Post by Shhasow on Mar 20, 2011 8:29:41 GMT 10
Title: Son of the Desert (3)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 260
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Zahir has a creeping suspicion.
One of Zahir’s year-mates had blue eyes.
Roald of Conte, the crown prince, greeted him kindly and soberly. Zahir replied solemnly, though perhaps a beat too late for politeness. He was thrown by the intense blue eyes set in a pale face surrounded by deep black hair.
Before he could do more than register his surprise, the king entered the room and the pages rose to their feet.
The king spoke of duty, honor, and sacrifice, but Zahir heard little of it. Was it possible that he was the bastard son of the king? He squinted to see the king’s eye color, but was too far away to catch more than a glimpse of white teeth.
The king was the Voice of the Tribes, so he had to have been in the desert at some point, but when exactly was the question. Zahir was a bit ashamed at his lack of Bazhir history; he didn’t even know when the new Voice had been appointed. Was it five years ago? A decade?
No, it had to be longer than seven or eight. He would have remembered a new Voice, even as a child.
It was possible, Zahir decided. Possible, but unlikely. Even among the Bazhir, stories circulated about King Jonathan’s devotion to his Queen. He had visited the tribesmen since becoming Voice, but Zahir had never seen him personally.
No, it would be altogether too ironic to be a royal bastard. It simply wasn’t possible, nor as likely as being the byblow of a lascivious traveling merchant with the same name.
QC: by Cassandra
Rating: PG
Word Count: 260
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Zahir has a creeping suspicion.
One of Zahir’s year-mates had blue eyes.
Roald of Conte, the crown prince, greeted him kindly and soberly. Zahir replied solemnly, though perhaps a beat too late for politeness. He was thrown by the intense blue eyes set in a pale face surrounded by deep black hair.
Before he could do more than register his surprise, the king entered the room and the pages rose to their feet.
The king spoke of duty, honor, and sacrifice, but Zahir heard little of it. Was it possible that he was the bastard son of the king? He squinted to see the king’s eye color, but was too far away to catch more than a glimpse of white teeth.
The king was the Voice of the Tribes, so he had to have been in the desert at some point, but when exactly was the question. Zahir was a bit ashamed at his lack of Bazhir history; he didn’t even know when the new Voice had been appointed. Was it five years ago? A decade?
No, it had to be longer than seven or eight. He would have remembered a new Voice, even as a child.
It was possible, Zahir decided. Possible, but unlikely. Even among the Bazhir, stories circulated about King Jonathan’s devotion to his Queen. He had visited the tribesmen since becoming Voice, but Zahir had never seen him personally.
No, it would be altogether too ironic to be a royal bastard. It simply wasn’t possible, nor as likely as being the byblow of a lascivious traveling merchant with the same name.
QC: by Cassandra
I wanted one of those 'Zahir-is-Jon's-bastard-son' fics! 
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!