godricgal: (Arthur's Frown)
[personal profile] godricgal
Title: The Morning
Author: [livejournal.com profile] godricgal
Rating: PG-13, for nudity and what not.
Word Count: 721 words
Summary: Lord dy Cazaril and his new wife, the lady Betriz, are journeying from the city of Cardegoss to Valenda. They are accompanied by an old friend who has not yet come to appreciate the change in their circumstance, but after an unwelcome interruption, Lord Cazaril decides that serious action is called for.
Author's Notes: I had a bet with [livejournal.com profile] mrstater and I lost. The agreed terms were that I'd write any fic she wanted, any fandom, any prompt, and she requested Caz and Betriz, with the prompt 'morning'. So here is my very first posted fan fic that doesn't contain the word 'Remus'. It's unbetaed and swiftly written, so please excuse any roughness around the edges. Concrit welcome. :)

The Morning

"My lord!" The words, called out in a low male voice, slipped in through Betriz's unconsciousness to stir her slightly, and she felt Caz shift in his sleep beside her.

"My lord!" This time, they roused her more fully and she turned carefully on their low pallet to wake her apparently oblivious husband.

"Caz," she whispered. "There's someone outside, calling for you."

"Hmm?" He rolled onto his back and blinked up at her sleepily; she could never help but laugh gently when she saw him thus, his grey eyes half hidden behind an expression of consternation at being awake, on a face, that was, this morning, peppered with the sturdy makings of a new beard.

"I think it's Palli," she said, running her hand through his hair, letting the soft locks fall through her fingers, tickling her skin. "Shall I go and tell him to leave us?"

"No." The word came out croakily and he cleared his throat; then, his expression cleared and reformed into one altogether more mischievous. "You're not wearing enough."

"My lady has left me a gown -- it is within easy reach."

"No, that will not do. He will leave of his own accord or by the Daughter, if I am shortly forced to run him through with my sword for causing my wife to be dressed. Surely it is befitting to the position of Lord Chancellor to own the freedom to linger in bed with his wife."

Betriz giggled.

"My lord! Caz!" A muffled thump of fist on thick, heavy fabric sounded twice on the side of the tent.

"Five gods curse you, Palli!" Her husband's voice was loud enough to reach their would-be visitor's ears.

"My lord?" came the uncertain reply.

Betriz felt her husband's uncharacteristic huff of genuine impatience shudder through his body, and watched as he pushed himself up from their pallet and donned a rich dressing gown, swiftly obscuring the scars on his back he had not yet learned to forget.

Five gods be thanked, Betriz had married a man far too sensible of polite behavior to shout his vexation so that all in the camp might hear, but she had no doubt that the low-voiced exchange contained some fairly pointed snippets of exactly why to be torn from one's relatively young marital bed before the sun was above the eastern tree line, was such a cause for grief.

She knew her supposition had been right when he returned a few moments later wearing a self-satisfied smile. "What did you tell him?" she asked.

"I simply told him that if he did not soon learn to sympathise with plight of a recently wed couple, I would ensure he came to own first-hand experience by charging you with finding for him a wife."

"How did he take it?" Betriz said, laughing, as she lifted the fine cotton sheet for him to join her once again beneath the covers.

"With the gravity with which it was intended. He shall not disturb us again until...He shall not disturb us again this morning."

"Did you find out what he wanted?"

"I did not. He was too keen to make himself scare to have a care to tell me, I believe."

"Dear Palli, he would make someone a good husband," Betriz said charitably, though she privately doubted the truth of her words.

"My dear, I shall, one day, defer to your judgement in the matter, but for now let the man be married to the plans of his campaign and leave it at that. Besides, for all that the last ten minutes might tell otherwise, my interest in the matter is low, and my interest in making the most of being awake as we are and yet still in bed, is risen."

As were his eyebrows with the double meaning of his speech. Marriage had been good for her Lord dy Cazaril, she had concluded not long after the event. He always had been good at making her laugh, even -- or especially -- when he did not mean to, but laugher was more regularly drawn from his own throat, light and foolish talk more often upon his lips.

"You make a good husband, husband," she breathed into his ear.

"And you," he said, "make the best wife a man didn't know to hope for."

The End
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