Ardy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ardyforshort) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fan_flashworks2014-01-01 08:19 pm
ardyforshort) wrote in fan_flashworks2014-01-01 08:19 pm
Entry tags:
Mythology: Fanfic: Coriolanus: What Isn't Told
Title: What Isn't Told
Fandom: Coriolanus
Rating: PG
Length: ~300 words
Content notes: Young Martius and why he wants to be a warrior.
Author notes: First line from here.
Summary: Young Martius fell in love with the sword all on his own, but it was the stories that primed him for it; stories that Volumnia gave him at the same time Virgilia gave him milk.
Young Martius fell in love with the sword all on his own, but it was the stories that primed him for it; stories Volumnia gave him like Virgilia gave him milk; and even before that, because she was so sure her grandchild would be a boy.
From his earliest days, he would hear his grandmother tell him of the great battles of the Romans and how Caius Martius had been in all of them; how many enemies he had slain and garlands won, how well his men respected him, how many marks of honour he bore on his body. He could name all the great battles in order before he ever learned to read.
One of the slaves played at swords with him as soon as he could walk, and when he finished a training session, sweating and winded but happy as only children are after they have exhausted their bodies, he would sit at supper with the women and hear Volumnia talk of how Martius had picked up sticks and swords before he learned to talk, how he had terrified enemy armies when he was just sixteen, and how he, Young Martius, would be sure to grow up just as fine a warrior as his father, if he kept at his swordplay every day. The look of pride on his grandmother's face was a greater reward to him than any food or treats his mother gave to him after his exertions.
He was proud when his father returned from battle and the folk sang his praises in the marketplace; when he came to live with them for a short while and played at swords with him and praised him for the progress he had made. He wanted to make sure his father didn’t regret passing his name on to him.
He never saw the emptiness in his father’s eyes when he had been at home for longer than a week, or the way he flinched sometimes when his mother touched him.
He never heard the stories that his father kept only in his head.
Fandom: Coriolanus
Rating: PG
Length: ~300 words
Content notes: Young Martius and why he wants to be a warrior.
Author notes: First line from here.
Summary: Young Martius fell in love with the sword all on his own, but it was the stories that primed him for it; stories that Volumnia gave him at the same time Virgilia gave him milk.
Young Martius fell in love with the sword all on his own, but it was the stories that primed him for it; stories Volumnia gave him like Virgilia gave him milk; and even before that, because she was so sure her grandchild would be a boy.
From his earliest days, he would hear his grandmother tell him of the great battles of the Romans and how Caius Martius had been in all of them; how many enemies he had slain and garlands won, how well his men respected him, how many marks of honour he bore on his body. He could name all the great battles in order before he ever learned to read.
One of the slaves played at swords with him as soon as he could walk, and when he finished a training session, sweating and winded but happy as only children are after they have exhausted their bodies, he would sit at supper with the women and hear Volumnia talk of how Martius had picked up sticks and swords before he learned to talk, how he had terrified enemy armies when he was just sixteen, and how he, Young Martius, would be sure to grow up just as fine a warrior as his father, if he kept at his swordplay every day. The look of pride on his grandmother's face was a greater reward to him than any food or treats his mother gave to him after his exertions.
He was proud when his father returned from battle and the folk sang his praises in the marketplace; when he came to live with them for a short while and played at swords with him and praised him for the progress he had made. He wanted to make sure his father didn’t regret passing his name on to him.
He never saw the emptiness in his father’s eyes when he had been at home for longer than a week, or the way he flinched sometimes when his mother touched him.
He never heard the stories that his father kept only in his head.