Post by EymberFyire on Apr 21, 2013 8:58:56 GMT 10
Title: The Politics of the Heart 5, PG
Rating: PG
Word Count: 589
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The politics of Tortall are changing, and Kel and Lalasa are caught on opposite sides of the debate.
Warnings: None
A/N: I'm incredibly interested in the play between Yamani and Tortallan culture that is beginning to happen at the end of PoTS. Politics is my Activist!Lalasa storyline that explores that.
“....drawn a line through the city here” his blunt finger slamming down onto the map, “and here.” and he stood rigidly at attention.
“Effectively cutting off the path of rioters from both sides. Interesting.”
“Interesting, M’lord?” and Myles chuckled at the earnest man before him, still bearing the blue and silver of the Own with pride all these years later.
His loyalty was truly touching, despite all the demands the Own has asked of him. He never wavered in his commitment to the Giantkiller, and never to the organization that had so hesitantly accepted him, and asked so much of him. Even now, so many years later, he limped a bit and the burn scars on his back creeped out of his tunic and up the side of his neck.
“Captain Edlorne... please relax. You’re making my joins ache, standing so rigidly.”
Lerant blinked once, then complied.
“Much better. Now help me up.”
Lerant was at his side in an instant, easing Myles out of the high backed chair by the fire and over to the map with care. Myles gratefully took his arm, walking with small steps to the table, then leaned against it as he squinted down towards Corus in miniature.
His voice and eyesight may have been weaker than they once were, but his mind was as sharp as ever.
“Tell me, Lerant. How violent has it become?”
He heard the question as much as he saw it in the shape of the man’s body. Details in faces may have escaped him, but by the Gods he could still deduce things.
“Violent? Sir Myles... surely you know...” and he shrugged. “It’s not... violent. Not very, anyway. Not since” and Myles dry, leathery laughter interrupted him. He laughed, for a long time, until his laugh gave into wheezing coughs and he had to gulp a hastily offered glass of honey water.
“Not since the first two weeks.” Myles finished for him and Lerant tilted his head, puzzled. “Never mind, my boy. Let’s just say say I am vindicated and leave it at that.”
He chuckled again, then sighed. “All right, then. Little violence other than,” and his inherently cynical nature twisted his mouth sideways, “unfortunate “isolated incidences of deplorable violence” against some poor sod or wench who says or does something “questionable””. He pauses. Calms himself. Looks to the light space that indicates his window. Shuffles over to it.
There was a question he was avoiding asking, because it was selfish and distracting. Interweaving the personal with intelligence work invariably led to analysis colored by bias.
None-the-less, he can’t help but think back to a time he had sat with a group of promising young pages, lecturing them on the impossibility of their Chivalric code. How he’d almost had to reassess his notion when a page - a child had given up on her dreams to try to rescue her maid.
After a moment, Lerant follows him to the window, standing a respectful distance back and to his right. He wonders if the man even realizes where he has chose to stand. Old habits, it seemed, died hard.
What an irony, this situation now. What had Buri once said? “See, I try to beat the idealism out of Rider trainees. It just ruins their ability to give a fair report.”
He asks, very quietly, “And the city’s Knight-Mediator?”
The tone of Lerant’s voice said more than his expression ever could. “She performs her duty admirably.”
Habits, it seemed, died hard for them all.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 589
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The politics of Tortall are changing, and Kel and Lalasa are caught on opposite sides of the debate.
Warnings: None
A/N: I'm incredibly interested in the play between Yamani and Tortallan culture that is beginning to happen at the end of PoTS. Politics is my Activist!Lalasa storyline that explores that.
“....drawn a line through the city here” his blunt finger slamming down onto the map, “and here.” and he stood rigidly at attention.
“Effectively cutting off the path of rioters from both sides. Interesting.”
“Interesting, M’lord?” and Myles chuckled at the earnest man before him, still bearing the blue and silver of the Own with pride all these years later.
His loyalty was truly touching, despite all the demands the Own has asked of him. He never wavered in his commitment to the Giantkiller, and never to the organization that had so hesitantly accepted him, and asked so much of him. Even now, so many years later, he limped a bit and the burn scars on his back creeped out of his tunic and up the side of his neck.
“Captain Edlorne... please relax. You’re making my joins ache, standing so rigidly.”
Lerant blinked once, then complied.
“Much better. Now help me up.”
Lerant was at his side in an instant, easing Myles out of the high backed chair by the fire and over to the map with care. Myles gratefully took his arm, walking with small steps to the table, then leaned against it as he squinted down towards Corus in miniature.
His voice and eyesight may have been weaker than they once were, but his mind was as sharp as ever.
“Tell me, Lerant. How violent has it become?”
He heard the question as much as he saw it in the shape of the man’s body. Details in faces may have escaped him, but by the Gods he could still deduce things.
“Violent? Sir Myles... surely you know...” and he shrugged. “It’s not... violent. Not very, anyway. Not since” and Myles dry, leathery laughter interrupted him. He laughed, for a long time, until his laugh gave into wheezing coughs and he had to gulp a hastily offered glass of honey water.
“Not since the first two weeks.” Myles finished for him and Lerant tilted his head, puzzled. “Never mind, my boy. Let’s just say say I am vindicated and leave it at that.”
He chuckled again, then sighed. “All right, then. Little violence other than,” and his inherently cynical nature twisted his mouth sideways, “unfortunate “isolated incidences of deplorable violence” against some poor sod or wench who says or does something “questionable””. He pauses. Calms himself. Looks to the light space that indicates his window. Shuffles over to it.
There was a question he was avoiding asking, because it was selfish and distracting. Interweaving the personal with intelligence work invariably led to analysis colored by bias.
None-the-less, he can’t help but think back to a time he had sat with a group of promising young pages, lecturing them on the impossibility of their Chivalric code. How he’d almost had to reassess his notion when a page - a child had given up on her dreams to try to rescue her maid.
After a moment, Lerant follows him to the window, standing a respectful distance back and to his right. He wonders if the man even realizes where he has chose to stand. Old habits, it seemed, died hard.
What an irony, this situation now. What had Buri once said? “See, I try to beat the idealism out of Rider trainees. It just ruins their ability to give a fair report.”
He asks, very quietly, “And the city’s Knight-Mediator?”
The tone of Lerant’s voice said more than his expression ever could. “She performs her duty admirably.”
Habits, it seemed, died hard for them all.