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31_days2007-03-06 10:34 pm
sassafras28.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-03-06 10:34 pm
[March 6][Original]: A Rest
Title: A Rest
Day/Theme: March 6: no more curses you can’t undo, left by fathers you never knew
Series: Original Fiction
Character/Pairing: Original
Rating: G
She wasn’t on the second floor, or the third, he was halfway through the first when he began to wonder seriously if it had all been a lie. Just a pub story after all. That was, of course, until he saw the winding star, door still ajar, and thought of course.
The stair curved endlessly, and he wondered as he climbed which one of the many turrets he had seen outside, deep in the weeds and wilds. It could not have been her room in life, he thought. That must have been one of the grander ones on the lower floor. She would have gotten dizzy, clambering up here every night. It would have been unsafe.
There was only one room at the top of the tower, and for that he was relieved. The stories had been unclear on exactly how many daughters the king had had. Some said two, six or twelve. He thought that twelve would be a little beyond his scope.
The room was small and far less opulent than the others. Clearly, it was never intended to be a bedroom, but was strangely homey for all that. A large bed strewn messily with many thin coverlets dominated the room, and the girl was almost lost in its folds and layers. He knew her only by the pale gold of her hair. It was the sort of color he had heard some sea creatures were, down deep where the light never penetrated.
It had grown wild, and it pooled and gathered around her like a second skin. Her face seemed to float on it like an unfinished porcelain mask. Her lips were very pale, one thumb was held gently between them, like a prayer. Someone, he noticed, had carefully trimmed her long nails. Presumably, so she wouldn’t cut herself in her sleep. He reached for her hand to shake her from her reverie, and heard the soft, musty click of a hammer being cocked back.
It was a very old fashioned sort of weapon. Manually loaded, filled with dreadful smoking powder than no one had used these past ten years. The man who held it was massive, bear like, with a chin as bare as a boy’s and all gray hair. “If you back out the door now and take your leave, I won’t fire.” He said in a low, surprisingly soft voice.
“But maybe I could…could break the curse?” the boy asked. The man looked at him as if he could not fathom the existence of someone so utterly gormless.
“Is that what it is then?” asked the man in a dangerously mild tone. The boy simply gestured to the sleeping girl who, as if she sensed the argument going on above, made a soft half-sighing sound.
“I know you,” the man spit, “hear a tale about a girl in a tall tower, all alone and sound asleep and you rush right off. To break a curse? Oh yes, you’re all a noble sort.”
The boy straightened up, “I don’t think anyone came here looking to...to…”
“They started coming when she was less than eight years of age, with their crowns and their swords, and make no bones about it, I put a fair few bullets in a fair few skulls.” He gestured with the gun, “so away, before I do the same to you!”
“So what are you going to do then?” the boy asked, bemused. This is not how he had imagined the end of the story.
“I’m going to keep my daughter safe. See, I grieved, after…after the fairy, like all the rest. But that was just because I didn’t understand. She brought a gift, too, you see?” The boy looked at him, blank and uncomprehending, he sighed heavily. “Get to going, boy. And tell them all that this is a dead place, and not worth the fight.”
The boy paused in the doorway, opened his mouth and closed it again. On the bed, the girl shifted and turned her back to him, hair glowing in the dim. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, finally. Outside, the sun was coming up.
The man looked startled, “For a world worth living in, I suppose.”
Day/Theme: March 6: no more curses you can’t undo, left by fathers you never knew
Series: Original Fiction
Character/Pairing: Original
Rating: G
She wasn’t on the second floor, or the third, he was halfway through the first when he began to wonder seriously if it had all been a lie. Just a pub story after all. That was, of course, until he saw the winding star, door still ajar, and thought of course.
The stair curved endlessly, and he wondered as he climbed which one of the many turrets he had seen outside, deep in the weeds and wilds. It could not have been her room in life, he thought. That must have been one of the grander ones on the lower floor. She would have gotten dizzy, clambering up here every night. It would have been unsafe.
There was only one room at the top of the tower, and for that he was relieved. The stories had been unclear on exactly how many daughters the king had had. Some said two, six or twelve. He thought that twelve would be a little beyond his scope.
The room was small and far less opulent than the others. Clearly, it was never intended to be a bedroom, but was strangely homey for all that. A large bed strewn messily with many thin coverlets dominated the room, and the girl was almost lost in its folds and layers. He knew her only by the pale gold of her hair. It was the sort of color he had heard some sea creatures were, down deep where the light never penetrated.
It had grown wild, and it pooled and gathered around her like a second skin. Her face seemed to float on it like an unfinished porcelain mask. Her lips were very pale, one thumb was held gently between them, like a prayer. Someone, he noticed, had carefully trimmed her long nails. Presumably, so she wouldn’t cut herself in her sleep. He reached for her hand to shake her from her reverie, and heard the soft, musty click of a hammer being cocked back.
It was a very old fashioned sort of weapon. Manually loaded, filled with dreadful smoking powder than no one had used these past ten years. The man who held it was massive, bear like, with a chin as bare as a boy’s and all gray hair. “If you back out the door now and take your leave, I won’t fire.” He said in a low, surprisingly soft voice.
“But maybe I could…could break the curse?” the boy asked. The man looked at him as if he could not fathom the existence of someone so utterly gormless.
“Is that what it is then?” asked the man in a dangerously mild tone. The boy simply gestured to the sleeping girl who, as if she sensed the argument going on above, made a soft half-sighing sound.
“I know you,” the man spit, “hear a tale about a girl in a tall tower, all alone and sound asleep and you rush right off. To break a curse? Oh yes, you’re all a noble sort.”
The boy straightened up, “I don’t think anyone came here looking to...to…”
“They started coming when she was less than eight years of age, with their crowns and their swords, and make no bones about it, I put a fair few bullets in a fair few skulls.” He gestured with the gun, “so away, before I do the same to you!”
“So what are you going to do then?” the boy asked, bemused. This is not how he had imagined the end of the story.
“I’m going to keep my daughter safe. See, I grieved, after…after the fairy, like all the rest. But that was just because I didn’t understand. She brought a gift, too, you see?” The boy looked at him, blank and uncomprehending, he sighed heavily. “Get to going, boy. And tell them all that this is a dead place, and not worth the fight.”
The boy paused in the doorway, opened his mouth and closed it again. On the bed, the girl shifted and turned her back to him, hair glowing in the dim. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, finally. Outside, the sun was coming up.
The man looked startled, “For a world worth living in, I suppose.”