Post by Shhasow on Apr 8, 2011 10:17:33 GMT 10
Title: The Greatest Trick, (12)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
Pairing: Raoul/Sabine
Round/Fight: 1/G
Summary: Sabine and Raoul talk. Or, he questions, she shoots him down.
Raoul sat up slowly as he pushed himself with trembling arms. He flinched when Sabine moved to help him, but she ignored him and said nothing as he gently probed his healed bones and cuts. He took a deep breath, her words swimming around in his head unsteadily. “I thank you for paying for the healer,” he said slowly, “But I cannot be 200 years in the past. It’s simply not possible.”
Sabine shrugged nonchalantly. “We could sit here for weeks and argue back and forth, but I have things to do, ale to drink, swords to sharpen, the like. What would prove to you that you’re wrong?”
Raoul shook his head slightly, burying his face gently in his healing hands. His mind was cluttered with questions and emotions of terror and fear and thoughts that this was crazy, or maybe that he was crazy.
An idea finally came to Raoul and crystallized in his mind into a sharp, clear image.
“Jon,” said Raoul suddenly.
“Ah yes. Your supposed king.”
Raoul’s head came up proudly and he glared at the woman who claimed to be a knight. “Jon is the best monarch Tortall has ever had, and my personal friend,” he snapped. “He’ll sort everything out.”
“You said he was on Progress,” she drawled, picking at her nails with a knife. At his confused look, she elaborated. “You claimed that during your questioning.” Sabine was a bit impressed with herself. Normally she had no patience for idiocy, but this poor fool was, in fact, an idiot. Addled, certainly, though she did have a few unanswerable questions, how he had gotten into her house, for one, and how he had gained such mastery over the sword. And he had a very official looking uniform. That could be stolen, of course, but not the skills of a knight.
Sabine was off-duty after her months of duty in the hills. This poor mad fool was entertaining. She wondered idly what he would do when he realized he could no longer explain away his time theory.
Raoul deflated, crestfallen, then a thought occurred to him. “If you’re right,” he said slowly, “Then your king would be in the palace, whoever he is.”
Sabine’s gaze narrowed. “I refuse to go near that cursed old man,” she spat.
Raoul rocked back in his seat, surprised at the sudden vitriol in her voice. “Who?”
“Roger.”
Raoul shot to his feet, gasped as the blood rushed to his head, and swayed dangerously. “Roger!” he thundered. “He’s dead!”
Sabine sighed impatiently and watched him pale as he struggled with the effort to stand with newly-healed bones and skin. “If you would actually think instead of overreacting,” she said acerbically, “you would think realize that, if this were a different time, there would be a different king. And certainly not the same Roger, whoever yours may be.”
Raoul could stand no longer, but fell heavily to the bed. He groaned when his healed skin threatened to open again. A few minutes passed by before he spoke again, sighing. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Sabine, I’m not myself. I’m just so incredibly confused.”
QC by: wordy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
Pairing: Raoul/Sabine
Round/Fight: 1/G
Summary: Sabine and Raoul talk. Or, he questions, she shoots him down.
Raoul sat up slowly as he pushed himself with trembling arms. He flinched when Sabine moved to help him, but she ignored him and said nothing as he gently probed his healed bones and cuts. He took a deep breath, her words swimming around in his head unsteadily. “I thank you for paying for the healer,” he said slowly, “But I cannot be 200 years in the past. It’s simply not possible.”
Sabine shrugged nonchalantly. “We could sit here for weeks and argue back and forth, but I have things to do, ale to drink, swords to sharpen, the like. What would prove to you that you’re wrong?”
Raoul shook his head slightly, burying his face gently in his healing hands. His mind was cluttered with questions and emotions of terror and fear and thoughts that this was crazy, or maybe that he was crazy.
An idea finally came to Raoul and crystallized in his mind into a sharp, clear image.
“Jon,” said Raoul suddenly.
“Ah yes. Your supposed king.”
Raoul’s head came up proudly and he glared at the woman who claimed to be a knight. “Jon is the best monarch Tortall has ever had, and my personal friend,” he snapped. “He’ll sort everything out.”
“You said he was on Progress,” she drawled, picking at her nails with a knife. At his confused look, she elaborated. “You claimed that during your questioning.” Sabine was a bit impressed with herself. Normally she had no patience for idiocy, but this poor fool was, in fact, an idiot. Addled, certainly, though she did have a few unanswerable questions, how he had gotten into her house, for one, and how he had gained such mastery over the sword. And he had a very official looking uniform. That could be stolen, of course, but not the skills of a knight.
Sabine was off-duty after her months of duty in the hills. This poor mad fool was entertaining. She wondered idly what he would do when he realized he could no longer explain away his time theory.
Raoul deflated, crestfallen, then a thought occurred to him. “If you’re right,” he said slowly, “Then your king would be in the palace, whoever he is.”
Sabine’s gaze narrowed. “I refuse to go near that cursed old man,” she spat.
Raoul rocked back in his seat, surprised at the sudden vitriol in her voice. “Who?”
“Roger.”
Raoul shot to his feet, gasped as the blood rushed to his head, and swayed dangerously. “Roger!” he thundered. “He’s dead!”
Sabine sighed impatiently and watched him pale as he struggled with the effort to stand with newly-healed bones and skin. “If you would actually think instead of overreacting,” she said acerbically, “you would think realize that, if this were a different time, there would be a different king. And certainly not the same Roger, whoever yours may be.”
Raoul could stand no longer, but fell heavily to the bed. He groaned when his healed skin threatened to open again. A few minutes passed by before he spoke again, sighing. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Sabine, I’m not myself. I’m just so incredibly confused.”
QC by: wordy