Post by Seek on Sept 28, 2014 2:58:57 GMT 10
Title: The Two Kings
Rating: PG
Prompt: Choose a side, (#81)
Summary: Twenty-five years since the River Drell and the end of the war is not yet in sight.
Notes: Just an AU inspired by history.
-
Raoul said, “It’s treason, Alanna.”
She met his eyes. “I know,” she said. Wondered how it was possible to feel like this; as though twenty-five years of war with Tusaine and Scanra and Carthak had drained everything that the Code of Chivalry meant to her.
“Tell me you’ve warded the tent.”
She raised her hand; amethyst fire glinted, following the canvas of the tent in a tight wall and then disappeared again. “I’ve done so since I first came in. No one can hear us.”
Raoul rubbed dark eyes with the back of a giant hand—his sword lay on the sleeping roll, well within reach. “It’s treason,” he said again. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Alanna pointed out. “But look, Raoul. The third messenger came today. I know what orders he carried.”
“Tell me, then.” He looked away, at the leather carrying-tube on the assembled desk. The wax seal had not yet been broken, and Alanna knew that it had been sealed both by the Gift and by the King’s signet.
“You’re to go south, to Port Legann,” Alanna said. The words tasted like ash in her mouth. “Bringing all forces currently under your command with you. With all due haste.”
Raoul said, “We’re so close.” His fingers tightened into a fist; his eyebrows drawn in a scowl. “Fifteen years, Alanna. Fifteen years that Goldenlake has been part of Tusaine.” He gestured at the tent—beyond it, rather, at the encamped army. “We’re ready to take it all back—up to the boundaries of the Drell itself. If there was ever a time we could do it, it’s now. And he wants us to throw all of that away?”
“I know, I know, Raoul,” Alanna retorted, just a little cross. It wasn’t his fault, she told herself. It was this godscursed situation they found themselves in. Trebond, too, had been lost, though not for nearly as long. The Scanrans sweeping from the north had caught a weakened Tortall by surprise. “Look—I spoke to Jon.”
“About my orders?”
She shook her head. “About the Tusaine delegation.”
Raoul’s frown grew deeper. “What delegation?”
“There was a delegation from Tusaine, under the flag of truce,” Alanna said, slowly. “They came to Port Legann to speak to Jon. It was all secret; George handled it.”
“And?” Raoul was getting either impatient, uncomfortable, or both. The heel of one boot tapped against the other. “What are you saying, Alanna?”
She did look him in the eye this time. “They reminded him, Raoul. They reminded him that they have his parents. That Roald had never abdicated the throne, even if Roger had sold him out to Tusaine. And then they commented that it was a pity that they had to meet at the negotiating table because the Tortallan army was this close to taking back Tusaine land.”
Raoul’s foul language had gotten better. She waited until he had finished cursing.
“Tell me it’s treason,” she continued, bluntly. “Because, Raoul, I don’t see any way out of this.”
“He said we would take back our old borders,” Raoul said, his voice gone terribly quiet. “D’you remember, Alanna? At the coronation, after Roger had been executed.”
Alanna pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know.”
“We fought for this land,” Raoul continued. “Inch by inch, over the past decades. We’ve bled for it all. He knows this.”
“I know,” Alanna snapped. “What else do you want to do, Raoul? It’s treason if you keep ignoring his messengers and take his army further east, to the very banks of the Drell! Is that what you want?”
“No,” Raoul said, and it was the lord commander of Tortall’s armies speaking, to the knight-commander of the King’s Own. “You tell me that’s what you want for Tortall, Alanna. And remember—it’s his father the king we’re talking about.”
“It won’t be a messenger, the next time,” Alanna said, grimly. “It’ll be Alex.”
This time, Raoul reached out, and his grasping fingers met the hilt of his sword. “I know,” he said, and this time, it felt like a door had closed—gently, but with that same sense of finality.
-
Jon was in his study; gazing out the open window. It was facing the harbour, which meant that she could feel the cool sea breeze in the room.
“You wanted to see me,” Alanna said.
He turned. “Yes,” he said. “I did.” There was a stack of reports on the desk, some of them awaiting his signature. He brushed past them as he came to meet her. “You haven’t left for the border yet.”
“No, sire.”
“Good,” he said, absently. “Gods, Alanna, it’s such a mess.” He ran a hand through mussed dark hair. Already, she saw there the beginnings of grey. Exhaustion had hollowed out his eyes.
“Jon,” she said slowly, “You look like a giant just stomped on you and squashed you.”
He made a face. “I feel like it too. That could be an improvement.”
They hadn’t spoken in months. The ongoing war had made its demands on her attention, and she’d spent all her time riding with the Own, putting out small fire after small fire in a season of wildfires, or so it felt. And even now, she had to ride soon; to leave Third Company cooling their heels in the capital when every sword was needed was bad. “What is it, Jon? You didn’t call me here just to talk about how bad you felt.”
He looked at her—through her, rather, she thought—his mouth drawn in a tight line. Finally, he said, “I’m changing your orders.”
“Sire?”
“Raoul has the army camped at Lake Naxen,” Jon said, the vague wave of his hand a gesture indicating the reports and dispatches on his desk. “I need you to take Third Company up there.”
“And what about Corus?” Alanna asked, sharply. “You mentioned that Vanget is struggling to hold the line there.”
His Conté blue eyes were like the thin crust of ice over the duckpond in Trebond, Alanna thought, in that moment. “He’ll have to make do. Raoul has been sent orders to withdraw all forces under his command to Port Legann, to be redeployed. You’ll be joining up with First Company and reinforcing the forces at the Naxen border—covering his retreat, in other words.”
Alanna gaped. Words she thought she’d never hear from Jon, of all people. But here he was, asking her to bring the Own east in support of a retreat to boundaries imposed on Tortall by decades of constant war with Tusaine and Scanra. Boundaries that had chafed Jon just as much as it had the rest of them, the generation that had grown up and become knights of fiefs long lost to Tortall.
She wondered if she would ever see Trebond again, before she died. If Coram would; the fief meant as much to him as it had to her. Perhaps more.
“Jon,” she murmured, almost pleading for understanding, “This is insane. This is—”
“These are your orders, Sir Alanna,” Jon said, harshly. And then, softening, he added, “D’you remember? The Tusaine delegation that left last week?”
She remembered; had thought that a delegation was a strange thing in a time of war. “Yes.”
“It was a threat.” The last time he’d spoken like this, thought Alanna, was that day when he’d woken up to find himself an orphan, and his cousin crowned King of Tortall in his place. His parents had been betrayed to Tusaine and sold off as prisoner and Roger had finally the crown he’d schemed for. “They reminded me of who they hold.”
Her hand strayed to Lightning’s hilt for the briefest of moments; she wanted so badly to hit something. “Your parents,” Alanna said, dully.
Jon nodded; a simple gesture, to contain so much weariness. “You understand, don’t you? If we take back our old boundaries, it will come down to negotiations. One of the conditions will have to be the return of my father. And he—”
Roald was still king. Roger had taken the throne by guile; Jonathan had in turn denounced his cousin as a usurper and executed him. And all of that changed nothing: that the king of Tortall was a man of peace, a man who would willingly give up to Tusaine all the land they wanted, and more.
“Kings have abdicated before,” Alanna said, slowly, hating herself for having to think along these lines, hating the fact she was even considering such a thing. How did a knight decide between two kings?
“You want me to gamble our boundaries on this?” Jon asked, softly. “He was willing to give them the whole Drell, Alanna. Either way, it would be a cause for civil war. We’re weak enough as it is.”
“If not now,” Alanna replied, “Then when, Jon? When are we taking back our lands?” The war had gained momentum; by now, the Tortallan army was marching from reclaimed fief to reclaimed fief. Victory was close enough to grasp for the first time in decades. And Jon was asking them to turn their backs on it. “This is the closest we are in years. You must know this. Geoffrey says that chances like this don’t come more than once in a war.”
Jon did not meet her eyes. She didn’t recognise him; this figure drawn into himself, finally bowed under twenty-five years of war and treachery and war. There were only two possible answers, after all. And both of them were infinitely terrible. It was treason to wish the king dead. How much more terrible it was when the king was also your father.
“Go north, Lioness,” he said, finally. “Cover their retreat.”
Alanna did not reply. She left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Rating: PG
Prompt: Choose a side, (#81)
Summary: Twenty-five years since the River Drell and the end of the war is not yet in sight.
Notes: Just an AU inspired by history.
-
Raoul said, “It’s treason, Alanna.”
She met his eyes. “I know,” she said. Wondered how it was possible to feel like this; as though twenty-five years of war with Tusaine and Scanra and Carthak had drained everything that the Code of Chivalry meant to her.
“Tell me you’ve warded the tent.”
She raised her hand; amethyst fire glinted, following the canvas of the tent in a tight wall and then disappeared again. “I’ve done so since I first came in. No one can hear us.”
Raoul rubbed dark eyes with the back of a giant hand—his sword lay on the sleeping roll, well within reach. “It’s treason,” he said again. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Alanna pointed out. “But look, Raoul. The third messenger came today. I know what orders he carried.”
“Tell me, then.” He looked away, at the leather carrying-tube on the assembled desk. The wax seal had not yet been broken, and Alanna knew that it had been sealed both by the Gift and by the King’s signet.
“You’re to go south, to Port Legann,” Alanna said. The words tasted like ash in her mouth. “Bringing all forces currently under your command with you. With all due haste.”
Raoul said, “We’re so close.” His fingers tightened into a fist; his eyebrows drawn in a scowl. “Fifteen years, Alanna. Fifteen years that Goldenlake has been part of Tusaine.” He gestured at the tent—beyond it, rather, at the encamped army. “We’re ready to take it all back—up to the boundaries of the Drell itself. If there was ever a time we could do it, it’s now. And he wants us to throw all of that away?”
“I know, I know, Raoul,” Alanna retorted, just a little cross. It wasn’t his fault, she told herself. It was this godscursed situation they found themselves in. Trebond, too, had been lost, though not for nearly as long. The Scanrans sweeping from the north had caught a weakened Tortall by surprise. “Look—I spoke to Jon.”
“About my orders?”
She shook her head. “About the Tusaine delegation.”
Raoul’s frown grew deeper. “What delegation?”
“There was a delegation from Tusaine, under the flag of truce,” Alanna said, slowly. “They came to Port Legann to speak to Jon. It was all secret; George handled it.”
“And?” Raoul was getting either impatient, uncomfortable, or both. The heel of one boot tapped against the other. “What are you saying, Alanna?”
She did look him in the eye this time. “They reminded him, Raoul. They reminded him that they have his parents. That Roald had never abdicated the throne, even if Roger had sold him out to Tusaine. And then they commented that it was a pity that they had to meet at the negotiating table because the Tortallan army was this close to taking back Tusaine land.”
Raoul’s foul language had gotten better. She waited until he had finished cursing.
“Tell me it’s treason,” she continued, bluntly. “Because, Raoul, I don’t see any way out of this.”
“He said we would take back our old borders,” Raoul said, his voice gone terribly quiet. “D’you remember, Alanna? At the coronation, after Roger had been executed.”
Alanna pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know.”
“We fought for this land,” Raoul continued. “Inch by inch, over the past decades. We’ve bled for it all. He knows this.”
“I know,” Alanna snapped. “What else do you want to do, Raoul? It’s treason if you keep ignoring his messengers and take his army further east, to the very banks of the Drell! Is that what you want?”
“No,” Raoul said, and it was the lord commander of Tortall’s armies speaking, to the knight-commander of the King’s Own. “You tell me that’s what you want for Tortall, Alanna. And remember—it’s his father the king we’re talking about.”
“It won’t be a messenger, the next time,” Alanna said, grimly. “It’ll be Alex.”
This time, Raoul reached out, and his grasping fingers met the hilt of his sword. “I know,” he said, and this time, it felt like a door had closed—gently, but with that same sense of finality.
-
Jon was in his study; gazing out the open window. It was facing the harbour, which meant that she could feel the cool sea breeze in the room.
“You wanted to see me,” Alanna said.
He turned. “Yes,” he said. “I did.” There was a stack of reports on the desk, some of them awaiting his signature. He brushed past them as he came to meet her. “You haven’t left for the border yet.”
“No, sire.”
“Good,” he said, absently. “Gods, Alanna, it’s such a mess.” He ran a hand through mussed dark hair. Already, she saw there the beginnings of grey. Exhaustion had hollowed out his eyes.
“Jon,” she said slowly, “You look like a giant just stomped on you and squashed you.”
He made a face. “I feel like it too. That could be an improvement.”
They hadn’t spoken in months. The ongoing war had made its demands on her attention, and she’d spent all her time riding with the Own, putting out small fire after small fire in a season of wildfires, or so it felt. And even now, she had to ride soon; to leave Third Company cooling their heels in the capital when every sword was needed was bad. “What is it, Jon? You didn’t call me here just to talk about how bad you felt.”
He looked at her—through her, rather, she thought—his mouth drawn in a tight line. Finally, he said, “I’m changing your orders.”
“Sire?”
“Raoul has the army camped at Lake Naxen,” Jon said, the vague wave of his hand a gesture indicating the reports and dispatches on his desk. “I need you to take Third Company up there.”
“And what about Corus?” Alanna asked, sharply. “You mentioned that Vanget is struggling to hold the line there.”
His Conté blue eyes were like the thin crust of ice over the duckpond in Trebond, Alanna thought, in that moment. “He’ll have to make do. Raoul has been sent orders to withdraw all forces under his command to Port Legann, to be redeployed. You’ll be joining up with First Company and reinforcing the forces at the Naxen border—covering his retreat, in other words.”
Alanna gaped. Words she thought she’d never hear from Jon, of all people. But here he was, asking her to bring the Own east in support of a retreat to boundaries imposed on Tortall by decades of constant war with Tusaine and Scanra. Boundaries that had chafed Jon just as much as it had the rest of them, the generation that had grown up and become knights of fiefs long lost to Tortall.
She wondered if she would ever see Trebond again, before she died. If Coram would; the fief meant as much to him as it had to her. Perhaps more.
“Jon,” she murmured, almost pleading for understanding, “This is insane. This is—”
“These are your orders, Sir Alanna,” Jon said, harshly. And then, softening, he added, “D’you remember? The Tusaine delegation that left last week?”
She remembered; had thought that a delegation was a strange thing in a time of war. “Yes.”
“It was a threat.” The last time he’d spoken like this, thought Alanna, was that day when he’d woken up to find himself an orphan, and his cousin crowned King of Tortall in his place. His parents had been betrayed to Tusaine and sold off as prisoner and Roger had finally the crown he’d schemed for. “They reminded me of who they hold.”
Her hand strayed to Lightning’s hilt for the briefest of moments; she wanted so badly to hit something. “Your parents,” Alanna said, dully.
Jon nodded; a simple gesture, to contain so much weariness. “You understand, don’t you? If we take back our old boundaries, it will come down to negotiations. One of the conditions will have to be the return of my father. And he—”
Roald was still king. Roger had taken the throne by guile; Jonathan had in turn denounced his cousin as a usurper and executed him. And all of that changed nothing: that the king of Tortall was a man of peace, a man who would willingly give up to Tusaine all the land they wanted, and more.
“Kings have abdicated before,” Alanna said, slowly, hating herself for having to think along these lines, hating the fact she was even considering such a thing. How did a knight decide between two kings?
“You want me to gamble our boundaries on this?” Jon asked, softly. “He was willing to give them the whole Drell, Alanna. Either way, it would be a cause for civil war. We’re weak enough as it is.”
“If not now,” Alanna replied, “Then when, Jon? When are we taking back our lands?” The war had gained momentum; by now, the Tortallan army was marching from reclaimed fief to reclaimed fief. Victory was close enough to grasp for the first time in decades. And Jon was asking them to turn their backs on it. “This is the closest we are in years. You must know this. Geoffrey says that chances like this don’t come more than once in a war.”
Jon did not meet her eyes. She didn’t recognise him; this figure drawn into himself, finally bowed under twenty-five years of war and treachery and war. There were only two possible answers, after all. And both of them were infinitely terrible. It was treason to wish the king dead. How much more terrible it was when the king was also your father.
“Go north, Lioness,” he said, finally. “Cover their retreat.”
Alanna did not reply. She left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!