[ Nick didn't remember much of his first visit to the Old Kingdom. He was familiar with the new theories of Dr. Muller, which were then in fashion amongst the society set back in Corvere, and he thought that the gaps in his memory must be his mind's way of coping with a pyschosomatic trauma, the way some of the soldiers on the continent couldn't remember how they'd lost their legs in the war. It suited him just fine, for the most part— he didn't like remembering Hedge. Made him queasy. But every now and again, more since he'd come back to the Old Kingdom, something would pop back through, and he'd suddenly remember some gruesome detail where there had only been fog before.
Belisaere had spent the weeks after the battle of the bridge in state mourning, for the Trained Band of the vintners guild that was drowned almost to a man. But at the end of the official period of remembrance there was to be a great ball, celebrating the victory over the nomads, and Sam had remarked offhand that it would be on Lirael's birthday. He hadn't known her birthday. And while he thought about it, he recalled with grotesque certainty a moment in the reeds. Lirael had told him she was much older than she looked. Old enough to be Sabriel's sister, and Sam's parents were very old indeed. Almost forty.
He didn't want that to be true, but he recalled with growing horror something one of the Clayr had said, when he was still a sort of temporary exhibit in their library. Something about the magic in the glacier and in their blood kept them living much longer than a normal person, even in Ancelstierre with all the best doctors and new developments.
And Nick had spent most of his own days since the battle with Chlorr in the company of Lirael, engaging in activities that were highly inappropriate for a nineteen year old to carry on with someone his own mother's age. Was that usual in the Old Kingdom? He didn't know. He didn't know if he could be a party to it.
He'd avoided Lirael for a day now, which hadn't been difficult since she always had so much work to do. But it was still very hard for Nick: without Lirael, he was very much alone in a very strange place, adrift of all purpose. And yet… could he really carry on an affair with a woman twice his own age?
Nick was now holed up in his own guest room (not Lirael's), reading a history he'd borrowed from the palace library, in an attempt to take his mind off the whole debacle. Sam had some princely duty or another to attend to for the day, so Nick wasn't expecting visitors. ]
( Her birthday, while no longer a subject of such pain as they had been when she was younger, isn't exactly the day of great celebration that her niece thinks it should be. She will never be one of the Clayr, but there's still the aching sense of longing that comes with what has long since passed out of her reach that comes flooding back in the days that lead up to it. If the Dog was here -- but she isn't, and Lirael has to manage without the Dog to shake her out of her misery and memory.
Nick is an effective distraction, as are her duties as Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Lirael likes to think the Dog would be pleased with the nature of particular distraction, considering many of the things she'd said with regards to Lirael and young men. Her experience with this sort of thing was paltry (Ellimere had offered to share all she knew with Lirael in that way she had, much to her mortification) but they were managing in their own way. A way that was both new and terrifying but a comfort still, because Nick understood. She could talk to him like she couldn't anyone else, even Sam.
The fact she hadn't seen him for a day wasn't anything to worry about, she tells herself. They're both busy -- she's busy, and perhaps he's found something occupy himself with in the palace. Not with Sam -- she saw him off doing something that would keep him occupied until dinner, and knowing he's free just means she has someone to spend a precious hour or two of free time with.
Not finding him in her quarters, Lirael heads to his, knocking quietly on the door before calling out. )
[ Nick thinks briefly of not answering, of pretending that he's asleep, or absent, or otherwise indisposed. But he quickly rejects that line of thinking as cowardice unfit for a Sayre.
He stands up and places the book on his chair, balancing it precariously on an armrest. ]
You, um— you can come in.
[ Nick puts on what he hopes is a brave face and stiff posture. But he doesn't move to the doorway, instead facing it from the opposite side of the room. ]
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Belisaere had spent the weeks after the battle of the bridge in state mourning, for the Trained Band of the vintners guild that was drowned almost to a man. But at the end of the official period of remembrance there was to be a great ball, celebrating the victory over the nomads, and Sam had remarked offhand that it would be on Lirael's birthday. He hadn't known her birthday. And while he thought about it, he recalled with grotesque certainty a moment in the reeds. Lirael had told him she was much older than she looked. Old enough to be Sabriel's sister, and Sam's parents were very old indeed. Almost forty.
He didn't want that to be true, but he recalled with growing horror something one of the Clayr had said, when he was still a sort of temporary exhibit in their library. Something about the magic in the glacier and in their blood kept them living much longer than a normal person, even in Ancelstierre with all the best doctors and new developments.
And Nick had spent most of his own days since the battle with Chlorr in the company of Lirael, engaging in activities that were highly inappropriate for a nineteen year old to carry on with someone his own mother's age. Was that usual in the Old Kingdom? He didn't know. He didn't know if he could be a party to it.
He'd avoided Lirael for a day now, which hadn't been difficult since she always had so much work to do. But it was still very hard for Nick: without Lirael, he was very much alone in a very strange place, adrift of all purpose. And yet… could he really carry on an affair with a woman twice his own age?
Nick was now holed up in his own guest room (not Lirael's), reading a history he'd borrowed from the palace library, in an attempt to take his mind off the whole debacle. Sam had some princely duty or another to attend to for the day, so Nick wasn't expecting visitors. ]
no subject
Nick is an effective distraction, as are her duties as Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Lirael likes to think the Dog would be pleased with the nature of particular distraction, considering many of the things she'd said with regards to Lirael and young men. Her experience with this sort of thing was paltry (Ellimere had offered to share all she knew with Lirael in that way she had, much to her mortification) but they were managing in their own way. A way that was both new and terrifying but a comfort still, because Nick understood. She could talk to him like she couldn't anyone else, even Sam.
The fact she hadn't seen him for a day wasn't anything to worry about, she tells herself. They're both busy -- she's
busy, and perhaps he's found something occupy himself with in the palace. Not with Sam -- she saw him off doing something that would keep him occupied until dinner, and knowing he's free just means she has someone to spend a precious hour or two of free time with.
Not finding him in her quarters, Lirael heads to his, knocking quietly on the door before calling out. )
Nick?
no subject
[ Nick thinks briefly of not answering, of pretending that he's asleep, or absent, or otherwise indisposed. But he quickly rejects that line of thinking as cowardice unfit for a Sayre.
He stands up and places the book on his chair, balancing it precariously on an armrest. ]
You, um— you can come in.
[ Nick puts on what he hopes is a brave face and stiff posture. But he doesn't move to the doorway, instead facing it from the opposite side of the room. ]