Post by Griff on Aug 14, 2011 21:15:11 GMT 10
Title: Baby's Breath
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 468
Characters: Roger and baby Jon
Summary: Roger comes to remove his only obstacle to the throne.
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The hallway was quiet outside the royal nursery and Roger had an idle moment's thought about how easy it would be to take out his belt knife and do away with the squalling heir with a single twist. It was pure conjecture, of course. He wouldn't be so foolish to use a blade when he could simply smother him. No suspicion, then.
He turned the knob silently, ears listening for the sharp creak of the wet nurse's rocking chair. Quiet. He ease inside with his single candle, sneering at the snoring woman slumped over the delicately wrought woodwork. The chair was obviously chosen for the queen. Roger set his candle on the near window sill and picked up one of the ridiculous stuffed toys set on the shelves.
It truly was a sign, he decided, the emptiness. The idleness. The gods had touched the castle's buzzing hive of servants and soldiers and set their minds to sleep so he could reclaim his proper place. He was to be king. It was his destiny. Two small steps between him and the future.
Roger took them without hesitance, leaning over the cradle with his intentions poised. It was only then, with the candle light hovering softly over his shoulder, that he stopped.
His cousin was beautiful.
The toy fell from his hand as Roger watched the gentle rise of fall of Jonathan's chest, fragile and consistent, arms and legs swaddled tight against his body. The angry newborn purple he'd expected had faded in the weeks he'd traveled from the duchy, leaving his tiny face a translucent pale Roger swore was moonlight itself.
He couldn't help himself; his fingers trailed reverently over the baby's soft cheek, willing him to open his eyes and meet him. Roger held his breath as he stirred, mewling softly and smacking his lips, but Jonathan felt back to sleep without so much as a glimmer. Roger sighed in disappointment.
Casting a disparaging look at the nurse, Roger wrapped his hands around the delicate body and lifted Jonathan out of the crib and into the candle light. He settled into the crook of Roger's arm like a key. Roger glanced in the mirror by the door, catching sight of himself. He turned, mystified by the thought that Jonathan belonged there. He belonged to Roger.
Stroking the wisps of black hair on his soft head, Roger remembered how easy it would be to push too hard and snap this little obstacle out of his life.
Because, Roger realized regretfully, Jonathan was an obstacle. As much as his life belong to him, Jonathan was not his son and that was a crime worse than any he could ever imagine. One day, Jonathan would die.
But, Roger decided, pressing a kiss to his forehead, it would not be tonight.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 468
Characters: Roger and baby Jon
Summary: Roger comes to remove his only obstacle to the throne.
-
The hallway was quiet outside the royal nursery and Roger had an idle moment's thought about how easy it would be to take out his belt knife and do away with the squalling heir with a single twist. It was pure conjecture, of course. He wouldn't be so foolish to use a blade when he could simply smother him. No suspicion, then.
He turned the knob silently, ears listening for the sharp creak of the wet nurse's rocking chair. Quiet. He ease inside with his single candle, sneering at the snoring woman slumped over the delicately wrought woodwork. The chair was obviously chosen for the queen. Roger set his candle on the near window sill and picked up one of the ridiculous stuffed toys set on the shelves.
It truly was a sign, he decided, the emptiness. The idleness. The gods had touched the castle's buzzing hive of servants and soldiers and set their minds to sleep so he could reclaim his proper place. He was to be king. It was his destiny. Two small steps between him and the future.
Roger took them without hesitance, leaning over the cradle with his intentions poised. It was only then, with the candle light hovering softly over his shoulder, that he stopped.
His cousin was beautiful.
The toy fell from his hand as Roger watched the gentle rise of fall of Jonathan's chest, fragile and consistent, arms and legs swaddled tight against his body. The angry newborn purple he'd expected had faded in the weeks he'd traveled from the duchy, leaving his tiny face a translucent pale Roger swore was moonlight itself.
He couldn't help himself; his fingers trailed reverently over the baby's soft cheek, willing him to open his eyes and meet him. Roger held his breath as he stirred, mewling softly and smacking his lips, but Jonathan felt back to sleep without so much as a glimmer. Roger sighed in disappointment.
Casting a disparaging look at the nurse, Roger wrapped his hands around the delicate body and lifted Jonathan out of the crib and into the candle light. He settled into the crook of Roger's arm like a key. Roger glanced in the mirror by the door, catching sight of himself. He turned, mystified by the thought that Jonathan belonged there. He belonged to Roger.
Stroking the wisps of black hair on his soft head, Roger remembered how easy it would be to push too hard and snap this little obstacle out of his life.
Because, Roger realized regretfully, Jonathan was an obstacle. As much as his life belong to him, Jonathan was not his son and that was a crime worse than any he could ever imagine. One day, Jonathan would die.
But, Roger decided, pressing a kiss to his forehead, it would not be tonight.