FIC: When I Slay the Darkest Day
Oct. 16th, 2011 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaubraFandom: UK Politics
Title: When I Slay the Darkest Day
Ship(s): John Bercow/Chris Bryant
Word Count: 942
Rating: G
Summary: In the aftermath of In Another Life, there are adjustments to be made. A coda to In Another Life. For my 50-fic party at the meme.
Disclaimer: This is a creative work of fiction, composed of fictional characters inspired by the public personas of living people. No injury or disrespect is intended to the persons named. If you've found this by googling yourself or someone you know, stop playing on the Internet and go run the country.
When I Slay the Darkest Day
It’s black as night behind the blindfold. Peter doesn’t mind. He can still hear perfectly well.
“Erskine May is perfectly clear. The Speaker may have only one apprentice. The Speaker’s attention, if divided between more than one apprentice, may not be sharp enough to see a slide to the Dark in time to avert catastrophe.”
“I do believe that I have an adequate understanding of Erskine May, my young apprentice.”
Silence.
“You’ve been waiting for the perfect chance to use that, haven’t you?”
Laughter. The sound of a kiss. “Yes.”
“Well, young apprentice or not – and I’d point out that I’m older than you, my master - we still have to decide what we’re doing with him.”
“A point of which I am very well aware.”
“Stop it.” A yelp. “You deserved it. I stood up against a dark wizard, I’ve memorised all of Erskine May, I think I should get a say.”
Fondness, fondness and something like pride. “Yes, you should. But I think the solution is entirely logical and apparent.”
A pregnant pause. “Explain,” – stifled, as if past a bitten lip.
“The Speaker may have only one apprentice, because more than one apprentice would represent an unacceptable drain on his powers and abilities to train, which would in turn cause the Realm to be insufficiently defended, and open the possibility of an apprentice’s turn to the Dark.”
“That’s what I said. You’re just repeating what I said.”
“The Speaker may have only one apprentice.”
“John, if you don’t get to the point I will strangle you. I swear it.”
Silence.
“You’ve stood over my prostrate body and thrown your magic into the Defence of the Realm. You’ve wielded the Mace and struck down the deadliest threat to Parliamentary power for three generations. You’ve demonstrated your capability, your training, and your courage; and the Mace recognised this, and came willingly into your hand.”
Peter feels a bit uncomfortable, as if he’s listening to something incredibly intimate.
“Chris, you stopped being my apprentice the moment you raised the Mace and took Bone down.”
The silence feels thick around him. Peter shifts restlessly.
“Well,” - a bit hoarse, as if from a dry throat – “I don’t remember reading that in Erskine May.”
“Have I your permission to take Peter as my new apprentice?”
“You hardly need it.”
“I want it nonetheless.”
“Yes. Of course.” A throat being cleared. “The bastard’s not going to be easy for you to train, though, I can tell that already. Too many ingrained habits, and too much stubbornness. And I don’t think he cares much for rules.”
“Were you very different, when you first came to me?”
“Perhaps not.”
“And should I encounter any particularly intractable difficulty, I shall know where to seek assistance.”
“Shall you?” Amused, a bit low.
“The best wizard of my acquaintance.” A beat, the whisper of hands on cloth. Then, breathed into a mouth, “I have on impeccable authority that he was trained by an expert.”
Sharp burst of laughter, turning into something else. “He was.”
Peter turns his ears away for a few minutes.
His own name recalls him.
“Shall we tell Mandelson of his fate, then?”
“Oh, I hardly think that will be necessary.”
“You want to leave him blindfolded in the corner? Why, John, you truly are a man after my own heart.”
“While that may be true, I simply meant that untrained or not, he has surely mastered the art of amplifying his hearing, and I believe you were too preoccupied to put up the canopy of silence.”
“If your hand hadn’t been on my…”
The jig’s up. “I don’t want to hear about where his hand was, Bryant,” Peter says.
Footsteps, across the wide expanse of Bercow’s office, and then hands at his blindfold. “You bastard,” Bryant says, but he’s laughing, although his eyes are suspiciously bright. “You could have spoken up earlier.”
“I imagined the Speaker knew I was listening,” Peter says. “If he didn’t feel like informing you, who was I to interfere?”
Bryant laughs again. “Oh well. I hope you got an earful.”
“I turned my hearing off at certain points,” Peter says, delicately.
Bryant puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders, turns him toward the room. “Welcome to the business, Mandelson.”
Peter gathers himself for a witty retort, but then his brain begins to catch up with his gaze, and it’s all he can do to keep his mouth from falling open. Magic shimmers in the air, rippling back perception charms and weaving intricate webs in the air and the space between. A three-dimensional map leaps into view, with colours he’s never seen before, the colours of love and and joy, mystery and responsibility and power. Bercow stands in the midst of it, lit up from within, his gaudy tie the least flashy thing in the room.
“It’s all right to be a bit overcome,” Bryant says in his ear. “I nearly shat myself the first time I saw this room as it really is.”
Peter accepts the comment for what it is, a crude but effective branch of friendship. “Thank you.”
“Go to him,” Bryant says, and pushes him forward.
Peter walks forward. Bercow stands waiting for him, the benign familiar beaming transformed into something more, as magic plays about his hands, sparking and crackling, and everything Peter has ever known has exploded into something familiar and yet so, so new.
“Welcome,” Bercow says, and reaches out his hands.
“My young apprentice,” Bryant says, sotto voce.
“That is quite enough from you,” Bercow says, mock severely, but Peter sees the laughter in his eyes.
Peter reaches out his own hands, and steps into a new life.
~//~
Title: When I Slay the Darkest Day
Ship(s): John Bercow/Chris Bryant
Word Count: 942
Rating: G
Summary: In the aftermath of In Another Life, there are adjustments to be made. A coda to In Another Life. For my 50-fic party at the meme.
Disclaimer: This is a creative work of fiction, composed of fictional characters inspired by the public personas of living people. No injury or disrespect is intended to the persons named. If you've found this by googling yourself or someone you know, stop playing on the Internet and go run the country.
When I Slay the Darkest Day
It’s black as night behind the blindfold. Peter doesn’t mind. He can still hear perfectly well.
“Erskine May is perfectly clear. The Speaker may have only one apprentice. The Speaker’s attention, if divided between more than one apprentice, may not be sharp enough to see a slide to the Dark in time to avert catastrophe.”
“I do believe that I have an adequate understanding of Erskine May, my young apprentice.”
Silence.
“You’ve been waiting for the perfect chance to use that, haven’t you?”
Laughter. The sound of a kiss. “Yes.”
“Well, young apprentice or not – and I’d point out that I’m older than you, my master - we still have to decide what we’re doing with him.”
“A point of which I am very well aware.”
“Stop it.” A yelp. “You deserved it. I stood up against a dark wizard, I’ve memorised all of Erskine May, I think I should get a say.”
Fondness, fondness and something like pride. “Yes, you should. But I think the solution is entirely logical and apparent.”
A pregnant pause. “Explain,” – stifled, as if past a bitten lip.
“The Speaker may have only one apprentice, because more than one apprentice would represent an unacceptable drain on his powers and abilities to train, which would in turn cause the Realm to be insufficiently defended, and open the possibility of an apprentice’s turn to the Dark.”
“That’s what I said. You’re just repeating what I said.”
“The Speaker may have only one apprentice.”
“John, if you don’t get to the point I will strangle you. I swear it.”
Silence.
“You’ve stood over my prostrate body and thrown your magic into the Defence of the Realm. You’ve wielded the Mace and struck down the deadliest threat to Parliamentary power for three generations. You’ve demonstrated your capability, your training, and your courage; and the Mace recognised this, and came willingly into your hand.”
Peter feels a bit uncomfortable, as if he’s listening to something incredibly intimate.
“Chris, you stopped being my apprentice the moment you raised the Mace and took Bone down.”
The silence feels thick around him. Peter shifts restlessly.
“Well,” - a bit hoarse, as if from a dry throat – “I don’t remember reading that in Erskine May.”
“Have I your permission to take Peter as my new apprentice?”
“You hardly need it.”
“I want it nonetheless.”
“Yes. Of course.” A throat being cleared. “The bastard’s not going to be easy for you to train, though, I can tell that already. Too many ingrained habits, and too much stubbornness. And I don’t think he cares much for rules.”
“Were you very different, when you first came to me?”
“Perhaps not.”
“And should I encounter any particularly intractable difficulty, I shall know where to seek assistance.”
“Shall you?” Amused, a bit low.
“The best wizard of my acquaintance.” A beat, the whisper of hands on cloth. Then, breathed into a mouth, “I have on impeccable authority that he was trained by an expert.”
Sharp burst of laughter, turning into something else. “He was.”
Peter turns his ears away for a few minutes.
His own name recalls him.
“Shall we tell Mandelson of his fate, then?”
“Oh, I hardly think that will be necessary.”
“You want to leave him blindfolded in the corner? Why, John, you truly are a man after my own heart.”
“While that may be true, I simply meant that untrained or not, he has surely mastered the art of amplifying his hearing, and I believe you were too preoccupied to put up the canopy of silence.”
“If your hand hadn’t been on my…”
The jig’s up. “I don’t want to hear about where his hand was, Bryant,” Peter says.
Footsteps, across the wide expanse of Bercow’s office, and then hands at his blindfold. “You bastard,” Bryant says, but he’s laughing, although his eyes are suspiciously bright. “You could have spoken up earlier.”
“I imagined the Speaker knew I was listening,” Peter says. “If he didn’t feel like informing you, who was I to interfere?”
Bryant laughs again. “Oh well. I hope you got an earful.”
“I turned my hearing off at certain points,” Peter says, delicately.
Bryant puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders, turns him toward the room. “Welcome to the business, Mandelson.”
Peter gathers himself for a witty retort, but then his brain begins to catch up with his gaze, and it’s all he can do to keep his mouth from falling open. Magic shimmers in the air, rippling back perception charms and weaving intricate webs in the air and the space between. A three-dimensional map leaps into view, with colours he’s never seen before, the colours of love and and joy, mystery and responsibility and power. Bercow stands in the midst of it, lit up from within, his gaudy tie the least flashy thing in the room.
“It’s all right to be a bit overcome,” Bryant says in his ear. “I nearly shat myself the first time I saw this room as it really is.”
Peter accepts the comment for what it is, a crude but effective branch of friendship. “Thank you.”
“Go to him,” Bryant says, and pushes him forward.
Peter walks forward. Bercow stands waiting for him, the benign familiar beaming transformed into something more, as magic plays about his hands, sparking and crackling, and everything Peter has ever known has exploded into something familiar and yet so, so new.
“Welcome,” Bercow says, and reaches out his hands.
“My young apprentice,” Bryant says, sotto voce.
“That is quite enough from you,” Bercow says, mock severely, but Peter sees the laughter in his eyes.
Peter reaches out his own hands, and steps into a new life.
~//~
