Post by Griff on Mar 19, 2011 14:43:31 GMT 10
Title: Rogering
Rating: PG
Word Count: 546
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Jon takes his anniversaries with a side of wine.
-
“Your Majesty?” Zahir approached the King carefully, mindful of Jon’s belligerent sprawl and his foot’s precarious position by the fire. With feigned clumsiness, he tripped into the chair and pushed it back a few precious inches. Zahir would be mortified if the King managed to kill himself in drunken lethargy on his watch. “I have the wine you requested, sir.”
Jon hummed agreeably and waved his hand aimlessly at Zahir. “Grab a chair.”
“Would you like a glass?”
To Zahir’s horror, Jonathan snorted. “Hardly.” Jon raised his left arm, proudly displaying a wine bottle. It had less than a third left. “I’m quite miserable as I am.”
Peering around the King’s chair, Zahir counted three empty bottles. “Never again,” he muttered to himself, “am I agreeing to assist Duke Gareth in his study.”
“What was that?” Jon slurred lazily. “Gary’s always a sport when I need some time. I remember when the Maren ambassador wanted me to walk his daughter through the gardens. I hadn’t slept in three days. Endless meetings. Can you imagine? She looked like a horse and smelled like one, too.” He took a long pull from his bottle and sighed, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but she insulted ‘Lanna’s hair. It was terrible. I predicted blood, but Gary introduced the girl to a nice second son. I hear they eloped to Galla. Horrid place, but I think they’re spare on horses. I’m sure they think she’s lovely.”
In all his years as squire, Zahir had never seen the king in such a state. He tried to creep his hand towards Jonathan’s bottle, but the king caught on and gave him a poisonous glare.
Cradling his wine close, Jon sulked, “I’m allowed.”
“I’m sure you are, Your Majesty.” Zahir nodded agreeably. “However, I’m not sure it is... wise.”
“My cousin tried to kill me.” Jon pouted. He held up a pair of finger illustratively. “Twice.”
Duke Roger’s assassination attempts were well-documented. He wasn’t quite sure what that had to do with Jon’s sudden fondness for vice. Besides, according to Zahir’s history lessons, Roger had attempted to kill the king at least four times. He was only honest about it twice.
“I really liked him,” the king mourned. “When I was young, I wanted to be just like Roger.” He took another swig and giggled, “Roger rogered Ralon!”
“Sire?” Zahir questioned plaintively.
“I’m sure of it,” Jon insisted, pointing authoritatively and squinting his right eye.
“O-of course, Sire.”
The king nodded and held out his bottle. “If you’re staying, you’ll need a drink.”
“I’m not sure -”
“Drink, Zahir,” Jon said soberly. “Anniversaries of betrayal make me maudlin. It’s best you’re just as wet.”
“But what if - “
“No one needs me.” Jon sighed. “What do you think Gary’s been doing all evening.”
“Discussing Prosper’s plucked peacock.” Zahir responded guilelessly. “It was a complete scandal.”
“Like I said,” Jon nodded, as if the defiling of poultry was a common occurrence, “Gary’s handling it.”
With a heavy sigh, Zahir admitted it was out of his hands. He’d tried to do right by his king. The only thing left was to join him. Tipping the lip to the fire, Zahir downed the last of the wine and opened the new bottle.
QC'd by: inthefire
Rating: PG
Word Count: 546
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Jon takes his anniversaries with a side of wine.
-
“Your Majesty?” Zahir approached the King carefully, mindful of Jon’s belligerent sprawl and his foot’s precarious position by the fire. With feigned clumsiness, he tripped into the chair and pushed it back a few precious inches. Zahir would be mortified if the King managed to kill himself in drunken lethargy on his watch. “I have the wine you requested, sir.”
Jon hummed agreeably and waved his hand aimlessly at Zahir. “Grab a chair.”
“Would you like a glass?”
To Zahir’s horror, Jonathan snorted. “Hardly.” Jon raised his left arm, proudly displaying a wine bottle. It had less than a third left. “I’m quite miserable as I am.”
Peering around the King’s chair, Zahir counted three empty bottles. “Never again,” he muttered to himself, “am I agreeing to assist Duke Gareth in his study.”
“What was that?” Jon slurred lazily. “Gary’s always a sport when I need some time. I remember when the Maren ambassador wanted me to walk his daughter through the gardens. I hadn’t slept in three days. Endless meetings. Can you imagine? She looked like a horse and smelled like one, too.” He took a long pull from his bottle and sighed, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but she insulted ‘Lanna’s hair. It was terrible. I predicted blood, but Gary introduced the girl to a nice second son. I hear they eloped to Galla. Horrid place, but I think they’re spare on horses. I’m sure they think she’s lovely.”
In all his years as squire, Zahir had never seen the king in such a state. He tried to creep his hand towards Jonathan’s bottle, but the king caught on and gave him a poisonous glare.
Cradling his wine close, Jon sulked, “I’m allowed.”
“I’m sure you are, Your Majesty.” Zahir nodded agreeably. “However, I’m not sure it is... wise.”
“My cousin tried to kill me.” Jon pouted. He held up a pair of finger illustratively. “Twice.”
Duke Roger’s assassination attempts were well-documented. He wasn’t quite sure what that had to do with Jon’s sudden fondness for vice. Besides, according to Zahir’s history lessons, Roger had attempted to kill the king at least four times. He was only honest about it twice.
“I really liked him,” the king mourned. “When I was young, I wanted to be just like Roger.” He took another swig and giggled, “Roger rogered Ralon!”
“Sire?” Zahir questioned plaintively.
“I’m sure of it,” Jon insisted, pointing authoritatively and squinting his right eye.
“O-of course, Sire.”
The king nodded and held out his bottle. “If you’re staying, you’ll need a drink.”
“I’m not sure -”
“Drink, Zahir,” Jon said soberly. “Anniversaries of betrayal make me maudlin. It’s best you’re just as wet.”
“But what if - “
“No one needs me.” Jon sighed. “What do you think Gary’s been doing all evening.”
“Discussing Prosper’s plucked peacock.” Zahir responded guilelessly. “It was a complete scandal.”
“Like I said,” Jon nodded, as if the defiling of poultry was a common occurrence, “Gary’s handling it.”
With a heavy sigh, Zahir admitted it was out of his hands. He’d tried to do right by his king. The only thing left was to join him. Tipping the lip to the fire, Zahir downed the last of the wine and opened the new bottle.
QC'd by: inthefire