Post by sidonie on Mar 12, 2011 18:40:25 GMT 10
Title: Tremble For Yourself
Rating: PG
Word Count: 858
Pairing: Jon/Zahir – Team Bend-a-lot
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Our favorite duo visit the Dancing Dove, and Zahir says something he shouldn't.
Author's Note: Part five of my series inspired by Mumford and Sons' "Little Lion Man." Each piece will begin with the lyrics that relate to it. Lots of angst.
~~~~~~
“Tremble for yourself, my man/You know that you have seen this all before”
With the royal procession and the rising tensions at the border with Scanra, every moment of Zahir's day was filled with training, socializing, or paperwork. He read supply lists, talked to quartermasters, witnessed royal decrees, helped settle disputes between noblemen spoiling for a fight, tended his gear, rode and practiced his sword work every chance he got, and did a million other duties ranging from mind-numbing to heart-pounding. Sleep was secondary, relaxation even more so.
But one night, as he squinted at Sir Gareth of Naxen's illegible scrawl, Jon walked up and clapped him on the back. “No more,” he announced.
“Sir?”
“If we continued this for another moment, I would worry about your mental health. And mine. So let's go out.”
Zahir gave him a quizzical stare. In the months he had been a squire, he thought he had come to some sort of understanding of the king, but occasionally he found himself as baffled as at the start.
“Kings don't just 'go out,' sir,” he protested.
“They don't,” Jon conceded. “But not all kings have friends in the Rogue.”
So it came to be that Zahir and the ruler of Tortall sat up late in the Dancing Dove. Jon was disguised, his beard shorn and skin browned so he looked like another Bazhir. The transformation was surprisingly convincing, and his squire began to wonder just how often the king went among his people without fanfare.
They took spots at a corner table, where Jon ordered them ale. He was different than Zahir had ever seen him, the courtier's mask completely dropped for the first time. He joked with thieves and cutpurses, flirted with flower girls, and demonstrated unexpected skill at slights of hand. When he caught his squire staring wide-eyed at him as he made a copper noble vanish from sight, he winked.
“I had a more disreputable youth than most people know,” he laughed. “Alanna—then Alan—befriended George early in her page years, and she began bringing us here. You don't mingle with the Rogue without picking up a few tricks.”
Perhaps Zahir had drunk too much at that point, because before he could stop to think who he was talking to, he snorted bitterly. “Should have known the witch was also a criminal,” he muttered.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he went cold. He looked up to meet Jon's gaze, expecting a blow or a dismissal.
The king sighed, toying with his mug. “Zahir, I can only think your prejudice is born of staggering ignorance. Do you know how many times the Lady Alanna has saved my life? Or preserved the future of this nation? I don't. I've lost count.” He met his squire's eyes steadily. “She not only managed to preserve the illusion of being a man for years, but in the meantime became the best of us, working at all hours. She had little natural skill with a sword, and yet practiced so incessantly that within a year she had no equal in court. She was—and is—recklessly brave, with the ability to throw herself headlong into a situation and emerge victorious. She never sought notoriety, but gained it even before her sex was revealed, simply for her obvious talent. When she was revealed—after killing the most dangerous man this kingdom has ever faced—she did not revel in the attention, but fled to your people, where she learned your customs and became beloved, despite everything against her. You know the Bazhir, and they do not give respect where it is not earned. She had the opportunity to become my Queen, but would not because she knew she could never be what this country needs in a monarch. She has shown more courage, strength, and intelligence than I had thought possible in anyone, man or woman, and she is still among the dearest of my friends and advisers.
“I know a speech cannot immediately change your hatefulness, but I want you to have all the facts. When you meet her—and you will, I promise—do so with an open mind and heart, because you may never know a better person. I pray to Mithros you will be able to move past this backwards attitude, which denies the humanity and skill of half our citizens. If not, I will have failed you.”
With that, the king stood and went to talk with the bartender, leaving Zahir in the corner. The squire stared fixedly at the tabletop, trembling with rage, grief, and confusion. Before he had become Jon's squire, he would have dismissed it as lies without blinking, but he had spent every day since then observing the king's direct and honest dealings with his subjects, and now his mind was a chaos of contradictory opinion. If he believed in Jon—as he was perhaps beginning to—did it follow that he believed in the lady knight?
He had no answer, and so he finished his ale and left. Although he was still inclined to believe her an abomination and likely a whore, he would reserve judgment for now. It was safer that way.
QC by: Katty
Rating: PG
Word Count: 858
Pairing: Jon/Zahir – Team Bend-a-lot
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Our favorite duo visit the Dancing Dove, and Zahir says something he shouldn't.
Author's Note: Part five of my series inspired by Mumford and Sons' "Little Lion Man." Each piece will begin with the lyrics that relate to it. Lots of angst.
~~~~~~
“Tremble for yourself, my man/You know that you have seen this all before”
With the royal procession and the rising tensions at the border with Scanra, every moment of Zahir's day was filled with training, socializing, or paperwork. He read supply lists, talked to quartermasters, witnessed royal decrees, helped settle disputes between noblemen spoiling for a fight, tended his gear, rode and practiced his sword work every chance he got, and did a million other duties ranging from mind-numbing to heart-pounding. Sleep was secondary, relaxation even more so.
But one night, as he squinted at Sir Gareth of Naxen's illegible scrawl, Jon walked up and clapped him on the back. “No more,” he announced.
“Sir?”
“If we continued this for another moment, I would worry about your mental health. And mine. So let's go out.”
Zahir gave him a quizzical stare. In the months he had been a squire, he thought he had come to some sort of understanding of the king, but occasionally he found himself as baffled as at the start.
“Kings don't just 'go out,' sir,” he protested.
“They don't,” Jon conceded. “But not all kings have friends in the Rogue.”
-----
So it came to be that Zahir and the ruler of Tortall sat up late in the Dancing Dove. Jon was disguised, his beard shorn and skin browned so he looked like another Bazhir. The transformation was surprisingly convincing, and his squire began to wonder just how often the king went among his people without fanfare.
They took spots at a corner table, where Jon ordered them ale. He was different than Zahir had ever seen him, the courtier's mask completely dropped for the first time. He joked with thieves and cutpurses, flirted with flower girls, and demonstrated unexpected skill at slights of hand. When he caught his squire staring wide-eyed at him as he made a copper noble vanish from sight, he winked.
“I had a more disreputable youth than most people know,” he laughed. “Alanna—then Alan—befriended George early in her page years, and she began bringing us here. You don't mingle with the Rogue without picking up a few tricks.”
Perhaps Zahir had drunk too much at that point, because before he could stop to think who he was talking to, he snorted bitterly. “Should have known the witch was also a criminal,” he muttered.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he went cold. He looked up to meet Jon's gaze, expecting a blow or a dismissal.
The king sighed, toying with his mug. “Zahir, I can only think your prejudice is born of staggering ignorance. Do you know how many times the Lady Alanna has saved my life? Or preserved the future of this nation? I don't. I've lost count.” He met his squire's eyes steadily. “She not only managed to preserve the illusion of being a man for years, but in the meantime became the best of us, working at all hours. She had little natural skill with a sword, and yet practiced so incessantly that within a year she had no equal in court. She was—and is—recklessly brave, with the ability to throw herself headlong into a situation and emerge victorious. She never sought notoriety, but gained it even before her sex was revealed, simply for her obvious talent. When she was revealed—after killing the most dangerous man this kingdom has ever faced—she did not revel in the attention, but fled to your people, where she learned your customs and became beloved, despite everything against her. You know the Bazhir, and they do not give respect where it is not earned. She had the opportunity to become my Queen, but would not because she knew she could never be what this country needs in a monarch. She has shown more courage, strength, and intelligence than I had thought possible in anyone, man or woman, and she is still among the dearest of my friends and advisers.
“I know a speech cannot immediately change your hatefulness, but I want you to have all the facts. When you meet her—and you will, I promise—do so with an open mind and heart, because you may never know a better person. I pray to Mithros you will be able to move past this backwards attitude, which denies the humanity and skill of half our citizens. If not, I will have failed you.”
With that, the king stood and went to talk with the bartender, leaving Zahir in the corner. The squire stared fixedly at the tabletop, trembling with rage, grief, and confusion. Before he had become Jon's squire, he would have dismissed it as lies without blinking, but he had spent every day since then observing the king's direct and honest dealings with his subjects, and now his mind was a chaos of contradictory opinion. If he believed in Jon—as he was perhaps beginning to—did it follow that he believed in the lady knight?
He had no answer, and so he finished his ale and left. Although he was still inclined to believe her an abomination and likely a whore, he would reserve judgment for now. It was safer that way.
QC by: Katty