Post by Seek on Dec 14, 2014 19:57:50 GMT 10
Title: Conspiracy and Treason
Rating: PG-13
For: Idleness
Prompt: 3. What Alanna and her friends do next after Roger's plot for the throne succeeds.
Summary: One is accident, two is misfortune. Three: three is conspiracy.
Notes: Hope you enjoy it! Happy Wishing Tree!
-
Alanna didn’t stick around to mourn, the night Jon died.
She packed her things, scribbled a quick note to Duke Gareth and Sir Myles—she rather thought they would understand. She paused, scrubbing at the tears that came. One by one, the Contés were falling, to illness, to accident—Jon had been involved in an ill-advised sparring accident, Queen Lianne had died of sickness, and King Roald was a listless shadow of his former self.
And Roger…Roger had won, Alanna thought, furious with herself. There was something wrong with everything, she just didn’t know what. How did you get past the death of your best friend?
She didn’t know what to do, only that she didn’t want to stay at the palace any longer. She’d had her own share of accidents—Roger’s doing, she thought, even though she couldn’t prove it. Thom had spoken of it; accident after forgettable incident, as Roger chipped away at the crowd of loyal protectors surrounding Jon and the throne.
Lightning belted to her hip, her saddlebags slung over a shoulder, she snuck down to the stables. It was late, and she’d memorised the rounds of the palace guard, but she didn’t want to be caught. With the death of her knight-master, she was now a squire attached to the palace, which meant night-time wanderings weren’t a good idea.
Trebond, she thought, for no good reason. She had to make it back to Trebond, where Coram was. And then what? asked that voice inside her head. What are you going to do once King Roger ascends to the throne? Rebel?
A clatter. She’d reached the stables.
Alex waited, his arms folded across his chest. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said, quietly.
“Alex,” Alanna acknowledged, tersely. He’d never quite been a friend since he’d been Roger’s squire. “What are you doing here?”
There was a dark, secretive smile on his face that she didn’t like. “I could say the same of you, couldn’t I?” His sword slid free of its scabbard, silently. He held it out in front of him in a measured guard stance.
Alanna gauged the situation, swore inside her head, and dropped the saddlebags. Lightning was in her hand in a moment later; she moved away from the saddlebags, trying to make sure she had enough room. They circled each other warily for a few moments and then engaged. Alex was good, the best fencer at Court. They already knew that; in the first exchange of steel, they had each other’s measure. Blood dripped where Alex’s sword had torn open a scratch beside her left eye.
Duels are often decided in the first few moments, Duke Gareth lectured, in Alanna’s head. Remember: long bouts are mostly for the children’s stories. An opening; she didn’t know if it was a trick, but she was already moving in—she feinted at his side, and then rotated her wrists, slashing with her lighter blade. Alex dodged, but her cut tore open his loose shirt to reveal…chainmail. He was armoured. She was not.
Alex said nothing as she raised her eyebrow at him. He simply assumed guard stance again, and waited.
A sword smashed into him from the back; it bounced off his armour, and Alex turned, cat-quick, slashing out at the darting form. Raoul beat aside Alex’s blow and returned a strike of his own. Her mouth hanging open, Alanna managed to recover from her surprise and launched her own flurry of blows at Alex.
He was good. Good enough to hold both of them off at once.
Not a third, however. As Alex fended off Alanna and shoved her into Raoul’s way, a dark figure emerged from the shadows of a stable stall. A hand clamped over Alex’s mouth, and then, he suddenly went limp and collapsed.
George knelt down and pulled free the poniard thrust into the base of Alex’s spine. He said, conversationally, “I’d a feelin’ he’d be waitin’ for you, la—Alan.” He looked from Alanna to Raoul, and added, “I suppose Raoul here had the same thought.”
Raoul sheathed his sword. “I saw Alex skulking around the stables,” he said, all traces of his good humour gone, “And I couldn’t see any sign of you. By the time I came down from your rooms and heard the sound of fighting…It’s Roger, isn’t it? He’s doing it.” Raoul’s large hands clenched into fists. “By Mithros, he’s actually doing it.”
“He’s been doin’ it for a long time now,” George said, quietly. He nudged at Alex’s still body with his hand. “Takin’ your friend as his squire, arrangin’ convenient little ‘accidents’ for the King and Queen and Jon…” His hazel eyes were sharp as he glanced between Alanna and George. “Alan there could tell you that. He’d had his eye on the Conté duke since he first came to Corus.”
“I didn’t have proof,” Alanna said tartly. She slipped Lightning back into its scabbard. “And you know it’s treason. But it’s just as bad to accuse the King’s nephew without proof.”
“He’s not going to get away with it.”
Alanna started, called on her Gift as a ball of amethyst fire, hovering above her free hand. Gary stepped forward into the wash of purple light, nodding to George and Raoul. “I was eavesdropping,” Gary said. “And if you’re right…” he breathed, and then shook his head, ruefully. “You are right. Alex was ready to kill you. And he planned Jon’s death, and perhaps the Queen’s…Duke Baird is the best healer in the land, but her illness always seemed just a bit stronger than what he could handle. What am I to think? We can’t let him get away with it.”
“How?” Alanna demanded, her frustration spilling over. “Because Gary, right now, you’re talking treason, just as much as Roger is. What do you think we should do? Plan his death, in revenge for Jon? Somehow protect the King when he’s barely with us any more? Ride back to our fiefs and raise an army in open treason?”
Raoul said, in that silence, “I could do that.” A dark anger smouldered in his coal-black eyes. “I say we do that.”
Alanna pinched the bridge of her nose, wearily, and wished that her friends weren’t insane. But, said that quiet voice in her head, weren’t you thinking the same?
“It’s civil war either way,” Gary said. “Roger’s the last clear heir to the throne. After that, it goes down to cousins.” He looked at all of them, staring them in the eye. “The question is whether you want him to get away with killing Jon. Duke Baird was telling me…” his voice trembled; Alanna didn’t know if it was with a cool rage or some other emotion. “Uncle’s not eating. He forgets things. He’s about to kill himself, half through neglect, and I’m not about to sit by and watch him die.”
“We’re just heirs to our fiefs,” Alanna pointed out, appalled with herself and the direction the conversation was thinking. “And we can’t just gather forces and ride on Corus.”
George cleared his throat. “Maybe it takes a crooked man to say this,” he said, “But why are you all talkin’ about ugly things such as treason, now?” He was cleaning his poniard, and now he’d secreted it back into some hidden sheath. “Reckon that most of the nobles aren’t goin’ to be too keen to swear fealty to a regicide and a kinslayer.”
“Proof,” Gary said firmly, nodding. “That’s what we need.” His eyes were hard. “And I can find it. Just give me time. It’s happened before, a long time ago in Conté history. King Jasson the First was found guilty of incest and desposed by the Council of Nobles. His cousin, Prince Alan, ascended to the throne.”
Alanna scuffed her foot against the straw on the ground. “I don’t have time,” she said, flatly. “Roger’s tried to kill me at least thrice that I can count. Now that Jon’s dead,” she looked over to where Alex lay and tried to bite back the lump rising in her throat, “Well. He sent Alex to kill me. He won’t stop. I’ll be safer back at Trebond.”
“And if the nobles won’t accept proof and it comes to a fight?” Raoul wanted to know.
“Then we gather our forces,” Alanna said, her heart heavy. She thought of Jon, still and cold in the earth, and thrust out her chin. “We come and we cut off the head of the snake. And then we hope the gods aren’t furious with us.”
Rating: PG-13
For: Idleness
Prompt: 3. What Alanna and her friends do next after Roger's plot for the throne succeeds.
Summary: One is accident, two is misfortune. Three: three is conspiracy.
Notes: Hope you enjoy it! Happy Wishing Tree!
-
Alanna didn’t stick around to mourn, the night Jon died.
She packed her things, scribbled a quick note to Duke Gareth and Sir Myles—she rather thought they would understand. She paused, scrubbing at the tears that came. One by one, the Contés were falling, to illness, to accident—Jon had been involved in an ill-advised sparring accident, Queen Lianne had died of sickness, and King Roald was a listless shadow of his former self.
And Roger…Roger had won, Alanna thought, furious with herself. There was something wrong with everything, she just didn’t know what. How did you get past the death of your best friend?
She didn’t know what to do, only that she didn’t want to stay at the palace any longer. She’d had her own share of accidents—Roger’s doing, she thought, even though she couldn’t prove it. Thom had spoken of it; accident after forgettable incident, as Roger chipped away at the crowd of loyal protectors surrounding Jon and the throne.
Lightning belted to her hip, her saddlebags slung over a shoulder, she snuck down to the stables. It was late, and she’d memorised the rounds of the palace guard, but she didn’t want to be caught. With the death of her knight-master, she was now a squire attached to the palace, which meant night-time wanderings weren’t a good idea.
Trebond, she thought, for no good reason. She had to make it back to Trebond, where Coram was. And then what? asked that voice inside her head. What are you going to do once King Roger ascends to the throne? Rebel?
A clatter. She’d reached the stables.
Alex waited, his arms folded across his chest. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said, quietly.
“Alex,” Alanna acknowledged, tersely. He’d never quite been a friend since he’d been Roger’s squire. “What are you doing here?”
There was a dark, secretive smile on his face that she didn’t like. “I could say the same of you, couldn’t I?” His sword slid free of its scabbard, silently. He held it out in front of him in a measured guard stance.
Alanna gauged the situation, swore inside her head, and dropped the saddlebags. Lightning was in her hand in a moment later; she moved away from the saddlebags, trying to make sure she had enough room. They circled each other warily for a few moments and then engaged. Alex was good, the best fencer at Court. They already knew that; in the first exchange of steel, they had each other’s measure. Blood dripped where Alex’s sword had torn open a scratch beside her left eye.
Duels are often decided in the first few moments, Duke Gareth lectured, in Alanna’s head. Remember: long bouts are mostly for the children’s stories. An opening; she didn’t know if it was a trick, but she was already moving in—she feinted at his side, and then rotated her wrists, slashing with her lighter blade. Alex dodged, but her cut tore open his loose shirt to reveal…chainmail. He was armoured. She was not.
Alex said nothing as she raised her eyebrow at him. He simply assumed guard stance again, and waited.
A sword smashed into him from the back; it bounced off his armour, and Alex turned, cat-quick, slashing out at the darting form. Raoul beat aside Alex’s blow and returned a strike of his own. Her mouth hanging open, Alanna managed to recover from her surprise and launched her own flurry of blows at Alex.
He was good. Good enough to hold both of them off at once.
Not a third, however. As Alex fended off Alanna and shoved her into Raoul’s way, a dark figure emerged from the shadows of a stable stall. A hand clamped over Alex’s mouth, and then, he suddenly went limp and collapsed.
George knelt down and pulled free the poniard thrust into the base of Alex’s spine. He said, conversationally, “I’d a feelin’ he’d be waitin’ for you, la—Alan.” He looked from Alanna to Raoul, and added, “I suppose Raoul here had the same thought.”
Raoul sheathed his sword. “I saw Alex skulking around the stables,” he said, all traces of his good humour gone, “And I couldn’t see any sign of you. By the time I came down from your rooms and heard the sound of fighting…It’s Roger, isn’t it? He’s doing it.” Raoul’s large hands clenched into fists. “By Mithros, he’s actually doing it.”
“He’s been doin’ it for a long time now,” George said, quietly. He nudged at Alex’s still body with his hand. “Takin’ your friend as his squire, arrangin’ convenient little ‘accidents’ for the King and Queen and Jon…” His hazel eyes were sharp as he glanced between Alanna and George. “Alan there could tell you that. He’d had his eye on the Conté duke since he first came to Corus.”
“I didn’t have proof,” Alanna said tartly. She slipped Lightning back into its scabbard. “And you know it’s treason. But it’s just as bad to accuse the King’s nephew without proof.”
“He’s not going to get away with it.”
Alanna started, called on her Gift as a ball of amethyst fire, hovering above her free hand. Gary stepped forward into the wash of purple light, nodding to George and Raoul. “I was eavesdropping,” Gary said. “And if you’re right…” he breathed, and then shook his head, ruefully. “You are right. Alex was ready to kill you. And he planned Jon’s death, and perhaps the Queen’s…Duke Baird is the best healer in the land, but her illness always seemed just a bit stronger than what he could handle. What am I to think? We can’t let him get away with it.”
“How?” Alanna demanded, her frustration spilling over. “Because Gary, right now, you’re talking treason, just as much as Roger is. What do you think we should do? Plan his death, in revenge for Jon? Somehow protect the King when he’s barely with us any more? Ride back to our fiefs and raise an army in open treason?”
Raoul said, in that silence, “I could do that.” A dark anger smouldered in his coal-black eyes. “I say we do that.”
Alanna pinched the bridge of her nose, wearily, and wished that her friends weren’t insane. But, said that quiet voice in her head, weren’t you thinking the same?
“It’s civil war either way,” Gary said. “Roger’s the last clear heir to the throne. After that, it goes down to cousins.” He looked at all of them, staring them in the eye. “The question is whether you want him to get away with killing Jon. Duke Baird was telling me…” his voice trembled; Alanna didn’t know if it was with a cool rage or some other emotion. “Uncle’s not eating. He forgets things. He’s about to kill himself, half through neglect, and I’m not about to sit by and watch him die.”
“We’re just heirs to our fiefs,” Alanna pointed out, appalled with herself and the direction the conversation was thinking. “And we can’t just gather forces and ride on Corus.”
George cleared his throat. “Maybe it takes a crooked man to say this,” he said, “But why are you all talkin’ about ugly things such as treason, now?” He was cleaning his poniard, and now he’d secreted it back into some hidden sheath. “Reckon that most of the nobles aren’t goin’ to be too keen to swear fealty to a regicide and a kinslayer.”
“Proof,” Gary said firmly, nodding. “That’s what we need.” His eyes were hard. “And I can find it. Just give me time. It’s happened before, a long time ago in Conté history. King Jasson the First was found guilty of incest and desposed by the Council of Nobles. His cousin, Prince Alan, ascended to the throne.”
Alanna scuffed her foot against the straw on the ground. “I don’t have time,” she said, flatly. “Roger’s tried to kill me at least thrice that I can count. Now that Jon’s dead,” she looked over to where Alex lay and tried to bite back the lump rising in her throat, “Well. He sent Alex to kill me. He won’t stop. I’ll be safer back at Trebond.”
“And if the nobles won’t accept proof and it comes to a fight?” Raoul wanted to know.
“Then we gather our forces,” Alanna said, her heart heavy. She thought of Jon, still and cold in the earth, and thrust out her chin. “We come and we cut off the head of the snake. And then we hope the gods aren’t furious with us.”