Inspiration plays left field
Jan. 3rd, 2006 08:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrWould anyone like a sneak at what the names were about? Technically this is the miniseries that I'll work on after I finish Midsummer but the first story demanded I write at least a bit tonight. Inspired, as you can probably guess, by a long-lurking desire to see what I can do with this particular premise. Near as I can tell, nothing special. But we'll see.
Excuse any errors; it's written without looking back.
Also, my love eternal to whomever can make me an icon to go with it. My love eternal to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anruik
Nandakumar
The only sound in the grand hall was the sound of strings, plucked with confidence by the strong, knowing hands. Here gentle, here hard, played by memory, the hands moving as if of their own will, for the eyes of the man playing were closed.
His hair was long, midnight dark, bound into a long tail by intermittent gold clasps; when he stood, it would stop just short of the floor. Matching gold wound in a thick band around his neck; the clasps around his wrists had been discarded to avoid interfering with the strings.
When they opened, his eyes would be the color of wet sand, strikingly paled when next to the dark cinnamon of his skin. Dressed in the black pants and overlaid floor-length skirt but completely topless, he was one of the most striking men in the room. More than a few said that beauty was what had spared the musician the fate that had befallen his traitorous family. Once the music stopped, those same rumors would resume.
He had always ignored them, and he would continue to do so. Only the words of four men mattered and he knew they did nothing more than listen to the music and admire him while he played. If they whispered anything at all, it was of how they would show their appreciation for the music.
The thought almost made him smile, but the expression was unfit for the bitter-sweet song of the strings. But as the piece came to an end, he wove it into another, the bitter falling away and leaving only the sweet. And as he played, the corners of his mouth tilted every so faintly, and only the four who knew him well saw that he smiled. He knew they smiled back.
As the music faded away, there was a breath of absolute silence and he opened his eyes just enough to see those four. Then the hall filled with applause – some of it genuine, some of it begrudgingly given. No one there dared not clap for the finest musician in the palace.
Especially since he was also the man who had been first to be taken into the King’s Harem.
Gingerly he set his instrument down and kowtowed to his king, then rose gracefully as the applause reached a crescendo before finally fading away.
“Thank you, Nandakumar.” The King was still applauding, and stopped only as he descended his dais to take Nandakumar’s hands in his own. “Your playing is as magnificent as always.”
Nandakumar bowed his head. “It is always a pleasure to play for my King.” The corners of his mouth tilted up again, the formality amusing them both.
“And a pleasure it is to hear you play.” The King motioned for him to return to his spot on the dais, and after seeing his instrument into trusted hands, Nandakumar did so.
On the raised dais that was reserved for royalty and rare guests was a long, low table. All around the floor were soft, deep pillows for sitting or lounging. At the center was the King’s seat; beside him sat his Queen. Around the table sat three men and two women.
Nandakumar took his seat between a man with like skin but short hair, and a man with fair skin and pale blonde hair. Though his expression never changed, he enjoyed and returned their touches of thanks and appreciation, unseen by others in the gently muted light of the grand hall.
Music far less skilled than his filled the hall and Nandakumar almost felt sorry for the poor young girl who had to follow after him. He sipped wine from a shallow dish, humming in pleasure. Fingers traced the length of his thigh; Beynum expressing his amusement. They never agreed on wine; a long joke between them that a musician should prefer bitter wines and a former pirate the sweet ones.
Nandakumar listened to the entertainment distantly; instinctively noting what was worthwhile and dismissing what was not. Throughout it all, he exchanged looks and touches with his companions and Kings, speaking in soft tones with the Queen and her own ladies. And he could see it relaxed them, the women still relatively new to their new life.
Gradually the evening passed, and Nandakumar returned to their chambers with Beynum, leaving Aikhadour and Witcher to escort their King and the Queen.
Reaching, at last, the private chambers of the King and his Harem, the silence at last broke.
“That last girl, eh?” Beynum said, his restrained smile breaking into a shameless grin. “Enough to make you wish you were deaf.”
Nandakumar lifted a brow. “Then however would you hear my music?”
“If anyone could work the miracle of curing deafness, Nanda, it would be you.” Beynum laughed. “If only because the idea of someone not hearing your music is wholly intolerable.”
“It is intolerable,” Nanda replied, sniffing in contempt. “Certainly I don’t play so people can look at me.”
Beynum laughed again and embraced him loosely from behind, bare chest pressed to Nanda’s back, voice in his ear. “You don’t like to be looked at, Nanda?”
“Not by that lot,” Nanda said in disgust. “It makes me feel dirty, to have their eyes upon me.”
A hand brushed the heavy tail of his hair aside, and warm lips explored the back of his neck. “Then come and I’ll clean you. Hmm, Nanda?”
“If you insist, pirate.”
Beynum laughed and turned him around, then leaned down to steal a slow, deep kiss.
They broke apart as laughter and chatter spilled into the main chamber, the source of it three men: King Shahjahan and the remaining members of his Harem, Witcher and Aikhadour.
Nanda slid from Beynum’s arms as the King approached, twining his arms around Shahjahan’s neck to accept his expected kiss. “You play as perfectly as always, Nanda. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Shahjahan laughed as his arms slid along Nanda’s body before dropping away. “And what mischief were you and Bey about to get yourselves into?”
“A bath is mischief now?” Beynum asked
Shah laughed and beckoned Beynum forward, leaning up to kiss him in greeting. “Where you go Beynum, mischief walks hand in hand. And my well-behaved Nanda has not been so since you joined us.”
Beynum only grinned and stole another kiss from his King. Then he took Nanda’s hand, and together they led the way to the baths where all five men could finally begin to truly relax
Excuse any errors; it's written without looking back.
anruikThe King’s Harem
Nandakumar
The only sound in the grand hall was the sound of strings, plucked with confidence by the strong, knowing hands. Here gentle, here hard, played by memory, the hands moving as if of their own will, for the eyes of the man playing were closed.
His hair was long, midnight dark, bound into a long tail by intermittent gold clasps; when he stood, it would stop just short of the floor. Matching gold wound in a thick band around his neck; the clasps around his wrists had been discarded to avoid interfering with the strings.
When they opened, his eyes would be the color of wet sand, strikingly paled when next to the dark cinnamon of his skin. Dressed in the black pants and overlaid floor-length skirt but completely topless, he was one of the most striking men in the room. More than a few said that beauty was what had spared the musician the fate that had befallen his traitorous family. Once the music stopped, those same rumors would resume.
He had always ignored them, and he would continue to do so. Only the words of four men mattered and he knew they did nothing more than listen to the music and admire him while he played. If they whispered anything at all, it was of how they would show their appreciation for the music.
The thought almost made him smile, but the expression was unfit for the bitter-sweet song of the strings. But as the piece came to an end, he wove it into another, the bitter falling away and leaving only the sweet. And as he played, the corners of his mouth tilted every so faintly, and only the four who knew him well saw that he smiled. He knew they smiled back.
As the music faded away, there was a breath of absolute silence and he opened his eyes just enough to see those four. Then the hall filled with applause – some of it genuine, some of it begrudgingly given. No one there dared not clap for the finest musician in the palace.
Especially since he was also the man who had been first to be taken into the King’s Harem.
Gingerly he set his instrument down and kowtowed to his king, then rose gracefully as the applause reached a crescendo before finally fading away.
“Thank you, Nandakumar.” The King was still applauding, and stopped only as he descended his dais to take Nandakumar’s hands in his own. “Your playing is as magnificent as always.”
Nandakumar bowed his head. “It is always a pleasure to play for my King.” The corners of his mouth tilted up again, the formality amusing them both.
“And a pleasure it is to hear you play.” The King motioned for him to return to his spot on the dais, and after seeing his instrument into trusted hands, Nandakumar did so.
On the raised dais that was reserved for royalty and rare guests was a long, low table. All around the floor were soft, deep pillows for sitting or lounging. At the center was the King’s seat; beside him sat his Queen. Around the table sat three men and two women.
Nandakumar took his seat between a man with like skin but short hair, and a man with fair skin and pale blonde hair. Though his expression never changed, he enjoyed and returned their touches of thanks and appreciation, unseen by others in the gently muted light of the grand hall.
Music far less skilled than his filled the hall and Nandakumar almost felt sorry for the poor young girl who had to follow after him. He sipped wine from a shallow dish, humming in pleasure. Fingers traced the length of his thigh; Beynum expressing his amusement. They never agreed on wine; a long joke between them that a musician should prefer bitter wines and a former pirate the sweet ones.
Nandakumar listened to the entertainment distantly; instinctively noting what was worthwhile and dismissing what was not. Throughout it all, he exchanged looks and touches with his companions and Kings, speaking in soft tones with the Queen and her own ladies. And he could see it relaxed them, the women still relatively new to their new life.
Gradually the evening passed, and Nandakumar returned to their chambers with Beynum, leaving Aikhadour and Witcher to escort their King and the Queen.
Reaching, at last, the private chambers of the King and his Harem, the silence at last broke.
“That last girl, eh?” Beynum said, his restrained smile breaking into a shameless grin. “Enough to make you wish you were deaf.”
Nandakumar lifted a brow. “Then however would you hear my music?”
“If anyone could work the miracle of curing deafness, Nanda, it would be you.” Beynum laughed. “If only because the idea of someone not hearing your music is wholly intolerable.”
“It is intolerable,” Nanda replied, sniffing in contempt. “Certainly I don’t play so people can look at me.”
Beynum laughed again and embraced him loosely from behind, bare chest pressed to Nanda’s back, voice in his ear. “You don’t like to be looked at, Nanda?”
“Not by that lot,” Nanda said in disgust. “It makes me feel dirty, to have their eyes upon me.”
A hand brushed the heavy tail of his hair aside, and warm lips explored the back of his neck. “Then come and I’ll clean you. Hmm, Nanda?”
“If you insist, pirate.”
Beynum laughed and turned him around, then leaned down to steal a slow, deep kiss.
They broke apart as laughter and chatter spilled into the main chamber, the source of it three men: King Shahjahan and the remaining members of his Harem, Witcher and Aikhadour.
Nanda slid from Beynum’s arms as the King approached, twining his arms around Shahjahan’s neck to accept his expected kiss. “You play as perfectly as always, Nanda. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Shahjahan laughed as his arms slid along Nanda’s body before dropping away. “And what mischief were you and Bey about to get yourselves into?”
“A bath is mischief now?” Beynum asked
Shah laughed and beckoned Beynum forward, leaning up to kiss him in greeting. “Where you go Beynum, mischief walks hand in hand. And my well-behaved Nanda has not been so since you joined us.”
Beynum only grinned and stole another kiss from his King. Then he took Nanda’s hand, and together they led the way to the baths where all five men could finally begin to truly relax
no subject
Date: 2006-01-04 03:50 pm (UTC)