Post by Shhasow on Apr 8, 2011 10:03:47 GMT 10
Title: The Greatest Trick, (9)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 395
Pairing: Raoul/Sabine
Round/Fight: 1/G
Summary: Raoul undergoes a much gentler - and more thorough - questioning.
Sabine never took her eyes off Raoul as she reached to the side and picked up a crude clay cup. She held it to his lips and Raoul drank thirstily, ridding himself of the taste of stale vomit and metallic blood. He spoke first, though a hint of slurred pain tinged his voice.
“Why were you in my house?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I was about to ask you the same question, Raoul.”
He froze. Those brown eyes seemed hauntingly familiar. “How do you know that name?”
“You screamed it loud enough for half of Lower Street to hear,” she answered. “Though they could get nothing else from you. You’re a tough man. It’s been a long time since I’ve had an adequate challenge with a sword.”
He coughed, bringing up blood. So he had cracked under torture, at least enough to shout his name. “Alanna whips me every time,” he said, woozy from blood loss.
Sabine motioned to someone behind her, then gave him another cup of water. “Alanna?”
Raoul closed his eyes, nodding slightly. Motion made the world spin and his stomach turn. “The Lioness. King’s Champion.’
“Gareth of Naxen is the King’s Champion,” said the woman in an idle tone.
He snorted, then regretted it as his headache returned with a vengeance. “Gary? He’s no swordsman, not like his father. Alanna is still alive, or she was the last time I saw her, before the Grand Progress.”
“If the King is on Progress, what are you doing in Corus?”
Raoul tried to focus his eyes but they wouldn’t cooperate. The words spilled from his mouth as he fought back a yawn, inexplicably ready to sleep despite his grievous wounds. With every breath, the pain seemed further away. “Taking my time. I will get there eventually. Jon will be angry, of course, but what good is it having grown up with the king, if I can’t needle him at every opportunity.”
“And your house?”
It was so simple to shut his eyes and let the words flow. Who was he talking to, again? “My battle-axe of a great-aunt called me home,” he muttered sleepily. “Can’t hardly refuse her, even though I’m the bloody commander of the,” he yawned, “King’s Own.”
With that, Raoul fell asleep despite the immense pain, soft snores escaping his open mouth, unaware that his female questioner and the head of the Evening Watch shook their heads in disbelief.
QC by: wordy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 395
Pairing: Raoul/Sabine
Round/Fight: 1/G
Summary: Raoul undergoes a much gentler - and more thorough - questioning.
Sabine never took her eyes off Raoul as she reached to the side and picked up a crude clay cup. She held it to his lips and Raoul drank thirstily, ridding himself of the taste of stale vomit and metallic blood. He spoke first, though a hint of slurred pain tinged his voice.
“Why were you in my house?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I was about to ask you the same question, Raoul.”
He froze. Those brown eyes seemed hauntingly familiar. “How do you know that name?”
“You screamed it loud enough for half of Lower Street to hear,” she answered. “Though they could get nothing else from you. You’re a tough man. It’s been a long time since I’ve had an adequate challenge with a sword.”
He coughed, bringing up blood. So he had cracked under torture, at least enough to shout his name. “Alanna whips me every time,” he said, woozy from blood loss.
Sabine motioned to someone behind her, then gave him another cup of water. “Alanna?”
Raoul closed his eyes, nodding slightly. Motion made the world spin and his stomach turn. “The Lioness. King’s Champion.’
“Gareth of Naxen is the King’s Champion,” said the woman in an idle tone.
He snorted, then regretted it as his headache returned with a vengeance. “Gary? He’s no swordsman, not like his father. Alanna is still alive, or she was the last time I saw her, before the Grand Progress.”
“If the King is on Progress, what are you doing in Corus?”
Raoul tried to focus his eyes but they wouldn’t cooperate. The words spilled from his mouth as he fought back a yawn, inexplicably ready to sleep despite his grievous wounds. With every breath, the pain seemed further away. “Taking my time. I will get there eventually. Jon will be angry, of course, but what good is it having grown up with the king, if I can’t needle him at every opportunity.”
“And your house?”
It was so simple to shut his eyes and let the words flow. Who was he talking to, again? “My battle-axe of a great-aunt called me home,” he muttered sleepily. “Can’t hardly refuse her, even though I’m the bloody commander of the,” he yawned, “King’s Own.”
With that, Raoul fell asleep despite the immense pain, soft snores escaping his open mouth, unaware that his female questioner and the head of the Evening Watch shook their heads in disbelief.
QC by: wordy