Author: Christy Anderson
Date: June 6, 2002
You can contact me at christy1865yahoo.com or leave a review.
Author's Note: This was a challenge issued by my friend, mandi-girl, to all readers of Tamora Pierce fan-fiction. While I knew at the time that I would have any time at all to write this, it stuck with me, and when someone threw Squire at me, this plotline kind of hit me like that book. Inspiration is a funny thing. So… Chapter 1 of the elaborated Neal/Yuki plot line. Hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. Full rights to Tamora Pierce and her publisher. The storyline is not mine either. Parts of this fic come paraphrased directly from Squire. If you read the book, you'll recognize it. So let's not hear about plagiarism, it's all here.
Neal sat at the familiar table in the Dining Hall, surrounded by his friends. Gloomily he stared at his near empty plate. All that was left to eat was the vegetables- unappetizing vegetables staring back up at him like a hungry centaur. Neal sighed unhappily and picked his fork up again. The least he could do was to shovel them around his plate so they'd think they might be eaten. Poor veggies. But then again, if they were hungry centaurs, they weren't to be pitied. --? Neal stopped thinking and shook his head. Where was he going with that anyway? His heart had just been ripped to shreds, and he was debating proper vegetable décor
From across the table, Cleon gave him a worried look. "Are you okay?"
Neal paused mid-veggie-shove, debating how to answer. On the one calamitous hand, he was heart-broken, but on the other, there would be people laughing, making merry in his wretchedness. From past experience, he would rather not tell the whole table. He set the choices on an imaginary balance before him. Get comfort, or become the court jester. Get comfort, or become the court jester. Not a particularly hard choice. All in all, it was better if the jolly giant didn't know. So instead Neal put on a typical goofy smile. "Veggies…" he joked nervously, forcing away his melancholy. For now his misery was pointless anyway.
Cleon raised an eyebrow of doubt. "You look like you've been through one of Wyldon's workouts. The Lioness?"
Neal shook his head. He wished ardently that his knight-master was the source of all his problems, but despite her temper, the two of them had been getting along relatively well. And because she wasn't the reason, but to be more precise something much more intimate and private, he'd rather not talk about this subject now. "I'm fine," he added when Cleon continued to look suspicious, "really, Cleon, I'm dandy as a daffodil."
Cleon smiled evilly, ready to elaborate on the old joke. "And it's not even spring, yet, princess. Would you look at that…"
Slightly annoyed, Neal shot Cleon a dirty look. He especially was not in the mood for witty retorts. Out of the blue, Cleon's remark from years before came back to him. Oh, this was wicked… No matter how torn he felt, Neal just couldn't resist getting back at the immense mass beside him. The corners of his mouth turned up in half-smile. "That's because I'm sitting next to such a large, fresh pile of dung."
Instinctively, Cleon's large hands tightened into fists, his face turning a dazzling shade of red. Neal felt his spirits soar for just a moment as he knew he had scored one on Cleon. That would serve him right for bugging in. He almost would have laughed out loud, had he not been afraid of being beaten to a pulp. Sure the two of them were almost matched in strength, but Cleon undeniably had the height advantage.
Neal felt the fear loosen in his chest as, on either side of the table, his friends sat with their sides in stitches.
"Come on, Cleon," Prosper implored, "it was only a joke."
Exasperated, Cleon unclenched his fists and relaxed, counting to ten. He smiled wanly. "It was kind of funny," the colossal redhead admitted, suddenly laughing along with the rest of the table. "I don't know why I even asked in the first place."
"Asked what?" With second helpings in hand, jolly Owen bounded up to the table in his usual jolly manner. He paused for one jolly moment, regaining the jolly balance of his jolly high stack of jolly healthy, nutritious food.
"Nothing," Neal answered quickly, hoping to move past the touchy subject so Owen wouldn't spill the beans. A picture of Lady Adelaide taunting him, flashed through his mind. She just stood there, talking to… to… that guy. "Don't worry, he's just some local urchin who keeps sending me poetry… Oh don't be jealous, Frederic, really! His poetry doesn't even make sense." Another scene flashed by of Owen hiding in the corner of the room… questioning Owen… the Owen who was so easy to talk to, especially when he was upset… the Owen who always cheered him up… and, now that he thought about it, the Owen who occasionally let secrets slip. At the moment, he was beginning to feel exceptionally stupid for revealing the entire situation to Owen, but at the time, it had been necessary. After all, Owen had witnessed the total humiliating episode.
Instead of progressing past it, however, Cleon in his normal targeted manner glanced at Neal suspiciously, noting the hasty answer. "Just commenting on how blue Neal looked," he dropped in nonchalantly, baiting the hook.
Neal's heart was thrown into his throat. He couldn't stand to see the irony of it all. Please Owen, he willed, don't say anything. But taking the bait, Owen shrugged, oblivious to the desperate, pleading looks Neal was giving him from across the table. "He's just depressed over his latest love." Neal's heart sank to his stomach.
Cleon's smile lit up to his ears. "Really?" he asked, his interest renewed. "And just who might be this rare visage of Neal's enchantment?"
"Why Lady Adelaide!" Owen blurted recklessly.
By now, Neal could feel his heart in his toes. Neal shot Owen a final dirty look, suddenly feeling nauseated, as the table exploded in curiosity. And it wasn't the veggies that were bringing up the peptic acid.
Finally enlightened, Owen looked stricken. "Ooops… I shouldn't have said that."
Cleon whistled, shaking his head. "It's all right, Squirt. You're among friends, and it won't leave the table. But Neal! Not even three days at court, the Lady Adelaide, and she has you making eyes at her." Cleon opened his gray eyes wide and gooey, eyelashes batting furiously.
"Are you just smitten, or is your love requited?" Prosper inquired reticently.
Neal only sighed wistfully, throwing his head down between his arms.
"Come on, Neal," Cleon cajoled, "enlighten us."
Somehow, the presence of his old friend made his situation seem somehow lighter. It wasn't as important. "She doesn't care for my poetry," he confessed slowly.
Roald's face scrunched up defensively at the mention of Neal's literary illness. "Who does?"
Neal smiled at his friend's joke, even though it was at his own expense. He had to admit that his poetry needed work. There were several times he had swallowed his own pride and even asked for the help of others. But at least he had a motto. If you're going to go down with the ship, you might as well go playing or singing or something like that. Not like his motto made any sense. In short it meant that if you're going to tell a story, you might as well tell the whole thing. "I've been sending her poetry ever since I met her. You should see her. She's wonderful. And yesterday, after hours of work on the poem that may be the epic of my erudite achievement, she had the gall to insult it!"
"Your poetry probably gave her acid stomach," a voice from farther down the table shouted.
Cleon gave his friend a hug. "It's not the end of the world… she can't hate you over poetry, even if its as bad as yours."
"I will not be consoled," Neal continued ascetically. "You don't know the half of it. This morning, when I went to apologize for being me, my Lady Adelaide was kissing someone else, some 'Frederic.' She told him that she didn't even know me. Oh my heart has been struck- I shall not live!" Even more dramatically, Neal clasped his heart and fell unceremoniously onto Cleon.
"Get up, you big oaf!" Cleon demanded, suddenly crushed by Neal's unapparent, full weight. "There's more fish in the sea."
Quick as lightening, he sat back up, moaning to himself. "You don't know how it feels to be scorned, yet still sick with love."
"You mean indigestion," the same voice rumbled from down the table.
Neal abruptly sobered up further. "What are you saying?" he accused.
"That sick feeling you have is more likely to be the food," Cleon answered seriously.
"The food?" Neal asked incredulously. What were they talking about? What he felt had nothing to do with what he ate! He was in love with Adelaide. And how could she have rejected him so?
"Neal," Roald joined in, apparently trying to let him down easily, "You fall in and out of love all the time… that's all we're saying. Don't worry there will be someone new next week, and the week after that, or even tomorrow."
Quite stunned, Neal just stared back down at the vegetables on his plate. He still hadn't eaten them. For two seconds he honestly considered what his friends were insinuating. "I don't understand. It's not that often." What were they getting at anyway? It was not as if he fell in love with every girl he met. It was just those special ones. But maybe… was he that… that… that… "Next week! But I'm not that…"
Prosper tapped him hard on the shoulder. "Face it, you're fickle," a distinctly feminine voice sounded behind him. It wasn't Prosper at all…
"Mithros defend us! It's the King's Own squire! When did you get back? And where's your fledgling?" Neal fired off all at once, excited to see his old, sensible friend.
"Eat your vegetables, Neal," she answered as she settled into a seat next to Cleon.
Neal ignored the scolding, unabashed. "We weren't sure you'd ever eat here again!" he continued as voices around the table began their own lines of inquiry.
Neal watched as Kel patiently answered their questions and picked up the conversation. It felt so weird sitting next to his long-absent friend. He had missed talking to her. In fact, she was just the person he had been longing to talk to. She would know just what to do. She could help him solve this. He began to plan out what he would say when the door opened.
A newcomer wearing two floor-length kimonos, one cream-colored silk with orange and yellow maple leaves and the inner one orange, walked into the Dining Hall and onto the dais. She wore a bronze silk obi to secure her kimonos and the brown silk slippers made a swishing sound in the now-silent room. Her ebony hair was parted at the center and combed straight to her waist. Taking the initiative, the vision placed her palms on her thighs and bowed to Lord Wyldon and Sir Inness. Neal watched the scene as if in a dream. He couldn't take his eyes off of the sight that so unexpectedly made him forget Lady Adelaide in a split second. He barely even noticed when Kel left the table to talk with her outside.
Who was this special someone? This someone that made his heart beat a million times a minute? He felt so up, as if no one in the world could wipe the smile off his face. Suddenly the lady turned to the room and bowed. In a daze, Neal was the first to scramble to his feet and bow with that silly grin on his face. When he saw her eyes crinkle, the grin grew even broader to ridiculous proportions. She had to be smiling at him. He just knew it.
Kel came back to the table, her face lit up with joy. Neal paused for a moment before he sprung the question. "So who is she?" he asked nonchalantly. He couldn't stand it any longer. He had to know her name.
Kel pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows as she finished off her plate. "Lady Yukimi. And try not to get too star-struck Neal. Yuki is my friend."
"Star-struck?" Neal chuckled offhand. "Who me?"
After a quiet laugh, Kel only shook her head and stood up. "Will you be around later, Kel?" Cleon asked anxiously.
"No. If my lord lets me out of evening lessons, I'll be visiting the Yamani ladies. I'll see you here tomorrow night, though, if we aren't called out." Neal stared off into space, wishing that Kel would invite them to come along to see the Yamani ladies as well.
"And Neal," Kel advised, "try not to spend too many hours writing poems to Yuki's eyebrow." She paused to let her guidance sink in. "Yamani poetry is very different from ours. I doubt she'd appreciate yours."
But Neal could only sigh, too busy falling in love with the vision of the special lady named Yuki, as the other squires discussed where they might find books of Yamani poetry.
To be continued...
