Friday Fic: Niall and Naiara.
By Yva | June 25, 2010
Speaking of Naiara, there’s been some chatter about “What the Rider children would be like when they’re older.” This is a story about Niall Balthasar talking with Naiara Bittertongue.
*****
There was a thud as the boots hit the floor behind him. He was in the sixth row, hidden behind books stacked nearly to the ceiling, and yet someone had managed to ferret out his location with little preamble. To make matters worse, that royal piss of a felhound warming the doorway couldn’t be bothered to warn him.
“Oi. Niall. I need somethin’.”
Recognizing the questionably dulcet tones of Naiara Bittertongue, Niall flipped his head back to look up at the ceiling, allowing a long, ragged sigh to escape. “Oh. It’s you.” He couldn’t have telegraphed his annoyance any clearer if he’d had one of those gobbo sound amplifiers to boom it through the chamber.
“Don’t sound so fekkin’ thrilled about it. Ya might burst somethin’.”
“Nothing overly important, I assure you. Maybe just my brain as the aneurysm strikes.” Niall turned and peered at her beneath the dark arches of his brows. She was about her mother’s height, with a riot of dark wavy hair that spilled past her shoulders and flowed over her back. Her green eyes seemed to gleam, almost like she had a secret she couldn’t wait to tell, and her lips held a perpetually wry twist. “And to what do I owe this Most Welcome Interruption.”
Naiara’s grin ate up half of her face, exposing two rows of perfect, glinting teeth. “Need a book.”
“Help yourself. There’s at least ten thousand here. Might I recommend ‘Common Courtesies of the Stormwind Dynasties’.” He hobbled down the aisle towards her, his polished onyx cane clicking on the floor tiles as he moved. “Or perhaps ‘Speaking Like A Tavern Wench’ by the esteemed Scary Mary of Goldshire proper.”
“My aunt’s taught me all the tavern wenching I ever need to know.” Naiara scurried ahead of him to perch on a stack of books, extending a long leg across so he couldn’t pass. “There’s pride in proper wenching, you know. Plus you get to wear fun clothes. You seen Aunt Annie’s wardrobe?”
“I’m sure somewhere in that muddled brain of yours that makes complete and utter sense. And no, I haven’t. I tend not to notice things I find completely inane. Like women’s dress. Though . . . ” He gave her a blatant perusal from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. His mouth slid into a smirk. “Perhaps I’d notice it if you actually bothered to attempt looking female? Have you heard of a skirt? They’re like pants, you see, but with one big leg hole at the bottom in lieu of two.”
“You’re a crabby arsehole, Balthasar.” She pulled a book from the shelf behind her, running her finger along the gilt letters of the spine. “Now then, about me book.”
“‘My’ book.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No it’s no . . . I am not arguing this with you.” He tried to thwack at her with his cane, but she moved too fast, the left leg dropping so the right one could take its place, still blocking his retreat. He gave her his dirtiest scowl, which just managed to set the wenchling grinning even wider. “Move please? Or are we going to play games all day? I tend not to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.”
“Not movin’ ’til I get my book.”
“Will wonder’s never cease. You actually said it properly.”
“Proper’s boring,” she said. “Anyway, Mum said I should bug you with this. An’ trust me – you don’t want to piss off me mum.”
He stood up straighter, suddenly looking every bit like a wiry, even more arrogant version of Jakob Balthasar. “That doesn’t mean I’m simply going to hand over one of MY mother’s tomes without permission, you realize.”
With a sigh, Naiara slid the book in her hand onto the stack in front of her. Niall frowned at it, then pointedly looked at the vacant slot on the shelf behind her. She followed his gaze, but did nothing. He began to tap his cane on the floor, rhythmically, a little faster as time passed. Their eyes locked. He twitched, she giggled. When he leaned forward to grab the book and put it back onto the shelf himself, she grabbed for it and jerked it just out of his reach, shaking it back and forth. “Ya want this? Just gotta say you’re gonna help me.”
“You little . . . ugh. Fine. I will help IF you put the damned thing back where it belongs.”
Her eyes swept up to his temple. “You got a vein pulsin’ right here, mate. Think that aneurysm’s comin’ on.”
“PUT THE BLOODY BOOK BACK!”
“Oi! I’m right here, you tosser!” The giggles became belly laughter as she did indeed return the book to its rightful place. She’d momentarily toyed with the idea of putting it in upside down and backwards, but she was fairly sure Niall would spontaneously combust if she did, and she couldn’t let that happen before she got what she’d come for.
Niall gave her a long look, his fingers swiping imaginary lint off of the cuff of his robe. “Now then. I should warn you, I really shouldn’t lend out my mother’s books without her permission, so you’ll have to do your reading here.”
“Don’t be such a pansy.”
“A pan . . . have you seen my mother in a temper?”
A dagger appeared in Naiara’s hand seemingly out of nowhere, its blade glinting silver in the dim lantern light. She ran the tip under her fingernails to clean them out. “Nah, but Da says she’s nuttier than a squirrel house, an’ I heard stories.”
“I will not confirm or deny any of that, but I will say I’m not going to risk her wrath.” He leaned against one of the book shelves, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what is it that you need so badly as to interrupt my work?”
“Book on the northern travelers.”
He arched a brow, now quite interested in whatever it was she wanted. He’d expected something girly and dumb, but a history book steeped in rich magical practices? Well, he couldn’t quite hide his surprise. “The gypsy people? An odd request.”
“I’m an odd lass, and aye. Arathi travellers. Think you can help me out?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded, motioning ahead of him with his cane. “Third aisle. A lot of my mother’s books focus on arcanery, you realize, so it might be something along the lines of hearth witchery – auguries, herbal compendiums and the like.”
“Perfect.” She dropped her leg and followed him through the maze of shelves into the back of the room. His finger traced over the titles. Near the bottom right, he pulled out a half dozen or so tomes, blowing the dust off of the tops of the pages.
He handed them to her in a neat stack. “I didn’t realize YOU had any kind of interest in such material.”
“And I didn’t realize you weren’t a poofter. Oh wait, still don’t know that for sure.”
Niall watched her retreating back as she made her way to the table out front, not hiding his smile quite as well as he’d meant to. “Let’s test the theory, shall we? Next time you’re visiting why don’t you bring an actual female with you?”
“Go fek yourself, Balthasar.”
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