[George would be lying if he said he isn't nervous as he stands in the Council Hall, waiting for his turn on the dais. The room is crowded, everyone eager to see the first class of mundane students to Ascend in two decades. Everyone eager to see who will pass the Angel's test.
Who will fail it.
His Nephilim classmates sit in the first two rows, a comforting barrier between them and the room full of Shadowhunters, many of whom George has heard story after story about in his two years at the Academy. Jace Herondale and Clary, Isabelle, Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane and their wee, blue babe. George wiggles his fingers at Max from the line, though he knows the whole group's attention is not on him but on Simon.
When it's his turn, he tries not to think about the odds of everyone surviving the ceremony. He tries not to think about Sunil, Leilana, and Boris and their choice to leave.
Simon did brilliantly, of course. George always thought Simon was just at the Academy training to step back into his life. When the blue light encompasses Simon in its sudden flare, George has no doubt that Simon will still be standing in its wake.
He kneels before Consul Penhallow as the Silent Brothers shuffle in their parchment-colored robes, rubbing out Simon's name from the circle of runes surrounding them, scrawling in George's instead.
He makes his vows in front of the Clave, swearing to protect that which is human and mortal, with no recompense but honor, swearing to be a shield for the weak, a light in the dark, a truth among falsehoods, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind.
There's such a weight to the words, such a heaviness, but George has been working toward this for what feels like his whole life, and he swears without question. The Consul hands him the cup, and George holds it in his hand. It's warm, almost pulsing with life, and the liquid within looks like pure light, like gold turned to wine. It's too much for him to look at, so instead he lifts the cup with a grin and toasts the crowd with a hearty,] Sláinte!
[The laughter echoes in his ears as he drinks.
There is fire in his veins, burning away every drop of blood and leaving ash in its wake. There's a scream. It might be his, but it just keeps going, and surely he can't scream that long. The fire burns still, until it has consumed him whole, and when it spits him out, he is naked and smoking but not charred, not properly burned, under a blazing sky in a desert landscape.
He has no idea where he is, but he can feel the strength of the Angel in him now, a fire still smoldering in his veins. So he walks, because the only other option is to sit in the sun and hope someone stumbles across him. He walks farther and faster than he would have managed as a mundane, but he's still seen no other humans by the time the sun sinks into the horizon, and very few signs of animal life.
As the sky begins to darken, George hears a wind kicking up behind him, sudden and fierce. He doesn't have to turn and look to know a storm is coming. Up ahead there is a cliffside. If he can reach it and find a cave, he can wait out the storm. It takes every ounce of strength in him—and a vivid hallucination of Scarsbury in the back of his head telling him he's running like a mundane—to make it to the cliff before the storm is on him, and even then there are pebbles pelting him when he skids around a rock and into a shallow cave in the side of the cliff.
The storm rages outside, and George slides to the cool floor of the cave, letting the heat of his sunburned skin leech out into the stone. It seems massively unfair of the Angel to make him a Shadowhunter and then strand him in a desert without so much as a stele or even a witchlight stone.
He can't quite see the back of the cave, but beneath the howling of the wind, he hears something else, an echoing drip, and suddenly he can no longer ignore his parched throat and swollen tongue. He creeps along a wall of the cave toward the dripping sound. His toes find the edge of a pool of water, and George falls straight to his knees to drink.
A low, rumbling growl from deeper in the cave makes him pause, and a flash of lightning in the storm behind illuminates an enormous lion, lounging on the far side of the pool, no more than ten feet away, its eyes flashing in the darkness.
George hesitates for about half a second, then he speaks, his voice low and soothing,] You really don't want to eat me, I'm sure. But honestly? It's you or dehydration, and you'd be quicker. I promise not to drink all your water if you promise not to kill me?
[The growling continues, and George nods.]
Right. Well, I'm going to take that as a solid maybe and proceed accordingly.
[Lightning flashes again, and when George meets the lion's golden eyes, and is uncomfortably reminded of the cup and the glowing liquid within.
Now as the last time, he drinks anyway, muttering a quiet] Sláinte, [under his breath and feeling a sudden pain of loss at being so far from his friends.
The water is cool and sweet, and George drinks deep under the lion's watchful gaze.
Once he feels like he can swallow without pain, he leans back against the wall, letting himself catch his breath. He can feel the lion's eyes on him, and he glances over.]
So, thanks for not eating me. I'm…going to try and sleep now. I'd like to threaten to wrestle you if you try anything, but honestly, I'm well knackered, so probably I won't.
[With what is likely a gross display of stupidity, George curls up with the lion to his back and the storm ahead, on the cool, stone floor.
After a day walking in the unforgiving sun, the coolness of the cave had felt welcome at first, but it doesn't take long for the warmth to leak from George's body, leaving him shivering and curling up into a tighter ball. If this is some test the Angel puts mundanes through before they can be Shadowhunters, George is going to have some words with the Clave when he gets back.
He doesn't realize the lion is behind him until he feels its warm, heavy weight settling over him. He's too cold and too exhausted to struggle, but the lion's claws are sheathed, and George drops heavily to sleep in its warmth.
When he wakes, the lion is gone, but in the grey light of morning, he finds, at the mouth of the cave, a pile of clothing, the color of desert sand, a water skin, and a stele.
Armed with the few, simple runes he can remember, he sets off into the desert and, in another day's walk, he stumbles upon a caravan and has his first meal in days.
~~~
It's three months before the group of traders George fell in with arrive at the great city of Tashbaan, and thus it's three months before George discovers that the agreement they'd reached for George to provide them protection, only lasted until the merchants thought they could get more coin for him than for their merchandise.
He's sold to the Great Tisroc (may he live forever) and given as a birthday gift to Prince Rabadash, to serve as his personal body guard. He keeps his stele a secret along with the purpose of his runes. He lets the prince think they are tattoos from some barbaric northern ritual, and it adds to the mystique and intimidation of Prince Rabadash's pale warrior, and the prince delights in it, suggesting new tattoos on occasion. George only just manages to talk Rabadash out of tattooing his face, and Rabadash compromises with a piece of detailed calligraphy up the side of his rib cage. It tells the story of George's encounter with the lion in the desert, which Rabadash likes to tell to amuse visitors to the court with tales of his imposing guard's fierceness, that he lies with lions. They begin to call him Rabadash's Lion.
In another year, George has become the prince's shadow. Where Rabadash goes, George follows. People begin to whisper that the barbarian has enchanted the prince with his northern magic, that the prince is his slave rather than the other way around. George finds the rumors hilarious because anyone who has ever seen him and the prince together must know that George is the reluctant one here. He still bears scars from the fighting pits, where he'd been sent to teach him obedience. Rabadash has never beaten George or had him beaten, but he quickly discovered that his barbarian had a soft heart, and ever since, he would threaten to beat other slaves if George did not do as he was told.
Still, because of the rumors, the Great Tisroc commands that Rabadash get rid of George. So when the prince travels north to Narnia to court their famously beautiful queen, George is among the retinue, there as a gift to Queen Susan, a personal guard from the prince's own household. Before they left, the prince gave him another tattoo, this one over his chest, starting on his right pectoral and fading out over his shoulder.
Rabadash means it as a reminder that George is still his lion, but George thinks the lion was sent by Raziel, and that makes it more like an Angelic mark than a mark of slavery.
Narnia is…like something out of one of Simon's stories. Or his gran's. George feels something in his being relax as they cross into Archenland, and the horizon turns from brown to green, and the mountains they cross make him ache for home.
From the moment they cross into Archenland, George can see that he and the other slaves make these people uncomfortable.
George likes them already.
When they are presented before the four thrones of Caer Paravel, George can see why they call Susan such a renowned beauty, and he hopes that she will see through Rabadash, not accept his suit, even if that means George is taken back to Calormen as well.
It's the queen's sister, though, Queen Lucy, who catches George's eye. There is something in her expression beyond the discomfort he's seen on other faces when confronted with the prince's slaves.
When Rabadash speaks, gesturing for George to step forward, George's eyes are on Lucy.]
High Queen Susan, as a token of my suit, I wish to gift you my personal guard, Rabadash's Lion.
[George isn't sure how long it's been since someone used his name.]
i'm so sorry i wrote you an entire fic, it just sort of happened.
Who will fail it.
His Nephilim classmates sit in the first two rows, a comforting barrier between them and the room full of Shadowhunters, many of whom George has heard story after story about in his two years at the Academy. Jace Herondale and Clary, Isabelle, Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane and their wee, blue babe. George wiggles his fingers at Max from the line, though he knows the whole group's attention is not on him but on Simon.
When it's his turn, he tries not to think about the odds of everyone surviving the ceremony. He tries not to think about Sunil, Leilana, and Boris and their choice to leave.
Simon did brilliantly, of course. George always thought Simon was just at the Academy training to step back into his life. When the blue light encompasses Simon in its sudden flare, George has no doubt that Simon will still be standing in its wake.
He kneels before Consul Penhallow as the Silent Brothers shuffle in their parchment-colored robes, rubbing out Simon's name from the circle of runes surrounding them, scrawling in George's instead.
He makes his vows in front of the Clave, swearing to protect that which is human and mortal, with no recompense but honor, swearing to be a shield for the weak, a light in the dark, a truth among falsehoods, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind.
There's such a weight to the words, such a heaviness, but George has been working toward this for what feels like his whole life, and he swears without question. The Consul hands him the cup, and George holds it in his hand. It's warm, almost pulsing with life, and the liquid within looks like pure light, like gold turned to wine. It's too much for him to look at, so instead he lifts the cup with a grin and toasts the crowd with a hearty,] Sláinte!
[The laughter echoes in his ears as he drinks.
There is fire in his veins, burning away every drop of blood and leaving ash in its wake. There's a scream. It might be his, but it just keeps going, and surely he can't scream that long. The fire burns still, until it has consumed him whole, and when it spits him out, he is naked and smoking but not charred, not properly burned, under a blazing sky in a desert landscape.
He has no idea where he is, but he can feel the strength of the Angel in him now, a fire still smoldering in his veins. So he walks, because the only other option is to sit in the sun and hope someone stumbles across him. He walks farther and faster than he would have managed as a mundane, but he's still seen no other humans by the time the sun sinks into the horizon, and very few signs of animal life.
As the sky begins to darken, George hears a wind kicking up behind him, sudden and fierce. He doesn't have to turn and look to know a storm is coming. Up ahead there is a cliffside. If he can reach it and find a cave, he can wait out the storm. It takes every ounce of strength in him—and a vivid hallucination of Scarsbury in the back of his head telling him he's running like a mundane—to make it to the cliff before the storm is on him, and even then there are pebbles pelting him when he skids around a rock and into a shallow cave in the side of the cliff.
The storm rages outside, and George slides to the cool floor of the cave, letting the heat of his sunburned skin leech out into the stone. It seems massively unfair of the Angel to make him a Shadowhunter and then strand him in a desert without so much as a stele or even a witchlight stone.
He can't quite see the back of the cave, but beneath the howling of the wind, he hears something else, an echoing drip, and suddenly he can no longer ignore his parched throat and swollen tongue. He creeps along a wall of the cave toward the dripping sound. His toes find the edge of a pool of water, and George falls straight to his knees to drink.
A low, rumbling growl from deeper in the cave makes him pause, and a flash of lightning in the storm behind illuminates an enormous lion, lounging on the far side of the pool, no more than ten feet away, its eyes flashing in the darkness.
George hesitates for about half a second, then he speaks, his voice low and soothing,] You really don't want to eat me, I'm sure. But honestly? It's you or dehydration, and you'd be quicker. I promise not to drink all your water if you promise not to kill me?
[The growling continues, and George nods.]
Right. Well, I'm going to take that as a solid maybe and proceed accordingly.
[Lightning flashes again, and when George meets the lion's golden eyes, and is uncomfortably reminded of the cup and the glowing liquid within.
Now as the last time, he drinks anyway, muttering a quiet] Sláinte, [under his breath and feeling a sudden pain of loss at being so far from his friends.
The water is cool and sweet, and George drinks deep under the lion's watchful gaze.
Once he feels like he can swallow without pain, he leans back against the wall, letting himself catch his breath. He can feel the lion's eyes on him, and he glances over.]
So, thanks for not eating me. I'm…going to try and sleep now. I'd like to threaten to wrestle you if you try anything, but honestly, I'm well knackered, so probably I won't.
[With what is likely a gross display of stupidity, George curls up with the lion to his back and the storm ahead, on the cool, stone floor.
After a day walking in the unforgiving sun, the coolness of the cave had felt welcome at first, but it doesn't take long for the warmth to leak from George's body, leaving him shivering and curling up into a tighter ball. If this is some test the Angel puts mundanes through before they can be Shadowhunters, George is going to have some words with the Clave when he gets back.
He doesn't realize the lion is behind him until he feels its warm, heavy weight settling over him. He's too cold and too exhausted to struggle, but the lion's claws are sheathed, and George drops heavily to sleep in its warmth.
When he wakes, the lion is gone, but in the grey light of morning, he finds, at the mouth of the cave, a pile of clothing, the color of desert sand, a water skin, and a stele.
Armed with the few, simple runes he can remember, he sets off into the desert and, in another day's walk, he stumbles upon a caravan and has his first meal in days.
~~~
It's three months before the group of traders George fell in with arrive at the great city of Tashbaan, and thus it's three months before George discovers that the agreement they'd reached for George to provide them protection, only lasted until the merchants thought they could get more coin for him than for their merchandise.
He's sold to the Great Tisroc (may he live forever) and given as a birthday gift to Prince Rabadash, to serve as his personal body guard. He keeps his stele a secret along with the purpose of his runes. He lets the prince think they are tattoos from some barbaric northern ritual, and it adds to the mystique and intimidation of Prince Rabadash's pale warrior, and the prince delights in it, suggesting new tattoos on occasion. George only just manages to talk Rabadash out of tattooing his face, and Rabadash compromises with a piece of detailed calligraphy up the side of his rib cage. It tells the story of George's encounter with the lion in the desert, which Rabadash likes to tell to amuse visitors to the court with tales of his imposing guard's fierceness, that he lies with lions. They begin to call him Rabadash's Lion.
In another year, George has become the prince's shadow. Where Rabadash goes, George follows. People begin to whisper that the barbarian has enchanted the prince with his northern magic, that the prince is his slave rather than the other way around. George finds the rumors hilarious because anyone who has ever seen him and the prince together must know that George is the reluctant one here. He still bears scars from the fighting pits, where he'd been sent to teach him obedience. Rabadash has never beaten George or had him beaten, but he quickly discovered that his barbarian had a soft heart, and ever since, he would threaten to beat other slaves if George did not do as he was told.
Still, because of the rumors, the Great Tisroc commands that Rabadash get rid of George. So when the prince travels north to Narnia to court their famously beautiful queen, George is among the retinue, there as a gift to Queen Susan, a personal guard from the prince's own household. Before they left, the prince gave him another tattoo, this one over his chest, starting on his right pectoral and fading out over his shoulder.
Rabadash means it as a reminder that George is still his lion, but George thinks the lion was sent by Raziel, and that makes it more like an Angelic mark than a mark of slavery.
Narnia is…like something out of one of Simon's stories. Or his gran's. George feels something in his being relax as they cross into Archenland, and the horizon turns from brown to green, and the mountains they cross make him ache for home.
From the moment they cross into Archenland, George can see that he and the other slaves make these people uncomfortable.
George likes them already.
When they are presented before the four thrones of Caer Paravel, George can see why they call Susan such a renowned beauty, and he hopes that she will see through Rabadash, not accept his suit, even if that means George is taken back to Calormen as well.
It's the queen's sister, though, Queen Lucy, who catches George's eye. There is something in her expression beyond the discomfort he's seen on other faces when confronted with the prince's slaves.
When Rabadash speaks, gesturing for George to step forward, George's eyes are on Lucy.]
High Queen Susan, as a token of my suit, I wish to gift you my personal guard, Rabadash's Lion.
[George isn't sure how long it's been since someone used his name.]