5/25/17

#TeaserThursday -- Excerpt from "draft" chapter

This is a problem, actually. I have no draft chapters at present. So... we'll do a repeat of Wednesday instead.

*looks at SAS* I have so many draft chapters now lol

This is a portion of Chapter III of The War, before the "war" is known to Ceristen; the rest of the chapter includes material related to other things, but this middle section is actually a mini romance.

A romance which, may I add, sat like a very unmanageable rock in the midst of aforesaid unrelated material. I pruned it mercilessly when preparing for a round of betas last summer because my darling Jared and Cecelia deserve to get their story told at leisure and not a bare partial chapter seriously smh

I'm not good at long, drawn-out romances, and I don't do them as the main focus in my books. ("I don't do [x]" 4 years into my career) But I like romance anyway, so I put it in here and there. Sometimes it's a subplot that influences most of the book. Sometimes it's short and sweet, like this.

say "short and sweet again" with a straight face as you dump a 2k word "excerpt" on your poor readers

I mean we all had more time back then I guess

_______________

Inside, Sandy was poking up the fire, whistling between her teeth. Her long, fair braid was dangling over her shoulder, and her cheeks were flushed with the heat. Isabelle was at the window, her mouth puckered in a whistle as she endeavoured to coax a cautious chickadee to the dusting of crumbs in her outstretched hand. Cecelia was mending a shirt, her eyes grave and the graceful fingers moving in and out with a pensive slowness. Gwenda was on her knees with a small dog.

okay this part is cute

"Look, Fred!" she exclaimed as they came in. "Filian came by just a short while ago. The blacksmith's dog has had her pups, he said, six of them, and he brought this one for us. Is she not beautiful?"

"She is that," Fred agreed and bent to ruffle the small pricked ears.

look at my Thorne bbys being wholesome and happy ;-; why do I ever hurt them

"See how large her feet are! But Filian says they will even out when she grows bigger. Hold her, Fred. She is softer than down feathers!"

Daren laughed quietly. "You will find her teeth are not so soft if you hold your finger by her mouth much longer, Gwenda."

Gwenda laughed back and withdrew her hand. "What shall we call her, Fred?"

Fred stroked her hair with a smile. "Let us ask Daren. He has named more things than I."

Daren shook his head at them. "Now he must be teasing you, Gwenda. I have named a horse or two, but never a dog. But we had a dog with us in Dirion for about a year. Her name was Shep, because she was a shepherd dog breed and had done her share of flock management. This little girl is of the same strain, it looks, and while Shep is neither long nor fancy, it will do for everyday life. We'll call her Shep."

"Isn't Shep no more than 'sheep' gone wrong?" asked Gwenda quite solemnly, with dancing eyes. "Shouldn't we call her Sheep?"

Daren shrugged in feigned frustration. "Oh, call her what you like."

Isabelle turned around. "Call the dog Sheep? I never heard of anything so outlandish!"

Fred's lips twitched in his invisible smile and he motioned to his little sister. "Ask Gwenda."

~*~

They were having their private jokes at her again. Isabelle shrugged good-humouredly and turned back to the window.

Sandy joined her shortly, having got the stew bubbling at its proper rate again. "Is it a new one?"

"Yes, a new one," answered Isabelle, and screwed up her face in dismay as the small bird fluttered away to a higher branch of the ash tree. "Oh, I may as well give up. It won't come. Oh!"

For the chickadee, with a sudden, swooping movement, had dived back to Isabelle's hand and perched for the barest of seconds, as with a swift peck it salvaged a pittance of the crumbs. Then it was gone.

I rly support the Isabelle cameos honestly it's nice to see the gossipy older sister with a soft hobby like feeding birds

Isabelle dusted her hand off and leaned her elbows on the sill, and the two of them watched the bird's flight till it darted under the fringes of the wood and out of sight.

"Sandy," said Isabelle suddenly in a quite different tone, "have you noticed Cecelia lately?"

Sandy looked askance at Isabelle's conspiratorial mien. "No, I can't say I have."

"Well, being young, I suppose you might not, but I have noticed, and let me tell you, the signs are too plain to miss."

She sounded like Mrs. Earle. "Suppose then, O Sage, that you enlighten this poor young one to the nature of these signs and what they signify."

"She stares into space while she kneads the bread; she forgets herself sweeping the floor; she's absentminded in nearly everything. Look how slowly she's sewing this minute!"

"Cecelia always takes pains in her work. I haven't seen any marked reduction in the speed of her tasks."

"What about the daydreaming? She simply stopped sweeping five times yesterday forenoon! I grant you, she started almost immediately, but it was long enough. And I fancy when she does take notice, it's when I bring up the home. Families."

Sandy folded her arms and stared down her nose at Isabelle, which came off rather well, as she was nearly three inches taller. "And suppose you tell me what all this nonsense means."

Isabelle lowered her voice significantly. "She's in love."

Sandy looked at her as though Isabelle had just suggested that a flock of thindran were flying overhead.

Still the best line in The War (subjective)

~*~

Jared Earle forked straw into the horse stalls steadily. His hands moved with easy, practiced motions, but his mind was on the conversation with his father last night.

"You're a man, Jared. I cannot call you aught else."

the first draft of this chapter is a SCREAM I have to share it sometime

Jared recognized the praise with a quiet nod. "Aye, Father."

"We've not brought you up to be hasty, and my words to you may seem a bit sudden. I'll hurry you into nothing, Jared, but there comes a time when a man must think about a wife; even to discern whether he wishes to take one or not, and such decisions are the better for making in one's young days. Think on it, Jared, and when you should choose, choose wisely."

So it had ended, those brief, well-chosen words which encapsulated volumes' worth of rich wisdom. And Jared's grave mind mulled steadily over them, even as steadily as he now tossed the forkfuls of straw.

Now his thoughts came to unhurried fullness, and the long hours of pondering resolved themselves seamlessly into a sure decision, and he knew it would please him to wed. Certainly he was not ready to marry yet, nor was he even ready to choose; but the few young girls of Ceristen he considered in his mind, and thought of all he knew about each one.

he's so cold I mean not that he isn't still kind of cerebral in canon but lol

Shy little Molly Boccin, lively, brisk Laufeia, lovely and innocent Peony, bright-spirited Mirda, pert, tomboyish Legola Stafford... and the Thorn girls, shallow Isabelle, practical Sandy, and solemn, beautiful Cecelia... and the daughters of George Mogra.

He has adjectives for all of them too look at him go

we do prospective wife material cataloguing properly here

Jared put them aside. He knew not what George Mogra's attitude might be to suitors, nor did he wish to find out.

*sigh* George Mogra was so much more of a valuable addition to the story once he stopped existing

Dinner was over, and the stalls now bedded. Thoughtfully he saddled up his horse and rode out into the woods, and made his reflections anew.

~*~

Cecelia wandered under the bare tree-boughs, running her fingers over the budding leaves of bolder shrubs. A light wind murmured pleasantly in the thicket of branches and the young trees around her rose slim and straight, their grey bark warm with afternoon light. About her the shadows were pale and clear-cut, but in the copse of firs near to her right they were warm and brown.

He was no more to her than a silent and reliable and handsome young man, whom she had only observed, scarcely spoken to. Could she know him well enough to know? To know?

Aye, she could. She would rather wed Jared Earle above any other man alive or dead.

hhhh that's nice why is this excerpt so dang long

During their first weeks in Ceristen she had noticed him as the one who seldom spoke, whose rare contribution was always ready and succinct, and she had liked him for it. Often she had innocently studied him, unaware that she was even doing so. She had liked him, and admired him; there was no thought of romance in that life.

Not until he returned from Delgrass with her brother and Mordred Kenhelm had she dreamed of feeling about him as she did now. She saw him, and knew that he was different; and after that she consciously observed him, and began to know the difference. He was more serious, she found, and at the same time more ready to laugh; his thoughts seemed deeper, but his manner simpler; he was fuller. He had come to manhood. And when Cecelia knew that, she knew that she loved him, and recognized the love that had been flowering in her heart this time.

But her gladness faded there, and she was troubled within, for she feared to tell him. What would he say in return? How could she hope that he cared for her in that same manner?

see we really don't need romantic angst shoehorned into the first act of a political/war drama

Cecelia's head drooped, and her steps faltered, and she stood there as still as a carven statue, only her shining tresses rippled by the wind.

you're doing just fine, sweetie

~*~

Jared sat the horse easily, feeling the fluid motion of its canter as the trees glided past. Caught too deeply in his ponderings, he did not see the girl.

His horse reared up sharply, startling him aware, and he caught a flash of a woman's figure beneath him before he wheeled the stallion aside, its hooves coming down heavily to the ground again. He turned and saw her on her feet, breathing quickly but unhurt.

it slightly concerns me how many romances I have allowed to begin with a man on horseback nearly running over his future spouse?? I think there were three counting this? how many circumstantially deaf ladies and ridiculously distracted gentlemen can there be in a 15-mile radius?

"I am sorry for startling you." He reached out a concerned hand. "Did he knock you down?"

She took a small step back. "No – no, he did not. I am all right. Thank you." She took another step, as though she would have vanished into the dark shadows of the fir copse nearby. And Jared was moved by her beauty suddenly as he looked at her, her light hair eddying with each swift, graceful movement, her large hazel eyes glimmering with uncertain lights, now greenish, now gold. It seemed to him that he had never seen Cecelia Thorne before this day, and his wonder robbed him of speech.

She seemed to long to retreat from him, to draw back into the safety of the dark trees, but something forbade her to do so, and she remained where she was, but as though poised for flight.

"Do you wish to leave?" he asked, wondering why she was afraid.

"Do you wish me to go?" she answered falteringly.

He made an almost imperceptible movement of the head. "No," he said softly, but the strange trembling of his heart did not fade. "I would have you stay."

Jared's brain: hormones go brrrr

Her eyes flared with a subtle emotion, but she said only, "'Tis a fine horse, Jared. What is his name?"

"I called him Athlera, for that means 'storm'."

"He is like the colour of the thunderclouds," she agreed.

A stillness fell between them.

"I am sorry," Jared said finally, breaking it. "I have little to say, and no wish to say it... I fear I am poor company for any who want talk."

"Oh! You are not poor company, Jared!" she cried, and the colour came into her cheeks. "I do not – I do not need to talk, Jared." She ended in a low, earnest, almost pleading tone.

see they need more screen time than this they're adorable

And perhaps because Jared listened so much and spoke the less, he began to understand the plea beneath those last, earnest words.

"Cecelia," he said after a time, searching gravely her face, "why did you make to flee from me?"

The blush came hotly to her face, and she could not meet his gaze, and then it vanished and she stood straight and still. "I love you, Jared," she answered quietly. "That is why."

"But why did you not flee?"

"That would have been a greater wrong to you."

"Understand I do not ask this to make a slur or cast doubt upon your sincerity, fira Cecelia. What does it mean to you to love me?"

"I would wed you, Jared. I would be a wife to you, and raise children in our home; I would suffer with you, rejoice with you, care for you, help you. I would live with you every day of my life."

now I'm not saying they aren't both extremely direct people but I am saying that a marriage proposal on the first pre-date is stretching it

Jared dismounted, and took her hands in his. "I have felt toward you today as I have never felt to any other woman, Cecelia. Your words have proclaimed you a woman which any man would be proud to wed. Let us be together often, that we may know one another well on the day we marry. For I call you my betrothed this day, Cecelia Thorne."

Jared's dad: choose your bride wisely

Jared: cool let me get engaged to a girl I practically just met

She uplifted her eyes to his, and they were wide with glories of love. And he bent and pressed his lips against her hair, and she bent her head at that solemn movement. And sunlight fluted in the trees about them, and the breezes lifted Cecelia's hair, so that the light tresses rippled in the wind.

mmm hopefully I can still use that last paragraph somewhere

fira: an Old Ordenian word, used in the present time to as a prefix of honour to a lady's name

5/12/21

I'm gonna drag up something from the barely started Captain Rhodes story that I pretended to do for NaNo last fall

Mador: father

Eia: mother

also the man named as Captain Finley Rhodes is the FATHER of the Rhodes who appears in the Ceristen Series and SAS

***

"Mador," he said hoarsely, nearly dizzy with the fumes of whatever oils or physic brews had been used in the room.

"Who... calls me Mador?" Each word came in a separate, struggling gasp.

"It is your son." Eia's voice grew a hair gentler, and she took the sweating, colorless face in both hands and turned it to face them both. "Look, my lord, your son is here."

"My son." Captain Finley Rhodes drew in a deep, racking breath, and his face twisted in agony. "Then surely I am dying."

"Speak to him," she said, but whether to the Captain or his son, none could tell. The room bustled with men and women tending the fire, stooping over the dying man to feel at his pulse or wipe his forehead, a strange dance of horror.

The door swung open, the draft from it striking their backs and the light glancing across the wall. The newcomer came past them with a quick, steady step and somberness in his bearing, the half-light a darker shadow across his dark eyes.

The General of Orden knelt in deference by the bed, taking both of Captain Finley Rhodes' hands. "Captain," he said. "I came as soon as I had word. Your time wanes."

"Too... soon." Another painful heave.

"You had served long years before I was even born, through strife and uncertainty that another's valiance and loyalty might have faltered against. No time is too soon to rest. Let it be well with you, Captain."

"My son is not ready." The ragged words grew less pronounced, less coherent. "I have taught him – nothing."

"His education will be in my hands. It is well, Captain. Rest." The General released his hold and stepped aside.

***

yeeeee I love that book *pretends to chuck responsibilities aside so I can go chase the words*