Post by Shhasow on Mar 20, 2011 8:07:12 GMT 10
Title: Voice Lessons (18)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 509
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Zahir gets more training, information, and dances in the rain.
Chapter Seventeen
The weather mages were accurate as always. As they sat, shivering slightly in the crisp air that forewarned of the coming storm, Zahir asked Jon something he’d been meaning to for days.
“In our legends, it is said that the Voice cannot die without training a successor. Is that true?”
Jon scoffed. “Of course not.” He picked at his fingernails. “To an extent. Voices are not known for putting themselves in harm's way. The type of foreknowledge you experienced against those bandits is a last-ditch resort, but yes, it is remarkably difficult to kill a Voice.”
“Besides,” he continued with a suddenly hollow voice, “it’s a gift from the gods. Fragile mortals cannot be trusted not to die unexpectedly.”
“Has it been done before?”
Jon paused as he consulted the past Voices in his mind. “Only once,” he answered slowly, “but there was a half-trained apprentice that managed to hold on to his sanity once the mantle of the Voice passed to him.”
Zahir felt a chill run through his body that was unrelated to the weather. “People go mad?”
“Not if they’re trained well. Which means that you might have some difficulties...” he trailed off, then laughed at the dismayed look on Zahir’s face. “Come on, you already know that I’m half-mad. Does it seem so terrible?”
The squire grumbled just slightly and shifted as the rain began to fall, tinkling as tiny bells against the clay tiles. That Jon didn’t want to answer directly could not be a good sign, but it was the only one he was going to get.
“Jon, when I am Voice,”- that was a certainty by now, right? - “you will lose much of your abilities. Aren’t you concerned that you cannot be a good king without it?”
The king snorted. “When you become Voice, I will have lived with this burden for nearly forty years. It will leave its mark on me, have no fear of that, and I would be a poor king indeed if I needed to rely on such a crutch.”
A loud crack of thunder echoed above them, and Zahir flinched. The deluge of rain began a breath later, leaving both of them soaked within seconds.
Jon laughed the open, delighted laugh of a child. He rose to his feet, hands outstretched, face upturned to the sky.
Zahir wondered at the man’s intense joy, his pleasure in such a small thing as rain.
“Come on, squire,” said Jon cheerfully. Then his voice grew increasingly hypnotic. “Relax. Feel the rain beat against your skin. Memorize the sensation of everything flowing away, of the tension and the stress, of the voices in the back of your mind, let them fade away until all you hear is the pitter-patter of raindrops.”
As Jon began, Zahir reluctantly stood up, but as the flow of his words echoed and soothed him, he began to relax. All of his worries and fears drifted away until they were unimportant, until the only thing that mattered was the rhythmic beat of rain against his body.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: PG
Word Count: 509
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Zahir gets more training, information, and dances in the rain.
Chapter Seventeen
The weather mages were accurate as always. As they sat, shivering slightly in the crisp air that forewarned of the coming storm, Zahir asked Jon something he’d been meaning to for days.
“In our legends, it is said that the Voice cannot die without training a successor. Is that true?”
Jon scoffed. “Of course not.” He picked at his fingernails. “To an extent. Voices are not known for putting themselves in harm's way. The type of foreknowledge you experienced against those bandits is a last-ditch resort, but yes, it is remarkably difficult to kill a Voice.”
“Besides,” he continued with a suddenly hollow voice, “it’s a gift from the gods. Fragile mortals cannot be trusted not to die unexpectedly.”
“Has it been done before?”
Jon paused as he consulted the past Voices in his mind. “Only once,” he answered slowly, “but there was a half-trained apprentice that managed to hold on to his sanity once the mantle of the Voice passed to him.”
Zahir felt a chill run through his body that was unrelated to the weather. “People go mad?”
“Not if they’re trained well. Which means that you might have some difficulties...” he trailed off, then laughed at the dismayed look on Zahir’s face. “Come on, you already know that I’m half-mad. Does it seem so terrible?”
The squire grumbled just slightly and shifted as the rain began to fall, tinkling as tiny bells against the clay tiles. That Jon didn’t want to answer directly could not be a good sign, but it was the only one he was going to get.
“Jon, when I am Voice,”- that was a certainty by now, right? - “you will lose much of your abilities. Aren’t you concerned that you cannot be a good king without it?”
The king snorted. “When you become Voice, I will have lived with this burden for nearly forty years. It will leave its mark on me, have no fear of that, and I would be a poor king indeed if I needed to rely on such a crutch.”
A loud crack of thunder echoed above them, and Zahir flinched. The deluge of rain began a breath later, leaving both of them soaked within seconds.
Jon laughed the open, delighted laugh of a child. He rose to his feet, hands outstretched, face upturned to the sky.
Zahir wondered at the man’s intense joy, his pleasure in such a small thing as rain.
“Come on, squire,” said Jon cheerfully. Then his voice grew increasingly hypnotic. “Relax. Feel the rain beat against your skin. Memorize the sensation of everything flowing away, of the tension and the stress, of the voices in the back of your mind, let them fade away until all you hear is the pitter-patter of raindrops.”
As Jon began, Zahir reluctantly stood up, but as the flow of his words echoed and soothed him, he began to relax. All of his worries and fears drifted away until they were unimportant, until the only thing that mattered was the rhythmic beat of rain against his body.
QC by: journeycat
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!