Sahara and the General
Short scene. Sahara's very first encounter, so to speak, with the Lord General.
The man had a death wish, that was all there was to it. His life in serious jeopardy only a year prior and what does he do? Hire one of their sworn enemy to be his Lord General!
Sahara scowled as he rounded the corner, thankful there was no one in the hall to witness his less than elegant journey to the training yard. Or more specifically, the balcony overlooking the training yard, where he could observe without being himself observed.
The outland General, his pale hair unmistakable, had his back to Sahara as he drilled a handful of soldiers. Several more were running laps, and a few had paired off to spar. As Sahara watched, the man adjusted one soldier's stance, another's arm, then spun without warning to disarm one of the sparring men and hold a knife to his throat.
"The enemy is seldom alone," the General's voice rang out, the timbre of it sending shivers down Sahara's back. "Remember this."
He stepped back, withdrawing the knife and restoring it to its sheath. In the next moment he stilled, then suddenly spun and plucked something out of the air, hurling it back from whence it'd come with a speed Sahara had never seen before. There came a cry from somewhere out of sight, and it was in that direction that the outland General stalked.
No one moved as the man swept out of Sahara's line of sight, nor when he returned, dragging a wounded man behind him with all the care one would normally show a sack of refuse.
"I must speak with his Majesty," the General pronounced. "Continue your practice until I return." With that, he strode inside, dragging his struggling captive behind him.
Down in the yard, no one moved. Up above, Sahara turned on his heel and raced down the hall, angling to reach the audience hall just after the General. He succeeded, arriving just in time to see the outland General cast his would-be attacker at the Prince's feet.
"This person has made an attempt on my life," the General stated calmly. "How would you prefer I address this situation?"
From his throne, the Prince leaned forward to look over the person in question. None of the usual playfulness that Sahara associated with him was present; rather, there was an uncharacteristic coldness.
"I have made my decisions clear on the subject of my Lord General. I have no use for anyone who cannot follow my edicts. Lord General, dispose of him as you see fit."
The silence following his words was deafening. Into that silence, the General drew his sword and smoothly beheaded the man. Still no one moved as crimson blood pooled onto the floor, save for the General himself as he silently cleaned his blade and returned it to its sheath. At last, once he was once more still as ice, the Prince gestured idly.
"Someone see to it that this gets cleaned up. I believe I shall go for a walk in the gardens." He stood. "Lord General, if you care to join me?"
The General gave a slight nod and fell into step beside the Prince as they crossed the hall and departed. It was several moments before one of the servants made a hesitant motion toward the spreading mess, finally breaking the stillness. All around him the court broke into frenzied whispers, but Sahara did not linger to listen overlong. He had people to listen for him. Rather, he silently made his way out to the palace gardens, listening carefully for two very particular voices.
He found them by one of the smaller ponds, speaking softly, though not so softly that Sahara had to cheat to hear them.
"They will likely never stop, you know." That was the General, standing in such a manner that he seemed to be alert and at ease all at once.
"No," the Prince agreed, half lounging on a rock, "but you may continue to behead them as you like. Unless you'd rather have them strung up and left for the crows."
The General shrugged. "Either would serve to make your point, although I still do not see why you bother."
Silver eyes flashed in the darkness, the Prince turning an intent look upon his Lord General. "I chose you, and everyone will simply have to learn to deal with it." A moment passed, then he turned away, looking up at the sky overhead as it faded to twilight. "There is also the fact that I refuse to be controlled. I have made this clear in many small ways, but you are the most obvious. As long as you continue to support me, and I you, then those weak-willed dogs will not dare challenge me."
Sahara drew in a silent breath as many things suddenly became clear.
"You are as drawn to trouble as a ship to the sea," the General said with a slight laugh. "I still wonder what madness it was which possessed me to throw my lot in with you."
The Prince smiled as he pushed himself to his feet. "No madness, merely the desire to belong."
The General smiled as well, though his was softer, more wistful. "Do you really think I belong here?" he asked.
Sahara nearly gave himself away when the Prince, rather than respond in words, reached up to pull his outland General down for a slow, gentle kiss. The General froze at first, clearly startled, then made to pull away, only to be stopped by the Prince's hand on his arm.
"What are you-"
"It's called a kiss. Normally it's considered pleasurable."
"I..." The General seemed oddly unbalanced. "I have nothing upon which to base a comparison."
The Prince blinked. "You've never been kissed before?"
The General frowned. "Most find it distasteful to even speak to me. No one would lower themselves to consort with someone such as myself on a more intimate level."
"Really." Sahara swore the Prince's eyes filled with silver fire. "Well then, my Lord General, why don't I show you all that it is which you have been missing."
He took the General's arm and all but dragged him back inside, and this time Sahara did not follow. He had too many things to think about, and he hardly knew where to start. However, if he could not get the image of that kiss out of his mind, he suspected he would be starting with his own room, and a very large bottle of oil.
The man had a death wish, that was all there was to it. His life in serious jeopardy only a year prior and what does he do? Hire one of their sworn enemy to be his Lord General!
Sahara scowled as he rounded the corner, thankful there was no one in the hall to witness his less than elegant journey to the training yard. Or more specifically, the balcony overlooking the training yard, where he could observe without being himself observed.
The outland General, his pale hair unmistakable, had his back to Sahara as he drilled a handful of soldiers. Several more were running laps, and a few had paired off to spar. As Sahara watched, the man adjusted one soldier's stance, another's arm, then spun without warning to disarm one of the sparring men and hold a knife to his throat.
"The enemy is seldom alone," the General's voice rang out, the timbre of it sending shivers down Sahara's back. "Remember this."
He stepped back, withdrawing the knife and restoring it to its sheath. In the next moment he stilled, then suddenly spun and plucked something out of the air, hurling it back from whence it'd come with a speed Sahara had never seen before. There came a cry from somewhere out of sight, and it was in that direction that the outland General stalked.
No one moved as the man swept out of Sahara's line of sight, nor when he returned, dragging a wounded man behind him with all the care one would normally show a sack of refuse.
"I must speak with his Majesty," the General pronounced. "Continue your practice until I return." With that, he strode inside, dragging his struggling captive behind him.
Down in the yard, no one moved. Up above, Sahara turned on his heel and raced down the hall, angling to reach the audience hall just after the General. He succeeded, arriving just in time to see the outland General cast his would-be attacker at the Prince's feet.
"This person has made an attempt on my life," the General stated calmly. "How would you prefer I address this situation?"
From his throne, the Prince leaned forward to look over the person in question. None of the usual playfulness that Sahara associated with him was present; rather, there was an uncharacteristic coldness.
"I have made my decisions clear on the subject of my Lord General. I have no use for anyone who cannot follow my edicts. Lord General, dispose of him as you see fit."
The silence following his words was deafening. Into that silence, the General drew his sword and smoothly beheaded the man. Still no one moved as crimson blood pooled onto the floor, save for the General himself as he silently cleaned his blade and returned it to its sheath. At last, once he was once more still as ice, the Prince gestured idly.
"Someone see to it that this gets cleaned up. I believe I shall go for a walk in the gardens." He stood. "Lord General, if you care to join me?"
The General gave a slight nod and fell into step beside the Prince as they crossed the hall and departed. It was several moments before one of the servants made a hesitant motion toward the spreading mess, finally breaking the stillness. All around him the court broke into frenzied whispers, but Sahara did not linger to listen overlong. He had people to listen for him. Rather, he silently made his way out to the palace gardens, listening carefully for two very particular voices.
He found them by one of the smaller ponds, speaking softly, though not so softly that Sahara had to cheat to hear them.
"They will likely never stop, you know." That was the General, standing in such a manner that he seemed to be alert and at ease all at once.
"No," the Prince agreed, half lounging on a rock, "but you may continue to behead them as you like. Unless you'd rather have them strung up and left for the crows."
The General shrugged. "Either would serve to make your point, although I still do not see why you bother."
Silver eyes flashed in the darkness, the Prince turning an intent look upon his Lord General. "I chose you, and everyone will simply have to learn to deal with it." A moment passed, then he turned away, looking up at the sky overhead as it faded to twilight. "There is also the fact that I refuse to be controlled. I have made this clear in many small ways, but you are the most obvious. As long as you continue to support me, and I you, then those weak-willed dogs will not dare challenge me."
Sahara drew in a silent breath as many things suddenly became clear.
"You are as drawn to trouble as a ship to the sea," the General said with a slight laugh. "I still wonder what madness it was which possessed me to throw my lot in with you."
The Prince smiled as he pushed himself to his feet. "No madness, merely the desire to belong."
The General smiled as well, though his was softer, more wistful. "Do you really think I belong here?" he asked.
Sahara nearly gave himself away when the Prince, rather than respond in words, reached up to pull his outland General down for a slow, gentle kiss. The General froze at first, clearly startled, then made to pull away, only to be stopped by the Prince's hand on his arm.
"What are you-"
"It's called a kiss. Normally it's considered pleasurable."
"I..." The General seemed oddly unbalanced. "I have nothing upon which to base a comparison."
The Prince blinked. "You've never been kissed before?"
The General frowned. "Most find it distasteful to even speak to me. No one would lower themselves to consort with someone such as myself on a more intimate level."
"Really." Sahara swore the Prince's eyes filled with silver fire. "Well then, my Lord General, why don't I show you all that it is which you have been missing."
He took the General's arm and all but dragged him back inside, and this time Sahara did not follow. He had too many things to think about, and he hardly knew where to start. However, if he could not get the image of that kiss out of his mind, he suspected he would be starting with his own room, and a very large bottle of oil.