Post by wordy on Mar 10, 2011 14:11:42 GMT 10
Title: A is for Artery
Rating: G
Word Count: 523
Pairing: Jon/Zahir – Team Bend-a-lot
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: (n) a tubular vessel that conveys blood from the heart; any main channel of transport or communication
A/N: I can’t remember if anyone wrote an alphabet series last year, but I thought I’d try it out. The fics in this series aren’t necessarily chronological, and can all be read as stand alones.
“It won’t make a difference,” says Zahir. His eyes flit over the papers scattered on the king’s desk, the way that the king looks up at him from under a furrowed brow.
“I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re referring to,” says Jonathan, his voice even. It irritates Zahir already; the way he talks stinks of political correctness and a confidence verging on arrogance. Mentally, Zahir adds this to his growing doubts column – already it seems as if there is no possible way that he can accept the offer, no possible way that he can endure years by this man’s side.
Jonathan says no more, merely looks at him for a moment and then returns to his work. Zahir tries to swallow his annoyance, “Making me your squire will make no difference to the tribes. They won’t thank you for it, or think better of you. The headsmen and the people can recognise as well as I can what your offer really is.” A stunt, a gamble. The thought hurts him more than he would ever admit, but he knows how unlikely it is that another knight will approach him now; everyone has heard of the king’s proposition. He’ll wait as long as it takes, however many months it may be until Jonathan’s taint wears off of him.
“I’m beginning to see that,” says the king, putting down his quill and leaning back in his chair. Zahir is startled enough to let the man’s very blue stare capture his. He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side.
“Sire?”
Jonathan smiles, and it’s almost conspiratory. “I’ll admit that my intentions where somewhat tainted to begin with – you must understand how important it is that the Bazhir remain friends to the crown. But you’re correct, I can see that clearly now. A move like this will be viewed by the Bazhir as no more than that – a political move.”
Zahir attempts to arrange the cacophony of thoughts that are running through his mind. “Does that mean – you’re withdrawing your offer to be my knight master?”
“No,” says Jonathan. He taps his fingers on the edge of the desk. “My offer still stands. But understand this, Zahir ibn Alhaz; if you decide to be my squire, it won’t be as a pawn. You’re intelligent, a level-headed thinker both on and off the field, and I know that you will benefit from having me as your knight master,” he smiles and shakes his head at the look on Zahir’s face, “though you may not realise it now.”
Zahir frowns. “Yet everyone will still see it as a political manoeuvre, sire.”
“That is very likely, and I’m afraid unavoidable,” answers Jonathan. “No matter who I choose for a squire, there will always be certain implications. I can’t stop people from talking.”
It is, thinks Zahir, curiosity that finally makes him accept. The king smiles, and despite all of Zahir’s previous convictions, he recognises that it’s genuine. A strange feeling comes over him then, and it isn’t until he’s back in his rooms and packing up his things that he recognises it for what it is. Hope.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: G
Word Count: 523
Pairing: Jon/Zahir – Team Bend-a-lot
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: (n) a tubular vessel that conveys blood from the heart; any main channel of transport or communication
A/N: I can’t remember if anyone wrote an alphabet series last year, but I thought I’d try it out. The fics in this series aren’t necessarily chronological, and can all be read as stand alones.
“It won’t make a difference,” says Zahir. His eyes flit over the papers scattered on the king’s desk, the way that the king looks up at him from under a furrowed brow.
“I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re referring to,” says Jonathan, his voice even. It irritates Zahir already; the way he talks stinks of political correctness and a confidence verging on arrogance. Mentally, Zahir adds this to his growing doubts column – already it seems as if there is no possible way that he can accept the offer, no possible way that he can endure years by this man’s side.
Jonathan says no more, merely looks at him for a moment and then returns to his work. Zahir tries to swallow his annoyance, “Making me your squire will make no difference to the tribes. They won’t thank you for it, or think better of you. The headsmen and the people can recognise as well as I can what your offer really is.” A stunt, a gamble. The thought hurts him more than he would ever admit, but he knows how unlikely it is that another knight will approach him now; everyone has heard of the king’s proposition. He’ll wait as long as it takes, however many months it may be until Jonathan’s taint wears off of him.
“I’m beginning to see that,” says the king, putting down his quill and leaning back in his chair. Zahir is startled enough to let the man’s very blue stare capture his. He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side.
“Sire?”
Jonathan smiles, and it’s almost conspiratory. “I’ll admit that my intentions where somewhat tainted to begin with – you must understand how important it is that the Bazhir remain friends to the crown. But you’re correct, I can see that clearly now. A move like this will be viewed by the Bazhir as no more than that – a political move.”
Zahir attempts to arrange the cacophony of thoughts that are running through his mind. “Does that mean – you’re withdrawing your offer to be my knight master?”
“No,” says Jonathan. He taps his fingers on the edge of the desk. “My offer still stands. But understand this, Zahir ibn Alhaz; if you decide to be my squire, it won’t be as a pawn. You’re intelligent, a level-headed thinker both on and off the field, and I know that you will benefit from having me as your knight master,” he smiles and shakes his head at the look on Zahir’s face, “though you may not realise it now.”
Zahir frowns. “Yet everyone will still see it as a political manoeuvre, sire.”
“That is very likely, and I’m afraid unavoidable,” answers Jonathan. “No matter who I choose for a squire, there will always be certain implications. I can’t stop people from talking.”
It is, thinks Zahir, curiosity that finally makes him accept. The king smiles, and despite all of Zahir’s previous convictions, he recognises that it’s genuine. A strange feeling comes over him then, and it isn’t until he’s back in his rooms and packing up his things that he recognises it for what it is. Hope.
QC by: journeycat