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runiclorePerceived Wrongs
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: July 2 - All this leads to one outcome
Series: Valkyrie Profile Silmeria
Character/Pairing: Seluvia, Christie
Rating: K
Words: 571
Notes: Right, so, I don't remember the details of this story, which means it might be canonically-challenged in places - mostly regarding Dyn, I bet.
.............................................
Seluvia watched the ink on his parchment dry, quill poised obove an ink pot. The color was weak, the ink diluted - their travel funds were running low and would continue to decline if he didn't finish this. "I know it's said poets are liars," he said, "but I hoped to prove it wrong."
"You'd get yourself hanged if you told the truth," Christie said behind him.
He turned, folding the parchment into squares. "Maybe."
"Dyn would claw his way up from Nifelheim and kill you before Crell Monferaigne could."
"I wish he would." Seluvia tossed the paper onto the table where she was setting out their lunch: dense brown bread, slabs of yellow cheese, and two slices of fatty mutton. "I'll get the tea," he said, and stood.
Their inn was tucked away in the foothills north of the city, because the capitol was too expensive. In the country he could sustain them with a few songs per night while Christie did chores or hunted for the pot, and opportunities to seal monsters and earn money were more common. The room was generous, large, with two narrow beds and real mattresses, large windows, a desk against the wall, and a table in the corner with an oil lamp.
He dug into his pack for his pouches of wild herbs and put bits of dried lavender and chamomile into a muslin drawstring bag. What would he give for some green tea, or black - or a decanter of strong wine so he wouldn't feel like an idiot writing the stanza he was working on?
"It's not that bad," Christie said when he went to the table to put the pouch into their teapot. She refolded the paper and threw it over to the desk. "I'm sure he'd forgive you for calling him a champion of Asgard."
"He'd knock me out with that sword, you mean."
She shrugged, smiled. "Then he'd forgive you."
Seluvia crossed the room to the door. "We need water," he said, and left. The hall was empty, his steps muffled by a worn runner woven with scrolls he knew for Kalstad handiwork. The lamps hadn't been lit yet, so it was dark. He tripped over a roll in the carpet.
She didn't see what he saw over Dyn's shoulder before the gate closed. Maybe it was his mystic sight that granted him that vision, or maybe the gods, taunting him. He learned as a child the gods were above human emotions and fallibility, yet if the Lady of Mists had not wanted to be seen, Seluvia would have been as blind as Christie was.
They didn't block Hel's passage for the sake of the gods. Dyn might have thought it, mayhap, but he also criticized their negligence of Midgard during their travels and fought to right what he perceived as their wrongs. He did it for the people. He did it for them: Seluvia, Christie. Live, he told them. Only one of us has to die here.
Alas, that would not gain the favor of Crell Monferaigne's nobles. Perhaps Dipan would provide a better audience, or Villnore, or the far south, where they believed in the spirits of the sands and the gods of Asgard were a luxury of wet land and easy living.
Maybe they should just disappear, and let their story do the talking for them. A book could not die and waste Dyn's sacrifice.
......................................................
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: July 2 - All this leads to one outcome
Series: Valkyrie Profile Silmeria
Character/Pairing: Seluvia, Christie
Rating: K
Words: 571
Notes: Right, so, I don't remember the details of this story, which means it might be canonically-challenged in places - mostly regarding Dyn, I bet.
.............................................
Seluvia watched the ink on his parchment dry, quill poised obove an ink pot. The color was weak, the ink diluted - their travel funds were running low and would continue to decline if he didn't finish this. "I know it's said poets are liars," he said, "but I hoped to prove it wrong."
"You'd get yourself hanged if you told the truth," Christie said behind him.
He turned, folding the parchment into squares. "Maybe."
"Dyn would claw his way up from Nifelheim and kill you before Crell Monferaigne could."
"I wish he would." Seluvia tossed the paper onto the table where she was setting out their lunch: dense brown bread, slabs of yellow cheese, and two slices of fatty mutton. "I'll get the tea," he said, and stood.
Their inn was tucked away in the foothills north of the city, because the capitol was too expensive. In the country he could sustain them with a few songs per night while Christie did chores or hunted for the pot, and opportunities to seal monsters and earn money were more common. The room was generous, large, with two narrow beds and real mattresses, large windows, a desk against the wall, and a table in the corner with an oil lamp.
He dug into his pack for his pouches of wild herbs and put bits of dried lavender and chamomile into a muslin drawstring bag. What would he give for some green tea, or black - or a decanter of strong wine so he wouldn't feel like an idiot writing the stanza he was working on?
"It's not that bad," Christie said when he went to the table to put the pouch into their teapot. She refolded the paper and threw it over to the desk. "I'm sure he'd forgive you for calling him a champion of Asgard."
"He'd knock me out with that sword, you mean."
She shrugged, smiled. "Then he'd forgive you."
Seluvia crossed the room to the door. "We need water," he said, and left. The hall was empty, his steps muffled by a worn runner woven with scrolls he knew for Kalstad handiwork. The lamps hadn't been lit yet, so it was dark. He tripped over a roll in the carpet.
She didn't see what he saw over Dyn's shoulder before the gate closed. Maybe it was his mystic sight that granted him that vision, or maybe the gods, taunting him. He learned as a child the gods were above human emotions and fallibility, yet if the Lady of Mists had not wanted to be seen, Seluvia would have been as blind as Christie was.
They didn't block Hel's passage for the sake of the gods. Dyn might have thought it, mayhap, but he also criticized their negligence of Midgard during their travels and fought to right what he perceived as their wrongs. He did it for the people. He did it for them: Seluvia, Christie. Live, he told them. Only one of us has to die here.
Alas, that would not gain the favor of Crell Monferaigne's nobles. Perhaps Dipan would provide a better audience, or Villnore, or the far south, where they believed in the spirits of the sands and the gods of Asgard were a luxury of wet land and easy living.
Maybe they should just disappear, and let their story do the talking for them. A book could not die and waste Dyn's sacrifice.
......................................................