Post by Shhasow on Nov 19, 2010 6:14:23 GMT 10
Burning Brightly, Part 2
Summary: Wyldon and Alan continue after the Black City.
Rating: PG-13
Second and final part of this. I wrote all 12,508 words in 24 hours, and I had to sleep during that time.
Big thank you to Ankhiale, as usual.
Part 2 of 2
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Squire Alan wished fervently at that moment to be back in the nice warm desert. Though sandy, at least it didn’t pour cold rain that soaked through her clothes and sent her shivering. She finally managed to find shelter and make a fire and was in the process of warming her frozen body when a wet cat raced in, meowing piteously.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Alanna murmured, ignoring the hurt looks of Firetop as the dog alternately glared at the cat.
When the Great Mother Goddess entered, Alanna took in her messages dazedly, but especially the one about learning to love.
Surely she didn’t love Wyldon. She liked him a lot, she was very attracted to him, yes. He made her breath catch and her pulse race, but that meant nothing, especially as he could never love her back. He would be too hurt and absolutely livid over her deception; he would see it as the deepest betrayal.
Loving Wyldon was impossible, Alanna decided. Utterly impossible and ridiculous. She’d be better off with Jon, or even George, someone who already knew she was a girl and didn’t mind, even liked her. Actually, she’d be best off with none of them. She didn’t need love to be a knight.
That she dreamed of Wyldon’s soothing voice, his large calloused hands on hers, his soft breath tickling the back of her neck, and his lips descending towards hers… That was meaningless.
Alanna and Wyldon spent her first year as a squire in the eastern part of Tortall. Rumors had reached Corus of Duke Hilam of Tusaine’s growing ambitions and Tortall was subtly arming and preparing for war. They assisted in patrols of the border, hunting out an increasing number of bandits. They suspected that the raiding parties were disguised Tusaine soldiers. Alanna was particularly disgusted at the subterfuge, but Wyldon just shrugged and said that it made logical sense; they were scouting out the territory in preparation for an attack.
Alanna grew increasingly deadly with Moonlight, Lightning, and Firetop, but she hated killing, no matter how good at it she was. As Wyldon had predicted years ago, after her first major skirmish in which she gutted a man, she was sick behind bushes. The feel of her sword slicing into flesh was unexpected and disturbing, though she could not regret her actions. Wyldon was right, after all; if she hadn’t killed the man, he would have tried to kill her, though his presence and cool hands on her neck did more to comfort her than the cold knowledge.
A few months in, they reported in Corus their suspicions and Wyldon suggested asking George to gather information. Alanna agreed, and convinced George to contact the Tusaine Rogue before they returned to the border.
The next time they returned to Corus, George sought out Alanna with worrying news. Tusaine was mobilizing its knights and armies, all centering on the River Drell. Alanna was ready to take the information immediately to Myles, but George stopped her with his talk about giving up the Rogue in a few years.
Alanna scoffed and asked where he would put his collection of ears, and scoffed again when he claimed he was waiting for his chosen woman to grow up. Before she realized, he swooped in and planted a soft kiss against her lips. Her face went slack in shock, and George slowly pulled back, looking deeply into her eyes.
Alanna blushed brightly and pushed George away, feeling altogether too guilty for enjoying his kiss. It felt as if she had betrayed Wyldon, which was ridiculous because he didn’t even know she was a girl. As George stepped away, her knight-master walked in, frowning at their closeness. Alanna couldn’t help herself as she flushed again even brighter and muttered a greeting to Wyldon and a terse goodbye to George.
The thief chuckled and gave a crooked grin, whistling cheerily as he left.
Wyldon didn’t ask and Alanna didn’t volunteer. They both pretended to forget the situation and they both dwelled upon it all too much. Alanna was confused about George, but mostly guilty and worried that Wyldon saw them. Unbeknownst to her, Wyldon had not seen the kiss but had walked in just as George pulled back, seeing just enough to surmise the previous action. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but so long as Alan didn’t bring it up, he would contain his curiosity.
They returned to the border just long enough to be summoned back to Corus at the Call to Muster. Alanna was annoyed at the constant riding back and forth. “Why didn’t they just keep us at Corus, if they knew they were going to Muster?” she muttered, annoyed at losing the training time travelling.
When they learned their assignment, Alanna was not surprised to find that Wyldon was to be a bodyguard and advisor for Jonathan. Wyldon was not fool enough to be honored; he knew that the prince wanted to keep a close eye on him and Alan. The knight never forgot that midwinter when the prince and Gareth of Naxen attempted – and failed – to interrogate him about his questionable relationship with Alan.
Neither of them were pleased of their posting on the River Drell, and especially not with Jon as the commander. He was too young, no matter his royal position, and he didn’t have the experience.
They took the first peaceful weeks in stride, training together constantly, for as Wyldon often said, “a lazy knight is a dead knight.” Some of the soldiers watched them spar, placing bets on who would win and how many words they would say between them, for they were a very quiet sparring pair. Neither wasted breath on insults or curses.
The army weathered the first major attack well. Alanna, experienced after her year of fighting Tusainian bandits, suffered no major injuries until the very end. She had spied an archer aiming for Jon and pushed him out of the way. The arrow glanced off her shield and sliced up her arm, though she didn’t notice until Wyldon rode up to her in the chaos and exclaimed, at which point the pain shot through her body and her arm went numb.
They retreated to relative safety and Wyldon bound up her arm with a bandage. He was torn between protecting his squire or the prince until Alanna assured him that she would go immediately to the healers.
She didn’t, of course, but as soon as the battle eased, went to find big Thor. Alanna passed out after she helped the large man find peace, though she blearily felt a wet nose at one point, heard a loud bark in her ear, and saw Wyldon’s worried face.
Alanna woke up to the same face looming over hers, though it bore an expression of long-suffering annoyance rather than worry. “What?” she mumbled, carefully examining the bandage on her upper arm.
“You said you were going straight to the healers,” Wyldon accused. “Instead you took a stroll on the bank and tired yourself more by using your Gift. If it weren’t for Firetop, we wouldn’t have found you in time.”
Alanna reddened in shame, guilty for worrying her best friend. “I’m sorry.”
“I hope you are,” he said with heat in his voice. “I couldn’t even see you when we brought you back; Prince Jonathan ordered me to assist in clearing the battlefield.” He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. “I didn’t even know if you lived or not until he told me.”
Alanna felt relief war with her guilt, for at least Jon had dressed the wound and put a shirt on her. If Wyldon or the healers had done it… she shuddered.
“I am sorry, Wyldon,” she said sincerely, touching him on the arm. “I was riding for the healers but then I remembered that Thor had guard duty. I couldn’t leave him there, not without checking to see if he was alive. I helped him sleep.” She looked down at her hands and heard Wyldon sigh.
“I understand, Alan. Your loyalty to your friends is admirable; just don’t put them in front of yourself.” He patted her lightly on her shoulder. “Rest and heal quickly, my friend. I’ll need my squire again soon.”
***
When Alanna was captured by the Tusainian soldiers, she was terrified, not for herself, but at the thought that Wyldon would disobey orders to come after her.
Would his loyalty and their friendship cause him to cross the Drell after her? Wyldon might, but he would hate himself for doing it, for defying explicit orders. She wasn’t worth that, she wasn’t worth him betraying his own character for her safety.
At the same time, she yearned for his comforting presence. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him sitting next to her, his calmness flowing over her and giving her a measure of peace. If he came for her, they would live and her secret would be undiscovered; she had no illusions that in the present situation as a captive, she would not be able to hide it for long.
Conflicted and miserable, Alanna worried the hours away.
Wyldon, upon hearing of Alan’s capture, was frozen with indecision. Did he disobey orders and rescue his best friend, or did he trust that the prince would? Part of him rejected that; he was Alan’s knight-master, he was Alan’s best friend, he should be the one to save him. His stomach roiled at the thought of Alan in the hands of the notorious Duke Hilam…
It was with a heavy heart that Wyldon entered the prince’s tent only to find him and other soldiers armored up. He was inordinately pleased that the prince cared enough about Alan to risk punishment to save him as well as exceedingly annoyed that he had not been consulted. It seemed that Jonathan was still jealous about his friendship, that he didn’t trust the knight.
“You weren’t planning on leaving without me, were you?” he drawled slightly. Jonathan’s face tightened but he nodded to the knight, including him in on the plan.
When the group of knights and soldiers entered the small hut where the captives were being held, Wyldon’s eyes immediately went to the form of his friend on his knees. His blood went cold as he heard the man who had to be Duke Hilam murmur about looking forward to breaking Alan, and his heart sang with pride at hearing Alan’s defiant response.
Wyldon moved swiftly to grab the hand of the sneering man who was about to strike him, fingers digging into the bones in his arm, naked sword held to his throat. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said calmly.
He looked at his friend and was struck with the sheer gratitude, relief, happiness, and something else he just couldn’t identify, but he knew was echoed in his own.
***
Wyldon was a very confused man. At the age of twenty-two, he thought he had everything figured out. His life was in order, his character firmly established, his reputation in the process of being formed. While not a war hero, his valor in combat had earned him a purse from the Crown and the admiration of the Court, especially the ladies.
His relatives were delighted at this, for they considered it past time for Wyldon to choose a wife and settle an heir for Cavall. Wyldon wasn’t against this plan. He did look at the court ladies in approval, but he felt exceedingly awkward and unwilling to approach them or be approached.
Wyldon couldn’t understand why, when one beautiful woman after another came up to him, he found himself comparing them to his squire.
He knew that he was attracted to women – he had experienced short dalliances with appropriate outlets, albeit quite privately – and therefore he was baffled why he suddenly found their bright blue eyes wanting violet, why their blonde or brown hair seemed colorless in comparison to a burnished copper.
Wyldon was disgruntled with this discovery and sought to distance himself from the ladies, curtly rebuffing them so that he would not be tempted to compare the shape of their lips with Alan’s…
He would have suspected his friend of finding male company more to his liking, and it still was a distinct possibility, but Alan never said a word or indicated any preference at all.
Still, his bothersome relatives insisted on his presence at court functions, so he begrudgingly went and stood awkwardly against the wall, nursing his glass and alternatively wishing for Alan’s comforting and amusing presence and relieved of his absence. He had asked his squire once if he wanted to join him, but Alan had declined, stating a desire to use the empty practice courts instead.
At one such event, as Wyldon finished his last glass of alcohol and hit his limit for the night – the usual sign that he had stayed long enough to satisfy his great-aunt – he stood dumbstruck as a new lady entered. He had never seen her before in his life but she looked hauntingly familiar.
Her name wasn’t announced and she seemed to be as awkward as he, flitting unsteadily around the perimeter of the room, looking into each group of people and eyeing those on the dance floor.
Wyldon wondered if she was looking for someone.
As she neared him, Wyldon found his pulse begin to race. Relief, terror, excitement, shame, and guilt all ran through him in quick succession. He was relieved that he found no impulse to compare this tiny woman to his squire, yet guilty at the preposterous thought that he was betraying Alan. The curve of her neck, the gentle arc of her lips as they pulled into a sweet smile, the brief glimpse of white teeth as she laughed to herself, all of it enticed him, though at times he caught a hint of…
His eyes met hers and both of them stood still. She blushed brightly and almost turned away, but Wyldon could not let this vision go. With more confidence than he was feeling and more initiative than he had ever shown, he approached the lady and introduced himself as Lord Wyldon of Cavall.
She looked at him, her dark eyes flitting over his somber sensible tunic, and spoke in a teasing voice, “I have heard of you, my lord.” Her eyes glittered with amusement, but at what? “I am Lady Vivenne of Milis Forge.” After a brief pause, she extended her arm and Wyldon laid a courtly kiss on it.
“I hope that we shall become better acquainted, my Lady,” he murmured, though he wondered at his sudden ease with flirtations and attributed it to too many glasses of wine. With gallantry he never expected himself to possess, he asked for permission to dance and led her to the dance floor.
Wyldon arrived in his rooms late that night after escorting Lady Vivenne to the guest corridors. Alan’s room was dark; he was asleep, so Wyldon did not disturb him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, anyway, for fear that his sudden infatuation with the lady would cease and he would again notice his squire.
The next morning he awoke to muted arguing in the adjoining chamber. Wyldon suppressed a groan and wearily rubbed his eyes, grabbing a worn tunic and slipping it on. He walked, none too steadily, to the door and threw it open.
Jon and Alanna froze. Wyldon, ignoring the stab in his throat, raised an eyebrow and Jonathan hastily removed his hands from Alanna’s upper arms and moved away. “I don’t want to know,” Wyldon muttered and closed the door to finish getting dressed.
Jon flushed as Alanna glared at him. “I didn’t, we weren’t,” he started, but Alanna cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. I am through with this conversation, and if you ever touch me again like that, I will thrash you in the training yard.”
“Alann-Alan,” he amended at her panic. “Just keep it in mind. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Alanna closed her eyes and nodded, sighing. “I know.”
Jon left, and Alanna pushed aside her exhaustion and went to join Wyldon in the courts. They went through their usual routine, neither mentioning the incident. Wyldon really didn’t want to know, after all.
***
At every function Wyldon attended, he looked for Lady Vivenne. She was usually there with a warm smile on her face, and was quite happy to spend all night with him, though on occasion the prince stole her away. Wyldon didn’t think she liked him much, as she always seemed to be arguing with him and was relieved to return to his own. Though Jonathan looked distinctly unamused after every such encounter, he insisted on dancing at least one dance with Vivenne every ball.
A few months later, Wyldon finally cajoled Alan into coming with him to meet Vivenne. He hadn’t told Alan much, because whenever he mentioned her name Alan seemed to blush and look very uncomfortable. Still, Wyldon wanted Lady Vivenne to meet the most important person in his life, as he told a peaked-looking Alan.
To his dismay, Vivenne didn’t arrive. She didn’t come to every function, after all, but Wyldon was extremely disappointed. Not even Alan could lift him out of his mood, especially as his antics only served to make him notice his squire’s bright eyes. It was worse when the prince dragged Alan away. Wyldon’s thoughts took an unwanted turn and he followed his squire with his eyes as Jonathan seemed to win an argument.
They always stood too close to each other. Why did they stand so close together? Why did he care? Wyldon tried to ignore his suspicions and especially his jealousy. He liked Lady Vivenne, why was he still noticing Alan’s light laugh?
The next ball, Alan pleaded a vicious headache and went to sleep early. Wyldon left with hopes of seeing Vivenne and was not disappointed. She was properly apologetic for missing him, and as they danced that night Wyldon never felt lighter on his feet or in his heart.
He dared to suggest a walk in the rose garden and was gratified to see her blush. As they strolled along the path, her arm tucked into his, Wyldon marveled at the close connection they seemed to have. They were comfortable with each other, seeming to anticipate the other even after only a few meetings. Lady Vivenne was beautiful, petite but not fragile as she had a surprising amount of muscle that was pleasing. He didn’t want to have to worry about breaking her.
They sat together on a bench near a balcony, surrounded by the delicate smell of the roses. As if by a mutual and pre-planned decision, they leaned towards each other. His head dipped down and hers rose, reflecting the soft moonlight. Wyldon had never seen anything more beautiful. His heart clenched as their lips met gently, tenderly.
For one terrifying and exhilarating moment, his world stopped.
“Wyldon,” she sighed, reaching her arms around his neck.
He cupped her face in one large palm, gazing over her blissful expression, so much like Alan’s when he …
Wyldon’s eyes flew open and all he could see was Alan. He muttered a brief apology and fled as if dogs were nipping at his heels. He swallowed back the tears pricking his eyes and acknowledged to himself, finally, that he was in love with his squire.
Like the first morning after he met her, Wyldon was awoken with sounds of arguing from Alan’s room. He groaned as the memory of last night returned to him and tried not to listen to the muffled voices, though they were too loud not to hear.
“I told you this was a terrible idea!” That was Prince Jonathan’s voice, but his presence in Alan’s rooms wasn’t a surprise.
“I know.” That was Alan’s, sounding almost as miserable as Wyldon felt.
“What did you expect to happen?” Jonathan pressed, voice hard. “All roses and sunshine? It couldn’t work, you know that.”
“I do know!” Alan cried. “Are you happy now? What you predicted came true; I fell in love, but it doesn’t matter.”
Wyldon stopped, tunic half on. He hated himself but he couldn’t stop listening.
“Love?” Jonathan’s shocked voice came through the door. “I had no idea, oh Al-“
“Like you said, it doesn’t matter.” Alan said firmly though with a tinge of desperation. “It won’t work out, it can’t, and I’ll just have to live with it.”
Wyldon’s heart sank, his suspicions finally confirmed just as he understood his own heart.
Alan was in love with Prince Jonathan, and now the prince was rejecting him.
Wyldon heard the other door open and close. He approached the adjoining door to invite Alan to the courts, but stopped when he heard low, bitter sobs.
He left Alan to his private grief though his own heart wept with him.
It was with relief that Wyldon received a post in the north. Since that morning, there was an awful tension between the knight and his squire. They both felt it and had no idea how to fix it, so they persisted with awkward silences and confused looks.
The respite they expected once they had work came, but only slightly. It was only when they were too exhausted that they could sleep without dreaming of the other.
Alanna had long since acknowledged that she loved Wyldon, had always loved Wyldon, and increasingly, that though she was unhappy with him she would be completely miserable without him. Even though he was depressed, and she assumed it was because of Lady Vivenne even if she couldn’t imagine why, he still brightened her day by merely being in it. She just wished they could forget the last year and continue as they had been before the Tusaine war, best friends.
Wyldon was similarly afflicted. He was resigned to his fate as a lonely bachelor in love with his best friend. No one else, male or female, could compare to Alan. He had almost convinced himself that he was in love with Lady Vivenne, but he realized now that she was a mere substitute, Alan’s face in a woman’s body. Wyldon might have worked up the courage to approach Alan, but not after hearing his disastrous break-up with Prince Jonathan and seeing Alan’s subsequent depression.
Wyldon refused to be a substitute for the prince, just as he refused to let himself replace Alan for Vivenne. It wouldn’t be fair to her, though he felt very guilty about leaving her alone in the garden. He did return to a few balls in hopes of seeing her again to apologize, but she never appeared, and he carried the additional shame of breaking her heart.
He did his best to cheer Alan up and Wyldon counted his day well spent if he could convince his squire to crack one watery smile.
They exerted their mutual frustrations and heartbreak on the practice courts against each other, both of them growing more skilled as desperation spurred them to greater heights.
When the time came to return for Alan’s Ordeal, both of them were sick with fear and relieved that they could get some space from each other.
Alanna was additionally conflicted. She had always planned to reveal that she was a girl after she got her shield, but when? How? Wyldon would be furious; she would lose his friendship without a doubt, especially as it had been incredibly tense for a while. Still, she loathed hurting him but knew that she had no choice. In her bitterest moments, she almost wished she had never picked up a sword, that she had gone to the convent. Then she looked at Wyldon and couldn’t believe it; their years of friendship were beyond priceless, even if she was destined to lose him.
There also remained the problem of her Ordeal. Alanna was fairly certain that the Ordeal would test her, for there had been female knights in the past, but the rituals beforehand required her knight-master and another.
Wyldon couldn’t see her naked and the only other person who knew she was a girl was Jon.
That would be awkward. Alanna knew that Wyldon couldn’t stand Jon, though she didn’t know why, for, for if his name ever came up, Wyldon looked simultaneously pitying and livid.
When they arrived in Corus, she approached Jon and explained the problem. Jon immediately accepted the other position and suggested they talk to Wyldon together and explain her discomfort in bathing in front of him. To their surprise, the knight accepted the decision to let Alan bathe in another room and read the ritual words after he was done.
The night finally came for her Ordeal. Alanna left no note for anyone, not even Wyldon. If the Chamber opened upon her dead body, she trusted that Jonathan would be able to hide her secret. Wyldon did not need to know of her betrayal, not if she died. It would give him unneeded grief and she couldn’t do that even though she longed to let the truth be known. She was tired of hiding.
During her vigil, Alanna meditated more on her relationship with Wyldon than on the ideals of knighthood. The abstract principles of chivalry didn’t matter, didn’t resonate with meaning. Wyldon was the embodiment of those ideals.
Since the very beginning when he, as a second-year squire, approached a new page and offered to help teach him to defend himself, Wyldon was there for her, teaching, cajoling, serving as the perfect example of the knight wanted to become one day. His dry humor, his slight smile, even his stiff formality, all of it made him unique and special to Alanna.
She remembered flashes of their eight-year friendship, from showing her the different grips when holding a blade, to attempting to teach her jousting, to the excited spark in his eyes when he discussed horse breeding. She remembered waking up to see his worried face after Drell, her relief and reassurance in the knowledge that he would always come for her as Halim mouthed his distant cruelties, her utter heartbreak when she realized that he loved Vivenne…
Alanna would never forget Wyldon of Cavall, even if he wanted nothing to do with her after she revealed herself.
As if prompted by the thought, the Chamber doors opened and Alanna walked inside.
Alanna suffered through the cold, the voices begging from beyond the grave, the massive spider, and the feeling of water pressing down on her, filling her lungs until she choked.
She saw a picture on the wall, blurred. When she reached out to touch it, it shifted and felt like a piece of cloth. Alanna tore it open to reveal Jonathan dead and Roger crowning himself triumphantly.
Then shifted to a different figure.
Wyldon appeared before her, handsome as ever, but with a cold gaze she hadn’t seen on him in years. He snarled menacingly, “How could you betray me, Alanna? I thought we were friends, that friends trusted each other. I never want to see your face again, unless it’s facedown in some Corus gutter.” He sneered. “I can’t believe you ever thought I could love you. Females can’t use weapons; I don’t know how you ever deceived me. You must have witched me with your foul Gift to make me think you were competent. I wasted half of my life dealing with you. You disgust me.”
Alanna clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that threatened to break out, tears pouring down her face.
The Chamber doors opened.
Alanna stumbled out, eyes rimmed with red and still flowing, blood dripping from her hands. She tripped over her feet and pitched headfirst but a pair of strong arms caught her and set her back on her feet, hustling her out of the room.
She couldn’t see through her tears, but when she was finally allowed to stop, calloused fingers gently wiped away her tears to reveal Wyldon. She smiled tremulously; he pulled her to him and let her weep on his shoulder, arms tightly clutching each other, threatening to never let go. Alanna felt a kiss on her hair and smiled sadly, face pressed against his soft tunic.
This would be the last time, Alanna realized, the last time they stood as equals, as friends. Fresh tears streamed out at the thought as her best friend rocked her softly, murmuring in her ear.
***
Alanna felt her heart stop when Duke Roger’s sword sliced through her breast-bindings, leaving only a thin scratch but revealing the curve of her body to the room.
Her eyes searched out one person.
Wyldon was standing as close as the rules allowed, and he could certainly see everything. His face was slack, mouth open, one hand lifted as if to suppress the urge to vomit.
Please, her eyes begged him. Please understand.
Alanna ignored her brother as he explained the situation to the room with obvious delight and satisfaction.
How could he be so flippant when her world was crumbling?
Wyldon was shaking his head now in disbelief.
Alanna was close to tears. Please.
A distant part of her brain noted that the King was demanding who had knowledge of deception. She felt no surprise when Myles spoke up, or pride when Coram and Jon never hesitated. She was achingly aware only of Wyldon, and of the incredulous voices when he didn’t speak up.
Jon spoke for him and vouched that he assisted in keeping Alanna’s knight-master in the dark. Wyldon’s eyes flickered to Jon’s figure and betrayal entered them.
Alanna would have stayed in that dreadful spot forever, watching the ghastly emotions play over her beloved’s face, if it weren’t for Roger’s sudden attack.
With difficulty, she ended his life.
Alanna looked up to see that Wyldon was gone. She closed her eyes as people flooded the platform, grief making the chaotic room seem muffled, the bright light dim, and the pain in her heart suffocating.
Jon found him in his room, packing hastily with none of his usual care. “Where are you going?”
Wyldon said nothing, not bothering to stop or even to acknowledge Jon’s presence.
“Are you going to run away?”
There was silence but for his heavy breathing and the soft thumps as articles of clothing were thrown in a bag.
“Wyldon, please.”
Wyldon paused, then muttered roughly, “What is there here for me?”
“Alanna.”
Wyldon let out a choked laugh. “Alanna is not mine.”
“Isn’t she?”
“Don’t be a fool. I know as well as you that you’re in love. Of course, I thought she was a boy at the time.” His eyes filled with pain and he shook his head, continuing to pack.
Jon couldn’t help it. He laughed until his sides ached, unable to stop even when Wyldon tied his pack together and hefted it on a shoulder. Jon grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Why do you mock me?” Wyldon whispered wretchedly.
Jon sobered quickly and tried to explain before it was too late. “Alanna and I were never in love, Wyldon,” he said softly. “I might have been, but she was always in love with you.”
Wyldon froze. “You lie,” he said desperately.
Jon shook his head gravely. “Never,” he vowed.
The bag fell to the floor as Wyldon clutched Jon with his other arm. “I overheard you and him-her. Alanna. She said that she fell in love.”
“She was talking about you.”
Wyldon frowned in confusion, putting the pieces together over the last two years. He had overheard them the morning after he kissed – “Vivenne. Alanna is Vivenne.”
Jon slowly nodded. Wyldon sat heavily on his bed, his head in his hands in a vain attempt to stop it from spinning.
“I knew Alanna’s secret since the Black City, and I asked her that night to be my squire, but she told me that there never was any question of being yours,” he said, deciding the best path to find their way our of this convoluted lie was honesty. “I knew about her being Vivenne only because I walked in on her when she changed that first ball. I was so worried for her. I knew she had feelings for you, strong feelings. I tried to change her mind but she refused to listen. I told her that it would go badly, that she could not resist speaking to you, and she didn’t care. At first I couldn’t understand, but now I believe she wanted to feel like a woman, like someone you could love.
“The night you kissed? She realized she was in love that night. I saw the two of you in the garden and when you left her, I saw the tears on her face. Alanna left before I could get to her so I went early in the morning before you awoke.”
“You made no attempt to be quiet,” muttered Wyldon behind his hands.
Everything finally made sense. Alan’s feminine affectations, his stature, his high voice, the way Vivenne reminded him of Alan, how Vivenne was Alan, how Alan was this stranger Alanna. It was too much.
Jon watched the man’s shaking shoulders and for once felt older than the sober knight. Wyldon was lost, drowning in the lies and circumstances, and Jon could only throw a rope. He could not make Wyldon grab onto it.
“Are you still going to leave?” he asked.
Wyldon gave a shuddering sigh and looked at Jon, his eyes rimmed with red. “I don’t know.”
“Will you at least stay tonight and think about it?”
Wyldon nodded once.
Jon left him alone, not concerned that he would run. Wyldon never broke his word, unlike the rest of them.
Jon felt suddenly inadequate to the solemn knight who suffered so greatly.
***
Alanna sat on Moonlight, Firetop standing to one side of the horse and Faithful sitting calmly in his cup.
“Are you sure you have to leave?” mourned Raoul. He felt as if he had lost and gained a friend all at once. He didn’t know this woman, but he wanted to see how much of Alan remained.
Alanna, her hands white on the reins, nodded silently.
Gary patted Faithful. “We will miss you, Alanna. Be safe.”
Raoul and Gary turned towards the palace, giving Jon and Alanna space to say their farewells.
“You haven’t seen him?” Jon asked softly. Alanna shook her head.
“Mithros,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t tell Alanna that Wyldon’s room was empty that morning, clothes and weapons gone, as was Wyldon’s horse. Jon felt incredibly disappointed that Wyldon fled, just like Alanna was doing now.
“Thank you for everything, Jon,” Alanna spoke suddenly. “I know the only reason I kept my shield was because of you.”
Jon smiled. “My own father could hardly strip you of the title you just earned moments before killing the man who was murdering my mother, not when I knew about you.” His smile turned bitter as he spoke about Duke Roger.
“Jon,” she said pityingly. He reached up and clasped her hand briefly, patting it with the other.
Their goodbyes done, Jon watched the back of her as she slowly got smaller.
Sudden hoof beats behind him made Jon turn. He laughed aloud when he saw the figure on the horse.
Wyldon galloped up to Alanna, blocking her path.
“Alanna.”
She turned away.
“Alanna, please.”
The ‘please’ got her attention. Never had Wyldon begged, not once.
“Where are you going, Alanna?”
She couldn’t face him, not after what she did to him.
“Come now, find your courage. Alan always did.”
“Alan never existed,” she said quietly.
“You are Alan, just as you are Vivenne.”
She turned to him, shocked. “How did you know?”
“Jon.”
She hunched in her saddle. “Aren’t you mad?” she asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
Wyldon answered truthfully. “Livid. And terribly betrayed,” he added.
“Then why are you here?”
He slid from his horse and walked to her side, gazing up into her violet eyes. “Because I am more miserable without you.”
“Wyldon, I’m so-” she let herself be pulled from the saddle.
He put a finger on her lips, not letting her apologize. “I know,” he said simply. “I understand why, and it will be a long time before I stop feeling betrayed and confused, but so long as that long time includes you, I will be happy.”
Alanna’s eyes filled with tears. He dipped down and kissed them away, murmuring softly, “None of this, now.”
They moved as one and kissed for the first time without disguises. It was as earth-shattering as the first, and not tinged with the bitterness of deceit.
“What are you going to do now?”
He looked at her steadily. “That depends on you. Wherever you go, I will follow.”
“I can’t let you do that, you can’t abandon your oaths to the Crown,” she said desperately, holding him fiercely.
“I go where you go,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to run away, Alanna. You can stay with me, we can get posted somewhere together.”
Alanna bit her lip. She couldn’t make him break his oaths, his vows of loyalty to the Crown. Nor could she abide living without him anymore, close but with a barrier between them constructed of years’ worth of lies.
“Alright,” she decided. “Let’s stay.”
They walked back slowly, leading their mounts by the reins to stretch out their first moment alone. They held hands, the sun directly behind them, burning brightly.
Summary: Wyldon and Alan continue after the Black City.
Rating: PG-13
Second and final part of this. I wrote all 12,508 words in 24 hours, and I had to sleep during that time.
Big thank you to Ankhiale, as usual.
Part 2 of 2
_____
Squire Alan wished fervently at that moment to be back in the nice warm desert. Though sandy, at least it didn’t pour cold rain that soaked through her clothes and sent her shivering. She finally managed to find shelter and make a fire and was in the process of warming her frozen body when a wet cat raced in, meowing piteously.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Alanna murmured, ignoring the hurt looks of Firetop as the dog alternately glared at the cat.
When the Great Mother Goddess entered, Alanna took in her messages dazedly, but especially the one about learning to love.
Surely she didn’t love Wyldon. She liked him a lot, she was very attracted to him, yes. He made her breath catch and her pulse race, but that meant nothing, especially as he could never love her back. He would be too hurt and absolutely livid over her deception; he would see it as the deepest betrayal.
Loving Wyldon was impossible, Alanna decided. Utterly impossible and ridiculous. She’d be better off with Jon, or even George, someone who already knew she was a girl and didn’t mind, even liked her. Actually, she’d be best off with none of them. She didn’t need love to be a knight.
That she dreamed of Wyldon’s soothing voice, his large calloused hands on hers, his soft breath tickling the back of her neck, and his lips descending towards hers… That was meaningless.
Alanna and Wyldon spent her first year as a squire in the eastern part of Tortall. Rumors had reached Corus of Duke Hilam of Tusaine’s growing ambitions and Tortall was subtly arming and preparing for war. They assisted in patrols of the border, hunting out an increasing number of bandits. They suspected that the raiding parties were disguised Tusaine soldiers. Alanna was particularly disgusted at the subterfuge, but Wyldon just shrugged and said that it made logical sense; they were scouting out the territory in preparation for an attack.
Alanna grew increasingly deadly with Moonlight, Lightning, and Firetop, but she hated killing, no matter how good at it she was. As Wyldon had predicted years ago, after her first major skirmish in which she gutted a man, she was sick behind bushes. The feel of her sword slicing into flesh was unexpected and disturbing, though she could not regret her actions. Wyldon was right, after all; if she hadn’t killed the man, he would have tried to kill her, though his presence and cool hands on her neck did more to comfort her than the cold knowledge.
A few months in, they reported in Corus their suspicions and Wyldon suggested asking George to gather information. Alanna agreed, and convinced George to contact the Tusaine Rogue before they returned to the border.
The next time they returned to Corus, George sought out Alanna with worrying news. Tusaine was mobilizing its knights and armies, all centering on the River Drell. Alanna was ready to take the information immediately to Myles, but George stopped her with his talk about giving up the Rogue in a few years.
Alanna scoffed and asked where he would put his collection of ears, and scoffed again when he claimed he was waiting for his chosen woman to grow up. Before she realized, he swooped in and planted a soft kiss against her lips. Her face went slack in shock, and George slowly pulled back, looking deeply into her eyes.
Alanna blushed brightly and pushed George away, feeling altogether too guilty for enjoying his kiss. It felt as if she had betrayed Wyldon, which was ridiculous because he didn’t even know she was a girl. As George stepped away, her knight-master walked in, frowning at their closeness. Alanna couldn’t help herself as she flushed again even brighter and muttered a greeting to Wyldon and a terse goodbye to George.
The thief chuckled and gave a crooked grin, whistling cheerily as he left.
Wyldon didn’t ask and Alanna didn’t volunteer. They both pretended to forget the situation and they both dwelled upon it all too much. Alanna was confused about George, but mostly guilty and worried that Wyldon saw them. Unbeknownst to her, Wyldon had not seen the kiss but had walked in just as George pulled back, seeing just enough to surmise the previous action. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but so long as Alan didn’t bring it up, he would contain his curiosity.
They returned to the border just long enough to be summoned back to Corus at the Call to Muster. Alanna was annoyed at the constant riding back and forth. “Why didn’t they just keep us at Corus, if they knew they were going to Muster?” she muttered, annoyed at losing the training time travelling.
When they learned their assignment, Alanna was not surprised to find that Wyldon was to be a bodyguard and advisor for Jonathan. Wyldon was not fool enough to be honored; he knew that the prince wanted to keep a close eye on him and Alan. The knight never forgot that midwinter when the prince and Gareth of Naxen attempted – and failed – to interrogate him about his questionable relationship with Alan.
Neither of them were pleased of their posting on the River Drell, and especially not with Jon as the commander. He was too young, no matter his royal position, and he didn’t have the experience.
They took the first peaceful weeks in stride, training together constantly, for as Wyldon often said, “a lazy knight is a dead knight.” Some of the soldiers watched them spar, placing bets on who would win and how many words they would say between them, for they were a very quiet sparring pair. Neither wasted breath on insults or curses.
The army weathered the first major attack well. Alanna, experienced after her year of fighting Tusainian bandits, suffered no major injuries until the very end. She had spied an archer aiming for Jon and pushed him out of the way. The arrow glanced off her shield and sliced up her arm, though she didn’t notice until Wyldon rode up to her in the chaos and exclaimed, at which point the pain shot through her body and her arm went numb.
They retreated to relative safety and Wyldon bound up her arm with a bandage. He was torn between protecting his squire or the prince until Alanna assured him that she would go immediately to the healers.
She didn’t, of course, but as soon as the battle eased, went to find big Thor. Alanna passed out after she helped the large man find peace, though she blearily felt a wet nose at one point, heard a loud bark in her ear, and saw Wyldon’s worried face.
Alanna woke up to the same face looming over hers, though it bore an expression of long-suffering annoyance rather than worry. “What?” she mumbled, carefully examining the bandage on her upper arm.
“You said you were going straight to the healers,” Wyldon accused. “Instead you took a stroll on the bank and tired yourself more by using your Gift. If it weren’t for Firetop, we wouldn’t have found you in time.”
Alanna reddened in shame, guilty for worrying her best friend. “I’m sorry.”
“I hope you are,” he said with heat in his voice. “I couldn’t even see you when we brought you back; Prince Jonathan ordered me to assist in clearing the battlefield.” He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. “I didn’t even know if you lived or not until he told me.”
Alanna felt relief war with her guilt, for at least Jon had dressed the wound and put a shirt on her. If Wyldon or the healers had done it… she shuddered.
“I am sorry, Wyldon,” she said sincerely, touching him on the arm. “I was riding for the healers but then I remembered that Thor had guard duty. I couldn’t leave him there, not without checking to see if he was alive. I helped him sleep.” She looked down at her hands and heard Wyldon sigh.
“I understand, Alan. Your loyalty to your friends is admirable; just don’t put them in front of yourself.” He patted her lightly on her shoulder. “Rest and heal quickly, my friend. I’ll need my squire again soon.”
***
When Alanna was captured by the Tusainian soldiers, she was terrified, not for herself, but at the thought that Wyldon would disobey orders to come after her.
Would his loyalty and their friendship cause him to cross the Drell after her? Wyldon might, but he would hate himself for doing it, for defying explicit orders. She wasn’t worth that, she wasn’t worth him betraying his own character for her safety.
At the same time, she yearned for his comforting presence. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him sitting next to her, his calmness flowing over her and giving her a measure of peace. If he came for her, they would live and her secret would be undiscovered; she had no illusions that in the present situation as a captive, she would not be able to hide it for long.
Conflicted and miserable, Alanna worried the hours away.
Wyldon, upon hearing of Alan’s capture, was frozen with indecision. Did he disobey orders and rescue his best friend, or did he trust that the prince would? Part of him rejected that; he was Alan’s knight-master, he was Alan’s best friend, he should be the one to save him. His stomach roiled at the thought of Alan in the hands of the notorious Duke Hilam…
It was with a heavy heart that Wyldon entered the prince’s tent only to find him and other soldiers armored up. He was inordinately pleased that the prince cared enough about Alan to risk punishment to save him as well as exceedingly annoyed that he had not been consulted. It seemed that Jonathan was still jealous about his friendship, that he didn’t trust the knight.
“You weren’t planning on leaving without me, were you?” he drawled slightly. Jonathan’s face tightened but he nodded to the knight, including him in on the plan.
When the group of knights and soldiers entered the small hut where the captives were being held, Wyldon’s eyes immediately went to the form of his friend on his knees. His blood went cold as he heard the man who had to be Duke Hilam murmur about looking forward to breaking Alan, and his heart sang with pride at hearing Alan’s defiant response.
Wyldon moved swiftly to grab the hand of the sneering man who was about to strike him, fingers digging into the bones in his arm, naked sword held to his throat. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said calmly.
He looked at his friend and was struck with the sheer gratitude, relief, happiness, and something else he just couldn’t identify, but he knew was echoed in his own.
***
Wyldon was a very confused man. At the age of twenty-two, he thought he had everything figured out. His life was in order, his character firmly established, his reputation in the process of being formed. While not a war hero, his valor in combat had earned him a purse from the Crown and the admiration of the Court, especially the ladies.
His relatives were delighted at this, for they considered it past time for Wyldon to choose a wife and settle an heir for Cavall. Wyldon wasn’t against this plan. He did look at the court ladies in approval, but he felt exceedingly awkward and unwilling to approach them or be approached.
Wyldon couldn’t understand why, when one beautiful woman after another came up to him, he found himself comparing them to his squire.
He knew that he was attracted to women – he had experienced short dalliances with appropriate outlets, albeit quite privately – and therefore he was baffled why he suddenly found their bright blue eyes wanting violet, why their blonde or brown hair seemed colorless in comparison to a burnished copper.
Wyldon was disgruntled with this discovery and sought to distance himself from the ladies, curtly rebuffing them so that he would not be tempted to compare the shape of their lips with Alan’s…
He would have suspected his friend of finding male company more to his liking, and it still was a distinct possibility, but Alan never said a word or indicated any preference at all.
Still, his bothersome relatives insisted on his presence at court functions, so he begrudgingly went and stood awkwardly against the wall, nursing his glass and alternatively wishing for Alan’s comforting and amusing presence and relieved of his absence. He had asked his squire once if he wanted to join him, but Alan had declined, stating a desire to use the empty practice courts instead.
At one such event, as Wyldon finished his last glass of alcohol and hit his limit for the night – the usual sign that he had stayed long enough to satisfy his great-aunt – he stood dumbstruck as a new lady entered. He had never seen her before in his life but she looked hauntingly familiar.
Her name wasn’t announced and she seemed to be as awkward as he, flitting unsteadily around the perimeter of the room, looking into each group of people and eyeing those on the dance floor.
Wyldon wondered if she was looking for someone.
As she neared him, Wyldon found his pulse begin to race. Relief, terror, excitement, shame, and guilt all ran through him in quick succession. He was relieved that he found no impulse to compare this tiny woman to his squire, yet guilty at the preposterous thought that he was betraying Alan. The curve of her neck, the gentle arc of her lips as they pulled into a sweet smile, the brief glimpse of white teeth as she laughed to herself, all of it enticed him, though at times he caught a hint of…
His eyes met hers and both of them stood still. She blushed brightly and almost turned away, but Wyldon could not let this vision go. With more confidence than he was feeling and more initiative than he had ever shown, he approached the lady and introduced himself as Lord Wyldon of Cavall.
She looked at him, her dark eyes flitting over his somber sensible tunic, and spoke in a teasing voice, “I have heard of you, my lord.” Her eyes glittered with amusement, but at what? “I am Lady Vivenne of Milis Forge.” After a brief pause, she extended her arm and Wyldon laid a courtly kiss on it.
“I hope that we shall become better acquainted, my Lady,” he murmured, though he wondered at his sudden ease with flirtations and attributed it to too many glasses of wine. With gallantry he never expected himself to possess, he asked for permission to dance and led her to the dance floor.
Wyldon arrived in his rooms late that night after escorting Lady Vivenne to the guest corridors. Alan’s room was dark; he was asleep, so Wyldon did not disturb him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, anyway, for fear that his sudden infatuation with the lady would cease and he would again notice his squire.
The next morning he awoke to muted arguing in the adjoining chamber. Wyldon suppressed a groan and wearily rubbed his eyes, grabbing a worn tunic and slipping it on. He walked, none too steadily, to the door and threw it open.
Jon and Alanna froze. Wyldon, ignoring the stab in his throat, raised an eyebrow and Jonathan hastily removed his hands from Alanna’s upper arms and moved away. “I don’t want to know,” Wyldon muttered and closed the door to finish getting dressed.
Jon flushed as Alanna glared at him. “I didn’t, we weren’t,” he started, but Alanna cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. I am through with this conversation, and if you ever touch me again like that, I will thrash you in the training yard.”
“Alann-Alan,” he amended at her panic. “Just keep it in mind. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Alanna closed her eyes and nodded, sighing. “I know.”
Jon left, and Alanna pushed aside her exhaustion and went to join Wyldon in the courts. They went through their usual routine, neither mentioning the incident. Wyldon really didn’t want to know, after all.
***
At every function Wyldon attended, he looked for Lady Vivenne. She was usually there with a warm smile on her face, and was quite happy to spend all night with him, though on occasion the prince stole her away. Wyldon didn’t think she liked him much, as she always seemed to be arguing with him and was relieved to return to his own. Though Jonathan looked distinctly unamused after every such encounter, he insisted on dancing at least one dance with Vivenne every ball.
A few months later, Wyldon finally cajoled Alan into coming with him to meet Vivenne. He hadn’t told Alan much, because whenever he mentioned her name Alan seemed to blush and look very uncomfortable. Still, Wyldon wanted Lady Vivenne to meet the most important person in his life, as he told a peaked-looking Alan.
To his dismay, Vivenne didn’t arrive. She didn’t come to every function, after all, but Wyldon was extremely disappointed. Not even Alan could lift him out of his mood, especially as his antics only served to make him notice his squire’s bright eyes. It was worse when the prince dragged Alan away. Wyldon’s thoughts took an unwanted turn and he followed his squire with his eyes as Jonathan seemed to win an argument.
They always stood too close to each other. Why did they stand so close together? Why did he care? Wyldon tried to ignore his suspicions and especially his jealousy. He liked Lady Vivenne, why was he still noticing Alan’s light laugh?
The next ball, Alan pleaded a vicious headache and went to sleep early. Wyldon left with hopes of seeing Vivenne and was not disappointed. She was properly apologetic for missing him, and as they danced that night Wyldon never felt lighter on his feet or in his heart.
He dared to suggest a walk in the rose garden and was gratified to see her blush. As they strolled along the path, her arm tucked into his, Wyldon marveled at the close connection they seemed to have. They were comfortable with each other, seeming to anticipate the other even after only a few meetings. Lady Vivenne was beautiful, petite but not fragile as she had a surprising amount of muscle that was pleasing. He didn’t want to have to worry about breaking her.
They sat together on a bench near a balcony, surrounded by the delicate smell of the roses. As if by a mutual and pre-planned decision, they leaned towards each other. His head dipped down and hers rose, reflecting the soft moonlight. Wyldon had never seen anything more beautiful. His heart clenched as their lips met gently, tenderly.
For one terrifying and exhilarating moment, his world stopped.
“Wyldon,” she sighed, reaching her arms around his neck.
He cupped her face in one large palm, gazing over her blissful expression, so much like Alan’s when he …
Wyldon’s eyes flew open and all he could see was Alan. He muttered a brief apology and fled as if dogs were nipping at his heels. He swallowed back the tears pricking his eyes and acknowledged to himself, finally, that he was in love with his squire.
Like the first morning after he met her, Wyldon was awoken with sounds of arguing from Alan’s room. He groaned as the memory of last night returned to him and tried not to listen to the muffled voices, though they were too loud not to hear.
“I told you this was a terrible idea!” That was Prince Jonathan’s voice, but his presence in Alan’s rooms wasn’t a surprise.
“I know.” That was Alan’s, sounding almost as miserable as Wyldon felt.
“What did you expect to happen?” Jonathan pressed, voice hard. “All roses and sunshine? It couldn’t work, you know that.”
“I do know!” Alan cried. “Are you happy now? What you predicted came true; I fell in love, but it doesn’t matter.”
Wyldon stopped, tunic half on. He hated himself but he couldn’t stop listening.
“Love?” Jonathan’s shocked voice came through the door. “I had no idea, oh Al-“
“Like you said, it doesn’t matter.” Alan said firmly though with a tinge of desperation. “It won’t work out, it can’t, and I’ll just have to live with it.”
Wyldon’s heart sank, his suspicions finally confirmed just as he understood his own heart.
Alan was in love with Prince Jonathan, and now the prince was rejecting him.
Wyldon heard the other door open and close. He approached the adjoining door to invite Alan to the courts, but stopped when he heard low, bitter sobs.
He left Alan to his private grief though his own heart wept with him.
It was with relief that Wyldon received a post in the north. Since that morning, there was an awful tension between the knight and his squire. They both felt it and had no idea how to fix it, so they persisted with awkward silences and confused looks.
The respite they expected once they had work came, but only slightly. It was only when they were too exhausted that they could sleep without dreaming of the other.
Alanna had long since acknowledged that she loved Wyldon, had always loved Wyldon, and increasingly, that though she was unhappy with him she would be completely miserable without him. Even though he was depressed, and she assumed it was because of Lady Vivenne even if she couldn’t imagine why, he still brightened her day by merely being in it. She just wished they could forget the last year and continue as they had been before the Tusaine war, best friends.
Wyldon was similarly afflicted. He was resigned to his fate as a lonely bachelor in love with his best friend. No one else, male or female, could compare to Alan. He had almost convinced himself that he was in love with Lady Vivenne, but he realized now that she was a mere substitute, Alan’s face in a woman’s body. Wyldon might have worked up the courage to approach Alan, but not after hearing his disastrous break-up with Prince Jonathan and seeing Alan’s subsequent depression.
Wyldon refused to be a substitute for the prince, just as he refused to let himself replace Alan for Vivenne. It wouldn’t be fair to her, though he felt very guilty about leaving her alone in the garden. He did return to a few balls in hopes of seeing her again to apologize, but she never appeared, and he carried the additional shame of breaking her heart.
He did his best to cheer Alan up and Wyldon counted his day well spent if he could convince his squire to crack one watery smile.
They exerted their mutual frustrations and heartbreak on the practice courts against each other, both of them growing more skilled as desperation spurred them to greater heights.
When the time came to return for Alan’s Ordeal, both of them were sick with fear and relieved that they could get some space from each other.
Alanna was additionally conflicted. She had always planned to reveal that she was a girl after she got her shield, but when? How? Wyldon would be furious; she would lose his friendship without a doubt, especially as it had been incredibly tense for a while. Still, she loathed hurting him but knew that she had no choice. In her bitterest moments, she almost wished she had never picked up a sword, that she had gone to the convent. Then she looked at Wyldon and couldn’t believe it; their years of friendship were beyond priceless, even if she was destined to lose him.
There also remained the problem of her Ordeal. Alanna was fairly certain that the Ordeal would test her, for there had been female knights in the past, but the rituals beforehand required her knight-master and another.
Wyldon couldn’t see her naked and the only other person who knew she was a girl was Jon.
That would be awkward. Alanna knew that Wyldon couldn’t stand Jon, though she didn’t know why, for, for if his name ever came up, Wyldon looked simultaneously pitying and livid.
When they arrived in Corus, she approached Jon and explained the problem. Jon immediately accepted the other position and suggested they talk to Wyldon together and explain her discomfort in bathing in front of him. To their surprise, the knight accepted the decision to let Alan bathe in another room and read the ritual words after he was done.
The night finally came for her Ordeal. Alanna left no note for anyone, not even Wyldon. If the Chamber opened upon her dead body, she trusted that Jonathan would be able to hide her secret. Wyldon did not need to know of her betrayal, not if she died. It would give him unneeded grief and she couldn’t do that even though she longed to let the truth be known. She was tired of hiding.
During her vigil, Alanna meditated more on her relationship with Wyldon than on the ideals of knighthood. The abstract principles of chivalry didn’t matter, didn’t resonate with meaning. Wyldon was the embodiment of those ideals.
Since the very beginning when he, as a second-year squire, approached a new page and offered to help teach him to defend himself, Wyldon was there for her, teaching, cajoling, serving as the perfect example of the knight wanted to become one day. His dry humor, his slight smile, even his stiff formality, all of it made him unique and special to Alanna.
She remembered flashes of their eight-year friendship, from showing her the different grips when holding a blade, to attempting to teach her jousting, to the excited spark in his eyes when he discussed horse breeding. She remembered waking up to see his worried face after Drell, her relief and reassurance in the knowledge that he would always come for her as Halim mouthed his distant cruelties, her utter heartbreak when she realized that he loved Vivenne…
Alanna would never forget Wyldon of Cavall, even if he wanted nothing to do with her after she revealed herself.
As if prompted by the thought, the Chamber doors opened and Alanna walked inside.
Alanna suffered through the cold, the voices begging from beyond the grave, the massive spider, and the feeling of water pressing down on her, filling her lungs until she choked.
She saw a picture on the wall, blurred. When she reached out to touch it, it shifted and felt like a piece of cloth. Alanna tore it open to reveal Jonathan dead and Roger crowning himself triumphantly.
Then shifted to a different figure.
Wyldon appeared before her, handsome as ever, but with a cold gaze she hadn’t seen on him in years. He snarled menacingly, “How could you betray me, Alanna? I thought we were friends, that friends trusted each other. I never want to see your face again, unless it’s facedown in some Corus gutter.” He sneered. “I can’t believe you ever thought I could love you. Females can’t use weapons; I don’t know how you ever deceived me. You must have witched me with your foul Gift to make me think you were competent. I wasted half of my life dealing with you. You disgust me.”
Alanna clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that threatened to break out, tears pouring down her face.
The Chamber doors opened.
Alanna stumbled out, eyes rimmed with red and still flowing, blood dripping from her hands. She tripped over her feet and pitched headfirst but a pair of strong arms caught her and set her back on her feet, hustling her out of the room.
She couldn’t see through her tears, but when she was finally allowed to stop, calloused fingers gently wiped away her tears to reveal Wyldon. She smiled tremulously; he pulled her to him and let her weep on his shoulder, arms tightly clutching each other, threatening to never let go. Alanna felt a kiss on her hair and smiled sadly, face pressed against his soft tunic.
This would be the last time, Alanna realized, the last time they stood as equals, as friends. Fresh tears streamed out at the thought as her best friend rocked her softly, murmuring in her ear.
***
Alanna felt her heart stop when Duke Roger’s sword sliced through her breast-bindings, leaving only a thin scratch but revealing the curve of her body to the room.
Her eyes searched out one person.
Wyldon was standing as close as the rules allowed, and he could certainly see everything. His face was slack, mouth open, one hand lifted as if to suppress the urge to vomit.
Please, her eyes begged him. Please understand.
Alanna ignored her brother as he explained the situation to the room with obvious delight and satisfaction.
How could he be so flippant when her world was crumbling?
Wyldon was shaking his head now in disbelief.
Alanna was close to tears. Please.
A distant part of her brain noted that the King was demanding who had knowledge of deception. She felt no surprise when Myles spoke up, or pride when Coram and Jon never hesitated. She was achingly aware only of Wyldon, and of the incredulous voices when he didn’t speak up.
Jon spoke for him and vouched that he assisted in keeping Alanna’s knight-master in the dark. Wyldon’s eyes flickered to Jon’s figure and betrayal entered them.
Alanna would have stayed in that dreadful spot forever, watching the ghastly emotions play over her beloved’s face, if it weren’t for Roger’s sudden attack.
With difficulty, she ended his life.
Alanna looked up to see that Wyldon was gone. She closed her eyes as people flooded the platform, grief making the chaotic room seem muffled, the bright light dim, and the pain in her heart suffocating.
Jon found him in his room, packing hastily with none of his usual care. “Where are you going?”
Wyldon said nothing, not bothering to stop or even to acknowledge Jon’s presence.
“Are you going to run away?”
There was silence but for his heavy breathing and the soft thumps as articles of clothing were thrown in a bag.
“Wyldon, please.”
Wyldon paused, then muttered roughly, “What is there here for me?”
“Alanna.”
Wyldon let out a choked laugh. “Alanna is not mine.”
“Isn’t she?”
“Don’t be a fool. I know as well as you that you’re in love. Of course, I thought she was a boy at the time.” His eyes filled with pain and he shook his head, continuing to pack.
Jon couldn’t help it. He laughed until his sides ached, unable to stop even when Wyldon tied his pack together and hefted it on a shoulder. Jon grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Why do you mock me?” Wyldon whispered wretchedly.
Jon sobered quickly and tried to explain before it was too late. “Alanna and I were never in love, Wyldon,” he said softly. “I might have been, but she was always in love with you.”
Wyldon froze. “You lie,” he said desperately.
Jon shook his head gravely. “Never,” he vowed.
The bag fell to the floor as Wyldon clutched Jon with his other arm. “I overheard you and him-her. Alanna. She said that she fell in love.”
“She was talking about you.”
Wyldon frowned in confusion, putting the pieces together over the last two years. He had overheard them the morning after he kissed – “Vivenne. Alanna is Vivenne.”
Jon slowly nodded. Wyldon sat heavily on his bed, his head in his hands in a vain attempt to stop it from spinning.
“I knew Alanna’s secret since the Black City, and I asked her that night to be my squire, but she told me that there never was any question of being yours,” he said, deciding the best path to find their way our of this convoluted lie was honesty. “I knew about her being Vivenne only because I walked in on her when she changed that first ball. I was so worried for her. I knew she had feelings for you, strong feelings. I tried to change her mind but she refused to listen. I told her that it would go badly, that she could not resist speaking to you, and she didn’t care. At first I couldn’t understand, but now I believe she wanted to feel like a woman, like someone you could love.
“The night you kissed? She realized she was in love that night. I saw the two of you in the garden and when you left her, I saw the tears on her face. Alanna left before I could get to her so I went early in the morning before you awoke.”
“You made no attempt to be quiet,” muttered Wyldon behind his hands.
Everything finally made sense. Alan’s feminine affectations, his stature, his high voice, the way Vivenne reminded him of Alan, how Vivenne was Alan, how Alan was this stranger Alanna. It was too much.
Jon watched the man’s shaking shoulders and for once felt older than the sober knight. Wyldon was lost, drowning in the lies and circumstances, and Jon could only throw a rope. He could not make Wyldon grab onto it.
“Are you still going to leave?” he asked.
Wyldon gave a shuddering sigh and looked at Jon, his eyes rimmed with red. “I don’t know.”
“Will you at least stay tonight and think about it?”
Wyldon nodded once.
Jon left him alone, not concerned that he would run. Wyldon never broke his word, unlike the rest of them.
Jon felt suddenly inadequate to the solemn knight who suffered so greatly.
***
Alanna sat on Moonlight, Firetop standing to one side of the horse and Faithful sitting calmly in his cup.
“Are you sure you have to leave?” mourned Raoul. He felt as if he had lost and gained a friend all at once. He didn’t know this woman, but he wanted to see how much of Alan remained.
Alanna, her hands white on the reins, nodded silently.
Gary patted Faithful. “We will miss you, Alanna. Be safe.”
Raoul and Gary turned towards the palace, giving Jon and Alanna space to say their farewells.
“You haven’t seen him?” Jon asked softly. Alanna shook her head.
“Mithros,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t tell Alanna that Wyldon’s room was empty that morning, clothes and weapons gone, as was Wyldon’s horse. Jon felt incredibly disappointed that Wyldon fled, just like Alanna was doing now.
“Thank you for everything, Jon,” Alanna spoke suddenly. “I know the only reason I kept my shield was because of you.”
Jon smiled. “My own father could hardly strip you of the title you just earned moments before killing the man who was murdering my mother, not when I knew about you.” His smile turned bitter as he spoke about Duke Roger.
“Jon,” she said pityingly. He reached up and clasped her hand briefly, patting it with the other.
Their goodbyes done, Jon watched the back of her as she slowly got smaller.
Sudden hoof beats behind him made Jon turn. He laughed aloud when he saw the figure on the horse.
Wyldon galloped up to Alanna, blocking her path.
“Alanna.”
She turned away.
“Alanna, please.”
The ‘please’ got her attention. Never had Wyldon begged, not once.
“Where are you going, Alanna?”
She couldn’t face him, not after what she did to him.
“Come now, find your courage. Alan always did.”
“Alan never existed,” she said quietly.
“You are Alan, just as you are Vivenne.”
She turned to him, shocked. “How did you know?”
“Jon.”
She hunched in her saddle. “Aren’t you mad?” she asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
Wyldon answered truthfully. “Livid. And terribly betrayed,” he added.
“Then why are you here?”
He slid from his horse and walked to her side, gazing up into her violet eyes. “Because I am more miserable without you.”
“Wyldon, I’m so-” she let herself be pulled from the saddle.
He put a finger on her lips, not letting her apologize. “I know,” he said simply. “I understand why, and it will be a long time before I stop feeling betrayed and confused, but so long as that long time includes you, I will be happy.”
Alanna’s eyes filled with tears. He dipped down and kissed them away, murmuring softly, “None of this, now.”
They moved as one and kissed for the first time without disguises. It was as earth-shattering as the first, and not tinged with the bitterness of deceit.
“What are you going to do now?”
He looked at her steadily. “That depends on you. Wherever you go, I will follow.”
“I can’t let you do that, you can’t abandon your oaths to the Crown,” she said desperately, holding him fiercely.
“I go where you go,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to run away, Alanna. You can stay with me, we can get posted somewhere together.”
Alanna bit her lip. She couldn’t make him break his oaths, his vows of loyalty to the Crown. Nor could she abide living without him anymore, close but with a barrier between them constructed of years’ worth of lies.
“Alright,” she decided. “Let’s stay.”
They walked back slowly, leading their mounts by the reins to stretch out their first moment alone. They held hands, the sun directly behind them, burning brightly.