Welcome to Gaia! ::

...unless of course I have a sudden burst of creativity, or manage to get into my mother's store of sake.
I'm a newbie, so don't put too large of a dent into your stock of rotten tomatoes.
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Chapter One

"What did you say?"
"I said that I was..."
Fin let his voice trail off. It was obvious that Lars wasn't listening.
"She's so beautiful. So damn beautiful it makes me want to hit things."
"Shut up, Lars. Try something new for once--complete and utter silence. And remember, if you don't get it right the first time, try again. Practice makes the sweet lack of noise absolute. In fact, I think we should have two hour long sessions each day, where I'll supervise you. I can practice multi-tasking, too, I'll start studying for the Regent's testing. Ok?"

His brother threw a buttery roll at his head. Fin ducked, and what was the equivalent of a dense block of bread hit the wall with a thump, and a small squelching noise from melting butter.

"Damn," said Lars impressively.

"The maids will clean it up," said Fin airily. He was above swearing to get attention.

"I meant damn, I missed."

"But then the maids would have to scrub the room for days to get the blood off," Fin replied lightly.

"Idiot. Those things aren't hard enough to break open your skull. Regrettably."

"I meant that if it had hit, I would have killed you."

"Uh-huh. Right." Lars rolled his eyes.

"Well, aren't you going to go pick it up?"

"It's your roll."

"Nuh-uh! It's yours!"

"It's yours, because you're the oldest, and you're supposed to be protecting me."

"It's yours, because you're the youngest, and you have to obey me."

"I'm only a year younger than you anyway."

Loftily, Lars rolled onto his back, stretching out his long legs over one side of the couch.

"One year is a big difference. You don't know the first thing about girls."

"I'm ten, and you're eleven. Neither of us knows anything about girls."

"Oh yeah? I'm writing a love letter to Lena. Girls love that kind of thing. Not like that dog you sent Ari along with the messenger who was suggesting marriage. I bet that's why she refused betrothal."

Fin's cheeks burned hot and red, and he opened his mouth to snap back at Lars, when the door opened with a creaking noise. A young man, dressed in a servant of the Rose Palace's black livery stood in the doorway.

"My lords? The Queen calls you; she is waiting for you in your father's private chambers." The man bowed and seemed to slide to the side, waiting to escort them.

The two boys glanced at each other, fight, love letter, and Lena forgotten. Something was wrong.

Fin stood up first, and Lars swung off the couch and followed suit. Though the usual sounds of the palace, filled by servants preparing for dinner tonight, cleaning the many rooms, chattering, and the few nobles who were here for the winter, it seemed uncomfortably quiet for one long moment. The servant's eyes were just a little too searching, and Fin was about to snap at him, too, when he bowed his head, turned on one heel, and walked off briskly. With shorter legs, they had to jog to keep up.

He stopped at the wide double doors, and knocked rapidly on it with one knuckle. They caught up with him right before a faint voice whispered,
"Come in."
The messenger didn't wait: instead, he pushed open the door hastily, breaking protocol, and hurried them inside.

xd They're pretending to be grownups. And the language isn't very accurate, but hopefully I can fix that later.

I lyke blaugh

Who voted a 5? o.O;

Fine, be that way.

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They used to laugh at Father because he was growing a slight potbelly, Fin thought, almost idly. He wasn't sure whether he was listening to Mother or not. The words slipped on by, but they were dramatically delivered, with a honk of a handkerchief.

Then again, Mother did her best to make embroidery dramatic. But this time, his thoughts didn't wander for long, staring at the peeling sores.

Lars hunched his shoulders uncomfortably, shuffling his feet. Now that the original stare was broken, he didn't want to look anymore.

He remember that he had kicked off one of his leather slippers in the breakfast room, now, staring at the black stocking. It felt odd and awkward and clumsy to be wearing only one shoe at his father's...

There wasn't a word he wanted to put to it, and even if there had been some imminent thought, it was broken by a hacking cough that ended unsatisfactorily from Father, who slumped back into the bed and struggled for breath.

There was a deep, windily loud breath. She had resumed.
"He is going to die. His stomach will not hold anything, so even if it wasn't for the sores and the lung clogging, he would starve eventually. The new physician, the one who diagnosed him properly, Dr. Phaius, gives him perhaps two days to live!" She threw back her head, back of her hand thrust against her forehead.

Normally, they would have rolled their eyes, together, in unison. Normally, she would have blushed slightly, and withdrawn from the pose quickly and conspicuously.
Normally, Father would have been laughing beside her.

Okay! Thanks!