Lark.Rosethorn.young.in love.ahhhh *flowers bloom, birds sing* Anyway, if
you haven't figured it out yet, it's slash. If you don't like it, don't
read it. Or read it, then flame me; I don't really care. Mmmm.smores.
Disclaimer: *sighs* If only I owned the Circle characters. Maybe some day... Currently, though, they belong to Tamora Pierce. However, I do own the plot and anything else you don't recognize. The poems are all by Sappho.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~
He seems to me, that one, equal to the gods, The man fixed there, who sits opposite you And hears close by your sweet voice And delightful laugh, which once Shook the soul in my breast
For as I look at you, My voice yields no sound, Gasping, my silent tongue shivers, A thin fire runs in under my skin, In my eyes there is no sight, My ears pound and throb, A chill sweat runs over me, Trembling seizes me all over, Paler than the reeds am I, And, weakened, I seem little short of dying.
But all must be endured.
~*~
The raven haired woman's dark eyes seem to burn holes into the head of the blond seated across the dining hall from her. She watched as the girl flirted with the handsome man seated next to her, giggling as he played with a lock of her golden hair.
'Look at her.' thought the woman, called Lark, 'She sits with him, whispering, giggling, letting him grope her body. It's as if she forgets that a short while ago it was my hands caressing her.' A rare burst of jealously surged through Lark's chest as the man bent his dark head to kiss the girl lightly on her mouth. She could remember the feeling of those soft, sweet lips against her own, the taste of the girls tongue as it explored her mouth. She clenched her fists as she watched the couple exit the dining hall, whispering softly to each other. It took all her willpower not to march across the hall and confront the other woman. Maybe if she planted a kiss on the girl's mouth, it would remind her of their nights spent in bed together.
But she didn't. She sat there, nails biting into golden skin, as she reminded herself that the girl didn't really have a choice. She was a noble lady, after all. It was either marry a wealthy noble boy, or be disowned by her family. Their relationship had been doomed from the beginning, but Lark had held on to a thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, the girl would give up everything: money, family, to live out her days with her. It was a stupid thing to hope for. How could she expect her lover to stay with her, when the girl's family's lands were ravaged by drought? Because she would have given up, however unhappily, her family to be with Lark, but she would not let them and the people who worked for them starve. It would have torn her apart to leave them to struggle on their own, when a simple marriage could bring prosperity once more. So, like many women before her, she chose money over true love. She would marry that dark, handsome boy, bear his children, and live unhappily ever after in his manor home. She would do it, and bare the unhappiness for her family's good. Lark knew that she couldn't have stood it if her love was tormented with guilt over abandoning her family. She knew that the girl had made the only choice she could have, and that she herself, if place in that position, would have probably done the same. But somehow, the thought didn't make it hurt any less.
Lark got up, and, with a touch of her fingers, straightened the green habit that marked her as an Earth dedicate. She walked to return her plate to the servers her mind still fixed on her ex-lover. 'Will she remember me?' Lark wondered 'Will be thinking of me when she makes love to her future husband. Will she remember, one day when she's old and gray, her lover from the-oomph!'
Lark glanced down at the young woman who had made her drop her plate. All she saw was the top of a chestnut head; the girl was kneeling on the floor picking up some of the larger pieces of Lark's plate and her own, which apparently had been filled with food.
"Sorry." said Lark, kneeling to help the girl. All she got in return was a fleeting look upward from a pair of eyes, dark brown like her own. They picked up all the pieces big enough to be handled without cutting themselves and deposited them in the trash bins in the corner of the hall.
"You got some on your clothes," said the older woman. She waved her hand and the girl's white robes seemed to repel the thick stew. The young woman glared at her and wiped it off with a cloth napkin.
"Well, that wouldn't have been a problem if someone had been watching where they were going, instead of walking around with their head in the clouds," said the girl scathingly.
"A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed. Or don't they teach initiates manners these days?" Lark smiled playfully down at the girl, who was several inches shorter than her height of 5'8, and wore then white robes trimmed with a double band of green, which marked her as an Earth temple initiate, the stage before a person became a dedicate.
"They do, but sometimes it doesn't take." Said the girl, returning Lark's grin with a small one of her own.
Their little accident had attracted the attention of one of the female servers; the plump gray-haired woman stormed over, a broom in one hand a mop and bucket in the other.
"Clean." She ordered, thrusting the mop to Lark, and the broom to the other woman. "I certainly hope you didn't expect me to do it myself. I have enough on my plate without having to clean up after clumsy girls. These noisy, messy young mages, gallivanting in and out, trying out their magic whenever they feel like it, leaving messes for me and my staff to clean up." The old woman walked away muttering. Lark grinned at the girl, but once again, all she saw was the top of that chestnut head; the other girl had already begun to sweep. Lark headed out the door to the well behind the kitchen.
When she returned, bucket full, the girl was gone. Lark began to mop up the mess, her thoughts drifting once more to her lost love.
Disclaimer: *sighs* If only I owned the Circle characters. Maybe some day... Currently, though, they belong to Tamora Pierce. However, I do own the plot and anything else you don't recognize. The poems are all by Sappho.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~
He seems to me, that one, equal to the gods, The man fixed there, who sits opposite you And hears close by your sweet voice And delightful laugh, which once Shook the soul in my breast
For as I look at you, My voice yields no sound, Gasping, my silent tongue shivers, A thin fire runs in under my skin, In my eyes there is no sight, My ears pound and throb, A chill sweat runs over me, Trembling seizes me all over, Paler than the reeds am I, And, weakened, I seem little short of dying.
But all must be endured.
~*~
The raven haired woman's dark eyes seem to burn holes into the head of the blond seated across the dining hall from her. She watched as the girl flirted with the handsome man seated next to her, giggling as he played with a lock of her golden hair.
'Look at her.' thought the woman, called Lark, 'She sits with him, whispering, giggling, letting him grope her body. It's as if she forgets that a short while ago it was my hands caressing her.' A rare burst of jealously surged through Lark's chest as the man bent his dark head to kiss the girl lightly on her mouth. She could remember the feeling of those soft, sweet lips against her own, the taste of the girls tongue as it explored her mouth. She clenched her fists as she watched the couple exit the dining hall, whispering softly to each other. It took all her willpower not to march across the hall and confront the other woman. Maybe if she planted a kiss on the girl's mouth, it would remind her of their nights spent in bed together.
But she didn't. She sat there, nails biting into golden skin, as she reminded herself that the girl didn't really have a choice. She was a noble lady, after all. It was either marry a wealthy noble boy, or be disowned by her family. Their relationship had been doomed from the beginning, but Lark had held on to a thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, the girl would give up everything: money, family, to live out her days with her. It was a stupid thing to hope for. How could she expect her lover to stay with her, when the girl's family's lands were ravaged by drought? Because she would have given up, however unhappily, her family to be with Lark, but she would not let them and the people who worked for them starve. It would have torn her apart to leave them to struggle on their own, when a simple marriage could bring prosperity once more. So, like many women before her, she chose money over true love. She would marry that dark, handsome boy, bear his children, and live unhappily ever after in his manor home. She would do it, and bare the unhappiness for her family's good. Lark knew that she couldn't have stood it if her love was tormented with guilt over abandoning her family. She knew that the girl had made the only choice she could have, and that she herself, if place in that position, would have probably done the same. But somehow, the thought didn't make it hurt any less.
Lark got up, and, with a touch of her fingers, straightened the green habit that marked her as an Earth dedicate. She walked to return her plate to the servers her mind still fixed on her ex-lover. 'Will she remember me?' Lark wondered 'Will be thinking of me when she makes love to her future husband. Will she remember, one day when she's old and gray, her lover from the-oomph!'
Lark glanced down at the young woman who had made her drop her plate. All she saw was the top of a chestnut head; the girl was kneeling on the floor picking up some of the larger pieces of Lark's plate and her own, which apparently had been filled with food.
"Sorry." said Lark, kneeling to help the girl. All she got in return was a fleeting look upward from a pair of eyes, dark brown like her own. They picked up all the pieces big enough to be handled without cutting themselves and deposited them in the trash bins in the corner of the hall.
"You got some on your clothes," said the older woman. She waved her hand and the girl's white robes seemed to repel the thick stew. The young woman glared at her and wiped it off with a cloth napkin.
"Well, that wouldn't have been a problem if someone had been watching where they were going, instead of walking around with their head in the clouds," said the girl scathingly.
"A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed. Or don't they teach initiates manners these days?" Lark smiled playfully down at the girl, who was several inches shorter than her height of 5'8, and wore then white robes trimmed with a double band of green, which marked her as an Earth temple initiate, the stage before a person became a dedicate.
"They do, but sometimes it doesn't take." Said the girl, returning Lark's grin with a small one of her own.
Their little accident had attracted the attention of one of the female servers; the plump gray-haired woman stormed over, a broom in one hand a mop and bucket in the other.
"Clean." She ordered, thrusting the mop to Lark, and the broom to the other woman. "I certainly hope you didn't expect me to do it myself. I have enough on my plate without having to clean up after clumsy girls. These noisy, messy young mages, gallivanting in and out, trying out their magic whenever they feel like it, leaving messes for me and my staff to clean up." The old woman walked away muttering. Lark grinned at the girl, but once again, all she saw was the top of that chestnut head; the other girl had already begun to sweep. Lark headed out the door to the well behind the kitchen.
When she returned, bucket full, the girl was gone. Lark began to mop up the mess, her thoughts drifting once more to her lost love.