The King's Hound Fanfiction: Of Gold and Embers
Original Work [in Progress]: The King's Hound @the-kingshound by @kal-downn. Give this Arthurian interactive fiction a read, and you'll come out of it with all the cast practically living rent-free in your head. (I know that for a fact; I'm a victim, too.)
Fanfiction: Of Gold and Embers.
Gwyar [M/F], The Hound [M/F].
Angst, Hurt/Comfort.
F!Gwyar, M!Hound Version.
The first thing you noticed about her was her eyes.
They were like molten gold.
The color, unusual, and even could be called exotic, would glint even brighter under the merest touch of light. That, you noticed when she had stepped into your sun-bathed room.
Then, there was the way she carried herself. Confident, sure, yet with an apparent grace that would befit someone of a higher station. Had fate cast a different dice and let her be born in a noble house, drapes of silk, fine linen, and ornate jewelry would without a doubt complement her person--though you suspected they would become mere accessories, as she was more than capable to captivate the eyes of anyone and everyone in any ball she chooses to attend.
Clothe her in a simple servant's attire, however, and she'd put those into good use just as well: blink, and you would not even notice she was sharing a room with you. That was how she had taught herself to operate, you supposed, with her job being to serve in the background. Even so, compared to the many servants you had encountered in the past, Gwyar was simply...different.
What was this uncanny ability of hers that made her able to blend with practically the walls? Or were all servants in Camelot trained differently?
You guessed you'd never know. There were too many foreign things in this land, too many new customs for you to absorb and learn should you wish to survive.
Then, there was another thing. This had been the bigger surprise about the servant, was that she noticed.
She noticed many little details that you'd scarcely cared, like the color of the curtains in your room, the way the furniture was arranged, and little spots on a bronze basin she was quick to clean. Most jarring of all, she noticed you.
It had been an ingrained habit of yours to stay silent and observe others. Not many people you encountered were privileged enough to have learned sign language. Or even when they were equipped with some knowledge of it, not many had considered your thoughts or presence to be worth their notice. Not much, anyway.
And it had been fine the way it was. Your job, after all, had been all about using your body and magic. Trading blows of words, whether they be written or signed, had simply never been in the domain of your responsibility nor interest. A mute with a sword. That was all that you had always been.
So, naturally, it had always been you who had to take notice of others. You had learned to fade away in conversations, you had learned to observe, and to act according to the needs and orders of your parents, older siblings, and senior knights. A command, a tense nod, a harsh look... You needed only but a gesture from them for you to act.
Reverse the position, and you knew not what to do. It had taken you aback when Gwyar had looked into your eyes with open curiosity and asked so much about yourself and your preferences on the first days of your stay. "Did you like the color of the curtains, Gwenvael? Was the water I drew too hot for you? What do you usually have for breakfast? Is there anything I should ask of the cooks?"
All of her questions had been too much. You had answered as best as you could, going with whatever you thought was acceptable, but the flicker of doubt that crossed her golden eyes told you that she suspected your answers (and hesitation) to be...off, to say the least. The servant, of course, had stayed politely silent about it.
Your mind, on the other hand, had not.
Likes, dislikes, preferences for food and even beddings... Gracious God. Now that you were prompted by questions such as these, your brain felt as if it was going to mush. Those things were a luxury you had not considered much before. How would you know what color you preferred your curtains to be when tents and barrack walls were all that you had been accustomed to? Or what food would you prefer in the morning when army rations had been your staple diet for most of your adolescent years?
Letting out a sigh you did not realize you had been withholding, you turned in your bed, once again marveling at how soft and pliant it was. You could almost smell a hint of earthy fragrance. Was it musk?
Hah. Another discovery: you never knew one would spend a dime just to perfume their quilt and beddings. How much budget had King Arthur allocated to impress you, really? Was this all even necessary? Seeing that everything relating to your accommodation had been handed by Gwyar, had this been her idea too?
But you had to acknowledge that it was effective: soon you found your eyelids getting heavier and your muscles relaxing. Your eyes wandered briefly to the waning fire that weakly crackled across your bed. You remembered leaving the room without lighting up the fireplace this afternoon--this must also be the raven-haired servant's doing.
Your last thoughts before being swallowed by oblivion were of warmth, unfamiliar yet not unwelcome, of the many unknowns your future held, and of golden eyes.
M!Gwyar, F!Hound Version.
The first thing you noticed about him was his eyes.
They were like molten gold.
The color, unusual, and even could be called exotic, would glint even brighter under the merest touch of light. That, you noticed when he had stepped into your sun-bathed room.
Then, there was the way he carried herself. Confident, sure, yet with an apparent ease that would befit someone of a higher station. Had fate cast a different dice and let him be born in a noble house, drapes of silk, fine linen, and ornate jewelry would without a doubt complement his person--though you suspected they would become mere accessories, as he was more than capable to captivate the eyes of anyone and everyone in any ball he chooses to attend.
Clothe him in a simple servant's attire, however, and he'd put those into good use just as well: blink, and you would not even notice he was sharing a room with you. That was how he had taught himself to operate, you supposed, with his job being to serve in the background. Even so, compared to the many servants you had encountered in the past, Gwyar was simply...different.
What was this uncanny ability of his that made him able to blend with practically the walls? Or were all servants in Camelot trained differently?
You guessed you'd never know. There were too many foreign things in this land, too many new customs for you to absorb and learn should you wish to survive.
Then, there was another thing. This had been the bigger surprise about the servant, was that he noticed.
He noticed many little details that you'd scarcely cared, like the color of the curtains in your room, the way furniture was arranged, and little spots on a bronze basin he was quick to clean. Most jarring of all, he noticed you.
It had been an ingrained habit of yours to stay silent and observe others. Not many people you encountered were privileged enough to have learned sign language. Or even when they were equipped with some knowledge of it, not many had considered your thoughts or presence to be worth their notice. Not much, anyway.
And it had been fine the way it was. Your job, after all, had been all about using your body and magic. Trading blows of words, whether they be written or signed, had simply never been in the domain of your responsibility nor interest. A mute with a sword. That was all that you had always been.
So, naturally, it had always been you who had to take notice of others. You had learned to fade away in conversations, you had learned to observe, and to act according to the needs and orders of your parents, older siblings, and senior knights. A command, a tense nod, a harsh look... You needed only but a gesture from them for you to act.
Reverse the position, and you knew not what to do. It had taken you aback when Gwyar had looked into your eyes with open curiosity and asked so much about yourself and your preferences on the first days of your stay. "Did you like the color of the curtains, Guinevere? Was the water I drew too hot for you? What do you usually have for breakfast? Is there anything I should ask of the cooks?"
All of his questions had been too much. You had answered as best as you could, going with whatever you thought was acceptable, but the flicker of doubt that crossed his golden eyes told you that he suspected your answers (and hesitation) to be...off, to say the least. The servant, of course, had stayed politely silent about it.
Your mind, on the other hand, had not.
Likes, dislikes, preferences for food and even beddings... Gracious God. Now that you were prompted by questions such as these, your brain felt as if it was going to mush. Those things were a luxury you had not considered much before. How would you know what color you preferred your curtains to be when tents and barrack walls were all that you had been accustomed to? Or what food would you prefer in the morning when army rations had been your staple diet for most of your adolescent years?
Letting out a sigh you did not realize you had been withholding, you turned in your bed, once again marveling at how soft and pliant it was. You could almost smell a hint of floral fragrance. Was it lily?
Hm. Another discovery: you never knew one would spend a dime just to perfume their quilt and beddings. Perfuming the hair and clothes you could understand--you'd been subjected to it several times when you had to accompany your parents and eldest sister to attend official meetings and banquets, but this...? This was too much.
How much budget had King Arthur allocated to impress you, really? Was this all even necessary? Seeing that everything relating to your accommodation had been handed by Gwyar, had this been his idea too?
But you had to acknowledge that it was effective: soon you found your eyelids getting heavier and your muscles relaxing. Your eyes wandered briefly to the waning fire that weakly crackled across your bed. You remembered leaving the room without lighting up the fireplace this afternoon--this must also be the raven-haired servant's doing.
But you had to acknowledge that it was effective: soon you found your eyelids getting heavier and your muscles relaxing. Your eyes wandered briefly to the waning fire that weakly crackled across your bed. You remembered leaving the room without lighting up the fireplace this afternoon--this must also be the raven-haired servant's doing.
Your last thoughts before being swallowed by oblivion were of warmth, unfamiliar yet not unwelcome, of the many unknowns your future held, and of golden eyes.