Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Amaranth #6 (true love), Cinnabar #6 (code)
Styles/Supplies: Pastels (for origfic_bingo prompt "wooing/courtship")
Word Count: 598
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Edward and what he loves.
Note: Originally posted as a response to my March prompt call. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.


Feeling lighter than he had in months, Edward stopped just short of the dock, his feet still on pavement stones, his bag still thrown over one shoulder. One more step, and his forward journey would continue, farther than he had ever imagined possible.

The sea spread out before him, the glittering blue of Seenian sapphires, while the sun burned high and seabirds called above. He’d seen it so many times before, had grown up on the coast, but now it was different. Always it had been an impenetrable border, the end of the world. No more going east from this point. So he had always gone west, all the way to another sea, another border, and after that there was nothing to do but turn around. And turn around again.

Atro had known it, damn him. Had known how Edward restlessly paced against the edges of his cage, how much he yearned to see something new. And he had used it to exile him.

Though was it really exile, if he wanted to go? Exile was punishment, and Edward had never been more excited in his life.

He had been familiar with sailing vessels growing up, had even gone out on them sometimes despite Ana’s fretting, but those had been fishing boats, small and light, and only some of them had an onboard shelter against the rain. His childhood village had no port for the bigger ships, and though he had seen many in his time since, the one before him now dwarfed them all.

The length of the entire dock, tall and long and painted bright blue, three masts grasping for the sky, furled sails full of promise. The bowsprit jutted forward like an arrow, pointing across the water and toward his destiny. The gangplank was down and waiting, an invitation if Edward had ever seen one.

He stepped forward, his boots thudding resoundingly on the wooden dock.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” Immediately a short man dressed in the kind of suit Edward associated with successful merchants who had gotten lazy and indolent ran toward him, waving his arms. “You can’t be here! This dock is closed to all but Ambassador Trey’s delegation.”

“That’s me,” said Edward politely, because it wouldn’t do to make enemies of people he’d be spending the next three months in close quarters with. He set his bag down on the dock and tugged it open, extracting a carefully rolled parchment. “Signed order from Lord Councilor Nella.”

The man snatch it from his hands and unrolled it, his brows furrowing. After a quick read, he said, “Oh, yes, you’re that merchant fellow.” He looked Edward up and down, glancing just once at the bag. “Is that all you’re bringing?”

“Sold most of my things,” said Edward. And didn’t regret it, though he already missed his horses. “Is there more I’ll be needing?”

The man looked flummoxed for a minute, then said, “No. No, I suppose not. I guess this means we’ll be sailing even lighter than we thought.” He bared his teeth in a way that Edward guessed was supposed to be a smile. “Well, come aboard, then. We’ll be setting off with the tide. My name is Joren, by the way. I’m the ambassador’s assistant.” He stuck out his hand.

Despite the clothing, the awkward smile, and the arrogant lilt in his voice, Edward supposed Joren was mostly a good sort. It wasn’t often that the toffs even pretended to politeness toward the commoners, and this man had offered his hand. So Edward took it, and said, “I’m pleased to meet you.”