Post by Seek on Apr 11, 2013 21:08:02 GMT 10
Title: The Solution
Rating: PG
Word Count: 678 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Alanna is tired. Jon has a solution to her problems. Alanna isn't so sure about it.
Warnings: None.
Note: Based on a piece of quasi-canon.
-
Alanna threw her saddlebags on the bed. They bounced, satisfyingly. She kicked off her mud-stained boots and flung herself down on an empty chair. She scowled down at the clutter. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her; she hadn't yet had the time to properly neaten up her room. She'd been riding for the past months, between George's new fief of Pirate's Swoop, Corus, and the many, many, many other locations where she'd had to deal with her duties as King's Champion.
She wished, not for the first time, that Duke Gareth of Naxen hadn't resigned, and that her friends hadn't all conspired behind her back to put her in the position. Even Raoul was doing better as the Commander of the King's Own, and the Own had been scrambling to put together disaster relief in the wake of the bandit raids and aftershocks and famines that had come after Roger tried to destroy Tortall on the day of Jon's coronation.
She'd once dreamed of becoming a knight and going on adventures. She had one of them. Alanna realised she hadn't taken off her travelling cloak. She almost tore it off and tossed it at the nightstand--and missed. Cloth swooshed and Jon let out a muffled exclamation as he opened the door of her room, and dirty, fraying cloth smacked him in the face. "Is that how you greet people these days?" Jon asked.
"You should've knocked," Alanna grumbled.
"I did. You didn't hear me." He glanced at her; she read concern in those sharp blue eyes as Jonathan, with a shudder of disgust, draped the cloak hastily over the nightstand. "You should really get rid of that. One of these days, you'll fall in a pond and drown from all the accumulated filth."
"Very funny," she said tartly. "Did you just come to criticise my laundry?"
"I heard you were back. Sinthya, Stone Mountain and...?"
She understood. "Marti's Hill," Alanna said. "Vikison's Lake held off because the challenger took a fall from his horse. The healer thinks he won't be holding a sword anytime soon." He looked at her, really seemed to look at her, and blanched.
Jon took a step forward. "Alanna," he said. "This can't go on."
She almost managed to stifle her yawn. She'd nearly fallen off Moonlight herself, on her way back to the palace. She intended to have a good long soak in the palace baths, the first chance she got. "I'm your Champion, remember?" He needed them; all of them, Thayet had once said. She was his Champion, his right hand. She dispensed the Crown's justice and fought in his name. Only there had been too many fights lately. "I'm beginning to think I'd have more time if I killed everyone who's stupid," Alanna said. "This is the fifth time I've fought Stone Mountain." Her hand went to the itching bandage wrapped around her left bicep. She'd been weary enough that she let Stone Mountain get her with a move she could have countered in her sleep. She'd used her Gift on it to speed up the healing, when she could.
Cool fingers covered hers; she sneezed as Conte blue spread out from them, relieving the faint ache that had settled bone-deep. "Thank you, Jon," she whispered.
"Main them," Jon said.
"What?"
"Main them," he repeated simply. "Stone Mountain thinks he's a hero because he keeps fighting you, and some of the conservatives are pretending that he's standing up for the old ways. Perhaps we've made it too easy for them to think so. They shouldn't be able to keep challenging you over a cast horse-shoe in the wrong fief, just so they can cross swords with you and make themselves feel better about it."
"Jon, I'm not hamstringing someone."
"I don't want them hamstringing you either," he said.
Alanna sighed, and resolved to put a frog in his bed. She was too tired to argue with him, and the more she thought about it, the more she decided maybe it was worth giving it a try. Just a try. "Fine. Maybe."
Rating: PG
Word Count: 678 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 1A
Summary: Alanna is tired. Jon has a solution to her problems. Alanna isn't so sure about it.
Warnings: None.
Note: Based on a piece of quasi-canon.
-
Alanna threw her saddlebags on the bed. They bounced, satisfyingly. She kicked off her mud-stained boots and flung herself down on an empty chair. She scowled down at the clutter. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her; she hadn't yet had the time to properly neaten up her room. She'd been riding for the past months, between George's new fief of Pirate's Swoop, Corus, and the many, many, many other locations where she'd had to deal with her duties as King's Champion.
She wished, not for the first time, that Duke Gareth of Naxen hadn't resigned, and that her friends hadn't all conspired behind her back to put her in the position. Even Raoul was doing better as the Commander of the King's Own, and the Own had been scrambling to put together disaster relief in the wake of the bandit raids and aftershocks and famines that had come after Roger tried to destroy Tortall on the day of Jon's coronation.
She'd once dreamed of becoming a knight and going on adventures. She had one of them. Alanna realised she hadn't taken off her travelling cloak. She almost tore it off and tossed it at the nightstand--and missed. Cloth swooshed and Jon let out a muffled exclamation as he opened the door of her room, and dirty, fraying cloth smacked him in the face. "Is that how you greet people these days?" Jon asked.
"You should've knocked," Alanna grumbled.
"I did. You didn't hear me." He glanced at her; she read concern in those sharp blue eyes as Jonathan, with a shudder of disgust, draped the cloak hastily over the nightstand. "You should really get rid of that. One of these days, you'll fall in a pond and drown from all the accumulated filth."
"Very funny," she said tartly. "Did you just come to criticise my laundry?"
"I heard you were back. Sinthya, Stone Mountain and...?"
She understood. "Marti's Hill," Alanna said. "Vikison's Lake held off because the challenger took a fall from his horse. The healer thinks he won't be holding a sword anytime soon." He looked at her, really seemed to look at her, and blanched.
Jon took a step forward. "Alanna," he said. "This can't go on."
She almost managed to stifle her yawn. She'd nearly fallen off Moonlight herself, on her way back to the palace. She intended to have a good long soak in the palace baths, the first chance she got. "I'm your Champion, remember?" He needed them; all of them, Thayet had once said. She was his Champion, his right hand. She dispensed the Crown's justice and fought in his name. Only there had been too many fights lately. "I'm beginning to think I'd have more time if I killed everyone who's stupid," Alanna said. "This is the fifth time I've fought Stone Mountain." Her hand went to the itching bandage wrapped around her left bicep. She'd been weary enough that she let Stone Mountain get her with a move she could have countered in her sleep. She'd used her Gift on it to speed up the healing, when she could.
Cool fingers covered hers; she sneezed as Conte blue spread out from them, relieving the faint ache that had settled bone-deep. "Thank you, Jon," she whispered.
"Main them," Jon said.
"What?"
"Main them," he repeated simply. "Stone Mountain thinks he's a hero because he keeps fighting you, and some of the conservatives are pretending that he's standing up for the old ways. Perhaps we've made it too easy for them to think so. They shouldn't be able to keep challenging you over a cast horse-shoe in the wrong fief, just so they can cross swords with you and make themselves feel better about it."
"Jon, I'm not hamstringing someone."
"I don't want them hamstringing you either," he said.
Alanna sighed, and resolved to put a frog in his bed. She was too tired to argue with him, and the more she thought about it, the more she decided maybe it was worth giving it a try. Just a try. "Fine. Maybe."