Writing Sample: "Real Talk" |
Genre: Fantasy
Characters: Aesriel Elwynter (Traherne) and Octavia Kasun
Context: Aesriel is secretly a mage and has used her abilities to help her husband from an arranged marriage to win a battle. Octavia, her guard and longtime companion, has some advice for her.
Characters: Aesriel Elwynter (Traherne) and Octavia Kasun
Context: Aesriel is secretly a mage and has used her abilities to help her husband from an arranged marriage to win a battle. Octavia, her guard and longtime companion, has some advice for her.
Octavia was generally pleased with the Traherne camp’s medics. They had patched up her wounds efficiently, cleaning and dressing them without a fuss. More importantly, they had demonstrated impressive skill as they tended to Tykir’s injuries. He would have a scar but suffer little other consequence from his rash behavior. She was almost looking forward to his heroic retelling of the story.
Aesriel had come to visit him, sitting with him for a while and speaking quietly, admonishing him about his reckless behavior—which would only encourage him in the end. She looked tired but not frail, apparently having eaten after seeing Arlen to bed.
As frustrated as she was with Aesriel's rash behavior, Octavia swelled with pride when she saw the way Aesriel pulled Naveed aside, offering reassurances that his brother was in good hands.
So Octavia thought nothing of it when Aesriel left the medic tent, assuming her charge was retiring for the night.
Dinner was a mutton stew, served with a pan fried bread, filling and restorative. The conversation inevitably circled around the attack, Merlas’ treachery, and memories of Tavish.
A circle of men and women was gathered around a fire, drawing Octavia’s attention. From the center, she heard Fergus’ rolling bass, filled with glee. “You shoulda seen it! They sunk in to their knees, stuck like flies in honey, eyes wide as saucers! Clever as a fox, that one is.”
As the crowd reacted with rowdy laughter and skeptical mutters, Owen chimed in from another part of the circle. “Then she ordered Lachlan to help Arlen.” The laughter paused, interrupted by gasps and exclamations of disbelief. “And he listened!”
“Only after she threatened to go help Arlen her own damn self!” Fergus added over the resulting laughter.
Tales of the fight rippled about the camp, a story forming of Aesriel’s involvement in the battle that carried implications. Ones Octavia knew would make Aesriel uncomfortable.
Not just uncomfortable. Scared.
Aesriel made rash choices when scared.
Stifling a curse, Octavia headed for Arlen and Aesriel's tent. Gavin was standing guard outside. “Is it true?” he asked in a furtive whisper as she approached, “Did she order Lachlan about?”
Octavia pressed her lips together, her eyes darting to the tent. The last thing she needed was Aesriel overhearing the way she was the talk of the camp.
“Fuck me,” he said appreciatively.
Octavia cracked a smile before changing the topic. “Have they both retired?”
Gavin quirked an eyebrow. “Arlen has. Aesriel went for a walk. Alec went with her.”
Octavia swore.
Aesriel had come to visit him, sitting with him for a while and speaking quietly, admonishing him about his reckless behavior—which would only encourage him in the end. She looked tired but not frail, apparently having eaten after seeing Arlen to bed.
As frustrated as she was with Aesriel's rash behavior, Octavia swelled with pride when she saw the way Aesriel pulled Naveed aside, offering reassurances that his brother was in good hands.
So Octavia thought nothing of it when Aesriel left the medic tent, assuming her charge was retiring for the night.
Dinner was a mutton stew, served with a pan fried bread, filling and restorative. The conversation inevitably circled around the attack, Merlas’ treachery, and memories of Tavish.
A circle of men and women was gathered around a fire, drawing Octavia’s attention. From the center, she heard Fergus’ rolling bass, filled with glee. “You shoulda seen it! They sunk in to their knees, stuck like flies in honey, eyes wide as saucers! Clever as a fox, that one is.”
As the crowd reacted with rowdy laughter and skeptical mutters, Owen chimed in from another part of the circle. “Then she ordered Lachlan to help Arlen.” The laughter paused, interrupted by gasps and exclamations of disbelief. “And he listened!”
“Only after she threatened to go help Arlen her own damn self!” Fergus added over the resulting laughter.
Tales of the fight rippled about the camp, a story forming of Aesriel’s involvement in the battle that carried implications. Ones Octavia knew would make Aesriel uncomfortable.
Not just uncomfortable. Scared.
Aesriel made rash choices when scared.
Stifling a curse, Octavia headed for Arlen and Aesriel's tent. Gavin was standing guard outside. “Is it true?” he asked in a furtive whisper as she approached, “Did she order Lachlan about?”
Octavia pressed her lips together, her eyes darting to the tent. The last thing she needed was Aesriel overhearing the way she was the talk of the camp.
“Fuck me,” he said appreciatively.
Octavia cracked a smile before changing the topic. “Have they both retired?”
Gavin quirked an eyebrow. “Arlen has. Aesriel went for a walk. Alec went with her.”
Octavia swore.
+++
“Shh, girl. You’re still eager to ride, aren’t you?” Aesriel said quietly as she stroked Raven’s nose.
The warhorse had greeted her eagerly, trotting toward her even before Aesriel reached the fenced off area where they were keeping her tonight. Black as night, the horse’s coat had a lovely sheen in the fading sunlight. Raven sniffed out the apple in Aesriel’s pocket, offering a moment of levity that Aesriel desperately needed.
After Raven finished off the apple, Aesriel used the brush she'd procured to smooth out the thick hair on the side of the horse, each stroke a meditative exercise. She had walked the camp with Alec trailing behind her, avoiding the large, populated areas around the campfires, but even then, people asked after her, wanted to hear her speak about the fight, asked about her arm. Each time, she had deferred politely. She needed to think, not talk.
Raven was a perfect solution, and the temptation to ride was strong. Yet Raven needed her rest. They all did. So she settled for grooming the horse as she wrestled with the implications of her recent choices.
“Thank you for your bravery,” she whispered, fully aware of her debt to Arlen for the horse. She was mid-stroke with the brush when Octavia’s voice came from behind her.
“Ezri?”
She turned to see worry etched her longtime companion’s face. “Octavia. You should be resting.”
Octavia eyed Raven, then Alec, and finally Aesriel again. “So should you.”
Aesriel shook her head, offering a tired smile. “I will.” She ran a hand along Raven’s shoulder. “I just need to think.”
Subtle tension slipped from Octavia’s shoulders. With a minute lift of her eyebrows, the Demkar examined her charge. “It’s about time.”
“Excuse me?” Aesriel’s shoulders rolled back as irritation stiffened her spine. Aesriel knew she should listen—Octavia didn’t often voice her concerns—but at the moment, that comment felt like insolence.
Raven’s hooves shuffled in the dirt as the horse sensed the tension between the two women. Octavia stepped closer, resting a hand on the horse’s neck to help settle the beast. Her words were quiet, meant for Aesriel alone. Alec had put some deferential distance between him and the two women, but the Demkar took additional precautions. “You came here for a reason, but only a few of us know it. That secrecy put Tykir in danger today.”
“Merlas put him in danger today,” Aesriel countered defensively, anger and fear swelling again in her chest. But a single long look from Octavia deflated Aesriel’s sense of superiority. After a strangling moment of silence, she ran the brush along Raven’s front shoulder. “But I know what you mean.”
With a nod, Octavia accepted the almost-apology. “I don’t think you do.” The warrior sighed softly, putting a hand over Aesriel’s before she could continue her work with the brush.
Aesriel pulled away impatiently. “He knows.” Her eyes stung with unspent tears, her mind spinning again down familiar, thorn-lined paths. “And he didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask what I could do, or how I could help.”
“Did you offer?”
She paused, frowning. “No.”
Octavia’s dark gaze lingered on her arm before they sought hers, full of heavy questions. As was often the case, she seemed to sift through them before plucking out the most relevant. “Now that you’ve seen a battle, what it’s really like, do you still want to help?”
“Yes,” Aesriel said adamantly. “But—”
“Then talk to him.” Octavia said firmly. “A general needs to know his troops’ abilities.”
Aesriel blew out a puff of air, looking up to the sky for guidance. Then, closing her eyes briefly, she squared her shoulders and nodded.
“And you need to learn how to work with a group.” Octavia’s voice was laden with rebuke, no less stinging for its quiet delivery.
Taking a deep breath, Aesriel looked Octavia in the eye, knowing the Demkar didn’t waste words. She remembered the worry on Octavia’s face during the fight, while Tykir was separated from them. Pressing her lips together, she squelched any defensive thoughts as best she could, instead replying with a simple, “I will.”
Octavia put a hand on Aesriel’s shoulder, then pulled her into a hug. As they embraced, Aesriel finally felt the tension in her own shoulders start to dissipate. It wouldn't be easy, but at least now she knew what she must do.