fanfic and original writing by ar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
witticaster) wrote2009-09-22 08:00 pm
witticaster) wrote2009-09-22 08:00 pm
Entry tags:
093
ASOIAF fic, wtf. Mya/Sansa, because I suspect I am never going to write anything else because I am picky like that. >> It doesn't have a title yet, and I don't know what to call it; it's saved as kiss.txt, but that's not a good title, and I am tempted to pull a line from this song, but that probably isn't a smart plan, either. Ideas would be appreciated. >>;;;;
I am trying to get up the pluck to post it to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
valyrian_forged, lolfail. WE'LL START HERE AND CONQUER THE WORLD.
Alayne can't recall, later on, how exactly one thing happened to lead to the next; that day becomes a muddle of individual moments, each exceptionally clear on its own but unconnected to all the rest. Her father, informing her that morning that a marital alliance had been formed; Harrold, making his intentions known that afternoon; her own voice, tonelessly accepting a second marriage and pretending it is her first; and now, sitting across from a friend in her bedchamber, saying not a word.
Alayne has asked Mya to her chambers, as has become a habit these winter nights--ostensibly for an hour's leisure before the evening's meal, when her change in status will undoubtedly be announced to all and sundry. Usually when they meet so, their time is filled with short, friendly conversations, but today, Alayne's tongue feels leaden in her mouth. She cannot even bring herself to inquire about the well-being of Mya's mules. (It has become a small joke between them that when one or the other is lost for words, asking after the mules or young Robert will always create conversation. For a few minutes, at least. Mya is the only person Alayne is willing to risk telling how tiring Robert's fits are, though even with her she still only hints--but she believes, hopes, that the other girl understands.)
Mya breaks the silence. "You're fretting about something." She always manages to cut to the interior of things, past the small-talk that Alayne has come to expect from Lady Myranda. "What is it?"
Alayne inwardly rouses herself from her empty revery. "I...I am to be married," she says, keeping the tone of her voice carefully blank. "To Harrold Hardyng."
Mya says nothing aloud, but her piercing blue eyes speak volumes. They are skeptical, her dark eyebrows are knitted in a frown, and for one moment, Sansa wants to tell her everything she's forced down into a cold bundle of memories and regrets in her heart: the trampled dreams she's left behind, the castles in the air that this existence is nothing like. Alayne says nothing of the sort, however, and instead meets the sharp gaze, her own blue eyes belying nothing of the girl she's locked within herself.
Perhaps in that moment, something of Sansa has escaped despite her efforts, for Mya stands from her chair, walks to Alayne's, and takes the girl's hand in her own, drawing her out of her seat. Before Alayne realizes what is happening, she is caught in a warm hug, her cheek pressed against her friend's neck, and she breathes in Mya's scent. (It's far less reminiscent of a stable than one might guess, a mixture of straw and sweat; Mya is the one person Alayne knows who is--as far as she can tell--exactly who she claims to be, and her scent is a comforting bit of proof.) Before Mya releases her from the embrace, Alayne gives her a kiss of thanks. She tells herself that she has misjudged where her friend's cheek is and kissed her mouth instead, and that it is entirely by chance. She is prepared to tell Mya the same, to lie an apology and escape straightaway to prepare Robert for a dinner he will squall about having to eat. Before she can release Mya from their embrace, though, Mya is kissing her back.
It is unlike any kiss Alayne has had before. Mya's lips are windchapped but soft, and she leaves Alayne to decide whether to deepen the kiss or break it off. It remains chaste; it would be a token of favour from a lady to her knight champion if they were characters in a story, even though Alayne is no lady and Mya, no man. She allows herself a few sweet and heady moments of fancy before moving her head back. Eyes still closed, she takes a slow, silent breath.
"What was that for, then?" Her friend's voice is quiet, and gruffer than usual, and her breath is warm against Alayne's cheek.
She doesn't know how to reply. It was an impulsive, rash choice, born out of that quiet longing for a life of a character in a song that still persists at her core and the desire to finally have control over who her lips kiss, but even these explanations fall short. Alayne opens her eyes to find Mya's face still only inches from her own, and in that moment, she wants only to be like her: entirely, unapologetically herself, without worrying about complications. So she tells the truth.
"It was for you," she says, and tries to smile. She doesn't quite succeed--she can feel how sad her eyes must still appear.
Mya's only reply is another kiss.
I am trying to get up the pluck to post it to
valyrian_forged, lolfail. WE'LL START HERE AND CONQUER THE WORLD. Alayne can't recall, later on, how exactly one thing happened to lead to the next; that day becomes a muddle of individual moments, each exceptionally clear on its own but unconnected to all the rest. Her father, informing her that morning that a marital alliance had been formed; Harrold, making his intentions known that afternoon; her own voice, tonelessly accepting a second marriage and pretending it is her first; and now, sitting across from a friend in her bedchamber, saying not a word.
Alayne has asked Mya to her chambers, as has become a habit these winter nights--ostensibly for an hour's leisure before the evening's meal, when her change in status will undoubtedly be announced to all and sundry. Usually when they meet so, their time is filled with short, friendly conversations, but today, Alayne's tongue feels leaden in her mouth. She cannot even bring herself to inquire about the well-being of Mya's mules. (It has become a small joke between them that when one or the other is lost for words, asking after the mules or young Robert will always create conversation. For a few minutes, at least. Mya is the only person Alayne is willing to risk telling how tiring Robert's fits are, though even with her she still only hints--but she believes, hopes, that the other girl understands.)
Mya breaks the silence. "You're fretting about something." She always manages to cut to the interior of things, past the small-talk that Alayne has come to expect from Lady Myranda. "What is it?"
Alayne inwardly rouses herself from her empty revery. "I...I am to be married," she says, keeping the tone of her voice carefully blank. "To Harrold Hardyng."
Mya says nothing aloud, but her piercing blue eyes speak volumes. They are skeptical, her dark eyebrows are knitted in a frown, and for one moment, Sansa wants to tell her everything she's forced down into a cold bundle of memories and regrets in her heart: the trampled dreams she's left behind, the castles in the air that this existence is nothing like. Alayne says nothing of the sort, however, and instead meets the sharp gaze, her own blue eyes belying nothing of the girl she's locked within herself.
Perhaps in that moment, something of Sansa has escaped despite her efforts, for Mya stands from her chair, walks to Alayne's, and takes the girl's hand in her own, drawing her out of her seat. Before Alayne realizes what is happening, she is caught in a warm hug, her cheek pressed against her friend's neck, and she breathes in Mya's scent. (It's far less reminiscent of a stable than one might guess, a mixture of straw and sweat; Mya is the one person Alayne knows who is--as far as she can tell--exactly who she claims to be, and her scent is a comforting bit of proof.) Before Mya releases her from the embrace, Alayne gives her a kiss of thanks. She tells herself that she has misjudged where her friend's cheek is and kissed her mouth instead, and that it is entirely by chance. She is prepared to tell Mya the same, to lie an apology and escape straightaway to prepare Robert for a dinner he will squall about having to eat. Before she can release Mya from their embrace, though, Mya is kissing her back.
It is unlike any kiss Alayne has had before. Mya's lips are windchapped but soft, and she leaves Alayne to decide whether to deepen the kiss or break it off. It remains chaste; it would be a token of favour from a lady to her knight champion if they were characters in a story, even though Alayne is no lady and Mya, no man. She allows herself a few sweet and heady moments of fancy before moving her head back. Eyes still closed, she takes a slow, silent breath.
"What was that for, then?" Her friend's voice is quiet, and gruffer than usual, and her breath is warm against Alayne's cheek.
She doesn't know how to reply. It was an impulsive, rash choice, born out of that quiet longing for a life of a character in a song that still persists at her core and the desire to finally have control over who her lips kiss, but even these explanations fall short. Alayne opens her eyes to find Mya's face still only inches from her own, and in that moment, she wants only to be like her: entirely, unapologetically herself, without worrying about complications. So she tells the truth.
"It was for you," she says, and tries to smile. She doesn't quite succeed--she can feel how sad her eyes must still appear.
Mya's only reply is another kiss.