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A/N: Well, the deal is this. My friend found a list of prompts on DeviantArt for pictures or whatever. Anyway, I read the list and was intrigued, so I have decided to use it as a fic-prompt list; I realize they should, theoretically, only be fic-bits, but that just doesn’t work for me so, although I may have to resign myself to not getting through all 100 anytime soon, I shall be writing short but full length fics for all of them. Who knows, maybe one or two will even inspire something really great. If you’re interested in my attempt, I shall probably post all of them on my livejournal “Nengrelim” because some of them will be fanfics. Of course, if you’re that interested, you can go and check them out on my account – named on my profile.
This is No. 32 “Night”. But I consider that a provisional title. I’m going to continue this soon, but I haven’t posted anything in far too long and thought this would do for a first “chapter”. I've been reading Hart's Hope by Orson Scott Card, and I think I've picked up some of the style from it - though I haven't consciously tried to copy anything and the story's totally different. What do you guys think?
Warning: Slash – but if you read any of my work you’re probably used to it.
Please review, if you’ve a moment to spare; it really is so encouraging!
Eruth's Love.
Nights are many different things to many different people - just as flowers and clouds and antelope are many different things. To Eruth, night meant the honey orchard: the place that could not be more strange to the rest of his father's stern stone palace. Among the apple trees and their constant whispering wind - because Oran said orchards should have a warm breeze breathing through the trees at all times, the hives thrummed with the bees' sleepy buzzing. Eruth's foot nudged against a fallen bloom and a drowsy bee crawled from its folded petals; the apprentice imagined that the creature looked up at him, bemused by this wandering giant in their orchard, before it lifted its over-heavy body off the ground and floated away, yellow legs dangling tiresomely beneath it.
Night meant the occasional slip and slither of a vibrant green snake in the leaves, or among the thin grass by his feet; a pair of sharp jewelled eyes looked at him thoughtfully. What, it seemed to hiss - words skating off the tip of its flickering tongue, is Fourth Son Wizard's Child doing here, walking here, on those silly spindly legs of his? Who is he looking for, with nose that doesn't work and tongue that can't taste footprints? Eruth passed it without answer, but felt it tasting the air that drifted in his wake - licking answers from the breeze.
Fourth Son Wizard's Child: the name by which he was called, by all things - that need have no fear of speaking. King Draeger had delighted in his first son, laid all riches before the boy's feet and clothed him in gold. His second son had been greeted with joy, by brother and sire. They would share the kingdom, rule together. The first born, Eredd, would have the great city, Doxin, to carry his high throne; he would have the rich straits that led to the sea and from which clear days brought glimpses of great ships, and the golden docks would be his also. Second Son, Erelthay, would have the mountain farms and the great lakes and Lozrin would bear his throne. Her third child, the queen promised, would be born a girl. But childbed gave Draeger a third son, and there was no more land to belong to Eraelor, for Draeger's land was too small to crown three sons. He would be lord to his eldest brother, and reign those lands which Eredd saw fit to bestow - but the lands were barren and sparse, and Eraelor wished horrors upon his father for his poor gifts.
When a fourth male child was born, Draeger despaired. There was no more land to be given to a son. Better to expose him, rid the kingdom of a new strain. His power-struck brothers already threatened to tear their people apart with squabbles that too quickly became open war. But the queen would not allow him to take the child from her. Her stubborn greed for another child left Draeger no sympathy for her - three sons must be enough for a woman as it was more than enough for a King and his Kingdom. So, Draeger had it proclaimed that the child was no son of his, but the fruit of some affair. The queen was sent away, her bastard offspring spirited away also. He was taken by the Crown Advisor, Denoth, not as son but apprentice, and the Advisor was forbidden to use his sire-given name. His master called him Arwit-Akwit - fatherless and brotherless - and as he grew, he taught him conjuring and naturecraft and charms. And when the boy passed, the night snakes whispered, Fourth Son Wizard's Child.
Eruth stopped at the end of the orchard and whistled his charms into the night. And night sprites and late birds and tiny timid mice came out to see who had conjured them from sleep. And jewel-bright, dark-night eyes watched his shadows, while tongues snapped back and forth. Fourth Son Wizard's Child is making magic. But whom the young man sought did not appear. He sat down with his back against a tree, and a night snake came and coiled three times about his throat and rested there. A rustle - heavier than bee or mouse or snake - came from the bushes and out of the moonlight stepped a man. He was no older than Eruth, but the years sat more heavily with him, because he was flesh and moonlight and starlight and time and breath and stone, and all the years were his that were the world's while he walked in Eruth's magic orchard.
“Greetings,” he said, in a voice stranger than thunder and kinder than rain.
Eruth got to his feet, because night was a time for slow moving things, like the snake that still warmed his throat, not for boys springing up and leaping about. Those were daytime things, nevertime things in this place.
“Oran,” he whispered breathlessly, stepping closer, and feeling suddenly shy: like a child ushered into its father’s study – all high ceilings and stern paintings. But as the figure opened his arms to him, the feeling faded; he smiled and stepped into the embrace. The snake uncurled gently from his neck and wound itself around Oran instead, hissing softly. So this is who Fourth Son Wizard’s Child was waiting for… It wrapped itself in a double knot around them both, its long thin body winding them together. Worth waiting, Wizard’s Child. A night snake’s memory lasts but the night – like the memories of Starflowers, which bloom and fade with dusk and dawn – but they knew him each time by the scent of magic and madness. Magic and moonlight. Magic and memory. Eruth’s love.