Post by EymberFyire on Apr 21, 2013 7:27:07 GMT 10
Title: The Politics of the Heart 4, PG
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 660
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The politics of Tortall are changing, and Kel and Lalasa are caught on opposite sides of the debate.
Warnings: References to political unrest that results in violence. Violence implied against LGBT people, and against foreigners.
A/N: I'm incredibly interested in the play between Yamani and Tortallan culture that is beginning to happen at the end of PoTS. Politics is my Activist!Lalasa storyline that explores that.
“It’s happening again!” the messenger bursts through the chamber doors into the presence of the King and Council and is nearly impaled by several vigilant guardsmen.
She slides to a stop, hands up until the King calls, “Let her through!” Spears lower. Grudgingly.
And Kel wonders again, not for the first time, how they have come to this place so quickly.
“Report!” The King snaps. The messenger straightens up.
“Sire, Loyalists sighted - forming a”
“Loyalists?” and the voice this time is Kel’s own. “And who would that be?”
Roald’s glare turns to her, icy and furious. She meets it, blandly attentive.
The King opens his mouth to reply, but a light voice, tenuous with age, drifts across the room. “She has a point, Sire.” and the weathered body that belongs to the voice struggles to rise from his chair.
The Queen rushes to offer her arm to Sir Myles of Olau. He pats her arm gratefully, smiling at her before turning back to the King.
“Sire, Language is important in these matters - it can shape public opinion. So, unless you are prepared to label the opposition traitors...”
He turns back to the messenger, whose eyes are wide, as they bounce between the parties that are speaking. She seems to decide the floor is the safest place to look for now.
“Well... the... ah...” She hesitates.
“Traditionalists.” Kel supplies quietly. The girl’s eyes snap up to her for a moment, startled, before dropping back to the floor, but she can see Shinko nod once in approval.
“If we are quite finished?” Roald snaps, “There is the small matter of another riot brewing.” He turns back to the girl. Visibly calms himself. “Please, continue.”
She takes a breath. “The... ah... traditionalists. They’re gathering for another march - through the West End, and the Yamani district.”
“More purges?” Shinko’s voice is even, but Kel can hear the tightness there. It echoes the anxiety that sings through all of them. “How many soldiers do we have available? Can we spare those on riot suppression in the other areas? Are..”
“Begging your Highness’ pardon” and all eyes turn to the messenger, surprised at this interruption, “but they’re not the only group gathering.”
Roald freezes. So does Shinko, and Myles rubs his chin.
Kel feels weakened and sick, but turns to the girl. “Please, Private. Continue.”
“Well, Lady Knight, the ah... Reformists... they’ve gathered as well. Around the ruins of The Glaive. Forty strong, at last count - not near the numbers of the Traditionalists, but... they’re not running. They’re just waiting.”
Many things happen at once now - Roald giving orders and Shinko calling up the Riders. Myles striding around the map, considering it this way and that while people dash away and into and out of the room. He says something to Roald, who snaps back heatedly. High points of scarlet gracing his cheeks, Myles leaves the room.
The messenger and Kel are still in the midst of the chaos, facing each other across a space of floor.
The girl looks up at Kel, and something in her bright blue eyes worries her. She thinks she knows what it is.
“Who commands the Reformists?” she asks in the chaos, and the girl’s eyes flick away.
She doesn’t answer - doesn’t have to. A spell has been spoken, and a window turns into a screen through which Kel can see Baker’s street, as clearly as if she were there. The mob is approaching, loud and ugly and fierce. Snarling challenges and insults as they start down the road.
Quietly waiting are the small band of Reformists. And out of the middle of them steps Lalasa. Steps out, and forward, and into the path, hands on her hips as she faces them down.
“You fool.” Kel whispers. “You brave idiot.” And she is sad, and frightened, and so very proud, and shame cuts through her veins as she watches her friend make her stand. Without her.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 660
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The politics of Tortall are changing, and Kel and Lalasa are caught on opposite sides of the debate.
Warnings: References to political unrest that results in violence. Violence implied against LGBT people, and against foreigners.
A/N: I'm incredibly interested in the play between Yamani and Tortallan culture that is beginning to happen at the end of PoTS. Politics is my Activist!Lalasa storyline that explores that.
“It’s happening again!” the messenger bursts through the chamber doors into the presence of the King and Council and is nearly impaled by several vigilant guardsmen.
She slides to a stop, hands up until the King calls, “Let her through!” Spears lower. Grudgingly.
And Kel wonders again, not for the first time, how they have come to this place so quickly.
“Report!” The King snaps. The messenger straightens up.
“Sire, Loyalists sighted - forming a”
“Loyalists?” and the voice this time is Kel’s own. “And who would that be?”
Roald’s glare turns to her, icy and furious. She meets it, blandly attentive.
The King opens his mouth to reply, but a light voice, tenuous with age, drifts across the room. “She has a point, Sire.” and the weathered body that belongs to the voice struggles to rise from his chair.
The Queen rushes to offer her arm to Sir Myles of Olau. He pats her arm gratefully, smiling at her before turning back to the King.
“Sire, Language is important in these matters - it can shape public opinion. So, unless you are prepared to label the opposition traitors...”
He turns back to the messenger, whose eyes are wide, as they bounce between the parties that are speaking. She seems to decide the floor is the safest place to look for now.
“Well... the... ah...” She hesitates.
“Traditionalists.” Kel supplies quietly. The girl’s eyes snap up to her for a moment, startled, before dropping back to the floor, but she can see Shinko nod once in approval.
“If we are quite finished?” Roald snaps, “There is the small matter of another riot brewing.” He turns back to the girl. Visibly calms himself. “Please, continue.”
She takes a breath. “The... ah... traditionalists. They’re gathering for another march - through the West End, and the Yamani district.”
“More purges?” Shinko’s voice is even, but Kel can hear the tightness there. It echoes the anxiety that sings through all of them. “How many soldiers do we have available? Can we spare those on riot suppression in the other areas? Are..”
“Begging your Highness’ pardon” and all eyes turn to the messenger, surprised at this interruption, “but they’re not the only group gathering.”
Roald freezes. So does Shinko, and Myles rubs his chin.
Kel feels weakened and sick, but turns to the girl. “Please, Private. Continue.”
“Well, Lady Knight, the ah... Reformists... they’ve gathered as well. Around the ruins of The Glaive. Forty strong, at last count - not near the numbers of the Traditionalists, but... they’re not running. They’re just waiting.”
Many things happen at once now - Roald giving orders and Shinko calling up the Riders. Myles striding around the map, considering it this way and that while people dash away and into and out of the room. He says something to Roald, who snaps back heatedly. High points of scarlet gracing his cheeks, Myles leaves the room.
The messenger and Kel are still in the midst of the chaos, facing each other across a space of floor.
The girl looks up at Kel, and something in her bright blue eyes worries her. She thinks she knows what it is.
“Who commands the Reformists?” she asks in the chaos, and the girl’s eyes flick away.
She doesn’t answer - doesn’t have to. A spell has been spoken, and a window turns into a screen through which Kel can see Baker’s street, as clearly as if she were there. The mob is approaching, loud and ugly and fierce. Snarling challenges and insults as they start down the road.
Quietly waiting are the small band of Reformists. And out of the middle of them steps Lalasa. Steps out, and forward, and into the path, hands on her hips as she faces them down.
“You fool.” Kel whispers. “You brave idiot.” And she is sad, and frightened, and so very proud, and shame cuts through her veins as she watches her friend make her stand. Without her.