Post by Shhasow on Mar 20, 2011 7:35:15 GMT 10
Title: Voice Lessons (13)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 424
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: A few years later, and Zahir still isn’t Voice.
Previous Chapter - Chapter Twelve
The armed soldiers led their horses through the thick woods. At a pre-arranged location, they stopped as one and mounted. Zahir looked across the open path and saw the glinting of metal as the other half of the squad stood in silent anticipation.
He yawned as he idly scratched his growing beard, pleased that he was finally getting to see combat.
It was three years into his squiredom with the King and Voice, and Zahir had lost all hope. He was resigned that he could never be the Voice, that he lacked some essential innate quality. It seemed that Jonathan had too, as for the first year and a half, the king had only grown more bizarre. Zahir assumed the man thought it would wake up his ‘sleeping mind,’ whatever that was. Perhaps it got bored easily.
Still, Jonathan had seemed inexplicably upset when it appeared that Zahir was incapable of becoming the next Voice. Considering what he had gone through to convince the man, that was quite odd, but Zahir was both relieved and disappointed. In the past six months, they’d moved to a more traditional knight-squire relationship, though Jonathan still asked him for random interesting facts, which Zahir was able to answer now without thinking.
So now, Jonathan loaned Zahir out on occasion to patrolling Riders or the Own in order to give him practical experience. This was the first time the Bazhir would see fighting up close.
There was a rather troublesome group of bandits plaguing the eastern hills; it was believed they included a mage rather skilled in illusions, but they’d finally been tracked to a location hidden deep in the forest. The two Rider squads had decided to create an ambush, as their campsite was too secure for a direct attack without Own backup.
As they waited, sweat trickling down their faces, Zahir felt an inexplicable sensation of danger. He glanced around unobtrusively, but the empty road provided cold comfort. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if being watched, and something ticked at his mind.
Ignoring the hissed warnings of the Riders, Zahir turned his horse around and peered at the thick underbrush.
There.
He drew his sword with the dull hiss of metal, and in the other hand, readied a throwing knife. For what, he didn’t know, but it was important.
When the sharp crack of a branch sounded under the crowded trees, Zahir flicked his wrist and the knife plunged towards the noise. At a strangled gasp, Zahir shouted.
“To the rear!”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 424
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: A few years later, and Zahir still isn’t Voice.
Previous Chapter - Chapter Twelve
The armed soldiers led their horses through the thick woods. At a pre-arranged location, they stopped as one and mounted. Zahir looked across the open path and saw the glinting of metal as the other half of the squad stood in silent anticipation.
He yawned as he idly scratched his growing beard, pleased that he was finally getting to see combat.
It was three years into his squiredom with the King and Voice, and Zahir had lost all hope. He was resigned that he could never be the Voice, that he lacked some essential innate quality. It seemed that Jonathan had too, as for the first year and a half, the king had only grown more bizarre. Zahir assumed the man thought it would wake up his ‘sleeping mind,’ whatever that was. Perhaps it got bored easily.
Still, Jonathan had seemed inexplicably upset when it appeared that Zahir was incapable of becoming the next Voice. Considering what he had gone through to convince the man, that was quite odd, but Zahir was both relieved and disappointed. In the past six months, they’d moved to a more traditional knight-squire relationship, though Jonathan still asked him for random interesting facts, which Zahir was able to answer now without thinking.
So now, Jonathan loaned Zahir out on occasion to patrolling Riders or the Own in order to give him practical experience. This was the first time the Bazhir would see fighting up close.
There was a rather troublesome group of bandits plaguing the eastern hills; it was believed they included a mage rather skilled in illusions, but they’d finally been tracked to a location hidden deep in the forest. The two Rider squads had decided to create an ambush, as their campsite was too secure for a direct attack without Own backup.
As they waited, sweat trickling down their faces, Zahir felt an inexplicable sensation of danger. He glanced around unobtrusively, but the empty road provided cold comfort. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if being watched, and something ticked at his mind.
Ignoring the hissed warnings of the Riders, Zahir turned his horse around and peered at the thick underbrush.
There.
He drew his sword with the dull hiss of metal, and in the other hand, readied a throwing knife. For what, he didn’t know, but it was important.
When the sharp crack of a branch sounded under the crowded trees, Zahir flicked his wrist and the knife plunged towards the noise. At a strangled gasp, Zahir shouted.
“To the rear!”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!