Post by Rojo on Aug 7, 2009 1:40:13 GMT 10
Title: Change Through Time
Rating: PG-13 (for safety)
Length: N/A
Category: Tortall
Summary: Life moves on, but not all people do.
Peculiar Pairing: Aly/Roald
Intro:
Somewhere over Jerykun Island
The Copper Isles
3 October, 481 H.E.
Weaving in and out of the flock, Nawat could not help but cackle a crow’s laugh.
For years, whenever his mate, Aly, had commissioned the help of the crows in her spy work, she had coerced, bribed, threatened, and pleaded with the crows to not wear the sparklies they had won from Kyprioth in the bet long ago. A few obliged and left the sparklies with their mate and nestlings. Some were forced to do as Nawat’s mate wished when other crows stole their sparklies. But most were displeased.
But the flock Nawat was flying with was different. He had flown in every flock belonging to the Isles and several belonging to the Eastern Lands and he had found very few that were like his current one. The crows were more apt to have a prank going at all times or to trick a crow-turned-man-turned-crow who happened to be passing through with them and did not mind if they ended up as the victim of mischief, as other crows did. They had fun—no matter which skies they flew in—and they wore their sparklies with pride, not caring if they stood out and the two-leggers took notice. It was no wonder Kyprioth was rumored to fly with this flock sometimes.
Gliding downward, Nawat entered the jungle the flock was flying over through a break between two trees. Sunlight filtering through the canopy of foliage overhead left iridescent patterns on the jungle floor as he used his sharp eyes to look for recent signs left by two-leggers. Overhead, Nawat could hear the others mock some passing gulls as they continued on their way without him.
A soft twang and then a whistling noise reached Nawat’s ears right before an arrow pinned his body to a tree.
Fief Naxen, near Lake Naxen
Tortall’s Northeast District
28 January, 482 H.E.
Roald was the first of the royal children to be asked to be one of the pall-bearers for Duke Gareth’s casket. He refused. Jasson had been asked next. He had refused, also, and told Cythera the same thing as Roald.
“But why?” demanded Cythera.
“It’s simple, really,” Jasson had told her. “Liam was his godson; Liam knew him better than the rest of us, and Liam would want to do it. Inform Da you want Liam off border-patrol and to Fief Naxen in time for the funeral or you’ll tell Alanna he’s not honoring the loss of the Duke properly. Liam will be there, one way or another.”
But now, Roald almost wished he had accepted Cythera’s offer. It would have, at least, given him something to do besides help lead the funeral procession from the local Black God’s temple to the Naxen family catacombs and make sure the golden crown atop his head was seen by all (“You and Jasson got me in trouble with Alanna, so you and Jasson can represent the Crown at the Duke’s funeral,”).
As the long and tedious memorial service wore on, a drizzling rain had started to fall. The simple dirt road leading to the catacombs was turning to mud while Jasson was, for quite possibly the first time in his life since the idea of a marriage between him and one of Emperor Kadder’s sisters was suggested, acting his age by remaining solemn and respectful .
Glancing at the bleak surroundings, Roald just wanted a distraction.
Chapter One:
Spymistress’s Palace office
Rajmuat, the Copper Isles capitol
12 March, 482 H.E.
The grating of a chair being dragged across her wooden floor jerked Aly awake. Groggily, she lifted her head from where it rested on her arms at her desk and blinked at her visitor wearily. A small part of her mind suggested drawing one of the many daggers she kept on her body, but she dismissed this thought, deciding it too late to do so without her visitor thinking she was becoming lax.
“There once was a time when, had I woken you from a sleep like that, you would have had me pinned against the wall with a knife to my throat faster than you could realize who exactly was in your office,” Dovasary Balitang remarked casually.
“There once was a time that I didn’t need to pin people to walls with a knife,” Aly countered. Sitting up, she concentrated upon shuffling the papers on her desk into some semblance of an organization system.
Dove snorted. “When you were three, and that’s a maybe. You were born suspicious.” Using a pitcher which sat resting on the corner of Aly’s desk, she poured herself a cup of water. The gem on a ring she wore on her right hand glowed a deep green then faded before she took a sip from the cup.
“That may be, but since when have you thought I might poison you? Or that I might not catch it with my Sight?” Aly raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the ring. “And doesn’t that thing glow purple, not green, when there isn’t any poison present?”
“The opal in my old ring shattered three weeks ago. You and Taybur went together to pick this new ring out for me.”
Blushing, Aly continued to concentrate on organizing her cluttered work space. One of Dove’s hands reached across the distance between them and pressed Aly’s wrist against the desk. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Aly, I stood in your doorway for five minutes, and even called your name, before I woke you up.”
The silence in the room felt thunderous to Aly as she fumbled for words. “I—It—Dove—“ She sighed. For the first time since entering the room, Dove felt more like a sovereign than an equal to her. “It won’t happen again, Your Majesty, I promise.”
Wonderful emphasis on “Your Majesty” here.
Dove’s palm was sweaty against her wrist, and for the first time, Aly realized that Dove was nervous about the conversation. “It had better not.”
Aly swallowed the growing knot in her throat. “I know, Your Majesty,” she whispered.
Dove continued speaking, as if Aly hadn’t said a word. “You’re right, Aly, it’s not going to happen again. But not because you’re going to sleep in an actual bed, for once, or because you are going to set up more alert spells around your office, or because you are simply going to do your job and pay attention. It’s not going to happen again,” Dove slowed her speech, the careful emphasis one ach words leaving no room to question their importance, “Because you are going to board the Kudarung this evening, and go back to Tortall.”
Eyes flashing, Aly glared at Dove. “You do realize that you can’t make me,. I know a thousand more ways to lose a guard detail than I ever told you or anyone else here in the Isles.”
“I know,” Dove informed her calmly. “That’s why I commissioned the help of someone who knows a thousand-and-one ways to lose a guard detail.”
Stepping out from the shadows in the corner of the office, George Cooper spoke for the first time. “It’s been a long time, Aly. Too long of a time.
Chapter Two:
The King’s Private Council meeting chamber
Corus, the Tortallian capitol
13 March, 482 H.E.
The Advisor of Agriculture—or was it Immortal Relations? They were all equally irksome these days—droned onward through a report Roald suspected no one wanted to listen to in the most boring voice he had ever heard.
At one point, the King’s Private Council meetings had been a means of distracting him from the fact that no matter how well his skills were honed or how long he had been training, he would probably never be in combat action, even if there was a plethora of heirs available. But now, all they did was remind him that while his friends did) work, real work, he was stuck spending his days in tedious discussions with desk knights.
Sighing, Roald relaxed in his chair and let his mind wander. Using a quill, he doodled on paper he was sure was meant for note-taking, and dreamed of someplace new, someplace different. Someplace away from here.
The upper deck of the Copper Isles ship Kudarung
Somewhere in the Emerald Ocean
14 March, 482 H.E.
Leaning against the ship’s rail, George watched as the setting sun forced the clouds in the sky through a kaleidoscope of colors. The ladies at Court would have oohed and aahed over the view, though he preferred the sight of an expertly picked lock to a natural wonder seen daily.
The sound of light though weary footsteps across the ship’s deck caught his attention and George waited for his daughter to join him. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he grimaced inwardly. Aly’s gown, while excellently made, was clearly meant for a girl with more meat on her bones. Dark bags, from either sleepless nights or restless sleep, hung ominously under her eyes like Stormwings in the sky. There was a tired air about Aly, not as if she had seen too much of the world, but as if she had decided to see no more.
George sighed and turned to face his daughter for the first time. Carefully, he cradled her head between his hands, his voice just as soft as hers. “Aly, a lady from Court would have been given a year to mourn for the loss of her husband. But you, as a person that works for a living and as the head of intelligence for a powerful nation, have to learn that there is a time when mourning must stop so work can go on.”
“I wish I’d been able to say goodbye to Junim,” she commented listlessly, as if she in fact did not care.
“You don’t say goodbye,” George informed her simply. “It’s a habit you picked up from the crows years ago. Instead, you always say ‘Until we meet again,’ or ‘Until our skies cross.’ Alan told me you claimed goodbyes sound final, as if there is no other option.”
A vague memory of the conversation that took place years ago surfaced from the depth of Aly’s head, but she pushed it away, ignoring it. “All the same, you saw how rarely I was able to go back home for a visit. The triplets have fewer people to go to Tortall for, fewer reasons.”
“He promised when he left on the mission to Malubesang six weeks ago that he would make sure all three would visit for Midsummer,” George commented off-handedly.
Turning on her heel, Aly gaped at her father, who continued to look over the ever-changing expanse of blue in front of them. Her mind reeled at the information. “You knew that long ago you would be taking me back to Tortall?”
“No,” he admitted. “But Dove contacted me around Midwinter, worried. We wanted to wait and see if you would snap out of it. I made Junim promise because I want to see my grandchildren again.”
“You had no right,” Aly whispered softly, shock showing in both her voice and face. “No one has even given me a chance to mourn properly.”
He kissed her forehead gently, then vanished to the hold.
Chapter Three:
Palace Hallway
Corus, the Tortallian capitol
17 March, 482 H.E.
Leaning heavily on a cane he had been forced to use ever since the pain in his left knee had started bothering him, King Jonathon tried to catch up to Roald, who was walking ahead of him. “Roald, wait a moment!”
Roald turned around to face his father and waited, though rather impatiently. His arms were crossed over his chest and one foot was tapping against the floor. They were in one of the seldom-traveled corners of the palace, and Jonathon suspected his son had picked this place to pace back-and-forth because of the rather limited chances of being interrupted. But Jon had been known to inhabit the same hallway in his younger years.
Finally, he managed to catch up to where his eldest son was standing, hands shaking slightly. “Roald, I need a favor. And not your typical ‘Escort the Marenite ambassador to his rooms and entertain his daughter’ type of favor.”
Roald blinked at his father. Jonathon never asked for favors; he always commanded. “What is it then, Da?”
“Can you make a short trip to Port Legann?”
Port Legann docks
The western coast of Tortall
19 March, 482 H.E.
Aly clung to George’s arm as they walked down the Kudarung’s gangplank. After ten days at sea, her legs were stubbornly refusing to cooperate with the solidity of the ground beneath her. Scanning the crowed docks of Port Legann for anything suspicious, though it was more out of habit than any serious thought of danger, her eyes widened at the sight of two men waiting patiently on the Kudarung’s dock. Though they were dressed like commoners and it had been two decades since she had last seen them face-to-face, Aly recognized them immediately.
Once safely on the dock (though it was currently proving to be a dangerous opponent in her battle to remain upright), Aly smiled in greeting to the two men. “It’s been far too long, Prince Roald and Prince Jasson
A private room inside the Foxhole Inn
Port Legann, Tortall
21 March, 482 H.E.
The idea of renting out a private room was suggested by George, and Roald felt like a fool for not thinking of it sooner. Both he and Jasson had brought disguises along on the trip so as to avoid being recognized for whom they were, but there was still a chance. He had also forgotten the possibility that Aly would not want to be surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the inn’s common room when, from all reports, she was still not over the death of Nawat.
Jasson had left nearly an hour ago to pack for the brothers’ journey back to Corus the next day, but Roald still sat talking with George, even though it was getting late.
“How was she, on the trip?” he asked, keeping his voice low enough that Aly would not be able to hear.
George’s face looked like it had gained ten years since they had last met, three weeks ago. “Just like she is now. Quiet and occupied. She hardly spoke to me. Hardly spoke at all. During the day, she kept herself busy by reading or writing letters. Once, I even found her embroidering. I wasn’t even aware that she could embroider.” They remained in silence for a few moments, sipping wine from decanters and listening to the scratching of Aly’s quill against paper as she wrote. “I suppose all I can do once I get back to the Swoop is to not tell her where I moved my office and pray Alanna can keep her occupied long enough to grow bored and want to go back to spying or something.”
“Easier said than done,” Roald commented thoughtfully.
The corners of his mouth turned upward in a hint of a smile, George snickered. “You don’t need to tell me that. Aly and Alanna were always too different and now they are too set in their own ways. I’ll be lucky if they don’t kill each other within the first week.”
“Will Alan or Thom be at the Swoop to help distract them?”
“Gods, no! They informed me that since I am the one bringing Aly home, I can deal with the consequences.”
Foxhole Inn
Port Legann, Tortall
21 March, 482 H.E.
Whistling a particularly vulgar song the palace stable hands were fond of, Jasson packed his saddle-bags for the trip to back to Corus. Though the job kept his hands busy, Jasson’s mind was free to roam and it naturally fell on a certain subject.
The Aly Crow who had stepped off the Kudarung’s decks two days past was quite different from the Aly of Pirate’s Swoop he had known twenty years ago. The old Aly had been filled with sly smiles, mischievous pranks, and secret kisses in hidden gardens. But the one Jasson had left sitting in the private room was quiet and meek and quite un-spy-like. And while he was sure that would be a good disguise if one was actually spying, Jasson knew George was going to keep Aly away from anything and everything in the intelligence world.
He was sorry to know he would have to say good bye to the two. Watching Aly’s reaction would be better than court gossip.
West Coast Road
Tortall
22 March, 482 H.E.
Gazing about her surroundings, Aly tried to recognize landmarks. Before she had moved to the Isles, she had traveled on this road all the time. But now, nothing seemed familiar.
“We have company,” George commented. A growing cloud of dust appeared behind them on the road. “It might be bandits.” Quickly they moved their horses to the side of the road, watching warily. The cloud continued to grow larger, and Aly was able to barely discern two riders galloping hard.
Pulling on the reins hard to stop his horse, Roald grinned at George. “Jasson and I decided it would be cruel to have you face the consequences on your own.”
Chapter Four:
Fief Pirates’ Swoop
Tortall
27 March, 482 H.E.
The wind whipped about her, this way and that, pulling loose tendrils of her hair and grabbing at her dress. Eyes closed and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly upward, Aly let the ocean breeze carry her many years and even more miles away.
Around her seventh month mark when she had been carrying the triplets, Aly had begun to wonder about flight. It had hardly seemed fair at the time that she was married to a crow, and quite possibly giving birth to crows, yet she would never be able to fly. Time and time again, Nawat had tried to explain to her what it felt like, but she could never comprehend it.
But now, standing on the Swoop’s least used tower, with a strong ocean wind blowing around her and the sun in her face, Aly thought she might understand.
A quite footstep on the stair behind her jerked Aly from her memories. Turning, she glared at her intruder until she realized who it was.
“I thought you’re scared of heights.”
“No,” Roald replied calmly, “That’s my mother you’re thinking of. She’s deathly afraid.” Curses, bangs, and loud tromping resonated upward the stairs behind him. “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”
Servants appeared, carrying a Yamani tea set, complete with the customary table and cushions used for a tea ceremony. They moved with the speedy grace of people expected to be seen, but for as short a time as possible.
All annoyance at being disturbed far from her mind and wholly puzzled, Aly stared at Roald, and for once, let the confusion in her face show. “Why do this? You are a prince, heir to one of the most powerful thrones in the Eastern Lands. I am but a widowed commoner, with little political power.”
His calloused hand closed the gap between them, caressing her face. One thumb traced delicate lines across her face, causing goose bumps across Aly’s back. “Because,” he told her simply, “I want to know you better. And in more ways than one.
AN: This is now how I had originally intended to end it, but I am satisfied with it. Later, I might go back and sequel it, or just add more to the story. =}
Rating: PG-13 (for safety)
Length: N/A
Category: Tortall
Summary: Life moves on, but not all people do.
Peculiar Pairing: Aly/Roald
Intro:
Somewhere over Jerykun Island
The Copper Isles
3 October, 481 H.E.
Weaving in and out of the flock, Nawat could not help but cackle a crow’s laugh.
For years, whenever his mate, Aly, had commissioned the help of the crows in her spy work, she had coerced, bribed, threatened, and pleaded with the crows to not wear the sparklies they had won from Kyprioth in the bet long ago. A few obliged and left the sparklies with their mate and nestlings. Some were forced to do as Nawat’s mate wished when other crows stole their sparklies. But most were displeased.
But the flock Nawat was flying with was different. He had flown in every flock belonging to the Isles and several belonging to the Eastern Lands and he had found very few that were like his current one. The crows were more apt to have a prank going at all times or to trick a crow-turned-man-turned-crow who happened to be passing through with them and did not mind if they ended up as the victim of mischief, as other crows did. They had fun—no matter which skies they flew in—and they wore their sparklies with pride, not caring if they stood out and the two-leggers took notice. It was no wonder Kyprioth was rumored to fly with this flock sometimes.
Gliding downward, Nawat entered the jungle the flock was flying over through a break between two trees. Sunlight filtering through the canopy of foliage overhead left iridescent patterns on the jungle floor as he used his sharp eyes to look for recent signs left by two-leggers. Overhead, Nawat could hear the others mock some passing gulls as they continued on their way without him.
A soft twang and then a whistling noise reached Nawat’s ears right before an arrow pinned his body to a tree.
Fief Naxen, near Lake Naxen
Tortall’s Northeast District
28 January, 482 H.E.
Roald was the first of the royal children to be asked to be one of the pall-bearers for Duke Gareth’s casket. He refused. Jasson had been asked next. He had refused, also, and told Cythera the same thing as Roald.
“But why?” demanded Cythera.
“It’s simple, really,” Jasson had told her. “Liam was his godson; Liam knew him better than the rest of us, and Liam would want to do it. Inform Da you want Liam off border-patrol and to Fief Naxen in time for the funeral or you’ll tell Alanna he’s not honoring the loss of the Duke properly. Liam will be there, one way or another.”
But now, Roald almost wished he had accepted Cythera’s offer. It would have, at least, given him something to do besides help lead the funeral procession from the local Black God’s temple to the Naxen family catacombs and make sure the golden crown atop his head was seen by all (“You and Jasson got me in trouble with Alanna, so you and Jasson can represent the Crown at the Duke’s funeral,”).
As the long and tedious memorial service wore on, a drizzling rain had started to fall. The simple dirt road leading to the catacombs was turning to mud while Jasson was, for quite possibly the first time in his life since the idea of a marriage between him and one of Emperor Kadder’s sisters was suggested, acting his age by remaining solemn and respectful .
Glancing at the bleak surroundings, Roald just wanted a distraction.
Chapter One:
Spymistress’s Palace office
Rajmuat, the Copper Isles capitol
12 March, 482 H.E.
The grating of a chair being dragged across her wooden floor jerked Aly awake. Groggily, she lifted her head from where it rested on her arms at her desk and blinked at her visitor wearily. A small part of her mind suggested drawing one of the many daggers she kept on her body, but she dismissed this thought, deciding it too late to do so without her visitor thinking she was becoming lax.
“There once was a time when, had I woken you from a sleep like that, you would have had me pinned against the wall with a knife to my throat faster than you could realize who exactly was in your office,” Dovasary Balitang remarked casually.
“There once was a time that I didn’t need to pin people to walls with a knife,” Aly countered. Sitting up, she concentrated upon shuffling the papers on her desk into some semblance of an organization system.
Dove snorted. “When you were three, and that’s a maybe. You were born suspicious.” Using a pitcher which sat resting on the corner of Aly’s desk, she poured herself a cup of water. The gem on a ring she wore on her right hand glowed a deep green then faded before she took a sip from the cup.
“That may be, but since when have you thought I might poison you? Or that I might not catch it with my Sight?” Aly raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the ring. “And doesn’t that thing glow purple, not green, when there isn’t any poison present?”
“The opal in my old ring shattered three weeks ago. You and Taybur went together to pick this new ring out for me.”
Blushing, Aly continued to concentrate on organizing her cluttered work space. One of Dove’s hands reached across the distance between them and pressed Aly’s wrist against the desk. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Aly, I stood in your doorway for five minutes, and even called your name, before I woke you up.”
The silence in the room felt thunderous to Aly as she fumbled for words. “I—It—Dove—“ She sighed. For the first time since entering the room, Dove felt more like a sovereign than an equal to her. “It won’t happen again, Your Majesty, I promise.”
Wonderful emphasis on “Your Majesty” here.
Dove’s palm was sweaty against her wrist, and for the first time, Aly realized that Dove was nervous about the conversation. “It had better not.”
Aly swallowed the growing knot in her throat. “I know, Your Majesty,” she whispered.
Dove continued speaking, as if Aly hadn’t said a word. “You’re right, Aly, it’s not going to happen again. But not because you’re going to sleep in an actual bed, for once, or because you are going to set up more alert spells around your office, or because you are simply going to do your job and pay attention. It’s not going to happen again,” Dove slowed her speech, the careful emphasis one ach words leaving no room to question their importance, “Because you are going to board the Kudarung this evening, and go back to Tortall.”
Eyes flashing, Aly glared at Dove. “You do realize that you can’t make me,. I know a thousand more ways to lose a guard detail than I ever told you or anyone else here in the Isles.”
“I know,” Dove informed her calmly. “That’s why I commissioned the help of someone who knows a thousand-and-one ways to lose a guard detail.”
Stepping out from the shadows in the corner of the office, George Cooper spoke for the first time. “It’s been a long time, Aly. Too long of a time.
Chapter Two:
The King’s Private Council meeting chamber
Corus, the Tortallian capitol
13 March, 482 H.E.
The Advisor of Agriculture—or was it Immortal Relations? They were all equally irksome these days—droned onward through a report Roald suspected no one wanted to listen to in the most boring voice he had ever heard.
At one point, the King’s Private Council meetings had been a means of distracting him from the fact that no matter how well his skills were honed or how long he had been training, he would probably never be in combat action, even if there was a plethora of heirs available. But now, all they did was remind him that while his friends did) work, real work, he was stuck spending his days in tedious discussions with desk knights.
Sighing, Roald relaxed in his chair and let his mind wander. Using a quill, he doodled on paper he was sure was meant for note-taking, and dreamed of someplace new, someplace different. Someplace away from here.
The upper deck of the Copper Isles ship Kudarung
Somewhere in the Emerald Ocean
14 March, 482 H.E.
Leaning against the ship’s rail, George watched as the setting sun forced the clouds in the sky through a kaleidoscope of colors. The ladies at Court would have oohed and aahed over the view, though he preferred the sight of an expertly picked lock to a natural wonder seen daily.
The sound of light though weary footsteps across the ship’s deck caught his attention and George waited for his daughter to join him. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he grimaced inwardly. Aly’s gown, while excellently made, was clearly meant for a girl with more meat on her bones. Dark bags, from either sleepless nights or restless sleep, hung ominously under her eyes like Stormwings in the sky. There was a tired air about Aly, not as if she had seen too much of the world, but as if she had decided to see no more.
George sighed and turned to face his daughter for the first time. Carefully, he cradled her head between his hands, his voice just as soft as hers. “Aly, a lady from Court would have been given a year to mourn for the loss of her husband. But you, as a person that works for a living and as the head of intelligence for a powerful nation, have to learn that there is a time when mourning must stop so work can go on.”
“I wish I’d been able to say goodbye to Junim,” she commented listlessly, as if she in fact did not care.
“You don’t say goodbye,” George informed her simply. “It’s a habit you picked up from the crows years ago. Instead, you always say ‘Until we meet again,’ or ‘Until our skies cross.’ Alan told me you claimed goodbyes sound final, as if there is no other option.”
A vague memory of the conversation that took place years ago surfaced from the depth of Aly’s head, but she pushed it away, ignoring it. “All the same, you saw how rarely I was able to go back home for a visit. The triplets have fewer people to go to Tortall for, fewer reasons.”
“He promised when he left on the mission to Malubesang six weeks ago that he would make sure all three would visit for Midsummer,” George commented off-handedly.
Turning on her heel, Aly gaped at her father, who continued to look over the ever-changing expanse of blue in front of them. Her mind reeled at the information. “You knew that long ago you would be taking me back to Tortall?”
“No,” he admitted. “But Dove contacted me around Midwinter, worried. We wanted to wait and see if you would snap out of it. I made Junim promise because I want to see my grandchildren again.”
“You had no right,” Aly whispered softly, shock showing in both her voice and face. “No one has even given me a chance to mourn properly.”
He kissed her forehead gently, then vanished to the hold.
Chapter Three:
Palace Hallway
Corus, the Tortallian capitol
17 March, 482 H.E.
Leaning heavily on a cane he had been forced to use ever since the pain in his left knee had started bothering him, King Jonathon tried to catch up to Roald, who was walking ahead of him. “Roald, wait a moment!”
Roald turned around to face his father and waited, though rather impatiently. His arms were crossed over his chest and one foot was tapping against the floor. They were in one of the seldom-traveled corners of the palace, and Jonathon suspected his son had picked this place to pace back-and-forth because of the rather limited chances of being interrupted. But Jon had been known to inhabit the same hallway in his younger years.
Finally, he managed to catch up to where his eldest son was standing, hands shaking slightly. “Roald, I need a favor. And not your typical ‘Escort the Marenite ambassador to his rooms and entertain his daughter’ type of favor.”
Roald blinked at his father. Jonathon never asked for favors; he always commanded. “What is it then, Da?”
“Can you make a short trip to Port Legann?”
Port Legann docks
The western coast of Tortall
19 March, 482 H.E.
Aly clung to George’s arm as they walked down the Kudarung’s gangplank. After ten days at sea, her legs were stubbornly refusing to cooperate with the solidity of the ground beneath her. Scanning the crowed docks of Port Legann for anything suspicious, though it was more out of habit than any serious thought of danger, her eyes widened at the sight of two men waiting patiently on the Kudarung’s dock. Though they were dressed like commoners and it had been two decades since she had last seen them face-to-face, Aly recognized them immediately.
Once safely on the dock (though it was currently proving to be a dangerous opponent in her battle to remain upright), Aly smiled in greeting to the two men. “It’s been far too long, Prince Roald and Prince Jasson
A private room inside the Foxhole Inn
Port Legann, Tortall
21 March, 482 H.E.
The idea of renting out a private room was suggested by George, and Roald felt like a fool for not thinking of it sooner. Both he and Jasson had brought disguises along on the trip so as to avoid being recognized for whom they were, but there was still a chance. He had also forgotten the possibility that Aly would not want to be surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the inn’s common room when, from all reports, she was still not over the death of Nawat.
Jasson had left nearly an hour ago to pack for the brothers’ journey back to Corus the next day, but Roald still sat talking with George, even though it was getting late.
“How was she, on the trip?” he asked, keeping his voice low enough that Aly would not be able to hear.
George’s face looked like it had gained ten years since they had last met, three weeks ago. “Just like she is now. Quiet and occupied. She hardly spoke to me. Hardly spoke at all. During the day, she kept herself busy by reading or writing letters. Once, I even found her embroidering. I wasn’t even aware that she could embroider.” They remained in silence for a few moments, sipping wine from decanters and listening to the scratching of Aly’s quill against paper as she wrote. “I suppose all I can do once I get back to the Swoop is to not tell her where I moved my office and pray Alanna can keep her occupied long enough to grow bored and want to go back to spying or something.”
“Easier said than done,” Roald commented thoughtfully.
The corners of his mouth turned upward in a hint of a smile, George snickered. “You don’t need to tell me that. Aly and Alanna were always too different and now they are too set in their own ways. I’ll be lucky if they don’t kill each other within the first week.”
“Will Alan or Thom be at the Swoop to help distract them?”
“Gods, no! They informed me that since I am the one bringing Aly home, I can deal with the consequences.”
Foxhole Inn
Port Legann, Tortall
21 March, 482 H.E.
Whistling a particularly vulgar song the palace stable hands were fond of, Jasson packed his saddle-bags for the trip to back to Corus. Though the job kept his hands busy, Jasson’s mind was free to roam and it naturally fell on a certain subject.
The Aly Crow who had stepped off the Kudarung’s decks two days past was quite different from the Aly of Pirate’s Swoop he had known twenty years ago. The old Aly had been filled with sly smiles, mischievous pranks, and secret kisses in hidden gardens. But the one Jasson had left sitting in the private room was quiet and meek and quite un-spy-like. And while he was sure that would be a good disguise if one was actually spying, Jasson knew George was going to keep Aly away from anything and everything in the intelligence world.
He was sorry to know he would have to say good bye to the two. Watching Aly’s reaction would be better than court gossip.
West Coast Road
Tortall
22 March, 482 H.E.
Gazing about her surroundings, Aly tried to recognize landmarks. Before she had moved to the Isles, she had traveled on this road all the time. But now, nothing seemed familiar.
“We have company,” George commented. A growing cloud of dust appeared behind them on the road. “It might be bandits.” Quickly they moved their horses to the side of the road, watching warily. The cloud continued to grow larger, and Aly was able to barely discern two riders galloping hard.
Pulling on the reins hard to stop his horse, Roald grinned at George. “Jasson and I decided it would be cruel to have you face the consequences on your own.”
Chapter Four:
Fief Pirates’ Swoop
Tortall
27 March, 482 H.E.
The wind whipped about her, this way and that, pulling loose tendrils of her hair and grabbing at her dress. Eyes closed and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly upward, Aly let the ocean breeze carry her many years and even more miles away.
Around her seventh month mark when she had been carrying the triplets, Aly had begun to wonder about flight. It had hardly seemed fair at the time that she was married to a crow, and quite possibly giving birth to crows, yet she would never be able to fly. Time and time again, Nawat had tried to explain to her what it felt like, but she could never comprehend it.
But now, standing on the Swoop’s least used tower, with a strong ocean wind blowing around her and the sun in her face, Aly thought she might understand.
A quite footstep on the stair behind her jerked Aly from her memories. Turning, she glared at her intruder until she realized who it was.
“I thought you’re scared of heights.”
“No,” Roald replied calmly, “That’s my mother you’re thinking of. She’s deathly afraid.” Curses, bangs, and loud tromping resonated upward the stairs behind him. “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”
Servants appeared, carrying a Yamani tea set, complete with the customary table and cushions used for a tea ceremony. They moved with the speedy grace of people expected to be seen, but for as short a time as possible.
All annoyance at being disturbed far from her mind and wholly puzzled, Aly stared at Roald, and for once, let the confusion in her face show. “Why do this? You are a prince, heir to one of the most powerful thrones in the Eastern Lands. I am but a widowed commoner, with little political power.”
His calloused hand closed the gap between them, caressing her face. One thumb traced delicate lines across her face, causing goose bumps across Aly’s back. “Because,” he told her simply, “I want to know you better. And in more ways than one.
AN: This is now how I had originally intended to end it, but I am satisfied with it. Later, I might go back and sequel it, or just add more to the story. =}