Post by Muse on Apr 3, 2011 5:26:11 GMT 10
Title: Spectrum
Rating: PG
Word Count: 502
Pairing: Jonathan/Keladry
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Compromises are made. (“You're wrong when its right, it's black and its white.” Part of the series: Hot ‘n Cold; lyrics by Katy Perry.)
It is wrong. She is right.
Jon didn’t doubt himself often, but—
Dammit, Jon, when isn’t she right?
--When his own subconscious was beating him up, he knew he was in trouble.
She’s right when you’re afraid to be.
The sound of his own derision ringing in his ears, Jon set off to find his elusive Lady Knight.
Being the King, which he was, he could make decisions. He could. He could make decisions and Tortall would follow them, because that’s how being King worked. He could—he would—make decisions, and they would be the right ones, and he would have back up from his most trusted nobility. He would.
He had convinced himself of this by the time he found Kel in Raoul’s office, discussing supplies and tactics.
“Jon,” Raoul greeted him, and Kel stood, turning to face Jon who stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“Hi,” Jon heard his voice say to Raoul distantly. “Kel. I need to talk to you.”
Her blink was possibly the only way she ever conveyed her confusion, but Kel nodded and looked to Raoul. Luckily, being one of Jon’s oldest friends, Raoul was used to this—did he ever get tired of this?—and offered his chair.
“I’ll be in the supply tent,” he called merrily over his shoulder, as if he did this all the time, and Jon and Kel were alone.
Silence was a thin glass between them, muting everything, and Jon steels himself to punch through it, waits for the shards of white-hot burning to embed themselves.
“Kel. You are right.”
The words are harder to voice than he’d thought, given that he was sure he believed them.
Another blink. Confusion? No.
Kel understands perfectly.
A blink of shock, then, perhaps? Did she expect him never to change his mind, to realize, to sympathize?
No wonder she disliked him so.
“Sir?” Kel asked, the single word a multitude of questions.
Jon looked her in the eye, willed her—no, dared her—to believe him as he spoke with faint overtones of the authority his office conferred him.
“Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, I, King Jonathan of Conte do hereby retract the Writ restricting your choice of squire; your choice, as due your rank as a knight of the realm, is your own should a squire so wish to accept.”
Glassy silence shattered, the world regained all its little noises.
Kel took a deep breath. Jon relaxed, the fabric of his shirt whispering softly as he slouched slightly. Kel shifted, wood chair creaking as she lost her defensive posture. Jon leaned against the wall. In the hall, footsteps echoed regularly.
“Thank you.” Kel said simply.
“Its quite alright,” Jon smiled wryly. “You are quite right, and the correct course of action should have been obvious.”
“Sir, if it were obvious, it wouldn’t be an issue.”
Kel understates this yet again; but again, she is right.
If they were black and white they wouldn’t be stuck here in all of this gray.
QC: by Cassandra
Rating: PG
Word Count: 502
Pairing: Jonathan/Keladry
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Compromises are made. (“You're wrong when its right, it's black and its white.” Part of the series: Hot ‘n Cold; lyrics by Katy Perry.)
It is wrong. She is right.
Jon didn’t doubt himself often, but—
Dammit, Jon, when isn’t she right?
--When his own subconscious was beating him up, he knew he was in trouble.
She’s right when you’re afraid to be.
The sound of his own derision ringing in his ears, Jon set off to find his elusive Lady Knight.
Being the King, which he was, he could make decisions. He could. He could make decisions and Tortall would follow them, because that’s how being King worked. He could—he would—make decisions, and they would be the right ones, and he would have back up from his most trusted nobility. He would.
He had convinced himself of this by the time he found Kel in Raoul’s office, discussing supplies and tactics.
“Jon,” Raoul greeted him, and Kel stood, turning to face Jon who stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“Hi,” Jon heard his voice say to Raoul distantly. “Kel. I need to talk to you.”
Her blink was possibly the only way she ever conveyed her confusion, but Kel nodded and looked to Raoul. Luckily, being one of Jon’s oldest friends, Raoul was used to this—did he ever get tired of this?—and offered his chair.
“I’ll be in the supply tent,” he called merrily over his shoulder, as if he did this all the time, and Jon and Kel were alone.
Silence was a thin glass between them, muting everything, and Jon steels himself to punch through it, waits for the shards of white-hot burning to embed themselves.
“Kel. You are right.”
The words are harder to voice than he’d thought, given that he was sure he believed them.
Another blink. Confusion? No.
Kel understands perfectly.
A blink of shock, then, perhaps? Did she expect him never to change his mind, to realize, to sympathize?
No wonder she disliked him so.
“Sir?” Kel asked, the single word a multitude of questions.
Jon looked her in the eye, willed her—no, dared her—to believe him as he spoke with faint overtones of the authority his office conferred him.
“Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, I, King Jonathan of Conte do hereby retract the Writ restricting your choice of squire; your choice, as due your rank as a knight of the realm, is your own should a squire so wish to accept.”
Glassy silence shattered, the world regained all its little noises.
Kel took a deep breath. Jon relaxed, the fabric of his shirt whispering softly as he slouched slightly. Kel shifted, wood chair creaking as she lost her defensive posture. Jon leaned against the wall. In the hall, footsteps echoed regularly.
“Thank you.” Kel said simply.
“Its quite alright,” Jon smiled wryly. “You are quite right, and the correct course of action should have been obvious.”
“Sir, if it were obvious, it wouldn’t be an issue.”
Kel understates this yet again; but again, she is right.
If they were black and white they wouldn’t be stuck here in all of this gray.
QC: by Cassandra