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knights_say_nih) wrote2006-04-20 11:27 pm
knights_say_nih) wrote2006-04-20 11:27 pm
Fic: Island
Based on a canon incident I discovered during a rereading and couldn't get out of my head.
's a bit sad, really.
Like, a lot, fine.
Rate it pg-15 for trauma to trusting seventeen year old Random.
Corwin had always secretly thought it was his fault Random was so small. He knew it was irrational, could explain to himself a hundred times over that it had been nine thousand and two hundred years to the day. He recognized the fact that the man had a tendency to go without more often than was good for him. All the same, every time he caught a glimpse of the play of Random’s skin over bones too close to the surface, he had to swallow away an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t quite go away.
When Random of Amber was seventeen years old, his two older brothers took him on an expedition. He didn’t admit to anyone how excited he was as he stepped into the boat, skittering slightly and being steadied by Bleys’ solid hand, setting on his shoulder. Even so, his happiness was rather obvious; it manifested itself as a broad grin spreading helplessly across his face as Corwin undid the knots securing the boats to the wharf.
It had taken arguing, in a quiet, persuasive tone of voice, and for longer than usual to convince the pair to take him with them on the trip. It had been originally planned as only a fishing trip, just for the two older brothers. Bleys was just back from a battle of sorts, and Corwin had invited him out for the day. Neither of them had been especially pleased when the youngest of them had raised his voice in a low plea to be brought along, but after a few moments of hurried consult they’d agreed.
The trip out to sea was short, with rough, choppy waves tossing and catching the boat. Only Random laughed every time they were lifted high into the air, the other two merely went about the business of keeping the small craft going in the right direction.
All manner of aquatic life went by, unafraid of the travelers, and very quickly they steered behind a spit of land, to something of a sandbar. A small group of islets sat undisturbed, white sands glinting ubiquitously and the occasional scraggly tree marking them. An oddity in the landscape, to be sure, but Random had seen stranger.
When the boat pulled up to one and Corwin told him cheerfully to hop out and they’d toss him over the lunch they’d packed and settle down for a bite to eat, he did so willingly and without complaint.
All he could do was stare in quiet shock as, with a flurry of movement, the two kicked the boat off again, leaving him stranded.
He didn’t, Corwin could tell, credit them as actually going to leave him there. It was probably that that made him tighten the sail, letting a bit more wind into it and propelling them away a bit faster. Finally, finally, they heard a quiet echo of a shout but then it was too late and they were back in the rough waves and making their way out to do some fishing.
Corwin assumed it was Bleys that had spilled, or that he’d told someone else and they’d gone to Gérard but either way it didn’t make a difference. Corwin found himself grabbed by the arm, manhandled into a boat and sat at the rudder and threatened with bodily harm until he steered them in the right direction.
In spite, the journey took half as long again. A series of elaborate twists and turns made it early evening before they made it to the small cluster of islands. Corwin felt an unfamiliar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked around and couldn’t see the boy.
“Random!”
Gérard’s voice is calmer than either of them really feel, though neither one will admit it to the other. It takes another half an hour of searching and the sun is just touching the horizon when they see the patch of shadow on the shimmering sand that is a little too solid to be a shadow.
The older brother makes Corwin get out of the boat to fetch the boy, who he lifts easily. Random’s eyes open, though they’re glassy and it’s plain to see that he has sunstroke. The little skin that he hadn’t been able to hide from the sun is peeling, a burnt and angry colour, though it seems he had the good sense to hide his face and hands from the intrusive light. There’s a hole burrowed, plainly where he dug down to the cooler sand and lay and Gérard makes an approving noise because he did have a little common sense, after all.
Corwin’s punishment begins as all the way back he’s forced to listen to the miserable, nearly senseless pleas for water that neither of them thought to bring.
Gérard’s idea of retribution for the two perpetrators was possibly just as unpleasant for Random as it was for them, though for a large portion of it he was unawares. Bleys sat at his bedside the first night, periodically changing the damp washcloth on his forehead or rubbing salve into the wicked sunburns. He remained asleep throughout, even during the spreading of whatever lotion Gérard had provided, though his limbs struggled weakly at any touch to the irritated skin.
Corwin had it worse. By the time Bleys left Random’s sleep had become less deep. What had been blessed oblivion became a regular rest and with it came the nightmares of a boy who’d thought he was going to die. Corwin was saved from his compassion when Random was pulled awake by his own cries. As he stirred, his eyes lighted on Corwin’s figure at the foot of his bed and his hand groped for the bedside table.
The water glass connected with the wall behind Corwin’s head, and then the book that had been resting next to Random caught him on the shoulder, sending him back reflexively. He swore as he heard the glass crunch under his boots, and sat heavily on the chair by the small writers desk, the only other furniture in the room.
“What are you doing here?”
Random’s voice was rougher than he’d like it to be, as though still parched, and his suspicions were confirmed as the boy reached reflexively for the water glass that was no longer there.
“Shouldn’t have pitched that at my head now, should you?” If his voice sounded teasing, well, it’s Random’s own fault for being violent when he’d been doing him a favour. Simple as that, if he did say so himself.
“Go away, Corwin.”
He does, and Random lets out a shaky, relieved breath, slipping back against the pillows and hiding his face in his hands. It’s like that the Corwin finds him when he returns a few seconds later bearing water. After a moment, he decides it’s easiest to ignore the flush of embarrassment on Random’s face and just give him the glass without comment.
Random recovers gradually as time goes on. But the nightmares continue (though he never admits it) and soon he is undeniable skinnier and when he doesn’t put the weight back on no matter how much he’s nagged. He doesn’t put the weight back on and he doesn’t gain another inch in height. Maybe that’s why Corwin still occasionally thinks about it. When he’s standing behind his brother looking clear over the top of his head. When he’s standing in front of him marveling at how someone so short can look so dangerous. When the knife flashes and Random looks at him with scorn and loathing because they never quite forgave each other.
Some things, no matter how irrational, just don’t go away.
's a bit sad, really.
Like, a lot, fine.
Rate it pg-15 for trauma to trusting seventeen year old Random.
Corwin had always secretly thought it was his fault Random was so small. He knew it was irrational, could explain to himself a hundred times over that it had been nine thousand and two hundred years to the day. He recognized the fact that the man had a tendency to go without more often than was good for him. All the same, every time he caught a glimpse of the play of Random’s skin over bones too close to the surface, he had to swallow away an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t quite go away.
When Random of Amber was seventeen years old, his two older brothers took him on an expedition. He didn’t admit to anyone how excited he was as he stepped into the boat, skittering slightly and being steadied by Bleys’ solid hand, setting on his shoulder. Even so, his happiness was rather obvious; it manifested itself as a broad grin spreading helplessly across his face as Corwin undid the knots securing the boats to the wharf.
It had taken arguing, in a quiet, persuasive tone of voice, and for longer than usual to convince the pair to take him with them on the trip. It had been originally planned as only a fishing trip, just for the two older brothers. Bleys was just back from a battle of sorts, and Corwin had invited him out for the day. Neither of them had been especially pleased when the youngest of them had raised his voice in a low plea to be brought along, but after a few moments of hurried consult they’d agreed.
The trip out to sea was short, with rough, choppy waves tossing and catching the boat. Only Random laughed every time they were lifted high into the air, the other two merely went about the business of keeping the small craft going in the right direction.
All manner of aquatic life went by, unafraid of the travelers, and very quickly they steered behind a spit of land, to something of a sandbar. A small group of islets sat undisturbed, white sands glinting ubiquitously and the occasional scraggly tree marking them. An oddity in the landscape, to be sure, but Random had seen stranger.
When the boat pulled up to one and Corwin told him cheerfully to hop out and they’d toss him over the lunch they’d packed and settle down for a bite to eat, he did so willingly and without complaint.
All he could do was stare in quiet shock as, with a flurry of movement, the two kicked the boat off again, leaving him stranded.
He didn’t, Corwin could tell, credit them as actually going to leave him there. It was probably that that made him tighten the sail, letting a bit more wind into it and propelling them away a bit faster. Finally, finally, they heard a quiet echo of a shout but then it was too late and they were back in the rough waves and making their way out to do some fishing.
Corwin assumed it was Bleys that had spilled, or that he’d told someone else and they’d gone to Gérard but either way it didn’t make a difference. Corwin found himself grabbed by the arm, manhandled into a boat and sat at the rudder and threatened with bodily harm until he steered them in the right direction.
In spite, the journey took half as long again. A series of elaborate twists and turns made it early evening before they made it to the small cluster of islands. Corwin felt an unfamiliar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked around and couldn’t see the boy.
“Random!”
Gérard’s voice is calmer than either of them really feel, though neither one will admit it to the other. It takes another half an hour of searching and the sun is just touching the horizon when they see the patch of shadow on the shimmering sand that is a little too solid to be a shadow.
The older brother makes Corwin get out of the boat to fetch the boy, who he lifts easily. Random’s eyes open, though they’re glassy and it’s plain to see that he has sunstroke. The little skin that he hadn’t been able to hide from the sun is peeling, a burnt and angry colour, though it seems he had the good sense to hide his face and hands from the intrusive light. There’s a hole burrowed, plainly where he dug down to the cooler sand and lay and Gérard makes an approving noise because he did have a little common sense, after all.
Corwin’s punishment begins as all the way back he’s forced to listen to the miserable, nearly senseless pleas for water that neither of them thought to bring.
Gérard’s idea of retribution for the two perpetrators was possibly just as unpleasant for Random as it was for them, though for a large portion of it he was unawares. Bleys sat at his bedside the first night, periodically changing the damp washcloth on his forehead or rubbing salve into the wicked sunburns. He remained asleep throughout, even during the spreading of whatever lotion Gérard had provided, though his limbs struggled weakly at any touch to the irritated skin.
Corwin had it worse. By the time Bleys left Random’s sleep had become less deep. What had been blessed oblivion became a regular rest and with it came the nightmares of a boy who’d thought he was going to die. Corwin was saved from his compassion when Random was pulled awake by his own cries. As he stirred, his eyes lighted on Corwin’s figure at the foot of his bed and his hand groped for the bedside table.
The water glass connected with the wall behind Corwin’s head, and then the book that had been resting next to Random caught him on the shoulder, sending him back reflexively. He swore as he heard the glass crunch under his boots, and sat heavily on the chair by the small writers desk, the only other furniture in the room.
“What are you doing here?”
Random’s voice was rougher than he’d like it to be, as though still parched, and his suspicions were confirmed as the boy reached reflexively for the water glass that was no longer there.
“Shouldn’t have pitched that at my head now, should you?” If his voice sounded teasing, well, it’s Random’s own fault for being violent when he’d been doing him a favour. Simple as that, if he did say so himself.
“Go away, Corwin.”
He does, and Random lets out a shaky, relieved breath, slipping back against the pillows and hiding his face in his hands. It’s like that the Corwin finds him when he returns a few seconds later bearing water. After a moment, he decides it’s easiest to ignore the flush of embarrassment on Random’s face and just give him the glass without comment.
Random recovers gradually as time goes on. But the nightmares continue (though he never admits it) and soon he is undeniable skinnier and when he doesn’t put the weight back on no matter how much he’s nagged. He doesn’t put the weight back on and he doesn’t gain another inch in height. Maybe that’s why Corwin still occasionally thinks about it. When he’s standing behind his brother looking clear over the top of his head. When he’s standing in front of him marveling at how someone so short can look so dangerous. When the knife flashes and Random looks at him with scorn and loathing because they never quite forgave each other.
Some things, no matter how irrational, just don’t go away.
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no subject
*has Gorlim send hugs, too*