bibliodragon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bibliodragon) wrote2010-03-23 05:09 pm
bibliodragon) wrote2010-03-23 05:09 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Constant in the Face of Eternity
Title: Constant in the Face of Eternity
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bibliodragon
Pairing: A/R
Rating: T
Summary: There can be no denying the sense of the arrangement, the joining of the two houses; one decimated but still slightly influential political and one both equally respected and superfluous, and virtually unknown outside the military. Love is best left for children and playwrights.
While both of them were long past being blushing virgins, and while even as arranged and political the motives behind the ceremony it still wasn't even their own first time together, there is still the fact that this is their wedding night.
She feels its weight upon her as she pours herself a drink. She can hear him moving about in the next room, and she imagines the way his eyes would light up in amused non-surprise at such romantic notions coming from her. From the time of that awkward handshake of negotiation to now, he has learned that about her.
There can be no denying the sense of the arrangement, the joining of the two houses; one decimated but still slightly influential political and one both equally respected and superfluous, and virtually unknown outside the military. Love is best left for children and playwrights.
Downing the drink in one she refills her glass then as he re-enters the room pours one out for him and hands it over silently before padding over to the sofa to sit down. His quarters, his home, is hardly the honeymoon suit, but the familiarity of its clutter and books is a welcome relief from the pomp and ceremony and prying, uncaring eyes of earlier in the day. Even in the beginning, when their brief meetings had consisted of sitting in silence while lawyers discussed things as if they didn't concern them and were just irritations when she had more important things to be done, she had found it comforting.
His home had won her over before he did.
Now he is shuffling the papers that litter his desk, trying to sort them into some sort of order for the days ahead. They both have so much work to do. She may be separated physically from hers for one night, but the occasional siren wailing in the night and the headlines on the newspaper sitting on the coffee table are reminders of the brink that they are all sitting on. Crisis upon crisis pilling up on one another, and there is always that concern that the next one will be the one that tips them all over.
"What are you thinking?" His soft words break through her musings, and she watches as he removes his glasses from his face to place them on his desk.
"I am thinking," she says slowly, tracing the edge of her glass with her thumb and granting him a smile, "that this is our wedding night. And that so far your files have seen more action than we have."
He laughs, and there is a diffusion of a tension in the atmosphere that she had not been aware off; as he crosses the room to her she wonders if even he had felt the anxiety of the expectations of this particular night.
She is the one to cross that final threshold, to catch his lips with her own in a kiss that starts off surprisingly chaste, before deepening into something more.
Tomorrow both have their work ahead of them, on battlefield and in senate, two minor players in the grand melodrama of humanity. But for this night it is just the two of them. She doesn't know how many they will have.
His first thought that slowly surfaces is that in the pre-dawn light and with the release of sleep, there is a softness about her face as the cares of the walking hours fade into dreams. Asleep and there is a vulnerability about her that surprises him.
With the warmth of the bed and the sound of her breathing mingling with the low hum of traffic even at this early hour, he does his best to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that says he could get used to this.
With the sharp rap at the door the real world flows in once more, and as she turns away from the noise and grumbles something incomprehensible, he slips out from under the covers, stooping to pick up his robe up from the floor as he makes his way to the door.
On the other side is an impossibly young and impossibly immaculate officer, who snaps off a salute that he can only fumble to return.
"Orders for the Commander," the boy says, holding out one of those overly formal dispatch things the Military would insist on. He glances back inside before he takes it: the protestations about the inappropriate hour or to mention that yesterday was their wedding are only allowed to briefly flicker across his mind. And both of them had known full well that their would not be much of a honeymoon. Besides, behind the polished discipline he can see the nervousness of a solider who knows he has been sent as the sacrifice of his superiors. So he just smiles and tells him "I'll see that she gets it."
The boy visibly relaxes in relief, before the disciplined facade quickly reasserts itself. "Thank you, Lord Roslin. Congratulations, by the way."
The Kobolian sun starts to peak over the horizon, and his smile reaches his eyes this time. "Thank you."
Author:
bibliodragonPairing: A/R
Rating: T
Summary: There can be no denying the sense of the arrangement, the joining of the two houses; one decimated but still slightly influential political and one both equally respected and superfluous, and virtually unknown outside the military. Love is best left for children and playwrights.
While both of them were long past being blushing virgins, and while even as arranged and political the motives behind the ceremony it still wasn't even their own first time together, there is still the fact that this is their wedding night.
She feels its weight upon her as she pours herself a drink. She can hear him moving about in the next room, and she imagines the way his eyes would light up in amused non-surprise at such romantic notions coming from her. From the time of that awkward handshake of negotiation to now, he has learned that about her.
There can be no denying the sense of the arrangement, the joining of the two houses; one decimated but still slightly influential political and one both equally respected and superfluous, and virtually unknown outside the military. Love is best left for children and playwrights.
Downing the drink in one she refills her glass then as he re-enters the room pours one out for him and hands it over silently before padding over to the sofa to sit down. His quarters, his home, is hardly the honeymoon suit, but the familiarity of its clutter and books is a welcome relief from the pomp and ceremony and prying, uncaring eyes of earlier in the day. Even in the beginning, when their brief meetings had consisted of sitting in silence while lawyers discussed things as if they didn't concern them and were just irritations when she had more important things to be done, she had found it comforting.
His home had won her over before he did.
Now he is shuffling the papers that litter his desk, trying to sort them into some sort of order for the days ahead. They both have so much work to do. She may be separated physically from hers for one night, but the occasional siren wailing in the night and the headlines on the newspaper sitting on the coffee table are reminders of the brink that they are all sitting on. Crisis upon crisis pilling up on one another, and there is always that concern that the next one will be the one that tips them all over.
"What are you thinking?" His soft words break through her musings, and she watches as he removes his glasses from his face to place them on his desk.
"I am thinking," she says slowly, tracing the edge of her glass with her thumb and granting him a smile, "that this is our wedding night. And that so far your files have seen more action than we have."
He laughs, and there is a diffusion of a tension in the atmosphere that she had not been aware off; as he crosses the room to her she wonders if even he had felt the anxiety of the expectations of this particular night.
She is the one to cross that final threshold, to catch his lips with her own in a kiss that starts off surprisingly chaste, before deepening into something more.
Tomorrow both have their work ahead of them, on battlefield and in senate, two minor players in the grand melodrama of humanity. But for this night it is just the two of them. She doesn't know how many they will have.
His first thought that slowly surfaces is that in the pre-dawn light and with the release of sleep, there is a softness about her face as the cares of the walking hours fade into dreams. Asleep and there is a vulnerability about her that surprises him.
With the warmth of the bed and the sound of her breathing mingling with the low hum of traffic even at this early hour, he does his best to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that says he could get used to this.
With the sharp rap at the door the real world flows in once more, and as she turns away from the noise and grumbles something incomprehensible, he slips out from under the covers, stooping to pick up his robe up from the floor as he makes his way to the door.
On the other side is an impossibly young and impossibly immaculate officer, who snaps off a salute that he can only fumble to return.
"Orders for the Commander," the boy says, holding out one of those overly formal dispatch things the Military would insist on. He glances back inside before he takes it: the protestations about the inappropriate hour or to mention that yesterday was their wedding are only allowed to briefly flicker across his mind. And both of them had known full well that their would not be much of a honeymoon. Besides, behind the polished discipline he can see the nervousness of a solider who knows he has been sent as the sacrifice of his superiors. So he just smiles and tells him "I'll see that she gets it."
The boy visibly relaxes in relief, before the disciplined facade quickly reasserts itself. "Thank you, Lord Roslin. Congratulations, by the way."
The Kobolian sun starts to peak over the horizon, and his smile reaches his eyes this time. "Thank you."