Post by Seek on May 14, 2013 5:55:32 GMT 10
Title: Black Tide
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 543 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 2A
Summary: AU, set in the Barren Boughs and Dry Stones universe. Jon breaks Roger's spell. The consequences are yet to be known.
Warnings: Very, very dark.
-
Alanna almost breaks their combined grip then, and that would have been disastrous. A lifetime of training not to drop her sword—of all things!—is what saves her from disaster right now, as she somehow manages to keep hold of Jon’s hand.
She’s so tired, all of a sudden. Jon’s taken her Gift so fast that the dizziness and the exhaustion hits her like a hammer. And then she uses Lightning, holds the sword point-down like a crutch. It occurs to her they’re sitting targets in here, that through the blue-washed-violet of the curtain of light, she can just barely see the fight that is going on out there in the chapel. She forces aside the weakness; she can deal with that later, she can’t afford that in the middle of a pitched battle.
Jon is trembling, seemingly on the verge of depletion himself; yet she watches as he draws on deeper and even deeper resources of magic that she never knew they possessed. The lattice of magical fire he weaves in the earth crumbles against Roger’s onslaught and deftly, untiring, he reweaves it, again and again. Mends it like a fisherman’s net.
Suddenly, Jon gives a shout of triumph, and a sharp stream of silver blazes, so bright that Alanna looks away and shields her face in the crook of her arm and still the bright silver sears itself into her closed eyelids.
Where did he summon the power from?
The rust-red of Roger’s earthquake spell is flooded with silver, attempts to drown it, but then crumbles and bleeds away, back into the earth. The bucking of the earth stops, all of a sudden, and it’s taken Alanna this long to realise she’s been ignoring it and no longer needs to.
Gasping, Jon says, “I did it. I cut his spell off.”
“Good,” Alanna says, grimly. “Any idea what to do about the blackness?”
It’s engulfed the whole hall by now, and yet it doesn’t seem to be doing anything to the combatants. Raoul has organised the men of the King’s Own, and they’re doing their best to hold against the two-front attack from Eldorne and Tirragen men. Eleni—Alanna casts her eyes about for her, and realises that Eleni has a dagger in hand, and George is fighting beside his mother. Their eyes meet; he gives her a grim nod and finishes off the man he’s battling with a series of dagger cuts too quick for her eye to follow.
George has the Sight. He knows, then.
Jon shakes his head, unhappily. “We’ll have to fight our way out,” he says. He’s exhausted, Alanna notices. He’s trembling, his face is gone pale, and still, he’s trying to do something about this. Alanna’s drained herself, but she searches deep within herself. Her Gift is now a tiny violet seed, but she sends a trickle of strength into Jon, nonetheless.
It can’t have been enough to help, but it takes the edge of his pallor and he nods his thanks. His back is straighter now; he doesn’t have a sword. Alanna holds Lightning out to him, but Jon shakes his head.
“It’s your sword,” he tells her.
Their circle of light comes down, and the black tide floods in in its absence.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 543 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 2A
Summary: AU, set in the Barren Boughs and Dry Stones universe. Jon breaks Roger's spell. The consequences are yet to be known.
Warnings: Very, very dark.
-
Alanna almost breaks their combined grip then, and that would have been disastrous. A lifetime of training not to drop her sword—of all things!—is what saves her from disaster right now, as she somehow manages to keep hold of Jon’s hand.
She’s so tired, all of a sudden. Jon’s taken her Gift so fast that the dizziness and the exhaustion hits her like a hammer. And then she uses Lightning, holds the sword point-down like a crutch. It occurs to her they’re sitting targets in here, that through the blue-washed-violet of the curtain of light, she can just barely see the fight that is going on out there in the chapel. She forces aside the weakness; she can deal with that later, she can’t afford that in the middle of a pitched battle.
Jon is trembling, seemingly on the verge of depletion himself; yet she watches as he draws on deeper and even deeper resources of magic that she never knew they possessed. The lattice of magical fire he weaves in the earth crumbles against Roger’s onslaught and deftly, untiring, he reweaves it, again and again. Mends it like a fisherman’s net.
Suddenly, Jon gives a shout of triumph, and a sharp stream of silver blazes, so bright that Alanna looks away and shields her face in the crook of her arm and still the bright silver sears itself into her closed eyelids.
Where did he summon the power from?
The rust-red of Roger’s earthquake spell is flooded with silver, attempts to drown it, but then crumbles and bleeds away, back into the earth. The bucking of the earth stops, all of a sudden, and it’s taken Alanna this long to realise she’s been ignoring it and no longer needs to.
Gasping, Jon says, “I did it. I cut his spell off.”
“Good,” Alanna says, grimly. “Any idea what to do about the blackness?”
It’s engulfed the whole hall by now, and yet it doesn’t seem to be doing anything to the combatants. Raoul has organised the men of the King’s Own, and they’re doing their best to hold against the two-front attack from Eldorne and Tirragen men. Eleni—Alanna casts her eyes about for her, and realises that Eleni has a dagger in hand, and George is fighting beside his mother. Their eyes meet; he gives her a grim nod and finishes off the man he’s battling with a series of dagger cuts too quick for her eye to follow.
George has the Sight. He knows, then.
Jon shakes his head, unhappily. “We’ll have to fight our way out,” he says. He’s exhausted, Alanna notices. He’s trembling, his face is gone pale, and still, he’s trying to do something about this. Alanna’s drained herself, but she searches deep within herself. Her Gift is now a tiny violet seed, but she sends a trickle of strength into Jon, nonetheless.
It can’t have been enough to help, but it takes the edge of his pallor and he nods his thanks. His back is straighter now; he doesn’t have a sword. Alanna holds Lightning out to him, but Jon shakes his head.
“It’s your sword,” he tells her.
Their circle of light comes down, and the black tide floods in in its absence.