Dragon Journal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragonjournal) wrote2010-10-11 10:00 pm
dragonjournal) wrote2010-10-11 10:00 pm
Entry tags:
Bingo #4 4/5
Title: Roses
Prompt: Resurrection
Rating: G
Content Note/Warnings: NaNo Verse! Hurray for backstory!
Conor stared at the roses in front of him. His mama had always raised roses. She’d even won a few competitions for them. They’d been her pride and joy. Even when she’d been slowly being eaten away by the cancer, she’d sat in the lawn chair and told him what to do.
His fingers brushed through the rich soil under the rose bush. There was a small pile of ashes nearby.
His Harem Protector powers had surged and he’d accidentally dissolved the rose he’d picked to take to one of the concubines that had fallen ill. His brow furrowed and he stared at the pile of ashes. They stirred, even though no breeze rustled the garden.
“What’re ye doin’, lad?”
The rich Grunnin brogue made him look up. His father was wearing the gylilt – a traditional piece of fabric that acted as a short skirt-like piece of clothing – despite the heat. Conor was in pants and a shirt – his powers meant that he didn’t dare go out with too much bare skin, just in case.
“Tryin’ t’reverse my powers.” Conor admitted, looking back down at the pile of ashes. It should work just like his healing powers would on his harem. A complete reversal of time, leaving no scar or injury.
At least, that was the theory.
His father, Sean Angus, crouched next to him. “Why aren’t ye wearin’ yer gylilt?” He reached out to ruffle Conor’s hair, but the boy jerked away. “Yer still a Grunn, e’en if yer Ma raised ye as a Tyr.”
Conor managed not to roll his eyes. “Leastways it weren’t a Gryunn.” He smirked at the pained expression on his father’s face.
“No’ funny, lad.” His father sat next to him. “Now, wha’ problem ye havin’?”
Conor sighed and looked down at the ashes that had been a rose. “Jus’ ain’t got the reversal yet. Been tryin’ t’think o’ it like I did with grandpappy’s table, but it just ain’t comin’.” He couldn’t wait to have these powers under control.
A hand landed on his shoulder and Conor flinched. With his powers so out of control, he didn’t like to be touched. It helped that his father was immune, but he still flinched, every time.
“Alright, lad.” Sean Angus’s tone became a bit gentler. Probably to counter the frustration that had laced Conor’s. “Take a deep breath. Ye remember what the flower looked like, aye?”
Conor nodded.
“Good. Now close yer eyes. Imagine it. Ye don’t need to direct the power, that’ll come later. Fer now, let it find what it needs to, and fix it.”
Conor sighed. He’d been trying to do that. He closed his eyes and pictured the rose he’d held in his hand. It’d been a beautiful deep pink, not quite red, with a yellow center. There’d been dew drops still clinging to the petals. His thumb had been pricked by a thorn on the stem.
The cut, where he’d trimmed it from the bush, had been slightly ragged, not clean the way the gardeners could do. The thorns along the stem had been small, save for the one. He’d run his fingers over them, looking for the perfect place to cut.
He let the breath he’d been holding out. Carefully, ever so slowly, he could feel the power reach out and held out his hand. Prickles ran along his fingertips, making them itch.
When he opened his eyes, in his hand was the rose.
“Good job, lad.”
Conor couldn’t help but beam under the praise from his father.
“Now, yer Uncle Ulf is lookin’ fer ye. Time for sword lessons.”
Conor heaved out another sigh and rolled to his feet. He carried the rose with him.
Prompt: Resurrection
Rating: G
Content Note/Warnings: NaNo Verse! Hurray for backstory!
Conor stared at the roses in front of him. His mama had always raised roses. She’d even won a few competitions for them. They’d been her pride and joy. Even when she’d been slowly being eaten away by the cancer, she’d sat in the lawn chair and told him what to do.
His fingers brushed through the rich soil under the rose bush. There was a small pile of ashes nearby.
His Harem Protector powers had surged and he’d accidentally dissolved the rose he’d picked to take to one of the concubines that had fallen ill. His brow furrowed and he stared at the pile of ashes. They stirred, even though no breeze rustled the garden.
“What’re ye doin’, lad?”
The rich Grunnin brogue made him look up. His father was wearing the gylilt – a traditional piece of fabric that acted as a short skirt-like piece of clothing – despite the heat. Conor was in pants and a shirt – his powers meant that he didn’t dare go out with too much bare skin, just in case.
“Tryin’ t’reverse my powers.” Conor admitted, looking back down at the pile of ashes. It should work just like his healing powers would on his harem. A complete reversal of time, leaving no scar or injury.
At least, that was the theory.
His father, Sean Angus, crouched next to him. “Why aren’t ye wearin’ yer gylilt?” He reached out to ruffle Conor’s hair, but the boy jerked away. “Yer still a Grunn, e’en if yer Ma raised ye as a Tyr.”
Conor managed not to roll his eyes. “Leastways it weren’t a Gryunn.” He smirked at the pained expression on his father’s face.
“No’ funny, lad.” His father sat next to him. “Now, wha’ problem ye havin’?”
Conor sighed and looked down at the ashes that had been a rose. “Jus’ ain’t got the reversal yet. Been tryin’ t’think o’ it like I did with grandpappy’s table, but it just ain’t comin’.” He couldn’t wait to have these powers under control.
A hand landed on his shoulder and Conor flinched. With his powers so out of control, he didn’t like to be touched. It helped that his father was immune, but he still flinched, every time.
“Alright, lad.” Sean Angus’s tone became a bit gentler. Probably to counter the frustration that had laced Conor’s. “Take a deep breath. Ye remember what the flower looked like, aye?”
Conor nodded.
“Good. Now close yer eyes. Imagine it. Ye don’t need to direct the power, that’ll come later. Fer now, let it find what it needs to, and fix it.”
Conor sighed. He’d been trying to do that. He closed his eyes and pictured the rose he’d held in his hand. It’d been a beautiful deep pink, not quite red, with a yellow center. There’d been dew drops still clinging to the petals. His thumb had been pricked by a thorn on the stem.
The cut, where he’d trimmed it from the bush, had been slightly ragged, not clean the way the gardeners could do. The thorns along the stem had been small, save for the one. He’d run his fingers over them, looking for the perfect place to cut.
He let the breath he’d been holding out. Carefully, ever so slowly, he could feel the power reach out and held out his hand. Prickles ran along his fingertips, making them itch.
When he opened his eyes, in his hand was the rose.
“Good job, lad.”
Conor couldn’t help but beam under the praise from his father.
“Now, yer Uncle Ulf is lookin’ fer ye. Time for sword lessons.”
Conor heaved out another sigh and rolled to his feet. He carried the rose with him.