FIC: On the Importance of Blood (Rannon/Rylerion)
Title: On the Importance of Blood
Author: Soawen (soawen livejournal com)
Rating: R for slash, kissing, and mentions of child abuse
Summary: Rylerion goes to convince Rannon to convince Isokell to stay away but as usual nothing turns out as the king plans.
Word count: 1313
AN: I'm sure crack ideas like this is why you have missed me ;) Also, unbetaed. Alsoalso, probably way out of tune with silvestris' time line etc.
Rylerion ignored the glare Keelavata gave him, entered the training hall and closed the doors behind him as quietly as he could. She had complained about this since he had asked her where Rannon was and it had not been the usual 'why haven't you killed him yet' complains. More 'this is going to be the death of you, you idiot' complaining.
At least she had not yelled or tried to beat some sense into him, something she had threatened to do plenty of times.
Rylerion disliked people yelling at him or hitting him. He blamed his childhood as even he could not find anything that could make it Rannon's fault. Not that he had not tried, but it just had not stuck.
The training hall was dark; the moonlight interrupted by drifting clouds.
He briefly considered calling Keelavata and the guards back but kept silent. This was a discussion he would rather remained private as word should not reach Isokell. He liked being on speaking terms with his daughter, thank you very much.
But maybe it was foolish not to announce his presence. Sneaking up on a sword master practicing in the dark was dangerously stupid, but on the other hand he wanted to catch Rannon when he was absorbed in something else than plotting, and according to Keelavata this was only when he was wielding a blade.
Keeping one hand on the wall, Rylerion made his way towards the sound of steel slicing air. Closer, and he could hear bare feet on stone and harsh breathing.
Close enough, then.
Following the shards of moonlight caught in the blade with his eyes, Rylerion watched the pattern of an advanced series of blocks and quick cuts. In his own mind he did them as well, the familiar movements making his heart slow to a normal rhythm and his hands sweat less. He barely noticed when Rannon moved into a slower routine, keeping to sweeps and parries.
When the blade slid too far to the left Rannon kept going, but repeated the entire set twice more, both times perfect, before continuing with a series of quick lunges and stabs.
Happy that he had not called out, Rylerion leaned against the wall and let himself be soothed. He was not going to dwell on the fact that he often thought that had Rannon not been under the influence of the ring, Rylerion would not have won that duel or that he might have to challenge his uncle to keep Isokell safe. Right now, he let the flashes of steel melt into his mind and give him the peace he often found in his own sword.
Suddenly the moon broke through and Rannon danced out of the dark, impeccably clad and wielding a sword that seemed only a touch warmer than his eyes. He was made from silver and shadow and in this instant Rylerion knew just who would wear the crown should it ever come to a rematch, but it did not scare him. He loved his blade, but it was not what he would turn to in dark times, not the only thing he would ever trust.
For the first time, Rylerion saw Rannon without the past between them and he was beautiful.
Then Rannon saw Rylerion and stopped dead, his face hardening into the mask it always was.
"What do you want? Sire." But Rannon had lowered his sword, so Rylerion did not move away from the wall or draw his own blade. He had promised Relonia he would try to reason with Rannon and he would hold to that.
"I wish a word with you in private, uncle. I have sent the guards away." He did stand up straight, though. The few fingers of height difference always seemed like feet when Rannon sneered down at him.
"Do you indeed, nephew. And what might those words be about? Your family, perhaps?"
"No. Our family. She is your grandniece."
"I am aware of that."
Rannon sheathed his sword and Rylerion's fingers began to itch after delivering just one good blow to the mocking lips.
"And that doesn't stop you? That she is just a little girl-"
Rylerion blinked. Had Rannon just hit him? By the familiar taste of blood and the way Rannon was rubbing his hand and looking a bit surprised at himself, yes.
"So it does stop you," he said, somewhat lisping but not caring. He had never liked Rannon more.
"Of course it does," Rannon said, his face a mask again. "Do not mistake me for whatever poor excuses for human beings you had to spend your time with before you came here."
And there it was. What Lazuli and he had only talked about in half sentences and healing touches and what Relonia had only asked about once, never to bring it up again.
Rylerion sagged against the wall, clutching his sword to remind himself of the years between then and now. "How-"
"You think I ruled by being ignorant? The only good thing to come of your ... relations with Machra-La was you coming somewhat to terms with it as it made you less vulnerable."
Rannon stepped close, eyes angry and heated. He slammed his hands into the wall on each side of Rylerion's head, leaning close so the smell of clean sweat and steel made Rylerion tremble.
"You have a responsibility to your realm, your majesty. You cannot be weak. You cannot allow yourself to see enemies where none are when you have plenty around or I swear I will take Kayalana from you to protect it from harm. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Rylerion whispered. Oddly enough the threat was a comfort. Should he fail, Rannon would be there to guard the kingdom against outside enemies.
"Good. I will not see Kayalana fall because you could not separate your role as a father and a king."
Rannon made to push away, but Rylerion suddenly felt the blood on his lips and remembered the other half of what he had meant to force Rannon to realize. Grapping the former king's clothes he pulled him so tight that Rannon's hair brushed his face like sharp butterfly wings. If he did not do something now, Rannon would simply bide his time until Isokell was not a child anymore. The thought made his vision blur and his teeth grit.
"Don't you dare walk away from me, uncle. She is more than a child, she is your grandniece. She is blood."
"I am aware of that." To Rylerion's satisfaction Rannon was looking less angry and more intrigued by the sudden force.
"Are you? Because to me, blood does not touch blood!"
"No?" Rannon asked.
"No," Rylerion said, suddenly realizing that he was not holding fistfuls of cloth but was under it, mapping the difference between Rannon's unforgiving hard lines, Relonia's supple curves, and Lazuli's smooth grace. "… No?"
And then Rannon was bruising his mouth again but this time with unyielding lips and insistent tongue, and Rylerion just could not let him get away with that, so he held him tight, tighter, and fought back with his own mouth, giving as good as he got until Rannon raised his head with a sigh and brushed a final kiss on Rylerion's forehead.
"Another thing you shouldn't do, nephew, is to forget that blood is not all. I will never admit to saying this, but in the end a person is more than what he or she is born as. Good night."
If Rylerion had not felt something hard against his hip as Rannon pulled away, he might have through the entire thing but another strategic movement from the master schemer. As it was, he watched his uncle walk away, wiped the blood from his face and walked back to his wife to discuss how and how soon they could send Rannon away from court.
Author: Soawen (soawen livejournal com)
Rating: R for slash, kissing, and mentions of child abuse
Summary: Rylerion goes to convince Rannon to convince Isokell to stay away but as usual nothing turns out as the king plans.
Word count: 1313
AN: I'm sure crack ideas like this is why you have missed me ;) Also, unbetaed. Alsoalso, probably way out of tune with silvestris' time line etc.
Rylerion ignored the glare Keelavata gave him, entered the training hall and closed the doors behind him as quietly as he could. She had complained about this since he had asked her where Rannon was and it had not been the usual 'why haven't you killed him yet' complains. More 'this is going to be the death of you, you idiot' complaining.
At least she had not yelled or tried to beat some sense into him, something she had threatened to do plenty of times.
Rylerion disliked people yelling at him or hitting him. He blamed his childhood as even he could not find anything that could make it Rannon's fault. Not that he had not tried, but it just had not stuck.
The training hall was dark; the moonlight interrupted by drifting clouds.
He briefly considered calling Keelavata and the guards back but kept silent. This was a discussion he would rather remained private as word should not reach Isokell. He liked being on speaking terms with his daughter, thank you very much.
But maybe it was foolish not to announce his presence. Sneaking up on a sword master practicing in the dark was dangerously stupid, but on the other hand he wanted to catch Rannon when he was absorbed in something else than plotting, and according to Keelavata this was only when he was wielding a blade.
Keeping one hand on the wall, Rylerion made his way towards the sound of steel slicing air. Closer, and he could hear bare feet on stone and harsh breathing.
Close enough, then.
Following the shards of moonlight caught in the blade with his eyes, Rylerion watched the pattern of an advanced series of blocks and quick cuts. In his own mind he did them as well, the familiar movements making his heart slow to a normal rhythm and his hands sweat less. He barely noticed when Rannon moved into a slower routine, keeping to sweeps and parries.
When the blade slid too far to the left Rannon kept going, but repeated the entire set twice more, both times perfect, before continuing with a series of quick lunges and stabs.
Happy that he had not called out, Rylerion leaned against the wall and let himself be soothed. He was not going to dwell on the fact that he often thought that had Rannon not been under the influence of the ring, Rylerion would not have won that duel or that he might have to challenge his uncle to keep Isokell safe. Right now, he let the flashes of steel melt into his mind and give him the peace he often found in his own sword.
Suddenly the moon broke through and Rannon danced out of the dark, impeccably clad and wielding a sword that seemed only a touch warmer than his eyes. He was made from silver and shadow and in this instant Rylerion knew just who would wear the crown should it ever come to a rematch, but it did not scare him. He loved his blade, but it was not what he would turn to in dark times, not the only thing he would ever trust.
For the first time, Rylerion saw Rannon without the past between them and he was beautiful.
Then Rannon saw Rylerion and stopped dead, his face hardening into the mask it always was.
"What do you want? Sire." But Rannon had lowered his sword, so Rylerion did not move away from the wall or draw his own blade. He had promised Relonia he would try to reason with Rannon and he would hold to that.
"I wish a word with you in private, uncle. I have sent the guards away." He did stand up straight, though. The few fingers of height difference always seemed like feet when Rannon sneered down at him.
"Do you indeed, nephew. And what might those words be about? Your family, perhaps?"
"No. Our family. She is your grandniece."
"I am aware of that."
Rannon sheathed his sword and Rylerion's fingers began to itch after delivering just one good blow to the mocking lips.
"And that doesn't stop you? That she is just a little girl-"
Rylerion blinked. Had Rannon just hit him? By the familiar taste of blood and the way Rannon was rubbing his hand and looking a bit surprised at himself, yes.
"So it does stop you," he said, somewhat lisping but not caring. He had never liked Rannon more.
"Of course it does," Rannon said, his face a mask again. "Do not mistake me for whatever poor excuses for human beings you had to spend your time with before you came here."
And there it was. What Lazuli and he had only talked about in half sentences and healing touches and what Relonia had only asked about once, never to bring it up again.
Rylerion sagged against the wall, clutching his sword to remind himself of the years between then and now. "How-"
"You think I ruled by being ignorant? The only good thing to come of your ... relations with Machra-La was you coming somewhat to terms with it as it made you less vulnerable."
Rannon stepped close, eyes angry and heated. He slammed his hands into the wall on each side of Rylerion's head, leaning close so the smell of clean sweat and steel made Rylerion tremble.
"You have a responsibility to your realm, your majesty. You cannot be weak. You cannot allow yourself to see enemies where none are when you have plenty around or I swear I will take Kayalana from you to protect it from harm. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Rylerion whispered. Oddly enough the threat was a comfort. Should he fail, Rannon would be there to guard the kingdom against outside enemies.
"Good. I will not see Kayalana fall because you could not separate your role as a father and a king."
Rannon made to push away, but Rylerion suddenly felt the blood on his lips and remembered the other half of what he had meant to force Rannon to realize. Grapping the former king's clothes he pulled him so tight that Rannon's hair brushed his face like sharp butterfly wings. If he did not do something now, Rannon would simply bide his time until Isokell was not a child anymore. The thought made his vision blur and his teeth grit.
"Don't you dare walk away from me, uncle. She is more than a child, she is your grandniece. She is blood."
"I am aware of that." To Rylerion's satisfaction Rannon was looking less angry and more intrigued by the sudden force.
"Are you? Because to me, blood does not touch blood!"
"No?" Rannon asked.
"No," Rylerion said, suddenly realizing that he was not holding fistfuls of cloth but was under it, mapping the difference between Rannon's unforgiving hard lines, Relonia's supple curves, and Lazuli's smooth grace. "… No?"
And then Rannon was bruising his mouth again but this time with unyielding lips and insistent tongue, and Rylerion just could not let him get away with that, so he held him tight, tighter, and fought back with his own mouth, giving as good as he got until Rannon raised his head with a sigh and brushed a final kiss on Rylerion's forehead.
"Another thing you shouldn't do, nephew, is to forget that blood is not all. I will never admit to saying this, but in the end a person is more than what he or she is born as. Good night."
If Rylerion had not felt something hard against his hip as Rannon pulled away, he might have through the entire thing but another strategic movement from the master schemer. As it was, he watched his uncle walk away, wiped the blood from his face and walked back to his wife to discuss how and how soon they could send Rannon away from court.