Go Fish 2012 - part one
Jul. 26th, 2012 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dicreasy2Title: Go Fish 2012: Part One,
Prompt: High Fantasy
Rating: PG
Summary: In which we are introduced to our hero and his wife.
Notes: The first proper part of my Go Fish challenge piece. I feel it could do with a but more editing, and as if my ideas are there, but I'm not translating them to the page as well as I would like. Oh well! This is for fun and to get me writing more, so I'm not as concerned as I would be if I felt like this while working on a chapter.
Word Count: 1,466.
Cumulative Word Count: 2,119.
Esmond was restless. The deep breathing of his wife beside him told him that she was fast asleep, but for the past hour he had lain staring up at the timbers of the ceiling, sleep a complete stranger to him. He’d been feeling like this more and more recently, but he had no idea as to why. He sighed and turned so that he was looking at the back of his wife’s head. There was really only one thing for him to do when he felt like this. He leant forward and kissed his wife’s bare shoulder noticing that she didn’t even stir, before he quietly slipped out of bed. He quickly pulled on his work clothes and fastened his belt before heading out the door.
As he lifted the heavy latch and entered the forge, he felt himself start to relax. His earliest memories were of this forge; of his father working away at the anvil while he watched on, fetching and carrying buckets of water, or tools as he got older, until finally his father had started to share with him the mysteries of working iron. The only place he felt safer was in his wife’s arms.
He lit the lamps that graced the walls before heading to the forge itself. It was still gently smouldering, and in no time he had got the fire hot enough for him to work with. He carefully selected several pieces of metal from the pile, picked up his tools and walked over to the forge. The metal hot enough he took it over to the anvil and started the long process of beating it into shape. He let his mind wander as he worked, giving no conscious thought as to what he was making, instead letting his instinct guide him. He may have had to learn how to hold the tools, but like his father and his grandfather before him, he had found that he had an innate, almost unnatural, understanding of how the metal worked and could craft anything he wanted. It wasn’t unusual for his body to work on autopilot while he thought of other things, and tonight he pondered why he was feeling so restless. It certainly wasn’t that he was unhappy. He had recently been joined with a woman he loved with all his heart; although he still missed his father keenly, he no longer grieved for his loss; he was fulfilled in his work at the forge and his brother had sent word that he was safe and enjoying the training he was receiving as one of the king’s guards. No, he had nothing to be unhappy about, and, now he was thinking about it clearly, his restlessness was not to do with unhappiness. It was something instinctual, akin to a prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck or the feeling of the hunted as the hounds start baying; he felt like he should be running, but was rooted to the spot. The hot metal hissed and spat as he quenched it in the nearby water barrel before he regarded it critically and thrust it into the forge again. Working here in the familiar warmth of the smithy, with the reassuring weight of his tools in his hands was the only thing that made him feel less restless and he felt himself relax more as he lost himself in the rhythm of heating the metal, shaping it and quenching it, until eventually he realised he felt tired enough to sleep. He looked down at the metal in his hand and raised his eyebrows in surprise. He’d crafted a dagger blade. Long and thin, he knew it’d be wickedly sharp once he’d finished polishing the edge, it was the third such blade he’d made without realising it that week. His unease was obviously very deep seated. Oh well, it’d fetch a good price. He’d finish it make a handle for it in the morning, for now, he was going to head back home and to bed. He tossed it onto a nearby bench, saw to the fire and doused the lamps before leaving.
After going back to bed, Esmond had slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, not waking until a beam of warm sunlight hit his face the next morning. Bleary eyed, he pulled on the same clothes he had discarded only a few hours before, and padded, bare foot into the main room of the cottage. Irene was already there, stirring the pottage in the cauldron suspending over the kitchen fire. He walked up to her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Good morning,” he murmured before planting a kiss on the side of her neck. He was surprised when, rather than relaxing into his embrace as usual, she stiffened and continued to stir the pot. “Sit down and I’ll dish you some up.”
Perplexed, he did as he was bid, then watched as she ladled the thick soup into two bowls, before placing one in front of him and sitting down with her own. He tucked in enthusiastically, but stopped when he realised Irene was stirring her bowl listlessly. “Are you sickening for something?” he asked concerned.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then what is wrong? You seem out of sorts this morning.”
Irene stopped stirring her pottage and put her spoon down. “Where were you last night?” she asked. “I woke during the night, and you were gone, and it is not the first time either. It has happened more often than not this week.”
“I was restless and couldn’t sleep, so I went to the smithy for a while. I didn’t want to wake you to let you know,” explained Esmond.
Irene nodded slowly. “Your restlessness, is it because you now have to share your bed with me? We have not been joined long but if you have changed your mind…” her voice trailed off.
“No! That is not it at all,” said Esmond appalled. “I love you more than life itself, and do not want to think about life without you.” He put his own spoon down and placed the palms of his hands flat on the table as he debated telling her what was bothering him. On one hand he didn’t want to worry her, but on the other, they had promised never to keep anything from each other. “It sounds absurd,” he said, “but it is almost as if I feel that there is something coming. I have made more small weapons recently than ever before, and feel most comfortable when handling iron than at any other time. I feel like I want to run, but something is keeping me in place, almost as if I have to stay, so I am restless.”
Irene gnawed at her lip. “It is not absurd. I have been having bad dreams of beautiful creatures with cruel faces and flashing eyes, and when I awake from them, I am left with an overwhelming urge to run, but the knowledge that I can’t. It’s why I woke up last night, and the night before, and the night before that.”
Esmond felt sick at her words. His wife had been waking from horrible dreams, and he had not been there to comfort her and make her feel safe enough to go back to sleep. “Why did you not tell me you were suffering from nightmares?” he asked.
Irene shrugged. “You were leaving me in the middle of the night with no explanation. For all I knew, you were making your way to another woman’s bed. I didn’t want to tell you.”
Esmond swung his leg over his stool and got up to go to her. “I have no need to even look at another woman, let alone spend time in her bed,” he said as he crouched beside her. “I love you. And I wish you had told me about these dreams sooner.”
“Just as I wish you had told me about your sleeplessness,” countered Irene. Esmond put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
Irene smiled. “How could I not? Although you do still have some way to go to make it up to me. You kept things from me and made me wonder if you loved me after all. We promised tell each other the truth in our vows.”
“I realise that.” Esmond raised his brows. “How about I start right now?” Irene pretended to think about this. “Well,” she said slowly, “you have so much to do, I think making a start now will help.”
He grinned at her as he got to his feet and held out his hands to her. She took them and let him help her up off the stool before following him into their bedchamber.
Prompt: High Fantasy
Rating: PG
Summary: In which we are introduced to our hero and his wife.
Notes: The first proper part of my Go Fish challenge piece. I feel it could do with a but more editing, and as if my ideas are there, but I'm not translating them to the page as well as I would like. Oh well! This is for fun and to get me writing more, so I'm not as concerned as I would be if I felt like this while working on a chapter.
Word Count: 1,466.
Cumulative Word Count: 2,119.
Esmond was restless. The deep breathing of his wife beside him told him that she was fast asleep, but for the past hour he had lain staring up at the timbers of the ceiling, sleep a complete stranger to him. He’d been feeling like this more and more recently, but he had no idea as to why. He sighed and turned so that he was looking at the back of his wife’s head. There was really only one thing for him to do when he felt like this. He leant forward and kissed his wife’s bare shoulder noticing that she didn’t even stir, before he quietly slipped out of bed. He quickly pulled on his work clothes and fastened his belt before heading out the door.
As he lifted the heavy latch and entered the forge, he felt himself start to relax. His earliest memories were of this forge; of his father working away at the anvil while he watched on, fetching and carrying buckets of water, or tools as he got older, until finally his father had started to share with him the mysteries of working iron. The only place he felt safer was in his wife’s arms.
He lit the lamps that graced the walls before heading to the forge itself. It was still gently smouldering, and in no time he had got the fire hot enough for him to work with. He carefully selected several pieces of metal from the pile, picked up his tools and walked over to the forge. The metal hot enough he took it over to the anvil and started the long process of beating it into shape. He let his mind wander as he worked, giving no conscious thought as to what he was making, instead letting his instinct guide him. He may have had to learn how to hold the tools, but like his father and his grandfather before him, he had found that he had an innate, almost unnatural, understanding of how the metal worked and could craft anything he wanted. It wasn’t unusual for his body to work on autopilot while he thought of other things, and tonight he pondered why he was feeling so restless. It certainly wasn’t that he was unhappy. He had recently been joined with a woman he loved with all his heart; although he still missed his father keenly, he no longer grieved for his loss; he was fulfilled in his work at the forge and his brother had sent word that he was safe and enjoying the training he was receiving as one of the king’s guards. No, he had nothing to be unhappy about, and, now he was thinking about it clearly, his restlessness was not to do with unhappiness. It was something instinctual, akin to a prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck or the feeling of the hunted as the hounds start baying; he felt like he should be running, but was rooted to the spot. The hot metal hissed and spat as he quenched it in the nearby water barrel before he regarded it critically and thrust it into the forge again. Working here in the familiar warmth of the smithy, with the reassuring weight of his tools in his hands was the only thing that made him feel less restless and he felt himself relax more as he lost himself in the rhythm of heating the metal, shaping it and quenching it, until eventually he realised he felt tired enough to sleep. He looked down at the metal in his hand and raised his eyebrows in surprise. He’d crafted a dagger blade. Long and thin, he knew it’d be wickedly sharp once he’d finished polishing the edge, it was the third such blade he’d made without realising it that week. His unease was obviously very deep seated. Oh well, it’d fetch a good price. He’d finish it make a handle for it in the morning, for now, he was going to head back home and to bed. He tossed it onto a nearby bench, saw to the fire and doused the lamps before leaving.
***
After going back to bed, Esmond had slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, not waking until a beam of warm sunlight hit his face the next morning. Bleary eyed, he pulled on the same clothes he had discarded only a few hours before, and padded, bare foot into the main room of the cottage. Irene was already there, stirring the pottage in the cauldron suspending over the kitchen fire. He walked up to her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Good morning,” he murmured before planting a kiss on the side of her neck. He was surprised when, rather than relaxing into his embrace as usual, she stiffened and continued to stir the pot. “Sit down and I’ll dish you some up.”
Perplexed, he did as he was bid, then watched as she ladled the thick soup into two bowls, before placing one in front of him and sitting down with her own. He tucked in enthusiastically, but stopped when he realised Irene was stirring her bowl listlessly. “Are you sickening for something?” he asked concerned.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then what is wrong? You seem out of sorts this morning.”
Irene stopped stirring her pottage and put her spoon down. “Where were you last night?” she asked. “I woke during the night, and you were gone, and it is not the first time either. It has happened more often than not this week.”
“I was restless and couldn’t sleep, so I went to the smithy for a while. I didn’t want to wake you to let you know,” explained Esmond.
Irene nodded slowly. “Your restlessness, is it because you now have to share your bed with me? We have not been joined long but if you have changed your mind…” her voice trailed off.
“No! That is not it at all,” said Esmond appalled. “I love you more than life itself, and do not want to think about life without you.” He put his own spoon down and placed the palms of his hands flat on the table as he debated telling her what was bothering him. On one hand he didn’t want to worry her, but on the other, they had promised never to keep anything from each other. “It sounds absurd,” he said, “but it is almost as if I feel that there is something coming. I have made more small weapons recently than ever before, and feel most comfortable when handling iron than at any other time. I feel like I want to run, but something is keeping me in place, almost as if I have to stay, so I am restless.”
Irene gnawed at her lip. “It is not absurd. I have been having bad dreams of beautiful creatures with cruel faces and flashing eyes, and when I awake from them, I am left with an overwhelming urge to run, but the knowledge that I can’t. It’s why I woke up last night, and the night before, and the night before that.”
Esmond felt sick at her words. His wife had been waking from horrible dreams, and he had not been there to comfort her and make her feel safe enough to go back to sleep. “Why did you not tell me you were suffering from nightmares?” he asked.
Irene shrugged. “You were leaving me in the middle of the night with no explanation. For all I knew, you were making your way to another woman’s bed. I didn’t want to tell you.”
Esmond swung his leg over his stool and got up to go to her. “I have no need to even look at another woman, let alone spend time in her bed,” he said as he crouched beside her. “I love you. And I wish you had told me about these dreams sooner.”
“Just as I wish you had told me about your sleeplessness,” countered Irene. Esmond put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
Irene smiled. “How could I not? Although you do still have some way to go to make it up to me. You kept things from me and made me wonder if you loved me after all. We promised tell each other the truth in our vows.”
“I realise that.” Esmond raised his brows. “How about I start right now?” Irene pretended to think about this. “Well,” she said slowly, “you have so much to do, I think making a start now will help.”
He grinned at her as he got to his feet and held out his hands to her. She took them and let him help her up off the stool before following him into their bedchamber.
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