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Gondal
For the 2nd annual Trennels ficathon in response to the prompt 'Anything set in Gondal'. I must be mad.
Alcona looked all the way down his long, beaked nose at he boy he had sent away, unaccountably returned alive. Heads would roll. Starting with the two belonging to the fools who had come back with him. Alcona gazed with malevolent pleasure at de Samara and Douglas.
‘It is an unexpected… delight to be once more favoured with your presence, Your Highness.’ It made no odds that his voice positively shuddered with sarcasm. For the sake of the watching court, the formalities must be observed, but none here were in any doubt about the true state of affairs. He rose from his chair at the head of the great table and slowly, pointedly made his bow.
The young king waited while one by one, his courtiers paid him their homage.
The Regent spoke again. ‘How fared Your Majesty’s expedition?’
Jason giggled. Alcona was conscious of a tightening around his chest. The boy made an obvious effort to compose himself.
‘I come from Angora,’ he announced cockily. ‘With an army.’
Alcona raised his eyebrows. ‘An army? Your highness is not satisfied with your own army?’
Jason tilted his head to one side as if considering this. ‘Are they my army?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Or yours?’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ Ginty told Lawrie appreciatively. ‘Reeling him in.’
Lawrie grinned. ‘I think it’s about time for your bit now, Gin.’
From her high tower chamber, Rosina was conscious of the commotion at the drawbridge. She held a piece of needlework in her hand, but made no pretence of stitching. It was long months since Rupert had been sent away and her heart was breaking into smaller pieces daily.
‘Gi-in!’
‘Oh, all right. But one of these days you’ll want the other too.’
‘The king!’
Rosina’s head jerked up at that. ‘Where? Is he alone?’
Lady Arelina shook her head. ‘No. There are two men accompanying him through the portcullis.’
‘Two!’ Four had gone with him. Immediately she knew in her heart that Rupert had not returned. If he had been here, so close, she would have been able to sense his dear presence.
Rosina flung down her hated embroidery frame and gathered her skirts. She must see with her own eyes.
‘Fine,’ said Patrick, with a gleam in his eye. ‘After tea we can do the big showdown. How do you think she’ll take the news of his treachery?’
Ginty clasped her knees tighter and thought about this. ‘Badly,’ she decided. ‘She won’t believe them at first and then she’ll feel as though she never knew him. But later I expect she’ll start to feel sorry for him.’
‘Yes,’ said Lawrie, bored of the lovers’ talk. ‘But here’s the thing. Should we have the Council turn on Alcona and take him there or should we let them stand on his side and take it out into a real battle?’
‘Battle,’ said Ginty, with a proper ghoulish relish.
‘Take him in the Council Chamber,’ Patrick replied firmly at the same moment. ‘He’ll hate that – having his men turn on him so publicly.’
There was a pause. The three of them turned to look at Peter, sitting slightly apart from the group and whittling at a piece of wood. He glanced up, realising that the others were trying to include him. ‘Whatever you prefer.’
Lawrie smiled happily. ‘Then I say Council Chamber too.’
Ginty flashed a quick smile at Patrick. ‘Okay.’
He got up and collected Regina, settling her easily onto his fist. ‘I’ll see you later, then. No, Gin, you don’t have to see me out.’
She nodded and tried not to look as snubbed as she felt.
***
The fields of snow were flaming crimson and burnt orange in the late afternoon sunset as Patrick made his meandering way back to the hawkhouse. He rather liked the blackness of the silhouetted trees and hedgerows and wondered if perhaps one day he might learn to paint such scenes.
One dark outline was moving towards him. He smiled, preparing himself to greet Rowan extra friendlily after that incident a couple of days earlier with the gun.
Oh.
Nicola.
For an instant he contemplated running. Which was ridiculous. There was nowhere to go except past her or back along the path to Trennels. And besides, there was no reason to hide. A casual nod. Perhaps a word of greeting and then she’d be gone.
She’d stopped in the middle of the track. Patrick approached nervously, never more glad to have a hawk on his wrist.
‘Are you still at it?’ Disapproving, angry, perhaps just a touch nervous too? He wouldn’t want to be a lowly midshipman on any of her ships, that was for sure.
He gave a casual twitch of shoulder and head that conveyed, he hoped, assent without agreement.
Nicola responded with a noise of disdain.
‘Where have you been, anyway?’ he added, suddenly curious. She couldn’t have been to the hawkhouse. Not since Sprog… ‘I’m sorry,’ Patrick told her honestly, forgetting everything in the reality of death. And he was, truly, sorry about Sprog. If there were other things she thought he ought to be sorry for, she could think that too. ‘Look, come with me now and help put this one to bed.’
Nicola looked at him warily.
‘Come on,’ he urged her. ‘Tomorrow we can take her out and fly her properly.’
‘We?’
Oh. Well… Gin wouldn’t mind one day, would she? ‘You and me. Mr Buster and the Idiot Boy. Tessa and Bucket. Regina.’
Nicola smiled. ‘Let me hold her?’
Patrick handed her his spare glove and watched as she braced herself to take Regina’s weight. ‘Heavier than Sprog.’
‘Yes,’ Nicola agreed. ‘I can manage though.’
‘I know.’ He grinned down at her. ‘We’ll have to get you a proper falcon next time.’
Alcona looked all the way down his long, beaked nose at he boy he had sent away, unaccountably returned alive. Heads would roll. Starting with the two belonging to the fools who had come back with him. Alcona gazed with malevolent pleasure at de Samara and Douglas.
‘It is an unexpected… delight to be once more favoured with your presence, Your Highness.’ It made no odds that his voice positively shuddered with sarcasm. For the sake of the watching court, the formalities must be observed, but none here were in any doubt about the true state of affairs. He rose from his chair at the head of the great table and slowly, pointedly made his bow.
The young king waited while one by one, his courtiers paid him their homage.
The Regent spoke again. ‘How fared Your Majesty’s expedition?’
Jason giggled. Alcona was conscious of a tightening around his chest. The boy made an obvious effort to compose himself.
‘I come from Angora,’ he announced cockily. ‘With an army.’
Alcona raised his eyebrows. ‘An army? Your highness is not satisfied with your own army?’
Jason tilted his head to one side as if considering this. ‘Are they my army?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Or yours?’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ Ginty told Lawrie appreciatively. ‘Reeling him in.’
Lawrie grinned. ‘I think it’s about time for your bit now, Gin.’
From her high tower chamber, Rosina was conscious of the commotion at the drawbridge. She held a piece of needlework in her hand, but made no pretence of stitching. It was long months since Rupert had been sent away and her heart was breaking into smaller pieces daily.
‘Gi-in!’
‘Oh, all right. But one of these days you’ll want the other too.’
‘The king!’
Rosina’s head jerked up at that. ‘Where? Is he alone?’
Lady Arelina shook her head. ‘No. There are two men accompanying him through the portcullis.’
‘Two!’ Four had gone with him. Immediately she knew in her heart that Rupert had not returned. If he had been here, so close, she would have been able to sense his dear presence.
Rosina flung down her hated embroidery frame and gathered her skirts. She must see with her own eyes.
‘Fine,’ said Patrick, with a gleam in his eye. ‘After tea we can do the big showdown. How do you think she’ll take the news of his treachery?’
Ginty clasped her knees tighter and thought about this. ‘Badly,’ she decided. ‘She won’t believe them at first and then she’ll feel as though she never knew him. But later I expect she’ll start to feel sorry for him.’
‘Yes,’ said Lawrie, bored of the lovers’ talk. ‘But here’s the thing. Should we have the Council turn on Alcona and take him there or should we let them stand on his side and take it out into a real battle?’
‘Battle,’ said Ginty, with a proper ghoulish relish.
‘Take him in the Council Chamber,’ Patrick replied firmly at the same moment. ‘He’ll hate that – having his men turn on him so publicly.’
There was a pause. The three of them turned to look at Peter, sitting slightly apart from the group and whittling at a piece of wood. He glanced up, realising that the others were trying to include him. ‘Whatever you prefer.’
Lawrie smiled happily. ‘Then I say Council Chamber too.’
Ginty flashed a quick smile at Patrick. ‘Okay.’
He got up and collected Regina, settling her easily onto his fist. ‘I’ll see you later, then. No, Gin, you don’t have to see me out.’
She nodded and tried not to look as snubbed as she felt.
***
The fields of snow were flaming crimson and burnt orange in the late afternoon sunset as Patrick made his meandering way back to the hawkhouse. He rather liked the blackness of the silhouetted trees and hedgerows and wondered if perhaps one day he might learn to paint such scenes.
One dark outline was moving towards him. He smiled, preparing himself to greet Rowan extra friendlily after that incident a couple of days earlier with the gun.
Oh.
Nicola.
For an instant he contemplated running. Which was ridiculous. There was nowhere to go except past her or back along the path to Trennels. And besides, there was no reason to hide. A casual nod. Perhaps a word of greeting and then she’d be gone.
She’d stopped in the middle of the track. Patrick approached nervously, never more glad to have a hawk on his wrist.
‘Are you still at it?’ Disapproving, angry, perhaps just a touch nervous too? He wouldn’t want to be a lowly midshipman on any of her ships, that was for sure.
He gave a casual twitch of shoulder and head that conveyed, he hoped, assent without agreement.
Nicola responded with a noise of disdain.
‘Where have you been, anyway?’ he added, suddenly curious. She couldn’t have been to the hawkhouse. Not since Sprog… ‘I’m sorry,’ Patrick told her honestly, forgetting everything in the reality of death. And he was, truly, sorry about Sprog. If there were other things she thought he ought to be sorry for, she could think that too. ‘Look, come with me now and help put this one to bed.’
Nicola looked at him warily.
‘Come on,’ he urged her. ‘Tomorrow we can take her out and fly her properly.’
‘We?’
Oh. Well… Gin wouldn’t mind one day, would she? ‘You and me. Mr Buster and the Idiot Boy. Tessa and Bucket. Regina.’
Nicola smiled. ‘Let me hold her?’
Patrick handed her his spare glove and watched as she braced herself to take Regina’s weight. ‘Heavier than Sprog.’
‘Yes,’ Nicola agreed. ‘I can manage though.’
‘I know.’ He grinned down at her. ‘We’ll have to get you a proper falcon next time.’
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on a complete side note, what is your icon off? i'm looking for fabric in pretty much exactly those shades!!!
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It's an Amy Butler for Rowan fabric. Don't know the name of it but you should be able to find it easily enough! I used it to make the mini quilt that is now my header and background image.
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I particularly liked your description of fields of snow were flaming crimson and burnt orange in the late afternoon sunset and Patrick approaching Nicola nervously.