Swordspoint fic!
Nov. 7th, 2006 02:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rmAnother one. Trivial and written quick and not even smutty.
http://community.livejournal.com/_riverside/8342.html
TITLE: Letters
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rm
PAIRING: Richard/Alec
RATING: PG
NOTES: I bombardedwordsofastory with thoughts about Richard and his relationship with his mother on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
themollyhouse and this was the result. One of what will be at least two on this subject. This takes place pre-Swordspoint and probably before any of the short stories as well, very early in Richard and Alec's relationship.
DISCLAIMER: These lovely characters belong, of course, to Ellen Kushner
Richard felt uncomfortable availing himself of Alec's skills even if with things reversed Alec would have no such compunction, and he gnawed on the edge of his thumb for a moment before just finally saying it.
"Could you write a letter for me?"
Alec looked up, startled, and very slowly closed his book. Richard didn't ask for things. Didn't offer them really either. Just laid out what was available and smiled if you partook of it with him, that was all.
"To my mother," he added into the silence.
"Really?" Alec drawled, almost regretting his tone. Richard seemed to shrink a little, and Alec knew then that he had asked was special.
"It's been a long time," he explained somewhat lamely.
Alec nodded.
"Do you...." he prompted and trailed off, wondering if the scholar would be inclined to reveal anything.
"We don't get along," Alec said quick and sharp.
Richard smiled as he realized the snide tone hadn't been for him. "We were very close."
"What did you do?" Alec asked, genuinely curious.
"Stopped writing."
"Why?"
Richard shrugged. "It seemed best."
Alec nodded and scrambled across the room for a quill that was little more than a scraggly stub and a pot of ink which was also clearly in need of freshening. Then he looked around and finally settled on ripping a nearly blank leaf out of the back of the book he'd been reading.
"We could have gone to get paper."
"Next time," Alec said and gestured for Richard to dictate, wanting these secrets while the giving of them seemed plausible and feeling a faint arousal at their promise, like the echo of Richard's shirts soaked with strangers' blood.
"Dear Mother," he began awkwardly, "I am sorry I have not written. Things were complicated, and it seemed best. Jessamyn died. But I am well now with enough money to eat and stay warm. The city is good to me. So is my friend who is writing this --"
"You should tell her my name," Alec said, not looking up from the paper.
"He wants you to know his name is Alec," Richard continued. "I will try to write more often. I hope you are well and that there are apples. Your Richard."
"I'm not signing your name," Alec said.
"Write my name, and then I'll put a mark," Richard said, mentally noting that working as a scribe or secretary was clearly not something Alec had ever done for pocket money.
"That's stupid; I'll show you how."
"I can't --"
"It's not that hard!"
"Alec," he said, his tone warning.
"The first letter. Just one of seven; Richard has seven," he wheedled.
"Why?"
"You try to teach me to fight," Alec said very reasonably.
"And you won't learn."
"But I carry the knife; you can manage the R."
Richard took a heavy breath and nodded, hoping that this would done before Alec's mood inevitably turned to something less enthused or patient.
He got up and carried the letter, book and writing things to where Richard sat. He opened the volume, put the quill in Richard's hand and arranged his own fingers over it. "I'll move us."
"You do," Richard said very softly as he stared at their joined hands in vague fascination as the letter emerged clumsily on the current back page of Alec's book.
"Again," Alec exhaled, lessening the pressure of his long fingers as another shaky R emerged.
He realized Richard was holding his breath, and so without saying anything, hastily put the note in front of them.
"Here," he said and pointed to the spot and held Richard's hand as he signed.
The swordsman dropped the quill as soon as he could, and Alec busied himsed folding the letter, putting his things aside, anything to avod the sight of Richard frightened. The world would be better though, Alec thought, if more people had the sense to be frightened by words and such. He didn't say it though.
"That will make her happy," Richard said softly.
"Shall we go to Rosalie's?" Alec asked, stretching ridiculously.
Richard kissed him gently but none too chaste. "Later, I need to practice."
Alec nodded and watched for a while, but the only part of Richard's art he understood was the blood and the flesh and the steel that drew it. Which was a shame really; had he a keener eye, Alec would have seen the capacity for letters and even words in a sword's sharp point, but as ever for him there was only Richard and all his grace and promises.
http://community.livejournal.com/_riverside/8342.html
TITLE: Letters
AUTHOR:
rmPAIRING: Richard/Alec
RATING: PG
NOTES: I bombarded
wordsofastory with thoughts about Richard and his relationship with his mother on themollyhouse and this was the result. One of what will be at least two on this subject. This takes place pre-Swordspoint and probably before any of the short stories as well, very early in Richard and Alec's relationship.DISCLAIMER: These lovely characters belong, of course, to Ellen Kushner
Richard felt uncomfortable availing himself of Alec's skills even if with things reversed Alec would have no such compunction, and he gnawed on the edge of his thumb for a moment before just finally saying it.
"Could you write a letter for me?"
Alec looked up, startled, and very slowly closed his book. Richard didn't ask for things. Didn't offer them really either. Just laid out what was available and smiled if you partook of it with him, that was all.
"To my mother," he added into the silence.
"Really?" Alec drawled, almost regretting his tone. Richard seemed to shrink a little, and Alec knew then that he had asked was special.
"It's been a long time," he explained somewhat lamely.
Alec nodded.
"Do you...." he prompted and trailed off, wondering if the scholar would be inclined to reveal anything.
"We don't get along," Alec said quick and sharp.
Richard smiled as he realized the snide tone hadn't been for him. "We were very close."
"What did you do?" Alec asked, genuinely curious.
"Stopped writing."
"Why?"
Richard shrugged. "It seemed best."
Alec nodded and scrambled across the room for a quill that was little more than a scraggly stub and a pot of ink which was also clearly in need of freshening. Then he looked around and finally settled on ripping a nearly blank leaf out of the back of the book he'd been reading.
"We could have gone to get paper."
"Next time," Alec said and gestured for Richard to dictate, wanting these secrets while the giving of them seemed plausible and feeling a faint arousal at their promise, like the echo of Richard's shirts soaked with strangers' blood.
"Dear Mother," he began awkwardly, "I am sorry I have not written. Things were complicated, and it seemed best. Jessamyn died. But I am well now with enough money to eat and stay warm. The city is good to me. So is my friend who is writing this --"
"You should tell her my name," Alec said, not looking up from the paper.
"He wants you to know his name is Alec," Richard continued. "I will try to write more often. I hope you are well and that there are apples. Your Richard."
"I'm not signing your name," Alec said.
"Write my name, and then I'll put a mark," Richard said, mentally noting that working as a scribe or secretary was clearly not something Alec had ever done for pocket money.
"That's stupid; I'll show you how."
"I can't --"
"It's not that hard!"
"Alec," he said, his tone warning.
"The first letter. Just one of seven; Richard has seven," he wheedled.
"Why?"
"You try to teach me to fight," Alec said very reasonably.
"And you won't learn."
"But I carry the knife; you can manage the R."
Richard took a heavy breath and nodded, hoping that this would done before Alec's mood inevitably turned to something less enthused or patient.
He got up and carried the letter, book and writing things to where Richard sat. He opened the volume, put the quill in Richard's hand and arranged his own fingers over it. "I'll move us."
"You do," Richard said very softly as he stared at their joined hands in vague fascination as the letter emerged clumsily on the current back page of Alec's book.
"Again," Alec exhaled, lessening the pressure of his long fingers as another shaky R emerged.
He realized Richard was holding his breath, and so without saying anything, hastily put the note in front of them.
"Here," he said and pointed to the spot and held Richard's hand as he signed.
The swordsman dropped the quill as soon as he could, and Alec busied himsed folding the letter, putting his things aside, anything to avod the sight of Richard frightened. The world would be better though, Alec thought, if more people had the sense to be frightened by words and such. He didn't say it though.
"That will make her happy," Richard said softly.
"Shall we go to Rosalie's?" Alec asked, stretching ridiculously.
Richard kissed him gently but none too chaste. "Later, I need to practice."
Alec nodded and watched for a while, but the only part of Richard's art he understood was the blood and the flesh and the steel that drew it. Which was a shame really; had he a keener eye, Alec would have seen the capacity for letters and even words in a sword's sharp point, but as ever for him there was only Richard and all his grace and promises.
