stubborn_squire | (no subject)

(no subject)

April is a wet month. It rained for a week straight, and when Alanna meets George at the Dove to discuss the news he'd received from the Rogue in Tusaine's capitol, she almost wishes for a boat to carry her there.

She forgets to care about the mud on her boots or the water seeping through her cloak on the way back from the Lower City.

War is coming to Tortall.

--- --- ---

"Twenty." Myles looks at the map Alanna put before him, and the red marks that represented Tusaine legions. They do the math, arriving at chilling numbers: two thousand foot soldiers, one hundred units of ten armed knights each. All quartered in castles and towns around the Drell River Valley, the stupidest place to fight a war Alanna could imagine.

"How much do you trust the Rogue?" Myles asks. Alanna had told him, point blank, that she knew George, and she knew Myles had good drinking companions in Marek and Scholar, two of George's thieves. Those cards, at least, are now on the table.

"I trust him with my life. I trust him with Jon's life."

"Duke Gareth and the King must see this immediately. I'll be certain your name and that of your source don't come into the discussion."

Alanna puts a finger down on the map, careful not to tear it. "One more thing, Myles. George says the mountain passes from Tusaine into the Drell Valley are open."

He nods. "Then we've very little time, and we're not prepared. Gareth and I tried to convince Roald that Hilam would do this. If we were dealing with old King Ain, there'd be no trouble. But Hilam-"

"Has notions?" Alanna finishes, her scowl quickly becoming a lengthy visitor.

--- --- ---

Three days after the Call to Muster, the palace is still in an uproar. Those who will ride to war are busy preparing, while those who won't gossip about what the future might bring.

They have much to gossip about tonight. At the military review, Duke Gareth, the Commander, fell off his horse and broke his leg. He has been replaced with Duke Roger of Conte.

Only Alanna and the palace hostler know Duke Gareth took a tumble because someone placed a prickly burr in his very well-trained war horse's saddle blanket.

-- -- --

Alanna is pleased to see her unexpected visitor in the Lesser Library, even if George is daft for risking it.

She shows him the burr, he warns her to be careful around Roger, and then he kisses her.

Much to her consternation, Alanna enjoys the kiss. A lot.

Thoughtful, she meanders back to her rooms and throws herself across the bed, ignoring Faithful’s insistent demands for information and several chores she knows she should complete before bedtime.

(What did he mean he'll wait years?)

She's still staring at the burr when she hears the outer door open and close.

[OOC: Dialogue from In the Hand of the Goddess, by Tamora Pierce.]

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Jon sees Alanna's door closed and hesistates a moment before knocking. He raps twice and calls, "Are you in there?" It isn't their secret code for visitors, so she should know it's safe.

Tearing her eyes away from the burr, Alanna blinks at the door and calls, "Come in," her voice husky.

Several seconds later, as if remembering her place, she scrambles into a sitting position and smoothes her hair.

Jon opens the door and walks in, halting a few steps away from her. He looks down at her curiously. "What are you doing just laying there? Are you done packing yet?" He tries to hide it, but he is secretly excited about the upcoming battle.

Alanna jumps to her feet, palming the burr.

"Just about," Alanna frowns. She's far too worried to be excited. "How go things in the War Chamber?"

"Crazy," Jon replies, rubbing the back of his neck. "Roger and Father are going over strategies while messengers from Duke Gareth keep running back and forth." He scowls slightly. "They told me to run along and finish packing." He flops down onto the bed she has just vacated.

Grinning, she kicks at his foot.

"Now you know how the rest of us feel."

Squires haven't been allowed in the discussions.

He rolls his eyes at her. "Duke Gareth had promised me that he would include me in the meetings." He frowns, kicking back at Alanna's feet. "I'm not sure Roger is going to let me participate at all."

Her smile fades. At times like this, when she is struggling to keep her face expressionless and hold on to her temper, her unusual eyes look even more so for the angry light within.

"Oh, I think he might," is her vague response.

Jon looks at her sharply. "What do you mean?" He sits up, narrowing his eyes. "I know you don't like him, Alanna, but he is a good man. I'm sure he has a reason for keeping me away." There is a note of uncertainty in his voice, so faint that he doesn't even realize it's there.

Alanna meets his look, holding his eyes for a long moment before shrugging and opening her trunk. She slips the burr into a handkerchief and shoves it to the bottom of her belongings.

(Who benefits? And stop thinkin' of fightin': start thinkin' of power.)

She sighs, mulling over George's words with a sick feeling in her stomach.

"How did he take news of his command?" she asks conversationally. "I missed the announcement."

Jon shrugs, still studying her. "He was surprised, but accepted the role. He and Father went almost immediately to the War Room to discuss strategies."

It's not hard to picture: Roger's understated surprise at such an honor, but carefully played chagrin that it should come at such a price.

Inwardly, Alanna curses. Why can't Jon see that his uncle means him harm?

"Poor Duke Gareth," she says, avoiding his eyes. Faithful gives a small yowl as she scoops him up. "What an odd accident."

His gelding is usually so well behaved.

"I know, but it's not surprising he spooked, with all the excitement and milling about." Jon shrugs, looking unconcerned. "Poor Duke Gareth, indeed. He's going to miss all the excitement."

He stands up and pokes Alanna, eyes sparkling. "So squire, are you ready for battle? More importantly, have you packed my socks properly?" He grins wickedly at her.

"He's a warhorse," Alanna replies, flatly.

The poke is not returned, and Alanna looks far from amused or excited. She might be, if she weren't so worried about Roger's intentions.

"You're actually looking forward to this, aren't you?" She scowls. "It's a stupid war to be fighting, and Duke Hilam is a fool. That valley is a death trap for all involved!"

"It's not the place I would choose to fight either, but we have no choice! Hilam has pushed us to this and cannot be allowed to cross the river." Jon's eyes blaze with anger, his fists tightening. "He's a fool with a large army behind him who needs to be stopped."

He takes a breath and looks down at her. "Yes, I am looking forward to this. Aren't you? It's our first chance to really test ourselves."

"You've already had your first true test," she reminds him, not unkindly, meeting his look with a frank stare.

War or not, Alanna will remain preoccupied with the Ordeal until the Chamber door opens and spits her out again.

"Do you think I'll be allowed to fight?" It's the tiniest bit hopeful. She'll have far more success protecting Jon if she can ride out with the others.

Jon flushes and looks down. She's right, but this is different. This is real life. Alanna will understand when she faces the Chamber.

He looks back up at her. "Of course! Well, as much as any squire will." He gives her a crooked grin. "You've had my back before. It's why I chose you as my squire."

Solemn, Alanna nods. Tortall is her home and she'll defend it to her death, if need be.

"I'll protect you with my last breath, your Highness," she promises.

Jon takes her hands and looks into Alanna's eyes. "I know you will. I trust you with my life." He holds the gaze for a few moments, an unfamiliar feeling growing in his chest as he looks at her.

Alanna blinks. Her serious expression fades, quickly replaced by confusion and a slight frown.

It's just that the way he is looking at her is so queer.

Isn't that sweet, Faithful meows, leaping from her shoulder. His eyeroll is practically audible.

Alanna snatches her hands back, thoughts of George's kiss in her head, and balls them into fists. Seconds later, she's managed to put her trunk between them with an awkward smile.

Jon isn't quite sure what just happened or what he should say now. He's grasping for something to say when a hard head butts into his leg. He wobbles, almost falling, then laughs and picks up Faithful, staring into his eyes.

"You should have more respect for your prince, sir."

Grateful to her ornery cat for putting them back on familiar ground, Alanna grins mischievously and places both hands on her hips.

"And you should remember that you need us to keep you humble, Sire. I'd hate to think what would happen to your head were we not to accompany you to war."

Jon sniffs, tickling Faithful's belly. "I don't know what you mean. I am both handsome and humble. Not to mention gifted with intelligence and athletic grace." He grins at her.

"You'll get no argument from me. Well, perhaps with one or two points," she teases.

Less cautious now, she returns to his side and rubs the cat's ear.

No argument from you? There's a first. To the left a little.

Jon looks over at her. "What are you going to do with this one while we are away?"