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maderrI was not 1337 enough to make it to round three of the bookhabit contest. Ah, well. C'est la vie ^_^ I am doing well in other places, eh?
And now to go write the Duke and the Monk before my readers beat me >.>
EDIT
Start of Duke's story:
Choices
Bedros stared broodingly at the rug before the fireplace, still lightly holding the letter which had come only a few hours ago.
It said only what he had expected to hear, had braced himself to read, but it cut deep all the same.
You are best suited to remain guarding the border. No other is nearly as capable as you in that duty.
Which translated as you've let me down for the last damn time, so stay there and rot until you die.
"To the Nether Regions with you, then," he muttered to the fireplace, but without any real heat. He had well and truly lost the battle, and it was all his own fault, and so he needed to quite brooding upon it.
He could not, however. All his choices had been made with good reason, but he seemed the only one capable of seeing that. The one thing which had not been his choice had been his exile to a forgotten corner of the kingdom to defend a border that didn't really need defending, except when the 'enemy' got bored enough to try crossing.
Realizing he'd unintentionally tightened his grip, he released his hold and smoothed out the costly vellum, rereading the words despite himself. The letter was perfectly polite, elegant and smooth…and cold as ice.
They had been friends, once. The very best. Then the King had died, and Godar had assumed the crown, and his best friend had turned into a complete stranger.
Sighing, Bedros finally set the letter aside, taking up his wine and downing the contents in one long swallow.
Most of the time, he didn't really mind his exile – for it was exile, no matter how the pretty letters tried to phrase – but on nights like this, he hated it. There were no friends to call upon, no one to call at his door, no dinners or hunts to which he was invited, no lovers to take to his bed.
Just his empty solar, the noises of the keep muffled and distant.
Oh, he had friends after a fashion, but even Nerek and Kohar were a bit removed – especially now that they'd finally come to their damned senses, and if they'd taken any longer about it he'd fully intended to knock their heads together.
If he'd agreed to that long ago execution, he'd still be back home. If he'd married that damned harridan, he could have returned home.
Almost. He'd almost been able to make himself go through with it. On paper, it had seemed so easy. Marry the woman, be a good, obedient peer of the realm, and he could go back to the life he'd been forced to leave behind. He'd go back to respectability, popularity, back to being someone.
But he couldn't do it, wouldn't do it. He'd given up everything to stand by his decision, and he was not capable of undermining that by going back on his word and actions by marrying the damn Countess.
Never mind she'd been a scheming, gold-hungry harridan anyway. There'd been a few women in his bed over the years, though precious few, and all the damned Countess had managed was to remind him why he generally preferred men.
And now to go write the Duke and the Monk before my readers beat me >.>
EDIT
Start of Duke's story:
Choices
Bedros stared broodingly at the rug before the fireplace, still lightly holding the letter which had come only a few hours ago.
It said only what he had expected to hear, had braced himself to read, but it cut deep all the same.
You are best suited to remain guarding the border. No other is nearly as capable as you in that duty.
Which translated as you've let me down for the last damn time, so stay there and rot until you die.
"To the Nether Regions with you, then," he muttered to the fireplace, but without any real heat. He had well and truly lost the battle, and it was all his own fault, and so he needed to quite brooding upon it.
He could not, however. All his choices had been made with good reason, but he seemed the only one capable of seeing that. The one thing which had not been his choice had been his exile to a forgotten corner of the kingdom to defend a border that didn't really need defending, except when the 'enemy' got bored enough to try crossing.
Realizing he'd unintentionally tightened his grip, he released his hold and smoothed out the costly vellum, rereading the words despite himself. The letter was perfectly polite, elegant and smooth…and cold as ice.
They had been friends, once. The very best. Then the King had died, and Godar had assumed the crown, and his best friend had turned into a complete stranger.
Sighing, Bedros finally set the letter aside, taking up his wine and downing the contents in one long swallow.
Most of the time, he didn't really mind his exile – for it was exile, no matter how the pretty letters tried to phrase – but on nights like this, he hated it. There were no friends to call upon, no one to call at his door, no dinners or hunts to which he was invited, no lovers to take to his bed.
Just his empty solar, the noises of the keep muffled and distant.
Oh, he had friends after a fashion, but even Nerek and Kohar were a bit removed – especially now that they'd finally come to their damned senses, and if they'd taken any longer about it he'd fully intended to knock their heads together.
If he'd agreed to that long ago execution, he'd still be back home. If he'd married that damned harridan, he could have returned home.
Almost. He'd almost been able to make himself go through with it. On paper, it had seemed so easy. Marry the woman, be a good, obedient peer of the realm, and he could go back to the life he'd been forced to leave behind. He'd go back to respectability, popularity, back to being someone.
But he couldn't do it, wouldn't do it. He'd given up everything to stand by his decision, and he was not capable of undermining that by going back on his word and actions by marrying the damn Countess.
Never mind she'd been a scheming, gold-hungry harridan anyway. There'd been a few women in his bed over the years, though precious few, and all the damned Countess had managed was to remind him why he generally preferred men.
