Post by devilinthedetails on Aug 15, 2019 2:10:53 GMT 10
Title: Conversations through the Years
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Conversations. Prompts: Puzzle, Food, Meeting, News, and Forbidden also inspired this piece.
Word Count: 2706
Summary: Roald, Alan, and the conversations that unite and divide them through the years.
Notes: This work does reference some events that are explored in more detail in my Alan/Lianne story "Knight in Shining Armor" but this piece is meant to be able to stand alone.
Conversations through the Years
Puzzles and Princes
Like his twin sister, Alan of Pirate’s Swoop seemed drawn to puzzles, Roald noticed, but while Aly would chatter endlessly about which pieces ought to fit where as she fought to wedge them into places they plainly didn’t belong, Alan appeared to silently focus his attention on people–or more specifically, a person. In this case, Roald himself. Roald realized and even understood this because he, too, had a more outgoing sister while he preferred to watch than speak, drinking in the world rather than acting in a way that might disturb it. He was watching Alan in the Pirate Swoop nursery now even as he built a tower of blocks.
“You’re the prince.” Alan finally spoke in a soft voice, and Roald could hear how much it had cost the small boy to wobble out this simple sentence.
“One of the princes.” Roald smiled, thinking of how furious at being forgotten Liam and Jasson would be. “I’ve two brothers who are also princes.”
“You’re the oldest prince, the Crown Prince.” Alan glanced over at Thom, who, like Jasson would have been, was buried in a book. “That makes you the only one who matters, Thom says.”
“Why does Thom say that?” Roald asked, though he had a snaking suspicion why Thom, being the eldest of the three Pirate Swoop children, would make such a bold claim.
“Because only the oldest children matter.” Alan wrinkled a nose freckled by the summer sun. “That’s what Thom says.”
“He only says that because he’s the oldest, not because it’s true.” Roald gave a satisfied nod as he finished placing the last block on his tower, taking care not to upset the entire structure at this final, crucial juncture. “Being the oldest doesn’t mean being more important. It just means being more responsible.”
That was the way Mama and Papa had explained it anyway just like they had explained how being born a prince didn’t make him better than anyone else and how the privileges of his rank only came with more obligations to everyone else in the kingdom he would inherit from his father.
“Oh.” Alan sucked on his thumb, wide-eyed as he contemplated this revelation. “What’s it like being a prince?”
“Like being the oldest,” answered Roald, struggling to describe how seriously he took his position as prince. “It’s all about duty, not privilege.”
“Must be nice to be a prince.” Alan continued to suck on his thumb. “No nursemaids or tutors daring to scold you.”
Before Roald could dryly assure Alan that princes were subject to many lectures from nursemaids and tutors, Maude bustled over to reprimand Alan as if Alan’s words had summoned her like one of Papa’s spells.
“Don’t suck on your thumb, especially in front of company that happens to be royalty!” Maude yanked Alan’s finger out of his mouth and began to tug him toward a wash basin in the corner. “It’s a disgusting habit, and now we’ll have to clean your hands.”
Roald watched Maude drag a pouting Alan to the wash basin before returning his focus to the tower he had built. Forehead furrowing, he realized that he didn’t know what he wanted do with it now that he had completed its construction. Just building it patiently–making something out of nothing–had been his only goal and now that it was accomplished he found his own interest in his creation waning.
“Kally!” he called, grinning as she dashed over to him in a whirlwind of flying black hair and shining sky blue eyes. “My tower is yours to destroy.”
Kally grinned and reached out as he had known she would to knock over the blocks, which slammed against the floor loudly enough to make Maude start and spill the wash basin she was using to clean Alan’s hands.
“May the Great Mother have mercy upon me!” exclaimed Maude, seeping up the spilled water with the towel that she had probably been planning to dry Alan’s hands with before the wash basin had fallen over from her alarm. “You children make enough noise to waken the dead when you play!”
“Forgive me, Mistress Maude.” Kally sounded as if she were stifling a giggle. Plainly she was tickled by the disruption she had caused.
“It was my fault. I told her she could destroy my tower.” Roald ducked his head to disguise the fact that he was more entertained by his sister’s unrepentance than moved by any guilt for his role in her antics. “Forgive me, Mistress Maude.”
“Well, it’s not my place to refuse to pardon royalty.” Maude snatched up another towel from a pile of laundry to dry Alan’s hands, and Roald supposed that meant he and Kally had been forgiven for their mischief.
Thom, seated by the window, sulked over the spine of his book, challenging Roald’s assumption. “I don’t forgive anyone who says sorry for ruining my reading.”
“Nobody was saying sorry to you.” Alan stuck out his tongue.
“Let’s play a quiet game,” Maude suggested before Thom could retort. “Whoever can stay silent the longest wins.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.” Aly looked up from cramming a corner piece into the middle of the puzzle she was trying to put together to offer this criticism.
“It sounds fun because I’m going to win.” Alan bit into his lip, as if to prevent himself from surrendering to any temptation to speech.
“It does sound boring,” Kally whispered into Roald’s ear, but Roald ignored her, trying to be a model of quiet for every child in the nursery to follow.
Eating Vegetables
“Eat your peas,” Maude ordered Alan, who, as far as Roald could see, appeared more interested in rolling his peas around his place than in eating them.
“I bet no one makes the prince it his peas.” Alan persisted in pushing his peas around his platter, showing no inclination to heed Maude’s command.
“The prince is eating his peas.” Maude gestured at Roald, who obligingly ate a heaping spoonful of the vegetable. “That’s how he grew so tall and strong. You’d like to grow tall and strong just like the prince, wouldn’t you, Alan?”
“Not if it means eating peas.” Alan was obviously immune to any of Maude’s wheedling.
“I’ll race you.” Roald addressed Alan as if he were the ever-competitive Liam always searching for the next game to win. “The first one to finish their peas wins.” Belatedly recalling that he should ask Maude’s permission before beginning this competition with Alan, he added, inclining his head to her, “If we may.”
Maude looked as if she was tempted to refuse, but seeing the eagerness in Alan’s expression when he had showed no enthusiasm for consuming peas earlier, she waved a palm in reluctant assent. “Very well, but I’ll not be held responsible if either of you choke from this folly.”
Alan rushed through his peas, Roald appeared to do so while allowing Alan to win, and neither of them choked.
“I win.” Alan gave his stomach a pleased pat as he finished scarfing down his peas.
“So you did,” Roald agreed, not mentioning that he had let Alan win since he believed that fell under the category of the tact his parents had been trying to teach him since he could talk. “Well done.”
Reunion
Roald was a squire and Alan a page about to enter service under Roald’s knightmaster, Lord Imrah, the next time they met in the courtyard of castle Legann as Lord Imrah greeted his newest charge.
“Alan of Pirate’s Swoop.” Roald fumbled for a polite way to articulate that he was shocked to see Alan, who had somehow stayed frozen in Roald’s memory while Roald himself had endured the painful growth spurts of adolescence, hadn’t remained a strawberry-blond four-year-old forever. At least he settled on: “It’s good to see you again. You’ve grown since I saw you last.”
“I’ve been eating my vegetables.” Alan’s smile was slight but sly.
“Would those vegetables be peas by any chance?” Roald flashed a small grin of his own, relieved that the boy he remembered still survived somewhere inside Alan.
“Yes, and I could beat you in another pea eating contest at any time.” Alan nodded, leaving Roald in no doubt that he had a crystal clear memory of their last pea-eating competition.
“Boys.” Lord Imrah shook his head in fond reproach. “Always coming up with a contest but I suppose that’s what boys are best at, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Alan was obviously unabashed. “I’m better at coming up with contests than Roald is.”
“Sure, you are.” Roald’s lips quirked in an indulgence to his sardonic side. “If we ignore the fact that I came up with that contest years ago to trick you into eating your vegetables.”
“Mothers and nursemaids have been using that trick for centuries to cajole their stubborn children into eating vegetables, so I’m not certain you can claim credit for it, Roald.” Lord Imrah chuckled. “Alan must be tired from his journey. Please lead him up to his room and help him unpack.”
“Yes, my lord.” Reminded of his duty, Roald bowed. “Follow me, Alan. I’ll show you to your room.”
News and Advice
“You heard the news?” Roald arched an eyebrow at Alan, who had joined him in packing his belongings so they could be moved from the room he had used in the Royal Palace when he was Lord Imrah’s squire back to the chamber that was his in the royal quarters. Not that he would be spending much time there before the Royal Progress resumed its inexorable march across the country, taking Roald along with it wherever it went.
“Which news?” Alan counted each bit of news that could have provided enough gossip to last for an entire social season at court on his fingers. “Vinson of Genlith’s confession? Joren of Stone Mountain’s failure and death? Or Lord Wyldon’s resignation?”
“The last one.” Roald paused in folding a tunic, pondering how he should approach a delicate issue.
“Ah, then, yes, I was treated to many of my mother’s rants on the subject.” Alan’s tone was heavy with irony. “Apparently however much she hated Lord Wyldon she didn’t want him to resign.”
“Lord Wyldon’s resignation might be a good thing for you, though.” Roald had found what he believed to be the most tactful angle from which to offer his advice. “I know you decided to serve under Lord Imrah because you couldn’t train under a knight who said unchivalrous things about your mother. With Lord Wyldon’s successor, you wouldn’t have to do so, and you could follow a more conventional path to knighthood that would leave you less vulnerable to the scorn of other nobles.”
“I’d be enrolling in page training years too late.” Alan snorted. “The opportunity for a conventional path to knighthood left me in the dust long ago.”
“I still think you should consider training at the palace.” Roald spoke softly but with all the firmness he felt after reflecting on the matter for some time. “You can’t hide away from court forever, no matter what Lord Imrah might have told you on the contrary.”
“Perhaps I can’t.” A knot tied in Alan’s forehead. “I’ll think about it. I can promise no more than that.”
“I could ask for no more than that.” Roald inclined his head, lapsing into silence to allow Alan the space he needed to consider Roald’s advice.
Keeping Counsel
“You’ll be accompanying Lianne to Maren when she marries and remaining there indefinitely as her knightly companion?” Roald swirled his Tyran wine around in his goblet as if he could divine in the drink the future he feared for his sister and his friend.
“Lianne requested I keep her company in a strange land, and your father acceded.” Alan sipped at his own wine. “It would’ve been churlish indeed for me to refuse to attend on her in Maren given the circumstances.”
“You want to accompany my sister to Maren.” Roald lifted his gaze from his wine to fix it on Alan, wondering if Alan truly thought he was so blind as to not see the attraction Alan had longed nursed for Lianne. “It’s not merely duty that’s taking you to Maren.”
“I’ve known your sister since I was small.” Alan didn’t drop his eyes to the carpet depicting baying hounds in hunt. “Of course I want to accompany her to Maren. What of that? A man may have desires that aren’t at odds with his duty.”
“He may as long as he ensures those desires never become at odds to his duty.” Roald set his goblet on the table and leaned forward on his sofa, forcing himself to express the reason he had invited Alan to his private parlor for this sensitive conversation. “They behead adulterers in Maren, and often the mere suspicion of adultery is considered proof. It’s important no suspicion should surround my sister–or her close childhood companion.”
“They wouldn’t dare to behead a queen!” Alan’s fists clenched, and his face flushed like his mother’s whenever she heard a conservative speak. “Your father would go to war with them if they did, and they cursed well know that.”
“We can’t count on that.” Grimly, Roald shook his head, because he remembered his history even if his father, Lianne, and Alan had forgotten it or had never bothered to study the past for lessons vital to the present. “Only three generations ago, Maren beheaded a foreign born queen from Galla for adultery and the treason of shedding doubt on the legitimacy of the king’s issue.”
“Three generations was a long time ago.” Alan offered an impatient eye roll.
“Not when we’re talking in terms of rulers and dynasties,” Roald countered, understanding the long-term thinking royalty engaged in even if Alan didn’t.
Alan was silent for a moment before asking in what seemed to be a determinedly flat tone, “Will you tell your father of your suspicions about Lianne and me?”
“No, I can keep my own counsel.” Roald sighed. Before Alan could point out that he had failed to do so by having this discussion with Alan at all, he added softly, “My sister would never forgive me if I confided my concerns in my father, but tread lightly in Maren, Alan–not only for Lianne’s sake but for yours. Loving someone forbidden to you can destroy you and the person you love if you aren’t careful.”
“Advice that isn’t worth a copper from someone who has never loved anybody forbidden to them.” Alan planly wasn’t about to listen to reason, and Roald felt a deep foreboding sink into his chest. “I thank you for your counsel, Your Highness, but like you I’ll keep my own.”
No Absolution
Roald, footsteps echoing eerily, approached Lianne’s memorial in the cold Conte crypts where there was a memorial in her honor even though her body was buried far away in Maren after she had died given birth to a son named Alan who reputedly bore an uncanny resemblance to Alan of Pirate’s Swoop.
As if Roald’s thoughts had summoned him into being, Roald saw Alan tracing his fingers over Lianne’s name carved in cold marble as a man might stroke his lady’s silk-clad arm.
“I did warn you that forbidden love could destroy you and Lianne.” Roald couldn’t be compassionate when he was left numb and wondering how much heartbreak could have been averted if Alan had just listened to his counsel. So much sorrow could be avoided, he believed, if people refused to yield to their passions.
“You were right.” Alan’s fingers continued to caress Lianne’s memorial. “Does that bring you pleasure?”
“Nothing about this gives me pleasure.” Roald could hear his voice cracking in a mirror of how broken he felt inside. “My sister is dead, and nothing can bring her back to life.”
“All I have left of her are these words on marble and sweet memories of her that have turned bitter with grief.” Alan still refused to look at Roald. “I don’t need your blame to add to my sorrow. Let me mourn in peace.”
Roald stood as quietly condemning as his sister’s memorial, unable to forgive Alan, who had stubbornly not asked for absolution.
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Conversations. Prompts: Puzzle, Food, Meeting, News, and Forbidden also inspired this piece.
Word Count: 2706
Summary: Roald, Alan, and the conversations that unite and divide them through the years.
Notes: This work does reference some events that are explored in more detail in my Alan/Lianne story "Knight in Shining Armor" but this piece is meant to be able to stand alone.
Conversations through the Years
Puzzles and Princes
Like his twin sister, Alan of Pirate’s Swoop seemed drawn to puzzles, Roald noticed, but while Aly would chatter endlessly about which pieces ought to fit where as she fought to wedge them into places they plainly didn’t belong, Alan appeared to silently focus his attention on people–or more specifically, a person. In this case, Roald himself. Roald realized and even understood this because he, too, had a more outgoing sister while he preferred to watch than speak, drinking in the world rather than acting in a way that might disturb it. He was watching Alan in the Pirate Swoop nursery now even as he built a tower of blocks.
“You’re the prince.” Alan finally spoke in a soft voice, and Roald could hear how much it had cost the small boy to wobble out this simple sentence.
“One of the princes.” Roald smiled, thinking of how furious at being forgotten Liam and Jasson would be. “I’ve two brothers who are also princes.”
“You’re the oldest prince, the Crown Prince.” Alan glanced over at Thom, who, like Jasson would have been, was buried in a book. “That makes you the only one who matters, Thom says.”
“Why does Thom say that?” Roald asked, though he had a snaking suspicion why Thom, being the eldest of the three Pirate Swoop children, would make such a bold claim.
“Because only the oldest children matter.” Alan wrinkled a nose freckled by the summer sun. “That’s what Thom says.”
“He only says that because he’s the oldest, not because it’s true.” Roald gave a satisfied nod as he finished placing the last block on his tower, taking care not to upset the entire structure at this final, crucial juncture. “Being the oldest doesn’t mean being more important. It just means being more responsible.”
That was the way Mama and Papa had explained it anyway just like they had explained how being born a prince didn’t make him better than anyone else and how the privileges of his rank only came with more obligations to everyone else in the kingdom he would inherit from his father.
“Oh.” Alan sucked on his thumb, wide-eyed as he contemplated this revelation. “What’s it like being a prince?”
“Like being the oldest,” answered Roald, struggling to describe how seriously he took his position as prince. “It’s all about duty, not privilege.”
“Must be nice to be a prince.” Alan continued to suck on his thumb. “No nursemaids or tutors daring to scold you.”
Before Roald could dryly assure Alan that princes were subject to many lectures from nursemaids and tutors, Maude bustled over to reprimand Alan as if Alan’s words had summoned her like one of Papa’s spells.
“Don’t suck on your thumb, especially in front of company that happens to be royalty!” Maude yanked Alan’s finger out of his mouth and began to tug him toward a wash basin in the corner. “It’s a disgusting habit, and now we’ll have to clean your hands.”
Roald watched Maude drag a pouting Alan to the wash basin before returning his focus to the tower he had built. Forehead furrowing, he realized that he didn’t know what he wanted do with it now that he had completed its construction. Just building it patiently–making something out of nothing–had been his only goal and now that it was accomplished he found his own interest in his creation waning.
“Kally!” he called, grinning as she dashed over to him in a whirlwind of flying black hair and shining sky blue eyes. “My tower is yours to destroy.”
Kally grinned and reached out as he had known she would to knock over the blocks, which slammed against the floor loudly enough to make Maude start and spill the wash basin she was using to clean Alan’s hands.
“May the Great Mother have mercy upon me!” exclaimed Maude, seeping up the spilled water with the towel that she had probably been planning to dry Alan’s hands with before the wash basin had fallen over from her alarm. “You children make enough noise to waken the dead when you play!”
“Forgive me, Mistress Maude.” Kally sounded as if she were stifling a giggle. Plainly she was tickled by the disruption she had caused.
“It was my fault. I told her she could destroy my tower.” Roald ducked his head to disguise the fact that he was more entertained by his sister’s unrepentance than moved by any guilt for his role in her antics. “Forgive me, Mistress Maude.”
“Well, it’s not my place to refuse to pardon royalty.” Maude snatched up another towel from a pile of laundry to dry Alan’s hands, and Roald supposed that meant he and Kally had been forgiven for their mischief.
Thom, seated by the window, sulked over the spine of his book, challenging Roald’s assumption. “I don’t forgive anyone who says sorry for ruining my reading.”
“Nobody was saying sorry to you.” Alan stuck out his tongue.
“Let’s play a quiet game,” Maude suggested before Thom could retort. “Whoever can stay silent the longest wins.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.” Aly looked up from cramming a corner piece into the middle of the puzzle she was trying to put together to offer this criticism.
“It sounds fun because I’m going to win.” Alan bit into his lip, as if to prevent himself from surrendering to any temptation to speech.
“It does sound boring,” Kally whispered into Roald’s ear, but Roald ignored her, trying to be a model of quiet for every child in the nursery to follow.
Eating Vegetables
“Eat your peas,” Maude ordered Alan, who, as far as Roald could see, appeared more interested in rolling his peas around his place than in eating them.
“I bet no one makes the prince it his peas.” Alan persisted in pushing his peas around his platter, showing no inclination to heed Maude’s command.
“The prince is eating his peas.” Maude gestured at Roald, who obligingly ate a heaping spoonful of the vegetable. “That’s how he grew so tall and strong. You’d like to grow tall and strong just like the prince, wouldn’t you, Alan?”
“Not if it means eating peas.” Alan was obviously immune to any of Maude’s wheedling.
“I’ll race you.” Roald addressed Alan as if he were the ever-competitive Liam always searching for the next game to win. “The first one to finish their peas wins.” Belatedly recalling that he should ask Maude’s permission before beginning this competition with Alan, he added, inclining his head to her, “If we may.”
Maude looked as if she was tempted to refuse, but seeing the eagerness in Alan’s expression when he had showed no enthusiasm for consuming peas earlier, she waved a palm in reluctant assent. “Very well, but I’ll not be held responsible if either of you choke from this folly.”
Alan rushed through his peas, Roald appeared to do so while allowing Alan to win, and neither of them choked.
“I win.” Alan gave his stomach a pleased pat as he finished scarfing down his peas.
“So you did,” Roald agreed, not mentioning that he had let Alan win since he believed that fell under the category of the tact his parents had been trying to teach him since he could talk. “Well done.”
Reunion
Roald was a squire and Alan a page about to enter service under Roald’s knightmaster, Lord Imrah, the next time they met in the courtyard of castle Legann as Lord Imrah greeted his newest charge.
“Alan of Pirate’s Swoop.” Roald fumbled for a polite way to articulate that he was shocked to see Alan, who had somehow stayed frozen in Roald’s memory while Roald himself had endured the painful growth spurts of adolescence, hadn’t remained a strawberry-blond four-year-old forever. At least he settled on: “It’s good to see you again. You’ve grown since I saw you last.”
“I’ve been eating my vegetables.” Alan’s smile was slight but sly.
“Would those vegetables be peas by any chance?” Roald flashed a small grin of his own, relieved that the boy he remembered still survived somewhere inside Alan.
“Yes, and I could beat you in another pea eating contest at any time.” Alan nodded, leaving Roald in no doubt that he had a crystal clear memory of their last pea-eating competition.
“Boys.” Lord Imrah shook his head in fond reproach. “Always coming up with a contest but I suppose that’s what boys are best at, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Alan was obviously unabashed. “I’m better at coming up with contests than Roald is.”
“Sure, you are.” Roald’s lips quirked in an indulgence to his sardonic side. “If we ignore the fact that I came up with that contest years ago to trick you into eating your vegetables.”
“Mothers and nursemaids have been using that trick for centuries to cajole their stubborn children into eating vegetables, so I’m not certain you can claim credit for it, Roald.” Lord Imrah chuckled. “Alan must be tired from his journey. Please lead him up to his room and help him unpack.”
“Yes, my lord.” Reminded of his duty, Roald bowed. “Follow me, Alan. I’ll show you to your room.”
News and Advice
“You heard the news?” Roald arched an eyebrow at Alan, who had joined him in packing his belongings so they could be moved from the room he had used in the Royal Palace when he was Lord Imrah’s squire back to the chamber that was his in the royal quarters. Not that he would be spending much time there before the Royal Progress resumed its inexorable march across the country, taking Roald along with it wherever it went.
“Which news?” Alan counted each bit of news that could have provided enough gossip to last for an entire social season at court on his fingers. “Vinson of Genlith’s confession? Joren of Stone Mountain’s failure and death? Or Lord Wyldon’s resignation?”
“The last one.” Roald paused in folding a tunic, pondering how he should approach a delicate issue.
“Ah, then, yes, I was treated to many of my mother’s rants on the subject.” Alan’s tone was heavy with irony. “Apparently however much she hated Lord Wyldon she didn’t want him to resign.”
“Lord Wyldon’s resignation might be a good thing for you, though.” Roald had found what he believed to be the most tactful angle from which to offer his advice. “I know you decided to serve under Lord Imrah because you couldn’t train under a knight who said unchivalrous things about your mother. With Lord Wyldon’s successor, you wouldn’t have to do so, and you could follow a more conventional path to knighthood that would leave you less vulnerable to the scorn of other nobles.”
“I’d be enrolling in page training years too late.” Alan snorted. “The opportunity for a conventional path to knighthood left me in the dust long ago.”
“I still think you should consider training at the palace.” Roald spoke softly but with all the firmness he felt after reflecting on the matter for some time. “You can’t hide away from court forever, no matter what Lord Imrah might have told you on the contrary.”
“Perhaps I can’t.” A knot tied in Alan’s forehead. “I’ll think about it. I can promise no more than that.”
“I could ask for no more than that.” Roald inclined his head, lapsing into silence to allow Alan the space he needed to consider Roald’s advice.
Keeping Counsel
“You’ll be accompanying Lianne to Maren when she marries and remaining there indefinitely as her knightly companion?” Roald swirled his Tyran wine around in his goblet as if he could divine in the drink the future he feared for his sister and his friend.
“Lianne requested I keep her company in a strange land, and your father acceded.” Alan sipped at his own wine. “It would’ve been churlish indeed for me to refuse to attend on her in Maren given the circumstances.”
“You want to accompany my sister to Maren.” Roald lifted his gaze from his wine to fix it on Alan, wondering if Alan truly thought he was so blind as to not see the attraction Alan had longed nursed for Lianne. “It’s not merely duty that’s taking you to Maren.”
“I’ve known your sister since I was small.” Alan didn’t drop his eyes to the carpet depicting baying hounds in hunt. “Of course I want to accompany her to Maren. What of that? A man may have desires that aren’t at odds with his duty.”
“He may as long as he ensures those desires never become at odds to his duty.” Roald set his goblet on the table and leaned forward on his sofa, forcing himself to express the reason he had invited Alan to his private parlor for this sensitive conversation. “They behead adulterers in Maren, and often the mere suspicion of adultery is considered proof. It’s important no suspicion should surround my sister–or her close childhood companion.”
“They wouldn’t dare to behead a queen!” Alan’s fists clenched, and his face flushed like his mother’s whenever she heard a conservative speak. “Your father would go to war with them if they did, and they cursed well know that.”
“We can’t count on that.” Grimly, Roald shook his head, because he remembered his history even if his father, Lianne, and Alan had forgotten it or had never bothered to study the past for lessons vital to the present. “Only three generations ago, Maren beheaded a foreign born queen from Galla for adultery and the treason of shedding doubt on the legitimacy of the king’s issue.”
“Three generations was a long time ago.” Alan offered an impatient eye roll.
“Not when we’re talking in terms of rulers and dynasties,” Roald countered, understanding the long-term thinking royalty engaged in even if Alan didn’t.
Alan was silent for a moment before asking in what seemed to be a determinedly flat tone, “Will you tell your father of your suspicions about Lianne and me?”
“No, I can keep my own counsel.” Roald sighed. Before Alan could point out that he had failed to do so by having this discussion with Alan at all, he added softly, “My sister would never forgive me if I confided my concerns in my father, but tread lightly in Maren, Alan–not only for Lianne’s sake but for yours. Loving someone forbidden to you can destroy you and the person you love if you aren’t careful.”
“Advice that isn’t worth a copper from someone who has never loved anybody forbidden to them.” Alan planly wasn’t about to listen to reason, and Roald felt a deep foreboding sink into his chest. “I thank you for your counsel, Your Highness, but like you I’ll keep my own.”
No Absolution
Roald, footsteps echoing eerily, approached Lianne’s memorial in the cold Conte crypts where there was a memorial in her honor even though her body was buried far away in Maren after she had died given birth to a son named Alan who reputedly bore an uncanny resemblance to Alan of Pirate’s Swoop.
As if Roald’s thoughts had summoned him into being, Roald saw Alan tracing his fingers over Lianne’s name carved in cold marble as a man might stroke his lady’s silk-clad arm.
“I did warn you that forbidden love could destroy you and Lianne.” Roald couldn’t be compassionate when he was left numb and wondering how much heartbreak could have been averted if Alan had just listened to his counsel. So much sorrow could be avoided, he believed, if people refused to yield to their passions.
“You were right.” Alan’s fingers continued to caress Lianne’s memorial. “Does that bring you pleasure?”
“Nothing about this gives me pleasure.” Roald could hear his voice cracking in a mirror of how broken he felt inside. “My sister is dead, and nothing can bring her back to life.”
“All I have left of her are these words on marble and sweet memories of her that have turned bitter with grief.” Alan still refused to look at Roald. “I don’t need your blame to add to my sorrow. Let me mourn in peace.”
Roald stood as quietly condemning as his sister’s memorial, unable to forgive Alan, who had stubbornly not asked for absolution.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!