Summer fic challenge 2015, part 2.
Sep. 3rd, 2015 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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volieredeatoriI'm challenging myself to do these in order. Augh that's actually kinda tough.
A soft touch on Lucia's shoulder is what wakes her, when all the torches have burnt down low.
She is confused at first, threads of slumber clinging stubbornly to her consciousness, but she remembers as she raises her head from the desk. A hectic day driving back Dravanians, and a strategy discussion run overtime, had rendered everyone quite exhausted, and though she'd tried her hardest to push away sleep's persistent embrace, she had given in to the longing to sit down just for a moment - and that must be when it had happened, the pleasant fade smothering her senses in an abyss of sweet nothingness. Embarrassing, it is, even if not wholly unexpected, and her cheeks burn crimson even as she tries to fight it away.
She looks up now, sees it is Aymeric who has woken her, a gently amused smile on his face; she opens her mouth to apologise, but drowsiness still has enough of a grip on her that something a bit more honest at the moment comes out instead. "How long...was I asleep for?"
"A few hours at most," he answers her lightly, lifts his hand from her shoulder and pretends not to notice, for both their sakes, when her face briefly falls in disappointment. "I had not the heart to wake you at first - you looked so peaceful. Yet the night remaining us grows short, and I thought it best if you spent it in comfort." He offers her a hand out of the chair, presuming her a bit stiff and achy from her impromptu nap - a presumption quite accurate, but she allows herself only a brief irritated sigh as she rises, a sound that makes him smile fondly. "Should I merely have let you sleep on, then?"
"No - my thanks." She begins sharp, trying to pull up composure, but she fails; her voice fades to a soft almost-quaver, and she briefly feels a tingle of embarrassment up her spine, but it soon passes. She can allow herself a moment of weakness in front of him, can she not? "...My apologies, as well. I simply meant to rest my legs for a moment..." a weak gesture to the desk finishes her thought neatly without words, and she sighs again. "I allowed my exhaustion to get the better of me. Pray forgive me for my weakness."
"Weakness? Lucia--" He takes hold of her shoulders, looks her in the eye with a piercing gaze, surprised and worried and warm all at once. "We are all exhausted...'tis not a weakness to admit it, or to ameliorate it. To be frank, were I in your place, I believe I may have done much the same." The corner of his mouth curves briefly, soft and chagrined, and she is hardly surprised that the simple little gesture can make her feel so much better. "Call it not weakness - but merely another step in today's strategy. Does that thought suit you better?"
She can't help herself; she closes her eyes, bows her head with an unexpected laugh that rises quickly in her. "Strategy, you say. Tell me then, Ser Aymeric - what sort of strategy have you for the rest of the night?"
"One that involves a feather blanket and a warm bed," he responds blithely, releasing her shoulders to take hold of her arm instead, beginning to guide her from the room. "Do you think that a fine strategy?"
"It is missing something--" She can hardly believe her own forwardness, but when she looks up at him and sees the interest in his eyes, she finds it easier to go on. "I find it quite a lonely strategy, to be frank. 'Twould be better to include a trusted ally in such, would it not?"
He pretends to consider, looking very serious indeed, though he loses the playful mask to a broad smile when it has the intended effect of bringing her to gales of laughter. "You may be right. Who would you suggest, then?"
"You must ask? Ser Aymeric, I am offended." But she is not; she is still laughing, and she curls her fingers tight round his when he releases her arm, takes hold of her hand instead. "Very well - I shall presume to apply your strategy to myself as well. I trust you have no complaints."
"Not a one," he reassures her as they step out into the chill Ishgardian night, drawing her closer to him as a gust of ferocious wind briefly takes her breath away. "Though perhaps Estinien may..."
She stops dead in her tracks, looks up at him in mock horror. "You meant to share your bed with a mere dragoon and not with me, did you? Now I may truly have to be offended."
It is his turn to laugh, the sound rising on wisps of breath-mist into the sky, towards the stars that grow ever fainter as the night's clock ticks away.
A soft touch on Lucia's shoulder is what wakes her, when all the torches have burnt down low.
She is confused at first, threads of slumber clinging stubbornly to her consciousness, but she remembers as she raises her head from the desk. A hectic day driving back Dravanians, and a strategy discussion run overtime, had rendered everyone quite exhausted, and though she'd tried her hardest to push away sleep's persistent embrace, she had given in to the longing to sit down just for a moment - and that must be when it had happened, the pleasant fade smothering her senses in an abyss of sweet nothingness. Embarrassing, it is, even if not wholly unexpected, and her cheeks burn crimson even as she tries to fight it away.
She looks up now, sees it is Aymeric who has woken her, a gently amused smile on his face; she opens her mouth to apologise, but drowsiness still has enough of a grip on her that something a bit more honest at the moment comes out instead. "How long...was I asleep for?"
"A few hours at most," he answers her lightly, lifts his hand from her shoulder and pretends not to notice, for both their sakes, when her face briefly falls in disappointment. "I had not the heart to wake you at first - you looked so peaceful. Yet the night remaining us grows short, and I thought it best if you spent it in comfort." He offers her a hand out of the chair, presuming her a bit stiff and achy from her impromptu nap - a presumption quite accurate, but she allows herself only a brief irritated sigh as she rises, a sound that makes him smile fondly. "Should I merely have let you sleep on, then?"
"No - my thanks." She begins sharp, trying to pull up composure, but she fails; her voice fades to a soft almost-quaver, and she briefly feels a tingle of embarrassment up her spine, but it soon passes. She can allow herself a moment of weakness in front of him, can she not? "...My apologies, as well. I simply meant to rest my legs for a moment..." a weak gesture to the desk finishes her thought neatly without words, and she sighs again. "I allowed my exhaustion to get the better of me. Pray forgive me for my weakness."
"Weakness? Lucia--" He takes hold of her shoulders, looks her in the eye with a piercing gaze, surprised and worried and warm all at once. "We are all exhausted...'tis not a weakness to admit it, or to ameliorate it. To be frank, were I in your place, I believe I may have done much the same." The corner of his mouth curves briefly, soft and chagrined, and she is hardly surprised that the simple little gesture can make her feel so much better. "Call it not weakness - but merely another step in today's strategy. Does that thought suit you better?"
She can't help herself; she closes her eyes, bows her head with an unexpected laugh that rises quickly in her. "Strategy, you say. Tell me then, Ser Aymeric - what sort of strategy have you for the rest of the night?"
"One that involves a feather blanket and a warm bed," he responds blithely, releasing her shoulders to take hold of her arm instead, beginning to guide her from the room. "Do you think that a fine strategy?"
"It is missing something--" She can hardly believe her own forwardness, but when she looks up at him and sees the interest in his eyes, she finds it easier to go on. "I find it quite a lonely strategy, to be frank. 'Twould be better to include a trusted ally in such, would it not?"
He pretends to consider, looking very serious indeed, though he loses the playful mask to a broad smile when it has the intended effect of bringing her to gales of laughter. "You may be right. Who would you suggest, then?"
"You must ask? Ser Aymeric, I am offended." But she is not; she is still laughing, and she curls her fingers tight round his when he releases her arm, takes hold of her hand instead. "Very well - I shall presume to apply your strategy to myself as well. I trust you have no complaints."
"Not a one," he reassures her as they step out into the chill Ishgardian night, drawing her closer to him as a gust of ferocious wind briefly takes her breath away. "Though perhaps Estinien may..."
She stops dead in her tracks, looks up at him in mock horror. "You meant to share your bed with a mere dragoon and not with me, did you? Now I may truly have to be offended."
It is his turn to laugh, the sound rising on wisps of breath-mist into the sky, towards the stars that grow ever fainter as the night's clock ticks away.
