In Which Holladrin Starts Something

July 16, 1203

"Oh. I, uh... I thought you would have gone home hours ago."

"My horse hates thunder." Holladrin nudged the logs in the hearth with the poker. Farilon hadn't been at home all day, and once the storm had raged too long, she'd been of two minds whether to wait up for him, or to retire to Laralita's room. In truth she still hadn't made that decision, but it was too late now. "By the time the storm was over, it was too late to head home."

"Ah, right. I nearly stayed at my brother's as well."

She wondered if he now wished he had. "Oh."

"I'm sorry that I've been--"

"No. I understand." She set the poker down and turned. The hearth and the candles lit the room well enough, but his hair still shone the color of moonlight. "I haven't had much idea about what to say to you either."

Could she now, though? As well as the alert to her mother, Laralita had also given Holladrin a conversational entrance with Farilon that didn't involve King Oswald's Easter banquet, or anything that might have happened the night of. Then again... no, that wouldn't do. The last thing Farilon wanted to discuss was Danthia, and the last person he wanted to discuss her with was Holladrin. And what could he do with the knowledge of the letter anyway? The closest he had to a means of controlling Danthia was keeping well enough out of her way that she had little need to bother him. Her mother was the one who could look into it without repercussion.

But that left them in their silence, Easter hanging between them in its unspoken and omnipresent glory. She was tired of the silence. If there had to be silence--between the two of them, at least--it ought to have been on their reasoned terms. "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."

Farilon's head tipped to the side. Struck by her own lack of clarity, Holladrin abandoned the fireplace and hurried toward him. "I mean, obviously I don't want people to know it did, but I don't see why we should let it keep us from ever speaking. It was just one kiss."

"More of a kiss than I've ever had with my wife," he muttered in admission, as if she didn't know that.

"And more of a kiss than I've ever had with anyone. It was a good kiss. I liked it. I don't regret that it happened."

"I don't either." And yet, his mouth remained a steadfast frown. "But I should. I'm a married man. I'm a father, and you're much closer to my children's age than mine. And hell--my wife is your own aunt."

"You're certainly not married in the emotional sense, and I'm an adult, and we barely knew each other before I was an adult. And you're not my uncle by blood." She smiled, somewhat elated by the mere speaking of it. Farilon's mouth didn't move, but however the candles flickered, his eyes did brighten. "I don't want to have an affair--but if you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn't oppose that."

"Does that not count as an affair of sorts?"

"Should it?"

Emboldened--for Farilon, at least--he stepped forth, one hand to the small of her back, one steering nudge to the front of his body. "I'd like to think it would be at least significant enough to name."

"Perhaps it would be better to think it too significant to name."

"Will it be?"

Holladrin shrugged. "It's hard to say, if it hasn't even started."

The tips of his fingers landed beneath her chin and his lips brushed hers like a fleeting dream, only for a second but lingering in dancing pulse about her mouth.

"I suppose that's the start of it, then."

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