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fandomweekly2021-02-12 11:03 am
quatorze) wrote in fandomweekly2021-02-12 11:03 am
Entry tags:
[#083] Remembering the Cold (original)
Theme Prompt: 83 - Below zero
Title: Remembering the Cold
Fandom: Original
Rating/Warnings: Gen.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 958
He squints as he turns his face into the wind blowing from the north, over the mighty river Czorhass and the vast forests beyond. It's a cold wind that carries a million tiny shards of ice that cut into his cheeks, but he just smiles and wraps the cloak tighter around himself. A gust snatches a handful of black, curly hair and tosses it all over his face, and he laughs aloud. Yes, it's biting cold, but he wanted to come and look at the city of Deleon from here, high up on the castle battlements. He wants to be right here, breathe in the freezing air and just enjoy.
His Granny had done her best to always keep him well fed and clothed, but it wasn't Granny's fault that his clothes and shoes had mostly been hand-me-downs from the other villagers, worn thin and either too large or too small for him. They hadn't offered much protection, neither when he'd carried firewood or hauled water in from the well across a slippery yard, nor when he and the other village kids had played in the snow until their noses and hand and feet were clammy and almost blue with the cold. Not that he'd had reason to be out of doors much, of course, there'd been quite enough work in helping Granny.
Whereas now... He wiggles his toes inside the luxuriously thick woolen socks and felt boots and his hand brushes against the stiff, tightly woven cloth of the coat. Such wonderful clothes he has now! They have all been made to measure, just the right size for him, and so comfortable that he still has to marvel at the feel every morning when he's getting dressed. And the biggest wonder of all: they aren't all grey. No, they have been dyed to different hues of green and black and red, the cloak a rusty brown that matches the thin stripe of fur around his face. He rubs his cheek against its softness and sighs in awe.
Dusk is falling and most people have already hurried home, to settle by the fire behind closed doors and shutters. Here and there the city below is dotted with dim lights from lanterns carried by those still out, tiny glowing specks weaving their way through the maze of narrow streets. He tries to see where the closest one is going but soon loses sight of it, squares his shoulders inside the heavy cloak and straightens his back.
"Oh!"
"Sorry – did I startle you? Didn't mean to."
Arjan looks up at his uncle and adoptive father, marveling once again how quietly and smoothly such a big man can move. "I just, uh, I didn't hear you because of the wind."
Karos smiles to him. "And you were looking at the city. Is something the matter?"
He frowns a little, confused. "Like what?"
"I was just thinking… Your life has been turned upside down, there are so many new things you need to get used to, and you haven't been living here very long yet. I wouldn't be surprised if you might be feeling a bit overwhelmed sometimes."
He shakes his head, and a warm wave courses through him when a large hand squeezes his shoulder and then just rests there, steady and reassuring.
"No… or, well, maybe a little. But that's not why I wanted to come here."
"What is it then? Or is it anything you'd want to talk about? You don't have to, mind you."
Arjan squirms, suddenly embarrassed. "You're going to laugh at me."
"I promise I won't."
"I… came here because I just wanted to be here."
Karos looks nonplussed. "Now I don't understand. Why here, in just about the coldest spot in all of Deleon? In this weather?"
"I wanted to feel what it's like to be here and not be cold even though it's very cold," Arjan says in a small voice, certain that Karos will burst into laughter.
But Karos doesn't laugh, just nods. "I see. Yes, it feels great, doesn't it?"
"You don't think it's silly, then?" Arjan wants to make sure, and a smile makes the corners of Karos' eyes crease.
"Not at all. Believe me, I've been freezing and wet and miserable quite enough in my life to know what it feels like and how wonderful it is to be warm and comfortable. I can tell you more if you sometimes want to hear."
Arjan sighs, reassured. "Of course I want to."
"Then I will. You'll need to remind me."
For a good while they just stand there, side by side, Karos' hand on Arjan's shoulder, as darkness creeps over the city and the mighty castle at its center. The wind is growing stronger, it howls in the crevices of the tall battlements and towers and drives around thick clouds that every now and then let a star peek out from a tear between them. In the bailey below servants are scurrying around, busy with the last chores of the day, just as the first flakes of snow begin a wild dance in the gusts whirling around within the walls.
"Come," Karos says, "let's go in before that snowstorm gets here. The stairs are slick enough already."
Arjan nods, and when they turn to go he slips his hand into Karos' equally mittened hand and squeezes it. Long fingers close around his and the man glances back at Arjan.
"I bet they're already getting ready for dinner and wondering where we have disappeared," he says. "Aren't you at all hungry?"
"A little," Arjan has to admit, now that he comes to think about it.
"But not cold?"
The boy smiles so broadly that his wind-beaten cheeks hurt. "No. Not at all."
Title: Remembering the Cold
Fandom: Original
Rating/Warnings: Gen.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 958
He squints as he turns his face into the wind blowing from the north, over the mighty river Czorhass and the vast forests beyond. It's a cold wind that carries a million tiny shards of ice that cut into his cheeks, but he just smiles and wraps the cloak tighter around himself. A gust snatches a handful of black, curly hair and tosses it all over his face, and he laughs aloud. Yes, it's biting cold, but he wanted to come and look at the city of Deleon from here, high up on the castle battlements. He wants to be right here, breathe in the freezing air and just enjoy.
His Granny had done her best to always keep him well fed and clothed, but it wasn't Granny's fault that his clothes and shoes had mostly been hand-me-downs from the other villagers, worn thin and either too large or too small for him. They hadn't offered much protection, neither when he'd carried firewood or hauled water in from the well across a slippery yard, nor when he and the other village kids had played in the snow until their noses and hand and feet were clammy and almost blue with the cold. Not that he'd had reason to be out of doors much, of course, there'd been quite enough work in helping Granny.
Whereas now... He wiggles his toes inside the luxuriously thick woolen socks and felt boots and his hand brushes against the stiff, tightly woven cloth of the coat. Such wonderful clothes he has now! They have all been made to measure, just the right size for him, and so comfortable that he still has to marvel at the feel every morning when he's getting dressed. And the biggest wonder of all: they aren't all grey. No, they have been dyed to different hues of green and black and red, the cloak a rusty brown that matches the thin stripe of fur around his face. He rubs his cheek against its softness and sighs in awe.
Dusk is falling and most people have already hurried home, to settle by the fire behind closed doors and shutters. Here and there the city below is dotted with dim lights from lanterns carried by those still out, tiny glowing specks weaving their way through the maze of narrow streets. He tries to see where the closest one is going but soon loses sight of it, squares his shoulders inside the heavy cloak and straightens his back.
"Oh!"
"Sorry – did I startle you? Didn't mean to."
Arjan looks up at his uncle and adoptive father, marveling once again how quietly and smoothly such a big man can move. "I just, uh, I didn't hear you because of the wind."
Karos smiles to him. "And you were looking at the city. Is something the matter?"
He frowns a little, confused. "Like what?"
"I was just thinking… Your life has been turned upside down, there are so many new things you need to get used to, and you haven't been living here very long yet. I wouldn't be surprised if you might be feeling a bit overwhelmed sometimes."
He shakes his head, and a warm wave courses through him when a large hand squeezes his shoulder and then just rests there, steady and reassuring.
"No… or, well, maybe a little. But that's not why I wanted to come here."
"What is it then? Or is it anything you'd want to talk about? You don't have to, mind you."
Arjan squirms, suddenly embarrassed. "You're going to laugh at me."
"I promise I won't."
"I… came here because I just wanted to be here."
Karos looks nonplussed. "Now I don't understand. Why here, in just about the coldest spot in all of Deleon? In this weather?"
"I wanted to feel what it's like to be here and not be cold even though it's very cold," Arjan says in a small voice, certain that Karos will burst into laughter.
But Karos doesn't laugh, just nods. "I see. Yes, it feels great, doesn't it?"
"You don't think it's silly, then?" Arjan wants to make sure, and a smile makes the corners of Karos' eyes crease.
"Not at all. Believe me, I've been freezing and wet and miserable quite enough in my life to know what it feels like and how wonderful it is to be warm and comfortable. I can tell you more if you sometimes want to hear."
Arjan sighs, reassured. "Of course I want to."
"Then I will. You'll need to remind me."
For a good while they just stand there, side by side, Karos' hand on Arjan's shoulder, as darkness creeps over the city and the mighty castle at its center. The wind is growing stronger, it howls in the crevices of the tall battlements and towers and drives around thick clouds that every now and then let a star peek out from a tear between them. In the bailey below servants are scurrying around, busy with the last chores of the day, just as the first flakes of snow begin a wild dance in the gusts whirling around within the walls.
"Come," Karos says, "let's go in before that snowstorm gets here. The stairs are slick enough already."
Arjan nods, and when they turn to go he slips his hand into Karos' equally mittened hand and squeezes it. Long fingers close around his and the man glances back at Arjan.
"I bet they're already getting ready for dinner and wondering where we have disappeared," he says. "Aren't you at all hungry?"
"A little," Arjan has to admit, now that he comes to think about it.
"But not cold?"
The boy smiles so broadly that his wind-beaten cheeks hurt. "No. Not at all."
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