About a Goat (January 3010) - [Ceolmund]
Oct 26, 2017 21:31:01 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Oct 26, 2017 21:31:01 GMT -5
Ceolmund was downing drinks like he had after the fire, and that concerned Runa greatly. Whatever her brother had said, whatever had happened here, had bothered him the same amount as his mother coming in and nearly destroying their home in flames. And he had suggested divorce, packing her things and sending her home so as to protect her.
If Bear had been able to unnerve him so, it must have been dreadful.
“No... Though in a way...”
He turned to face her, and she tightened her arms about him the moment he was done turning, blue eyes gazing at him with a faint frown as she listened. He was speaking more than she had ever heard from him in one sitting, and the more he spoke, the more she frowned.
Bear had known Ceolmund had cared for her? Her brother had always been playing matchmaker, finding bland men about Edoras for her to meet. None of them had ever been remotely of interest, and it never took long for the arrangements to fizzle out and her brother to start anew.
She had always assumed Beorhtric was trying to make her feel better, that he knew Ceolmund was not interested, and he wanted his sister to not feel the grief of loneliness. He had always been a proponent of gentler, milder women, so the manner of his choices for replacements had never been overly surprising.
But he had known Ceolmund wished to have a chance, and he had never mentioned anything? Beorhtric knew that she had loved him. He had asked her about it before she was ever ready to admit it aloud, but he had known not to believe her protests. He could read her well enough, and she could read him to know he had not been fooled.
Neither had Adelais. They both had known before Runa had herself. And two years ago, on one of her nights home, she had cried to him, admitted she loved Ceolmund, and that she was so worried she was never going to be able to tell him, he was so gravely ill. Bear had held her, soothed her tears, and murmured to her how it was all right to weep, how everything would work out the way the gods intended. He even had told her that he believed he would make it. But he had cautioned her that Ceolmund had never taken any interest in any of the women Bear had tried to set him up with, and that perhaps his only love was his job.
She had never seen him look at her any special way, nor did he treat her any special way, so Runa had basically wondered what made her brother think she was ever going to say anything to Ceolmund himself.
Now, apparently, she knew.
If she had gone to him when he was well and told him what she felt, they could have been married for years by now.
Runa’s heart stung with betrayal, and her arms tightened even more about his waist. Was Bear so convinced that Runa could be sobered from swordplay? Did he think that Ceolmund was a bad influence? Ceolmund had always been the gentler of the two of them. His only flaw, if one could call it one, was he had always encouraged her swordsmanship, told her that everyone should know how to defend themselves.
Ceolmund had gentled her. He could say things and do things to her that she would not have suffered from anyone. The first time he had held her shoulders, stooping to catch her eyes when she was upset, Runa knew, had he been anyone else he would have been sprawled upon the ground. But she had not done it—it had not even crossed her mind.
And apparently, the way Ceolmund saw her was far more loving than she had ever looked upon herself. He listed the things that he adored about her, contrasting them against what Bear had wanted, and then he kissed her. Had she not been so livid, nerves so strung from walking into what she had, her head would have been swimming and she would have been drawing the man to the couch for something other than mead.
He pulled away, and kept speaking, finally making his way to the topic of his mother.
“I never should have let her say a thing to you. I should have stopped her the very first time... when you brought me that tea at the Hall and she shrieked at you. I should have found a way to stop her; after all these years I never truly did stop her. I do not know how. Though I know her words bite and sting... I have felt it myself; she never should have been allowed to talk to you like that. I failed to defend you; Beorhtric hates that. You should hate me for it as well. I truly hate myself for it...”
“Failed to defend me?” Runa repeated. “Ceolmund, I don’t need defending. I’ve never needed—Ceol, I never felt I was treated any worse than she treated you. I would come home in a rage any time she fetched you from around town with Bear and I. The things she said to you, the way she spoke about you—” Runa stopped, thinking better on continuing. She slid her hands to his sides, then back again, as if to ease the tenstion she could feel in his back. “I know you did not approve of what she said to me, of what she did at the Hall.”
She pulled one hand away from him to brush against his chin, and her blue eyes softened for him. “You were always the gentler of the two of us,” she said warmly. “My brother sees your patience and thinks it weakness. You are not weak, Ceol. I have seen the wounds you have taken to defend those who need defending. If I needed your help, I know you would not hesitate.”
She tiptoed, and brushed her lips to his chin. “You are not your mother’s keeper, Ceol. Nor are you mine,” she hummed to him, slipping her hand down across his chest before snaking it back around his waist to lock with her other. “The only person you don’t protect is yourself.”
“But there is one thing I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with rides?” She asked, her frown returning.
If Bear had been able to unnerve him so, it must have been dreadful.
“No... Though in a way...”
He turned to face her, and she tightened her arms about him the moment he was done turning, blue eyes gazing at him with a faint frown as she listened. He was speaking more than she had ever heard from him in one sitting, and the more he spoke, the more she frowned.
Bear had known Ceolmund had cared for her? Her brother had always been playing matchmaker, finding bland men about Edoras for her to meet. None of them had ever been remotely of interest, and it never took long for the arrangements to fizzle out and her brother to start anew.
She had always assumed Beorhtric was trying to make her feel better, that he knew Ceolmund was not interested, and he wanted his sister to not feel the grief of loneliness. He had always been a proponent of gentler, milder women, so the manner of his choices for replacements had never been overly surprising.
But he had known Ceolmund wished to have a chance, and he had never mentioned anything? Beorhtric knew that she had loved him. He had asked her about it before she was ever ready to admit it aloud, but he had known not to believe her protests. He could read her well enough, and she could read him to know he had not been fooled.
Neither had Adelais. They both had known before Runa had herself. And two years ago, on one of her nights home, she had cried to him, admitted she loved Ceolmund, and that she was so worried she was never going to be able to tell him, he was so gravely ill. Bear had held her, soothed her tears, and murmured to her how it was all right to weep, how everything would work out the way the gods intended. He even had told her that he believed he would make it. But he had cautioned her that Ceolmund had never taken any interest in any of the women Bear had tried to set him up with, and that perhaps his only love was his job.
She had never seen him look at her any special way, nor did he treat her any special way, so Runa had basically wondered what made her brother think she was ever going to say anything to Ceolmund himself.
Now, apparently, she knew.
If she had gone to him when he was well and told him what she felt, they could have been married for years by now.
Runa’s heart stung with betrayal, and her arms tightened even more about his waist. Was Bear so convinced that Runa could be sobered from swordplay? Did he think that Ceolmund was a bad influence? Ceolmund had always been the gentler of the two of them. His only flaw, if one could call it one, was he had always encouraged her swordsmanship, told her that everyone should know how to defend themselves.
Ceolmund had gentled her. He could say things and do things to her that she would not have suffered from anyone. The first time he had held her shoulders, stooping to catch her eyes when she was upset, Runa knew, had he been anyone else he would have been sprawled upon the ground. But she had not done it—it had not even crossed her mind.
And apparently, the way Ceolmund saw her was far more loving than she had ever looked upon herself. He listed the things that he adored about her, contrasting them against what Bear had wanted, and then he kissed her. Had she not been so livid, nerves so strung from walking into what she had, her head would have been swimming and she would have been drawing the man to the couch for something other than mead.
He pulled away, and kept speaking, finally making his way to the topic of his mother.
“I never should have let her say a thing to you. I should have stopped her the very first time... when you brought me that tea at the Hall and she shrieked at you. I should have found a way to stop her; after all these years I never truly did stop her. I do not know how. Though I know her words bite and sting... I have felt it myself; she never should have been allowed to talk to you like that. I failed to defend you; Beorhtric hates that. You should hate me for it as well. I truly hate myself for it...”
“Failed to defend me?” Runa repeated. “Ceolmund, I don’t need defending. I’ve never needed—Ceol, I never felt I was treated any worse than she treated you. I would come home in a rage any time she fetched you from around town with Bear and I. The things she said to you, the way she spoke about you—” Runa stopped, thinking better on continuing. She slid her hands to his sides, then back again, as if to ease the tenstion she could feel in his back. “I know you did not approve of what she said to me, of what she did at the Hall.”
She pulled one hand away from him to brush against his chin, and her blue eyes softened for him. “You were always the gentler of the two of us,” she said warmly. “My brother sees your patience and thinks it weakness. You are not weak, Ceol. I have seen the wounds you have taken to defend those who need defending. If I needed your help, I know you would not hesitate.”
She tiptoed, and brushed her lips to his chin. “You are not your mother’s keeper, Ceol. Nor are you mine,” she hummed to him, slipping her hand down across his chest before snaking it back around his waist to lock with her other. “The only person you don’t protect is yourself.”
“But there is one thing I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with rides?” She asked, her frown returning.