Post by Seek on Oct 4, 2010 18:54:03 GMT 10
Title: Attraction
Rating: R
Length: 846 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: This is all Alix's fault. Ozorne/Numair, through Lindhall's eyes, and some Ozorne/Lindhall. WARNING: DUBCON.
Peculiar Pairing: Ozorne/Numair, Ozorne/Lindhall, implied Lindhall/Numair
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i.
There is a special stone called a loden-stone, after the mage who discovered it deep within the dark womb of the Carthaki soil. (He was a Tyran, but none of them mention this, because he was educated at the University, and he was one of them.)
When Lindhall is a young student in the natural sciences department, long before he will follow his fascination with birds and animals and living creatures, he will watch the demonstration by his Master.
Master Selim holds the loden-stone, and the piece of iron, and lets go, and Lindhall watches the stone and the iron fly towards each other with the clink of impact and his mind imagines a loden-stone as large as a star and the collision with iron, unyielding.
ii.
When Lindhall is about to put on the yellow-robe, he doesn’t write theories about bats navigating by sound, because Master Gracefern scoffs at his paper and tells him to write about something else for his thesis.
So he turns back to a half-memory of a loden-stone and iron and realises that Selim’s theory of galvanic force says everything and nothing, that there must be questions yet unanswered, as if the loden-stone and the chunk of iron are two particles drawn together by an attraction of unerring strength, and why are they drawn together –
And he wonders if such an attraction is possible that the fabric of the Universe would be rent.
iii.
He renames himself Reed, because he will bend but not be broken.
And he sees plenty of breaking in the dark bruises that stand out on Arram’s skin, and the only thing he can do is to apply salve from the healers – because some things, especially when one of the Emperor’s sons is involved, must remain unspoken.
iv.
This is the strength of the attraction between Arram and Ozorne; disparate, and fitful, as if any regularity would have them tearing the universe apart with the intensity of their relationship.
Intensity is its own enemy, but Lindhall thinks he’s found that attraction, because on the day Ozorne rages and threatens to execute Arram and on the day Arram flees, he knows this, with the surety of his own right hand, the sharp steel edge of his own axe –
They are enemies now, where passion turns rapidly to jealousy, bitterness, and vinegar.
They will meet again, and one of them must perish, or they will bring the universe down with them in blood and magefire.
v.
“Master Reed,” Ozorne says, cradling each syllable and word like a velvet dagger. Lindhall bows his head.
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
The birds flutter about them, in a riot of colour – emerald blue red yellow faint violet plummage bright orange bright jade green and a flurry of feathers and flapping wings and birdsong.
One of the birds flaps from Ozorne’s outstretched arm, as he lets it go and it spreads its wings and takes off, and Ozorne almost reaches out, fingers crooked as if he can call the wild-tame thing back.
Finally he turns, lined eyes kohl-hard, braids clacking.
Lindhall waits.
“We hear you have a great passion for birds, Master Reed.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“We also hear…” Ozorne whispers, “That you have been close to our recently fled traitor, Arram Draper.”
“He was my student, your Majesty. And my associate.” Lindhall does not allow himself to tremble. Ozorne knows nothing. He must believe that, because he cannot match Gifts with the Emperor. He can only lie and show nothing.
“And are teachers not close to their former students?” Ozorne demands. Suddenly, he is far closer, almost pressed into Lindhall’s face, and Lindhall swallows and reminds himself to lie, stay calm.
“He was plotting rebellion, your Majesty,” Lindhall points out, using the cover story Ozorne himself had designed. “He would not have told me.”
“Would he?” Ozorne breathes. He snatches a fistful of hair and yanks, pulling Lindhall too close to his lips, and the bloody kiss is vicious and painful and when Ozorne pulls away for a moment, Lindhall’s lips are swollen and his lungs are burning. “Do not lie, Master Reed. We know.”
He closes in again, lips and tongue hungry, fingers pressed hard enough to leave bruises and marks later (the kind he has counted too many times on Arram’s skin) and fumbles at Lindhall’s tunic and Lindhall squeezes his eyes shut and complies and endures.
He cannot be broken. He must bend.
And he must not consider if there is any guilty pleasure to be found in Ozorne’s wanton violent passion.
Later, Ozorne will say, lazily, toying with each word, “I have need of a mage to be in charge of my birds.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“I do not like wild things,” Ozorne will whisper, gripping Lindhall’s chin too tightly. “I tame them. And I will break you yet, Master Reed.”
There is an attraction of sorts here, and Lindhall is ashamed to think fiercely one day that if Arram cannot, he will end Ozorne there and then.
-
Rating: R
Length: 846 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: This is all Alix's fault. Ozorne/Numair, through Lindhall's eyes, and some Ozorne/Lindhall. WARNING: DUBCON.
Peculiar Pairing: Ozorne/Numair, Ozorne/Lindhall, implied Lindhall/Numair
-
i.
There is a special stone called a loden-stone, after the mage who discovered it deep within the dark womb of the Carthaki soil. (He was a Tyran, but none of them mention this, because he was educated at the University, and he was one of them.)
When Lindhall is a young student in the natural sciences department, long before he will follow his fascination with birds and animals and living creatures, he will watch the demonstration by his Master.
Master Selim holds the loden-stone, and the piece of iron, and lets go, and Lindhall watches the stone and the iron fly towards each other with the clink of impact and his mind imagines a loden-stone as large as a star and the collision with iron, unyielding.
ii.
When Lindhall is about to put on the yellow-robe, he doesn’t write theories about bats navigating by sound, because Master Gracefern scoffs at his paper and tells him to write about something else for his thesis.
So he turns back to a half-memory of a loden-stone and iron and realises that Selim’s theory of galvanic force says everything and nothing, that there must be questions yet unanswered, as if the loden-stone and the chunk of iron are two particles drawn together by an attraction of unerring strength, and why are they drawn together –
And he wonders if such an attraction is possible that the fabric of the Universe would be rent.
iii.
He renames himself Reed, because he will bend but not be broken.
And he sees plenty of breaking in the dark bruises that stand out on Arram’s skin, and the only thing he can do is to apply salve from the healers – because some things, especially when one of the Emperor’s sons is involved, must remain unspoken.
iv.
This is the strength of the attraction between Arram and Ozorne; disparate, and fitful, as if any regularity would have them tearing the universe apart with the intensity of their relationship.
Intensity is its own enemy, but Lindhall thinks he’s found that attraction, because on the day Ozorne rages and threatens to execute Arram and on the day Arram flees, he knows this, with the surety of his own right hand, the sharp steel edge of his own axe –
They are enemies now, where passion turns rapidly to jealousy, bitterness, and vinegar.
They will meet again, and one of them must perish, or they will bring the universe down with them in blood and magefire.
v.
“Master Reed,” Ozorne says, cradling each syllable and word like a velvet dagger. Lindhall bows his head.
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
The birds flutter about them, in a riot of colour – emerald blue red yellow faint violet plummage bright orange bright jade green and a flurry of feathers and flapping wings and birdsong.
One of the birds flaps from Ozorne’s outstretched arm, as he lets it go and it spreads its wings and takes off, and Ozorne almost reaches out, fingers crooked as if he can call the wild-tame thing back.
Finally he turns, lined eyes kohl-hard, braids clacking.
Lindhall waits.
“We hear you have a great passion for birds, Master Reed.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“We also hear…” Ozorne whispers, “That you have been close to our recently fled traitor, Arram Draper.”
“He was my student, your Majesty. And my associate.” Lindhall does not allow himself to tremble. Ozorne knows nothing. He must believe that, because he cannot match Gifts with the Emperor. He can only lie and show nothing.
“And are teachers not close to their former students?” Ozorne demands. Suddenly, he is far closer, almost pressed into Lindhall’s face, and Lindhall swallows and reminds himself to lie, stay calm.
“He was plotting rebellion, your Majesty,” Lindhall points out, using the cover story Ozorne himself had designed. “He would not have told me.”
“Would he?” Ozorne breathes. He snatches a fistful of hair and yanks, pulling Lindhall too close to his lips, and the bloody kiss is vicious and painful and when Ozorne pulls away for a moment, Lindhall’s lips are swollen and his lungs are burning. “Do not lie, Master Reed. We know.”
He closes in again, lips and tongue hungry, fingers pressed hard enough to leave bruises and marks later (the kind he has counted too many times on Arram’s skin) and fumbles at Lindhall’s tunic and Lindhall squeezes his eyes shut and complies and endures.
He cannot be broken. He must bend.
And he must not consider if there is any guilty pleasure to be found in Ozorne’s wanton violent passion.
Later, Ozorne will say, lazily, toying with each word, “I have need of a mage to be in charge of my birds.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“I do not like wild things,” Ozorne will whisper, gripping Lindhall’s chin too tightly. “I tame them. And I will break you yet, Master Reed.”
There is an attraction of sorts here, and Lindhall is ashamed to think fiercely one day that if Arram cannot, he will end Ozorne there and then.
-