Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-06-21 21:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, lavitz fon amell, magnolia paget |
so what do I do with this?
Who: Mag Paget & Lavitz fon Amell
What: Being lazy after training.
Where: Shieldwyrm Hall
When: Yesterday (6/21)
Rating: PG
Status: Complete.
Lavitz's teacher was magnanimous, as she had promised; when their lesson was over, she did not bug him to go get lunch, or even to move from where they had settled on the ground. He had been improving steadily since she had begun to help him learn Dragonmend, and so she let him be. It was not, however, an entirely selfless reward. The day was hot, even without their armor, and though she knew she must move eventually, the heat made her feel slightly light-headed; for the moment, she was content to sit in the shade of a tree, on the grounds, with the straw hat she had brought along covering most of her face; she only slid a finger under its edge that rested on the bridge of her nose to glance at Lavitz beside her. "Your teacher is seeing some improvement," she told him. "There is hope for you yet." A small, lazy smile slid across Lavitz’s face, but he didn’t open his eyes. Where they both sat hidden underneath the branches, the breeze was cooler, more sympathetic. The bark along the tree was too coarse to lean against, so he’d taken up a space right in front of it, his tall frame stretching out until only the tops of his boots saw the sun. While lunch had been a consideration, resting was far more preferable— it always was. “Have pity on me,” he teased, “I’ve only been a dragoon for, what, seventeen years?” Mag started laughing; the arm she had raised to smack him playfully she let drop again (too much effort; the day was far too warm for even pretend fighting). "I suppose I will have to cut you some slack, then, since you just started in this class," she said. She was silent for a moment after, listening to the sounds of the guildhall around them, other people still training and sparring in spite of the heat. "This is nice," she said. A gentle breeze, courtesy of the shade, washed over them as if in thanks. Next to her, Lavitz breathed a sigh. “I used to do this with Nowe all the time.” The words were a little softer. “Even long after we made class. He always trained so hard, he was practically ready to fall apart by the time we made it to the grass.” Eventually he opened his eyes, foliage above keeping the sun out of his face. “He was a better knight than I ever could be.” She held her breath, as though the sound of it could shatter the words coming out of Lav’s mouth. She had never heard him speak about Nowe, beyond his regrets that he was at fault for that death. For a moment, she did not dare say anything. Then, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, underneath the rim of her hat, she moved her hand to rest over his. “Maybe,” she said. “You’re a damn good dragoon, though. I think he’s got to be proud of you, wherever he is.” The snort that left him wasn’t entirely out of amusement. “Maybe,” he echoed, looking up to the strange light coming through the leaves. Wherever Nowe was, he hoped that was with Leola somewhere, a place where they could be happy together— and at peace, finally. After a moment, he offered a quiet “Sorry”. Mag shook her head. "Nothing to apologise for," she said. (But she wondered, as she said it, if it had been directed at her.) He reached to the side, grasping at a leaf that had fallen previously and crushing it in his palm. Where the topic of Nowe had once left deep gouges in his heart, now it felt— bittersweet, almost. Still it stung, but it had, at a point Lavitz couldn’t recall, become a little easier to discuss him. Even so, it was time for a topic change. “By the way,” he started, “when did you learn Dragonmend? Have I ever asked?” Her hand shifted over his, as though she might withdraw it, but she did not. Taking a deep breath, she was glad for the hat covering most of her face. "Many years ago. In Ordalia." It was a memory from another life, that resisted disclosure, clawing at Mag's heart on its way out. But even as it pained her, she felt that she owed it to the man beside her, if he wanted to know. "It was before I met Warwick. Before I was a Rider, even. I had only been class for a few years. A friend in the guild taught me." She was surprised to feel a smile tugging at her lips as she said, "An insufferable jerk of a teacher. But I learned." Lavitz closed his eyes to the sunlight, absorbing the information. If Nowe was a sore topic for him, then Warwick was equally as suffocating for Mag. He’d never met her wyvern, but from the tones she used to speak, however vaguely, of him, he knew that it’d been a love that nothing, not even time, could heal completely. But instead of dwelling on the mention of Warwick, of a time before he knew her, he zeroed in on her last words. “Then it sounds like I’ve lucked out,” he said, softly. “My teacher’s not so bad.” In spite of the strange mood that had taken over her at the mention of Warwick, Mag laughed at her friend’s words. “Not so bad?” She gave him an amused glance. “Don’t go lavishing that kind of praise on her where she can hear you. You might make her blush.” His lips twitched into a smile. “If you call that praise, you should hear me really praise her. She’s the toughest, most genuine person that I know, among many other things. But you don’t want to hear all that, do you?” he teased, picking up their joined hands and tipping the hat into her face to block her vision. It was no different from their usual banter, the back-and-forth teasing; but for a moment, it felt as though something had shifted. She was suddenly very aware of his hand in hers, and very grateful for the hat. She was sure that, whatever that momentary madness had been, it had shown on her face. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, and was relieved to hear her voice came out the way she had hoped it would. Normal, teasing, as though nothing had happened. “It sounds pretty nice, actually.” As far as Lavitz was convinced, nothing had happened. It had always been light and easy this way, with him swooping in with compliments and truths he could never turn on himself. Compliments had always been the safer route— he was more than happy to give them, and meant them every time. A pause, and then, softly: “She has this enviable willpower that anyone in this guild can understand. Kick her and she’ll kick back, knock her down and she’ll get right back up.” He took a moment to admire her fingers, the equal strength and delicacy in them. “She’ll keep going no matter what,” he added, dropping their hands. No matter how much pain. Mag reached up to nudge the hat away from her face, to look at Lavitz; then, she let it drop again and gave his hand a squeeze. Any other day, she might have returned all his compliments, told him all the good things he would never admit about himself. But she was keenly aware of the delicate equilibrium between them, never challenged or considered until now that she was standing on its cutting edge, liable to take a fall on either side. “Well, that settles it, then,” she said, inwardly cursing that balance, the heat, herself. “Lunch today is on me.” |