Scene from "Brothers-in-Arms"
Jul. 16th, 2013 10:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wiseheartThis is the full scene to the snippet posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
picowrimo. It is too long to clutter the daily post over there, but the excerpt would be better understood in context, so I thought I'd give people the chance to read it in its entirety.
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He found Hywel still awake in their shared chambers. The prince was ready to turn in, wearing only a light robe. He seemed tired.
“You have been gone for a while,” he commented. Cuhelyn nodded.
“I had a lot on my mind,” he replied simply.
Hywel raised an eyebrow. “Like Bledri ap Rhys?”
“Among other things,” said Cuhelyn evasively.
Tomorrow, he would challenge Bledri in front of everyone. He would challenge him, he would fight him, and if Owain gave his countenance, he would kill him. Then he would be free to live out his life as he might.
Hywel must have felt his fey mood for he did not probe any deeper.
“Did he meet with Gwion?” he asked instead. Cuhelyn nodded again.
“In the chapel, about an hour ago. It was a surprisingly short meeting for two of the same allegiance, one of whom had not seen any of his own for half a year.”
“But long enough to share any knowledge Gwion might have gained here?” asked Hywel, cutting to the core of the problem as was his wont.
“Barely; but yes, it might have been enough,” replied Cuhelyn.
“More so if Gwion had written noted for him,” suggested Hywel.
“True; I did not think of that,” Cuhelyn glanced along the stump of his left arm.
He had not done much writing since the loss of his better hand. He was lettered, sure, could even write with his other hand, albeit not very neatly; not that it mattered. Trying to do better was not worth the effort. He no longer had to write confidential messages for his Prince, as his Prince was dead. Murdered. Forgotten by most but him.
At least by tomorrow he would be avenged.
“Come to bed,” said Hywel quietly. “You need to rest; and so do I.”
That was true. He needed to rest. He needed his full strength to fight Bledri ap Rhys in the morning. To fight him and to kill him.
With the skill acquired by necessity since last autumn, Cuhelyn shed his cottee and shirt with one hand, helping with his stump as well as he could, while Hywel watched him from hooded eyes. The prince would never humiliate him by helping him undress; that would have been a sign of pity; that he would not trust him to master such a simply task.
Only when it came to removing the silver bracelet that secured the linen cover over the stump of his maimed arm did the prince step closer to him, carefully and willing to back off if needs must be.
“Allow me…”
Cuhelyn nodded curtly. Ever since the healers had declared his wound healed, he only allowed Hywel to see it. Not that he would be ashamed of it; why would he? It was an honourable injury, the proof that he had been willing to lie down his life for his Prince as every honourable guardsman would. But it was also a deeply personal aspect of his life; one that was not meant to be gaffed at. He would rather appear before the entire court naked than show off his stump.
With feather-light fingers, Hywel removed the silver circlet, laying it on the shelf next to the bed. Then he pulled the linen clothing away, giving the stump a critical glance. This had become something of a recurring ritual between the two of them, so he could tell if the maimed limb was inflamed or irritated in any way. Yes, it was healed – ad much as it could – but there was always need for caution.
“Does it still give you pain?” he asked, ghosting his fingertips over the still new skin.
It seemed healthy enough today; paler than Cuhelyn’s face, of course, or his remaining hand, and just a touch pink from where the linen had been chafing against it all day. Fortunately, it did not feel warmer than it should be.
Cuhelyn shivered under his touch.
“It is still tender,” he murmured, feeling himself harden from the mixed sensation of caress and mild pain.
He had learned not to be embarrassed by the reaction of his body; this happened every time Hywel touched his stump. He leaned back against the lean, strong frame of the prince and allowed a ragged sigh that was making his chest ache to escape. Only when alone with Hywel could he afford to be weak; even if only for a moment.
One nimble hand of the prince found its way into his chausses and closed around his aching need with confident familiarity.
“Do you need me to do something about it?” Hywel murmured.
Cuhelyn hesitated. He needed sleep to be strong tomorrow, and love-play always left him exhausted – more an exhaustion of the heart that still missed Anarawd so terribly that it physically hurt than that of the body. But finding temporary release also meant better sleep… and he desperately needed Hywel’s comforting closeness tonight.
“If you won’t mind,” he replied, his voice breaking, for it would always be just a substitute, never what it had been with Anarawd, and Hywel knew that and accepted that, and with the small part of his heart that had not died with Anarawd, Cuhelyn loved him for that acceptance.
“Why would I?” there was a smile in Hywel’s voice. “You would do the same for me; have done so many times. Shield-mates, remember?”
“Shield-mates,” agreed Cuhelyn, giving himself up to the tender ministrations of his young lord.
Tell me what you think. And feel free to point out any grammatical errors.
picowrimo. It is too long to clutter the daily post over there, but the excerpt would be better understood in context, so I thought I'd give people the chance to read it in its entirety.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He found Hywel still awake in their shared chambers. The prince was ready to turn in, wearing only a light robe. He seemed tired.
“You have been gone for a while,” he commented. Cuhelyn nodded.
“I had a lot on my mind,” he replied simply.
Hywel raised an eyebrow. “Like Bledri ap Rhys?”
“Among other things,” said Cuhelyn evasively.
Tomorrow, he would challenge Bledri in front of everyone. He would challenge him, he would fight him, and if Owain gave his countenance, he would kill him. Then he would be free to live out his life as he might.
Hywel must have felt his fey mood for he did not probe any deeper.
“Did he meet with Gwion?” he asked instead. Cuhelyn nodded again.
“In the chapel, about an hour ago. It was a surprisingly short meeting for two of the same allegiance, one of whom had not seen any of his own for half a year.”
“But long enough to share any knowledge Gwion might have gained here?” asked Hywel, cutting to the core of the problem as was his wont.
“Barely; but yes, it might have been enough,” replied Cuhelyn.
“More so if Gwion had written noted for him,” suggested Hywel.
“True; I did not think of that,” Cuhelyn glanced along the stump of his left arm.
He had not done much writing since the loss of his better hand. He was lettered, sure, could even write with his other hand, albeit not very neatly; not that it mattered. Trying to do better was not worth the effort. He no longer had to write confidential messages for his Prince, as his Prince was dead. Murdered. Forgotten by most but him.
At least by tomorrow he would be avenged.
“Come to bed,” said Hywel quietly. “You need to rest; and so do I.”
That was true. He needed to rest. He needed his full strength to fight Bledri ap Rhys in the morning. To fight him and to kill him.
With the skill acquired by necessity since last autumn, Cuhelyn shed his cottee and shirt with one hand, helping with his stump as well as he could, while Hywel watched him from hooded eyes. The prince would never humiliate him by helping him undress; that would have been a sign of pity; that he would not trust him to master such a simply task.
Only when it came to removing the silver bracelet that secured the linen cover over the stump of his maimed arm did the prince step closer to him, carefully and willing to back off if needs must be.
“Allow me…”
Cuhelyn nodded curtly. Ever since the healers had declared his wound healed, he only allowed Hywel to see it. Not that he would be ashamed of it; why would he? It was an honourable injury, the proof that he had been willing to lie down his life for his Prince as every honourable guardsman would. But it was also a deeply personal aspect of his life; one that was not meant to be gaffed at. He would rather appear before the entire court naked than show off his stump.
With feather-light fingers, Hywel removed the silver circlet, laying it on the shelf next to the bed. Then he pulled the linen clothing away, giving the stump a critical glance. This had become something of a recurring ritual between the two of them, so he could tell if the maimed limb was inflamed or irritated in any way. Yes, it was healed – ad much as it could – but there was always need for caution.
“Does it still give you pain?” he asked, ghosting his fingertips over the still new skin.
It seemed healthy enough today; paler than Cuhelyn’s face, of course, or his remaining hand, and just a touch pink from where the linen had been chafing against it all day. Fortunately, it did not feel warmer than it should be.
Cuhelyn shivered under his touch.
“It is still tender,” he murmured, feeling himself harden from the mixed sensation of caress and mild pain.
He had learned not to be embarrassed by the reaction of his body; this happened every time Hywel touched his stump. He leaned back against the lean, strong frame of the prince and allowed a ragged sigh that was making his chest ache to escape. Only when alone with Hywel could he afford to be weak; even if only for a moment.
One nimble hand of the prince found its way into his chausses and closed around his aching need with confident familiarity.
“Do you need me to do something about it?” Hywel murmured.
Cuhelyn hesitated. He needed sleep to be strong tomorrow, and love-play always left him exhausted – more an exhaustion of the heart that still missed Anarawd so terribly that it physically hurt than that of the body. But finding temporary release also meant better sleep… and he desperately needed Hywel’s comforting closeness tonight.
“If you won’t mind,” he replied, his voice breaking, for it would always be just a substitute, never what it had been with Anarawd, and Hywel knew that and accepted that, and with the small part of his heart that had not died with Anarawd, Cuhelyn loved him for that acceptance.
“Why would I?” there was a smile in Hywel’s voice. “You would do the same for me; have done so many times. Shield-mates, remember?”
“Shield-mates,” agreed Cuhelyn, giving himself up to the tender ministrations of his young lord.
Tell me what you think. And feel free to point out any grammatical errors.
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Date: 2013-07-17 04:54 pm (UTC)Or to the odd side, I'd say. It's not often that I would write an entire story focusing on a character who was ever only mentioned in canon and gets killed off in the first chapter.