Dragon Journal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragonjournal) wrote2013-09-30 03:20 pm
dragonjournal) wrote2013-09-30 03:20 pm
Entry tags:
Original Works, Bingo edition #4
Title: The End of a Long Journey
Rating: PG
Word Count: 900
Summary: A return to the beginning
Warnings: None
Prompt: Unwelcome Guest
Beta: None
Notes: Kiera verse
She’s filthy. The spring roads are quagmires of mud and fouler things. The rains pelt down, deepening the tracks and making it difficult for a horse even lightly burdened to traverse them. Her once white horse is now brown and black with the cold, wet earth that clings to her poor hide.
A low misty village appears over the rise and both rider and mount perk up. This is their destination, the end of their slog through cold and damp. The horse moves carefully down the slight incline, ready for a warm stable and a chance to get her tack off. The rider allows the horse to choose the way, wanting nothing more than a hot fire, a hot meal and possibly a bath to clear the road dirt away.
The mare picks up a brisker pace, knowing that food and warmth awaits them where the lights are. Her hooves ring against the cobbled yard, drawing out a damp stable boy who looks about as happy as they are to be in the weather.
Kiera drops to the ground, her feet landing lightly in a puddle. She pats her mare’s neck and looks at the boy. “Be sure she’s white again, and warm her some mash. I can pay for it. There’s extra if the tack shines by morning.” She doesn’t have much, but she has that. It will be her last extravagance until she settles and figures what she has and doesn’t have.
The inside of the inn hasn’t changed in all the years she’s been gone. The minstrel still sits in the corner closest to the fire, a small open purse at his feet. Men and women in the rough clothes of the area hunch over their tankards, eating the stew that is the only fare on offer here.
Kiera ignores the looks drawn her way and slips between the tables, toward the corner. She wants to be alone, wants to grieve and eat and just be left to herself. It is impossible to avoid the looks. A stranger draws them always.
After her giving her order to the serving girl, Kiera burrows deeper into her cloak. Even without decoration, the fabric is better than anything they could get out here. Her clothes are also of a cut not seen out here. It will draw attention and questions, but if she can hold them off tonight, tomorrow, she can head to the house – empty now, and possibly still standing – and start getting herself settled.
Exhaustion tugs at her while she eats. The stew is greasy and dull; the beer has an aftertaste that she’ll have to acclimate to again. Kiera says nothing, listening to the slightly offkey playing from the minstrel. She wants a bath and possibly a chance to just rest before she tackles the house.
It’s still standing, she’d seen as they passed. How badly the inside has fared over the years is the question. Her father passed on several years ago – a winter chill that took his life, no matter what else could be done. Her brother is off somewhere, having joined the King’s army shortly after she left. She knows he has a wife and children, but nothing else. Their paths haven’t crossed again.
She stands to go to her room, and finds herself nose to chest with the innkeeper. He’s older, his hair sparse and his nose larger. The permanent ash marks on his apron are still there. He still smells like burnt fat and offal.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Kiera blinks. She hadn’t expected that. She knew that news would have reached here for her trial. She would have thought her innocence had also arrived. “I have paid –“ She stops when a few coins drop onto the table. Eyes turn toward them at the soft clink. A quick glance says it’s everything she paid minus her meal.
“Traitors aren’t welcome here.” He states.
The accusation hurts. She hadn’t betrayed anyone. Ever. Been at the wrong place at the wrong time, given her heart wrongly, but she’d never betrayed anyone. She’d kept her word.
No argument passes her lips. She scoops up the money and gives him another piece of silver. “For dirtying your fine establishment. I’ll collect my mount and leave.” She whispers, brushing past him. Yanking up her hood, she hides the tears pouring down her face.
In the stable, the boy has her tack clean, and her horse well-cared for. She steps into the stall and rests her head against the mare’s warm neck. The mare’s tender nose bumps her shoulder. Kiera just stands there, her shoulders shaking. “Back into the weather, Snow.” She scratches the mare behind an ear. “I’m sorry, but we’re not welcome here.”
Her movements are swift, buckling buckles, tightening straps with economical movements. Her fingers shake when the mare shakes her head, not wanting the bit in her mouth again. Kiera gets the bit in and backs her out of the stall. She sees the boy. “Here.” She offers him a full silver piece. “You treated her well, and cleaned the tack. You earned it.”
He looks at it. “Are you a traitor?”
Kiera ducks her head. More tears well in her eyes. “No. I never betrayed anyone.” She whispers, still holding out the silver. Then, it’s gone as is the boy.
Kiera just climbs back into her saddle and turns for her former house. Maybe she’ll be allowed to stay in the house, even if she isn’t wanted elsewhere in the town. She hopes so. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 900
Summary: A return to the beginning
Warnings: None
Prompt: Unwelcome Guest
Beta: None
Notes: Kiera verse
She’s filthy. The spring roads are quagmires of mud and fouler things. The rains pelt down, deepening the tracks and making it difficult for a horse even lightly burdened to traverse them. Her once white horse is now brown and black with the cold, wet earth that clings to her poor hide.
A low misty village appears over the rise and both rider and mount perk up. This is their destination, the end of their slog through cold and damp. The horse moves carefully down the slight incline, ready for a warm stable and a chance to get her tack off. The rider allows the horse to choose the way, wanting nothing more than a hot fire, a hot meal and possibly a bath to clear the road dirt away.
The mare picks up a brisker pace, knowing that food and warmth awaits them where the lights are. Her hooves ring against the cobbled yard, drawing out a damp stable boy who looks about as happy as they are to be in the weather.
Kiera drops to the ground, her feet landing lightly in a puddle. She pats her mare’s neck and looks at the boy. “Be sure she’s white again, and warm her some mash. I can pay for it. There’s extra if the tack shines by morning.” She doesn’t have much, but she has that. It will be her last extravagance until she settles and figures what she has and doesn’t have.
The inside of the inn hasn’t changed in all the years she’s been gone. The minstrel still sits in the corner closest to the fire, a small open purse at his feet. Men and women in the rough clothes of the area hunch over their tankards, eating the stew that is the only fare on offer here.
Kiera ignores the looks drawn her way and slips between the tables, toward the corner. She wants to be alone, wants to grieve and eat and just be left to herself. It is impossible to avoid the looks. A stranger draws them always.
After her giving her order to the serving girl, Kiera burrows deeper into her cloak. Even without decoration, the fabric is better than anything they could get out here. Her clothes are also of a cut not seen out here. It will draw attention and questions, but if she can hold them off tonight, tomorrow, she can head to the house – empty now, and possibly still standing – and start getting herself settled.
Exhaustion tugs at her while she eats. The stew is greasy and dull; the beer has an aftertaste that she’ll have to acclimate to again. Kiera says nothing, listening to the slightly offkey playing from the minstrel. She wants a bath and possibly a chance to just rest before she tackles the house.
It’s still standing, she’d seen as they passed. How badly the inside has fared over the years is the question. Her father passed on several years ago – a winter chill that took his life, no matter what else could be done. Her brother is off somewhere, having joined the King’s army shortly after she left. She knows he has a wife and children, but nothing else. Their paths haven’t crossed again.
She stands to go to her room, and finds herself nose to chest with the innkeeper. He’s older, his hair sparse and his nose larger. The permanent ash marks on his apron are still there. He still smells like burnt fat and offal.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Kiera blinks. She hadn’t expected that. She knew that news would have reached here for her trial. She would have thought her innocence had also arrived. “I have paid –“ She stops when a few coins drop onto the table. Eyes turn toward them at the soft clink. A quick glance says it’s everything she paid minus her meal.
“Traitors aren’t welcome here.” He states.
The accusation hurts. She hadn’t betrayed anyone. Ever. Been at the wrong place at the wrong time, given her heart wrongly, but she’d never betrayed anyone. She’d kept her word.
No argument passes her lips. She scoops up the money and gives him another piece of silver. “For dirtying your fine establishment. I’ll collect my mount and leave.” She whispers, brushing past him. Yanking up her hood, she hides the tears pouring down her face.
In the stable, the boy has her tack clean, and her horse well-cared for. She steps into the stall and rests her head against the mare’s warm neck. The mare’s tender nose bumps her shoulder. Kiera just stands there, her shoulders shaking. “Back into the weather, Snow.” She scratches the mare behind an ear. “I’m sorry, but we’re not welcome here.”
Her movements are swift, buckling buckles, tightening straps with economical movements. Her fingers shake when the mare shakes her head, not wanting the bit in her mouth again. Kiera gets the bit in and backs her out of the stall. She sees the boy. “Here.” She offers him a full silver piece. “You treated her well, and cleaned the tack. You earned it.”
He looks at it. “Are you a traitor?”
Kiera ducks her head. More tears well in her eyes. “No. I never betrayed anyone.” She whispers, still holding out the silver. Then, it’s gone as is the boy.
Kiera just climbs back into her saddle and turns for her former house. Maybe she’ll be allowed to stay in the house, even if she isn’t wanted elsewhere in the town. She hopes so. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go.