Ficlets.

[danachan.livejournal.com]

Repost. I wrote these during my month of winter ficlets at the end of 2006, and am only just now reposting them here.

1340 Shire Reckoning: Menegilda and Asphodel
Menegilda/Asphodel, G, 200 words

Asphodel had been quite intent, of late: following her, and looking at her the way the way she did. So Menegilda said, 'dear Asphodel, do you mean to seduce your brother's own wife?', and was not surprised at Asphodel's answer when she gave it: 'Oh, yes. Though, I hardly think that 'seduction' would be the proper word – I love my brother, dearly, and I would not hurt him. But I love you as well, though in a very different way. I would kiss you, at the very least – you might consider it my Yule present, if you'd like.

'I might just do so – if it is only that.'

So Asphodel kissed her, her mouth as sweet as mint and Menegilda found herself wanting for more: but she left it at that, and Asphodel at least seemed quite pleased. 'You shall find your own lucky lad, or lass, in time, and you shall have and love whoever you might want,' she told her. 'And you shall be a terror about it, I'm quite sure – a well-meaning terror, at least.'

And Asphodel laughed at that and took it as the compliment that Menegilda had intended, no matter how ill-worded it had been.



1360 Shire Reckoning: Primula and Esmeralda
Primula/Esmeralda, PG-13/R, 300 words

They visited Buckland for a week during the summer, which might have been long but Esmeralda never thought it long enough. The two weeks they visited in winter suited her much better, two long weeks where more often than not they'd end up snowed in. Brandy Hall at Yule always did seem like a treat, and cousin Primula always seemed like a treat, too. There were too many years where Esmeralda had thought herself too young or too foolish, or where she'd listen to her brother one too many times and hadn't done what she wanted to – but she'd be brave and bold tonight, and she'd do just what she'd been meaning to do.

So it happened that she caught Primula by chance beneath the mistle-bough, and she grinned at her cousin and took her by the hands, and pressed herself close and pressed her mouth closer. She didn't kiss Primula on the mouth, sought out the sweet-scented warmth of her throat instead, and pressed a sucking kiss there, let it linger. Then she drew back, and Primula's eyes were wide and lovely and dark blue like the night sky, or like a fine jewel – and then Esmeralda grinned and kissed Primula once more.

And Primula smiled at her, perfectly lovely Primula, and Esmeralda whispered her proposal against kiss-wet lips, lowered her gaze and then kissed Primula once more.

Then she left her there, went to the coatroom to claim her winter coat, and was surprised when long strong arms wrapped about her, when Primula's already-familiar mouth pressed against her neck, whispered Yes against skin.

They ended in a tangle on the coatroom floor, laughing and gasping and groaning and muffling themselves or the other when it seemed they might be too loud, when it seemed they might cry out.



1369 Shire Reckoning: Esmeralda and Rosamunda
Esmeralda/Rosamunda, G, 400 words

'Perhaps you'll marry a Bucklander,' Rosamunda said. 'And I'll marry, well, someone,' and she laughed, and Esmeralda did as well. 'But if you marry a Bucklander, I'll visit you all I can.'

It wasn't a pressing thing – marriage, that is. No matter that, they spoke of it often enough. Esmeralda nodded as she smiled, then tugged playfully on Rosamunda's copper curls, and lightly kissed her cheek. 'If you love the River – and I know you do, given how often you visit it and Brandy Hall – you should be the one to marry a Bucklander. I'll content myself with, oh, someone else.'

Rosamunda might have laugh, though she didn't. 'No, no. The River better suits your temperament,' and here, Rosamunda grinned at her, and kissed her on the mouth, and somehow she seemed completely sincere. It was the sort of thing they had become accustomed to, being tweens – but Rosamunda wouldn't be a tween all that much longer, and Esmeralda likely should have been acting more responsible herself, if only because she'd already come of age. And yes, Rosamunda might have only been a tween, and Esmeralda come of age, and they were cousins and kissing friends, more than that – but Rosamunda knew Esmeralda very well.

Maybe even better than Esmeralda knew herself.

'Oh, is that true?'

'There's a bright spark of something in your eyes,' said Rosamunda, nipping at Esmeralda's lips. 'And a wild storm in your heart. The earth owns me, dear Esmeralda, but the water's set on having you.' She kissed Esmeralda once more, mouth on hot mouth, hands seeking soft skin. Groaning, and Esmeralda did too, pressed back against the covers, Rosamunda's hands busying themselves, more so than her mouth. 'Aye,' she said, her voice was low. 'You'll make our River a very fine wife.'

'Charmer,' Esmeralda said, sometime after that, with a smile. 'And such a dear one, too. But perhaps you're right – I've time and enough to find out – though, I'll not throw myself into the arms of the first Buckland lad that comes calling.'

'No, you needn't rush – '

'No, I needn't hurry – '

'What we should do, right now, is enjoy the warmth here while we may – and let it linger, too. Odovacar is determined to take me out walking in the gardens, or what's left of them at least – despite the snow!'

And they laughed, and enjoyed what time they had left.



1387 to 1390 Shire Reckoning: Peony and Hilda
Peony/Hilda, G, 235 words

Peony had always thought Hilda very dear, all those years she had known her in Buckland, without ever knowing her as well as she might have. And she was glad, of course, when Hilda married Seredic – Seredic, her own Milo's dear cousin, and that made Peony and Hilda cousins as well, if only through marriage. And that was a good enough connection for her.

Peony hoped, no matter what, that their children would be friends – she knew, somehow, that there would be many. And, no matter what else, she would like to be Hilda's friend as well, for for ever at least. And Hilda seemed to want that as well, and Peony found herself only hoping for it more.

There were a number of years where they did not visit as they might have, where they did not write each other as they should: in the winter of 1390, time was made at last for a visit, and while their husbands were off, smoking their pipes and having their brandy, Peony sat with Hilda in the sunroom at the Burrows' smial in Overhill, winter sunlight on the floor, Hilda's left hand gripping at Peony's right hand, Doderic sleeping in his bassinet as Mosco played with his coloured blocks on the floor.

Forever, Peony thought, would take its time in coming: but this joy in her heart, this peace, would last long beyond that final end.



1420 Shire Reckoning: Periwinkle and Celandine
Periwinkle/Celandine, G, 535 words
Periwinkle is an OC of mine; first appeared here.

Celandine wrote Periwinkle and her family as soon as she could, even though she hadn't ever thought herself very good at correspondence – but now at least she thought she had proper reason, and she was so very grateful to Periwinkle, and her family as well, for all that had been done. She said a number of things, and among them, how she was very glad she'd had Periwinkle as her friend. Maybe she meant to say more than that, but instead she told Periwinkle how it would be very good for her to come and visit: but Periwinkle never could come, and it had been a year almost before she saw Periwinkle again.

I'll be riding through to Overhill, she wrote, with my brother Doderic, and perhaps we could stop by at the farm – and Periwinkle wrote back, and told her about the Yale in the spring, and of course it would be good to have her once more, and this time, they'd have a better reason for her visit. Like writing, once it had started, there was no end: that one visit in the spring, and three in the summer, and four during the autumn. Periwinkle had met both of Celandine's brothers, but she'd not yet come to visit at Brandy Hall, not once.

You'll come for Yule, I'm hoping – she wrote – consider this your invitation, you and your family. We'll dance, and we'll make merry, and I'll introduce you to Moro, who I've told you too much about, already. And I've told him so much about you.

And Periwinkle wrote back, said that she would come, and yes, they would dance, and she would meet Moro for herself: to make certain he was fit to be in Celandine's company, of course.

Reading that, Celandine smiled, and laugh, and her heart felt warm: of course Moro was fit for her company – she was the one who hardly thought herself fit for his. But it did her heart good, knowing that Periwinkle would visit. She saw her as often as she could, but it was not the same as when the Brownlock farm, and Periwinkle's friendship, had been her only world.

The day in winter that Periwinkle arrived, her breath frosted in the air before her but the sky was grey and pale blue in patches, and the old Gaffers and Gammers all said there'd be no snow. Celandine met Periwinkle in the courtyard, having been waiting on her arrival since before luncheon – to see that Periwinkle'd, along with her family, and Celandine was so very glad to see her, oh, her heart nearly burst. Celandine took Periwinkle by the hands, smiled at her, and then Periwinkle, who seemed the sentimental sort, drew Celandine into her embrace, and kissed her rather hard.

Like stumbling, it was, and it left Celandine's cheeks burning, and her feet unsure, beneath her legs – but Periwinkle smiled at her, and Celandine didn't feel so silly after all, and she took Periwinkle's hands once more and told her how very good it was to see her, and to have her here at last.

Better to have her there, and in the flesh, than seeing memory of shape and smile in ink.



1449 Shire Reckoning: Elanor and Lily
Elanor/Lily, G, 200 words
Lily is an OC of mine; first appeared here.

She never could stay cross at Elanor, no matter how much Lily thought she did deserve it (and Elanor did deserve it): 'I forgive you, of course I do,' she said, and she meant it, if only because she'd do her heart no good, holding all of that inside.

All of it, too much of it – and Lily smiled, and Elanor smiled in returned, and beyond the glass of the kitchen window, the snow swirled on and on. And Lily found herself wishing that Elanor wasn't so good, wished that her heart was not so very bright and pure. So bright and pure, and wanting for forgiveness, knowing she'd done wrong and wanting to make it right.

And Lily knew she'd love Elanor, for ever and for always, and somehow in that moment found herself knowing that she'd put that hurt behind her, plain and petty as it was: behind her, and she'd not look back. No good in that, not here with Elanor, sitting in the warm kitchen, gathered up into the warmth of her dearest cousin's embrace.

Perhaps Lily's heart would not be whole, but it would not be the first heart, ever, to find itself so torn.