August - November 2006

 

The most recent drabbles are at the top

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This challenge called for drabbles about Remembrance Sunday/Armistice Day

 

 

At the going down of the sun

 

The congregation dispersed, but Will lingered. Two had fallen now – Robin on a mud-drenched field, and James in a desert, far from home. Nephews and grand-nephews would follow, and cities would fall in ruins where once he had played.

 

Will it ever get easier?

 

Closing his eyes, he saw Merriman, standing solemn in a field of red that circled the earth. "No, Old One," Merriman sorrowfully said. "It will not get easier, and neither should it."

 

Will opened his eyes. His mother was waiting, smiling through tears. Laying his poppy on the pew, Will joined her, and took her proffered hand. 

 

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Worst Day Ever challenge. This one is a little silly.

 

Beyond imagining

 

The night was bad. He stubbed his toe on the bath. He dribbled strawberry ice-cream on his best robes. Fluffy was sick on his pillow.

 

The next day was beyond imagining. He was out of butter. All his black trousers were in the wash. The gasman sent him a bill written in red.

 

And now, to cap it all, the plans of many centuries were crumbling into dust, and he was about to banished for all eternity. Worse, he could see himself reflected in the Pendragon brat's sword, and his hair looked a fright.

 

The Rider cursed. "Worst. Day. Ev…"

 

Then nothing.

 

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This was written for a challenge involving official documents

 

Driving with Merriman

 

"Don't you know there's a thirty limit?" the police-man demanded.

 

"There wasn't last time I was here," Merriman said truthfully. There were no tedious limits when you rode the wind.

 

The officer gestured at Will. "You reckless drivers might think you're immortal, but endangering a child is indefensible. Show me your licence."

 

Merriman handed it over, calling on a quick spell to make it seem modern in appearance. The police-man's face turned crimson. "According to this, Mr Lyon, you're licensed to drive a chariot anywhere south of the Wall."

 

"I think you should make him forget, Merriman," Will said wearily. "Again."

 

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This one was written for the "Embarrassment" challenge

 

After the shadow fades

 

The shadow writhed, blinding Bran with blackness. Someone commanded – Not Will! Surely that's not Will! ­– and the shadow faded away. As it waned, Will swayed; as it vanished, Will fell.

 

"Will!" Bran hurled himself forward. Pale hands fluttered over a face still paler. Fingers touched where they had never touched before, because he did not dare, except in dreams. He drifted closer, breathing on lifeless lips. "Will, love…"

 

Grey eyes opened. Will's breath brushed Bran's retreating cheek.

 

Will, love… Bran turned away. He would never dare turn back.

 

"No." A hand closed on his wrist, thumb stroking the smooth skin there. "Stay."

 

 

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This one was written for a challenge relating to a Victorian list of the meanings of various flowers. This list was very long, and included some bizarre meanings that baffled and amused me. This is the result.

 

 

Blue flowers

 

"All things have a language, even flowers. These reveal my heart." Will thrust the bunch at Bran, and stood there, tremulous and fervent.

 

"I'll… er… get them some water."

 

Safely out of sight, Bran hastily Googled. They were blue… Blue… Blue… Blue-flowered Greek valerian? He found an image of that flower. Could be. Let's see… Rupture? He wants us to… Will has a hernia? Or is it a typo for rapture? He scanned the list. Monkshood's blue, isn't it? Knight-errantry. He's taking up historical re-enactment?

 

Will was still waiting in the hall, awaiting Bran's answer.

 

The window suddenly seemed incredibly tempting. 

 

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This one was written for a challenge calling for drabbles showing scenes from the novels, but from a different perspective.

 

The mountains are singing
 
He hated the rain. He hated his brothers. He hated his parents for dragging him here.

At least it's not school. The bruises had faded from last term. Next year he'd be the oldest. Next year, he would be the bully, and he would reign…

Singing. Someone was singing. No, not someone. The world, the sky, the heavens...

"Stupid posh kids," his brother sneered.

"No," he breathed. Light, and sorrow. A world that was different. A life that was different. He could be different.

The song ended, but it would never end. The rain was sweet, and through tears, he smiled.

 

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