Post by luinae on Mar 11, 2011 13:52:30 GMT 10
Title: The Next Voice (5)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 680
Pairing: Jon/Zahir – Team Bend-a-lot
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Jon is training Zahir to be the next voice. Uhhh, this fic sort of went out of control, and I turned Zahir's father into a total piece of work. So, yeah, I'm not sure what to think of it, but as a warning, there are mentions of abuse.
Zahir stayed lying down on the floor, as the symphony of voices in his head died out to the dull murmur of the Bazhir people he loved. Jon touched his back, and Zahir stiffened out of pure instinct, and when Jon tried to roll up his shirt, Zahir rolled away, feeling the blood pound in his ears.
“Sir, what are you doing?” Zahir asked, hating how panicky his voice sounded. The same movements- lying face down on the mat, having his father roll his shirt up to punish him for some misdoing- it was far, far too close for his liking.
“Look at me, Zahir.” The king’s voice sounded a long way away over the fear that pounded against the inside of Zahir’s skull. “I am not going to hit you.”
Zahir cursed inwardly, remembering that the Voice could understand his thoughts when they were in communion.
“I apologize, your majesty,” he said stiffly. “I did not mean to start like that. Please forgive me.”
Jon made a motion like he was going to grip Zahir’s arm, but thought better of it, perhaps realizing that it would only startle him.
“Zahir, I realize that it’s Bazhir custom to hit your children, and I should have been more considerate of that. It is I who should be apologizing,” said the King, his voice fighting to hide an emotion that was too much like pity for Zahir’s liking.
“It’s not my father’s fault that his children needed to be taught the value of obedience, respect, and hard work,” protested Zahir; voice steely. “If anything, it is our fault for not being proper Bazhir children.”
“No.” Jon’s voice was very hard. “Zahir, nothing you could have done as a child gives your father the right to beat you-”
“My father was a good man!” Zahir protested, cutting off the king.
“I’m not saying he wasn’t,” Jon said soothingly. “I’m saying he was wrong to beat you.”
Zahir was quiet- he didn’t want to think about it, or talk about it. He wanted to bury those memories in peace.
“Zahir, please look at me.” The king’s voice was soft, but it was a command none the less. Zahir looked up into his knightmaster’s face, glad to see all traces of pity were banished from it. “I will never hurt you, not intentionally. I may assign you lots of work, or yell at you, or make you do things that you rather wouldn’t, but I will never hit you; I will never beat you.”
“Until I do something wrong, that is,” Zahir said bitterly, unable to stop the flow of emotions. “That’s what my father always said. “
Before Zahir could so much as blink- the king, the voice, his knightmaster- Jon had slid down to his knees. “I give you my word as the King of Tortall that I will never intentionally injure, beat, or otherwise harm you,” Jonathon intoned solemnly, his head bowed. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to Zahir- Jon was the voice, the king- and there he was kneeling on the floor like Zahir was someone important. His knightmaster then stood.
In return, Zahir knelt, bowing his head. “And I, Zahir, chief of the Bazhir tribe Sand Horse, give you my word that I will serve you as both the king and the Voice.” He took a deep breath. “I am yours to command, my liege.” It was hard to admit that- not to the Voice, but to the King.
Jon placed a hand on Zahir’s bowed head; and this time, Zahir didn’t stiffen. Then the king pulled him up.
“Why did you do that, your majesty?” Zahir wanted to know. “You didn’t have to promise me that- you are the King. You can do whatever you wish.”
“Just because I can hurt people doesn’t mean I should,” Jon said. “Zahir, you have been a loyal and hardworking squire to me. The actions of others are not your fault. You deserved that promise, squire.”
Zahir could do nothing in response but bow deeply. “Thank you, your majesty.”
QC by: Cassandra
Rating: PG
Word Count: 680
Pairing: Jon/Zahir – Team Bend-a-lot
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Jon is training Zahir to be the next voice. Uhhh, this fic sort of went out of control, and I turned Zahir's father into a total piece of work. So, yeah, I'm not sure what to think of it, but as a warning, there are mentions of abuse.
Zahir stayed lying down on the floor, as the symphony of voices in his head died out to the dull murmur of the Bazhir people he loved. Jon touched his back, and Zahir stiffened out of pure instinct, and when Jon tried to roll up his shirt, Zahir rolled away, feeling the blood pound in his ears.
“Sir, what are you doing?” Zahir asked, hating how panicky his voice sounded. The same movements- lying face down on the mat, having his father roll his shirt up to punish him for some misdoing- it was far, far too close for his liking.
“Look at me, Zahir.” The king’s voice sounded a long way away over the fear that pounded against the inside of Zahir’s skull. “I am not going to hit you.”
Zahir cursed inwardly, remembering that the Voice could understand his thoughts when they were in communion.
“I apologize, your majesty,” he said stiffly. “I did not mean to start like that. Please forgive me.”
Jon made a motion like he was going to grip Zahir’s arm, but thought better of it, perhaps realizing that it would only startle him.
“Zahir, I realize that it’s Bazhir custom to hit your children, and I should have been more considerate of that. It is I who should be apologizing,” said the King, his voice fighting to hide an emotion that was too much like pity for Zahir’s liking.
“It’s not my father’s fault that his children needed to be taught the value of obedience, respect, and hard work,” protested Zahir; voice steely. “If anything, it is our fault for not being proper Bazhir children.”
“No.” Jon’s voice was very hard. “Zahir, nothing you could have done as a child gives your father the right to beat you-”
“My father was a good man!” Zahir protested, cutting off the king.
“I’m not saying he wasn’t,” Jon said soothingly. “I’m saying he was wrong to beat you.”
Zahir was quiet- he didn’t want to think about it, or talk about it. He wanted to bury those memories in peace.
“Zahir, please look at me.” The king’s voice was soft, but it was a command none the less. Zahir looked up into his knightmaster’s face, glad to see all traces of pity were banished from it. “I will never hurt you, not intentionally. I may assign you lots of work, or yell at you, or make you do things that you rather wouldn’t, but I will never hit you; I will never beat you.”
“Until I do something wrong, that is,” Zahir said bitterly, unable to stop the flow of emotions. “That’s what my father always said. “
Before Zahir could so much as blink- the king, the voice, his knightmaster- Jon had slid down to his knees. “I give you my word as the King of Tortall that I will never intentionally injure, beat, or otherwise harm you,” Jonathon intoned solemnly, his head bowed. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to Zahir- Jon was the voice, the king- and there he was kneeling on the floor like Zahir was someone important. His knightmaster then stood.
In return, Zahir knelt, bowing his head. “And I, Zahir, chief of the Bazhir tribe Sand Horse, give you my word that I will serve you as both the king and the Voice.” He took a deep breath. “I am yours to command, my liege.” It was hard to admit that- not to the Voice, but to the King.
Jon placed a hand on Zahir’s bowed head; and this time, Zahir didn’t stiffen. Then the king pulled him up.
“Why did you do that, your majesty?” Zahir wanted to know. “You didn’t have to promise me that- you are the King. You can do whatever you wish.”
“Just because I can hurt people doesn’t mean I should,” Jon said. “Zahir, you have been a loyal and hardworking squire to me. The actions of others are not your fault. You deserved that promise, squire.”
Zahir could do nothing in response but bow deeply. “Thank you, your majesty.”
QC by: Cassandra