“Did she like the books, then?”
Clang.
Brendan grits his teeth and just barely manages to bring his sword up in time to avoid an untimely and particularly grisly death at the edge of Lincoln's blade.
Lincoln - as per usual - is in irritatingly top form, as he whirls elegantly in circles around Brendan.
Brendan's a skilled swordsman, and easily one of the most talented even among Lincoln's army’s ranks, but Lincoln himself has always been in a league of his own.
On most days, it’s the reason why Brendan chooses Lincoln to be his sparring partner, to keep his skills sharp.
On days like today, however, all it does is irritate his nerves at the beaming smile the Commander wears while they spar as if it takes no effort at all to strike Brendan to the ground.
“I would think so, yes,” Brendan huffs, more out of breath than he cares to admit.
He ducks, just a second before Lincoln's blade goes flying right where his head used to be, and frowns. “Are you truly trying to kill me?”
Lincoln laughs brightly. Brendan finds it wholly bothersome in the most sinful of ways.
“Of course not, My Lord,” Lincoln giggles, and Brendan briefly contemplates having him brought up for disrespecting the crown. “That would be treason, wouldn’t it now?”
As he says this, however, the damnable man leaps into the air, hurtling straight downwards with the point of his sword fixed at the location of Brendan's fucking head.
With a grunt, Brendan rolls away, just as Lincoln's sword lodges itself firmly into the ground, right where Brendan's eye had been.
Brendan eyes him with horror. “You wicked little s*it,” he mutters. “You are trying to kill me-”
He ducks. Lincoln's sword sliced through the air with terrifyingly deadly speed.
“Don’t be so paranoid, my Lord,” Lincoln sings, wielding his sword with a cheer like the two of them are having a run around on a playground, rather than a spar.
“You’ll never improve unless you truly fear danger, you know. I’m doing you a favor-”
Here, with a truly horrifyingly cheerful grin, Lincoln thrusts his sword forward and just narrowly manages to avoid staking Brendan through the stomach.
Brendan bites his tongue to avoid a shout of alarm.
Doing him a favor, he says, as he continues to nearly kill Brendan with every swipe of his weapon.
“Besides,” Lincoln laughs.
“If I were truly trying to kill you, you’d have been long dead.”
Brendan eyes him flatly.
Lincoln laughs, straight in his face, like Brendan's irritation is his greatest source of joy. Brendan hates this man.
“Maybe you should take her out somewhere,” Lincoln suggests, finally, finally, calling their session to a blissful end.
He clads his sword, and Brendan barely holds back a sigh of relief.
Brendan ignores the suggestion entirely.
“She must be going out of her mind with boredom, Brendan,” Lincoln insists, and Brendan regrets the day he ever befriended the fool enough to allow him the familiarity of his name without his title.
“Brendan,” Lincoln says, and Brendan whirls around with a grave and deadly chill in his eye.
Lincoln rolls his eyes. “You do realize that your death stares have no effect on me anymore, My Lord,” Lincoln has the absolute worst tendency to manage to make My Lord sound like the worst insult.
“I much preferred when you used to sneak around, too terrified to even look me in the eye,” Brendan mutters irritably.
Lincoln laughs as if he’s told a particularly funny joke, and goes as far as to toss an arm around Brendan's neck, that reckless scoundrel.
“Why not take Lady Alcina to the night market? I am sure she would find it enjoyable.”
“I hardly think,” Brendan says stiffly.
“That to risk going somewhere, anywhere in the darkness of the night, with the lord they call shadows and nightmares incarnate, would be an enjoyable experience-”
Lincoln sighs, as though Brendan were being particularly slow-witted. “Brendan-”
“I’m quite finished with our conversation, I think,” Brendan interrupts.
Lincoln purses his lips.
“She is alone, traded off by her own House, in a castle with no friends besides the books in her room,” Lincoln says.
“I imagine she might be at a point where she’d take even a nightmare over boredom, by now.”
Lincoln strides ahead of him, giving Brendan no opportunity to respond.
“Besides,” he says elevated, amusement lingering in his smile. “She does not seem as easily frightened as one might expect.”
* * * * * * * * * *
It takes three days for Brendan to reach the envious conclusion that, perhaps, Alcina has been living a bit like a trapped prisoner in their House.
And, he supposes, he ought to try to be a little kinder, given that the other party, Lady Alcina had gone through such eager lengths to thank him for the insignificant books.
* * * * * * * * * *
Alcina is out in the orchard, reading (again).
It has proven to be her most frequent activity, here, though the weather has certainly become cold enough to warrant an extra blanket on her tours out.
In fact, she’s taken to bringing two extra blankets - one for herself, and one for Fluffy, the name she’s affectionately given to the wolf she’d met the week before.
Every day, without fail, the wolf comes back once more to revisit her, much to Alcina's delight.
Alcina's been requesting Mary to pack some extra food so that she could share it with the wolf, who seems only all too happy to partake in the picnic.
Alcina wishes she could coax the wolf into returning to the castle with her, but the creature seems content with the life it has, as it always parts ways with Alcina whenever it’s time for the girl to head back in.
Alcina doesn’t know where the wolf disappears after departing from her, but she supposes that the wolf must have a comfortable enough place to stay and things to eat, given that it appears to be in healthy condition each time they meet.
As it is, she’s had to content herself with simply offering a warm blanket and some food once each afternoon, though nothing would make her happier than if she could provide the wolf a warm, indoor home.
Fluffy is curled into a ball beside her at the moment, his head resting in Alcina's lap beside the open book.
But then, all of a sudden, the wolf leaps to its feet and goes hopping off, howling enthusiastically with its whole body.
Alcina gapes, as she watches Fluffy go dancing and leaping up to Lord Brendan, of all people.
Lord Brendan, who pauses in his approach, to bend down and pat the wolf warmly along its back, receives the wolf's overwhelming affections like it’s something unremarkable and everyday activity.
When Brendan finally strolls up to Alcina, she’s staring openly, lips parted in surprise and eyes round.
“Fluffy is your wolf?” Alcina breathes.
Brendan pauses. Stiffens. “Fluffy?”
Alcina freezes. “Um.”
Brendan eyes her disbelievingly. “Did you just call him Fluffy?”
Alcina curls in on herself a bit, cheeks pinking. She doesn’t even defend herself.
“You named the black hunting wolf,” Brendan tones flatly. “-as Fluffy.”
Alcina pouts. “Because he is as soft as a feathery,” she mumbles grumpily.
Brendan bites the inside of his cheek so hard he nearly draws blood.
“Well, then what is his name?” Alcina demands, all intelligible traces of fear evaporated in the face of her aggrieved discovery that the wolf she’d affectionately grown attached to as Fluffy, apparently already had a different owner and name.
Brendan, not for the first time, does not quite know what to make of this lass.
“His name is Ghost,” he says.
Ghost, at his name, barks once, before settling into a sharp sitting position right at Brendan's heel.
Alcina's pout deepens.
She’d known Ghost had had some other life, somewhere, but she hadn’t known she already had an owner.
She can’t help but feel a bit betrayed. She’d thought the two of them were akin spirits, in a way - two companion outsiders, in House Warner.
Brendan's lips twitch.
“Though I am sure he would not mind if you felt eager about calling him Fluffy,” he says graciously.
“It’s alright,” Alcina mumbles sourly.
Brendan coughs to cover up a chuckle.
Alcina, however, looks so unhappily upon Ghost, that Brendan feels forced to add something more.
Biting back a sigh, he swoops elegantly to the ground, allowing the wolf to nuzzle closer.
“He was one of the wolves used as part of the hunting party for the castle,” he explains quietly, stroking a hand along the wolf's back.
“His eye got injured in a hunt when he was still young, and he was to be put down because he could no longer be employed for his primary purpose.”
Alcina gasps.
She looks anew at the disfigured, silvery scar on the wolf's eye, and feels a pang in her heart for it.
Brendan's lips curve into a small, amused smile at the insatiable reaction.
“Well, he is well and alive now,” he murmurs pointedly, and Alcina scowls.
That is until she realizes the unsaid portion of the plot - the middle of it all, wherein somehow, the wolf attacked to be put down is now standing happily beside Brendan, wagging its very happy tail.
Did Lord Brendan rescue the wolf, then?
But Alcina doesn’t get a chance to ask, for Lord Brendan is standing right back up in the next moment, his expression back into the cool, blank facade he usually wears.
“I was wondering if you would like to visit the night market in town tonight.”
Alcina stares.
“I was wondering if you would like to visit the night market in town tonight.” Brendan askes.Alcina stares.Brendan shifts minutely. “It is an outdoor market, open twice a week at night. They have an interesting selection of stalls and crystal wares if you’d like to go.”Alcina's, eyes widening, nods her head so furiously, that Brendan mildly worries her neck might snap.“Yes, please,” she says, sounding painfully earnest. “That sounds magnificent, I’d love to-” Abruptly, Alcina's cheeks color, and she folds her hands carefully in her lap.“Yes,” she coughs, clearly embarrassed at her eager display.“Thank you for your kind invitation, Lord Brendan."* * * * * * * * * *The two of them take a small, compact carriage into town, manned only by their driver.A typical protocol would command at least a few guards, but Brendan had said that having
The last thing she manages to see before the carriage and Brendan grow too small for her to see with much clarity is the ring of bandits descending upon Brendan.Alcina feels as though she cannot breathe.Even as she clenches her eyes shut, she cannot stop visualizing the dark and determined light in Brendan's eyes, as he used his only moment of time to get Alcina astride their only chance at escape.As he’d looked directly into Alcina's eyes, and told her not to get help,but toride fast and don’t look back.Brendan, the Shadowed Beast.Brendan, the man who read a book on stars and constellations and the galaxy from cover to cover, retraced the lines until the pages thinned with his attentions.Brendan, he who they call that born of all the terrible and dark things of the world, under his grim and detestable birthright.Brendan, the man who’d rescued a useless and crippled wolf from certain death, a
Brendan extends his hands to help her up, but, Alcina flinches back.Brendan’s hands are still in his beastly form, Hands turned into his claws, thick hair is covering the whole of his harms. Brendan looks at the terrified girl in front of him and at his extended hand.No wonder, what can he expect from her? One look at his beastly form – and whoosh - everybody starts to cover from him. And his wife-to-be is no different.He is not even in his full form, but here they are -The two of them ride back to the castle with complete, wordless silence, broken only by the constant clopping of the horse’s hooves on the floor.Alcina, seated in front of Brendan, Brendan’s arms around her to hold the reigns, cannot seem to stop shivering.But it is not even a particularly cold night.Brendan makes no comment on it, instead urging the horse to ride faster through the night.When they arrive at the castle, Brendan di
Alcina awakens to a room that is not her own.In the light of day - sunlight streaming through wide-open windows, bathing the entire floor in a warm glow - it's almost unrecognizable.The entire room was immersed in the ghastly, inky blackness of earlier.Every inch of the four walls, the entirety of the floor, is bathed in thathorrifyingpitch darkness, gaping andimpossible to comprehend,terrifying.Slowly, still caught in between consciousness and that shadowy world of dreams, Alcina sits up, the silken sheets pooling at her waist.It's then that she notices she's laying under the covers at all and frowns blearily, trying to recall-Brendan's hand, wrapped loosely around her neck, his thumb resting just above Alcina's pounding pulse, his index finger tapping gently against the side of her neck in time with her beating heart-Alcina's eyes spring open, the memories of the night before returning in a
After a brief moment in the morning, Alcina doesn't get another chance to speak with Lord Brendan for the remainder of the day.She'd hoped to catch him at dinner but finds that the man is entirely absent at dinner with little explanation.Forwhat she is looking for, the man, she hasn't yet planned; she just feels unsettled, as though there's an entire world left unsaid and unresolved, without any particularities thought out.Alpha Warner simply explains that Brendan had claimed business he must attend elsewhere.Alcina noticed that Alpha Warner's rumors of growing absentmindedness had not been exaggerated.It is no doubt true, then, that Lord Brendan must succeed his father's rule of the Western Plains in the next year, at best.As it is, she spends the dinner mostly looking down at her plate, wondering where it is that Lord Brendan could have had such urgent business to attend to.And when she catches herself with these
"Then why are you weeping like a child who's had her favorite teddy stolen from her?"Alcina scowls.She catches the tug of an amused smile at the edge of Brendan's lips, and it makes a flush rise on her cheeks. "I am not a child," she mutters sourly."I just. I have been- I just. There was a letter," Alcina finally says lamely, explaining absolutely nothing about their current circumstances.She's been sold off like a particularly unwanted cattle by her family to the man. The man they only whisper about cautiously in the safety of their own homes, as the nightmare ghost in human form.She has had to leave everything, her home, belongings, and the only family she has ever known and loved.And had to come to these unfamiliar lands, which she had long thought would be a terrifying lair fit for a monster.She has been entrapped by terrifying bandits nearly lost her life. And then witnessed other men lose theirs in a display o
That night, Alcina stays up late once more, organizing the genuinely astounding number of parcels she now has in her room. And wonders had she indeed purchased this many things. She's halfway through organizing some of the items on her dressing table when she hears it. This time, that quiet, muffled whimper all the louder for how acutely her sense is attuned to the sound. This time, she wastes little time in letting herself through the door. And she realized, then, that while she can lock her side, Lord Brendan cannot. She starts wondering what the implications are that the man had prepared an acknowledged cagefor himself to be locked into. When she sees the floors and walls, once more, covered in that endlessblackness, again, she can't help the fear that rushes up inside of her as if a dam had broken. But she cannot leave Lord Brendan as he is, in whatever pained hell he has trapped himself into-
Alcina wakes first.This time, she awakens with the immediate and keen awareness of precisely where she is. That is not her own bed, but the one she'd just shared with Lord Brendan.Lord Brendan, who is evidently still asleep when Alcina looks to her right.Alcina can't help but to stare.In sleep, the lord's features seem impossibly young - with none of the heavy presence that bears on him like an ever-present weight when the lord is awake.It's something about his eyes, Alcina thinks; those dark, fathomless depths that speak of years much, much beyond the lord's age of twenty-five.And there's a fascination here, too, of being permitted to observe such a feared man up close like being allowed into a tiger's den when the ferocious tiger is declawed in its slumber."If you leaned in any closer, one would think it ismyperson people should worry about, rather than yours,"Lord Breandan's low, rough timber - pitched mo