening with them and their families, those that had them. Nava had climbed into his lap and prattled on in the way that little girls do, about fairies and adventures and things that sparkle. She had the string of crystal beads--flawed crystals, not so precious that it would be a significant loss when she inevitably misplaced them--he'd given her for her last birthday woven into her hair. He kissed her goodnight and spent a quieter hour with his grandsons while her mother put her to bed.
A few loose ends to tie up in his office, going through those last papers with the eye to detail only a few hours away can bring, and then he retired to his own rooms. As always, he examined, carefully, one by one, the pictures he kept of his parents, his brothers, his wife, his children, his grandchildren. Everything--everyone--he'd fought so hard for, in the forty-eight years of his reign.
They were already starting to plan for a celebration, when he reached that all-important milestone of a fifty-year reign. He let them discuss it, but didn't get too invested. Two years was a much shorter time to him than it had been fifty years ago, of course, but there were still far more urgent things to take care of.
He changed for bed, stopping a moment to run a hand over the worn pearl-handled knife Nida had given him for his first birthday after their marriage. He raised it to his lips for a moment, then set it on the table.
He slept, full of warm thoughts of his family and all the good he thought he'd done in his life, with little room in his conscious mind for the regrets buried beneath them, and his last breath chased the moon off to the other side of the world.
Story: Ten Hours
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Heart Gold #17. Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable. - Henry Ward Beecher, White Opal #13. Castles in the sky, Sapphire #8. crystal
Supplies and Materials: photography, brush (peruse), acrylic, stain, charcoal, chalk, beading wire, glitter ("If you want to know where your heart is, look where your mind goes when it wanders." - Bernard Byer),
Word Count: 480
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sorell
Warnings: Character death
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
He visited Nida's grave that morning. He didn't bring flowers--she'd never been especially fond of them anyway--but rather stories. What the grandchildren--particularly little Nava--had been up to since the last time he'd visited, what he'd been doing since, the progress of the war. There were things he didn't need to say, things he knew she knew, wherever she was--things like "I love you" and "I miss you". They'd been married thirty-seven years before her death. Such things went without saying.
Then there was the usual round of business--meeting with various ministers, Kellom reporting in from the walls. Nothing of particular note. The wall was holding, so were the invaders. The same as yesterday, and the day before, and, as far as he knew, tomorrow.
He spent the evening with Sola. Most of his children--even Tana and Andrell, who were unmarried--had more or less their own households within the larger world of the palace. He liked to visit them all in turn, spend an evening with them and their families, those that had them. Nava had climbed into his lap and prattled on in the way that little girls do, about fairies and adventures and things that sparkle. She had the string of crystal beads--flawed crystals, not so precious that it would be a significant loss when she inevitably misplaced them--he'd given her for her last birthday woven into her hair. He kissed her goodnight and spent a quieter hour with his grandsons while her mother put her to bed.
A few loose ends to tie up in his office, going through those last papers with the eye to detail only a few hours away can bring, and then he retired to his own rooms. As always, he examined, carefully, one by one, the pictures he kept of his parents, his brothers, his wife, his children, his grandchildren. Everything--everyone--he'd fought so hard for, in the forty-eight years of his reign.
They were already starting to plan for a celebration, when he reached that all-important milestone of a fifty-year reign. He let them discuss it, but didn't get too invested. Two years was a much shorter time to him than it had been fifty years ago, of course, but there were still far more urgent things to take care of.
He changed for bed, stopping a moment to run a hand over the worn pearl-handled knife Nida had given him for his first birthday after their marriage. He raised it to his lips for a moment, then set it on the table.
He slept, full of warm thoughts of his family and all the good he thought he'd done in his life, with little room in his conscious mind for the regrets buried beneath them, and his last breath chased the moon off to the other side of the world.