A/N: Ah, Jon/Alanna. I love their friendship to death. One of my favorite scenes in all of TP's books is when she sees him again in Lioness Rampant, the first time after their big argument... and they're STILL FRIENDS. That kind of bond is unimaginably strong. Anyway. This is my little tribute to their friendship and almost-romance (that kind of fiery passion and love for each other never truly dies!) Please let me know what you think!

The premise is Jon being stressed because of the repercussions of using the Dominion Jewel - its power cost Tortall a great famine in the beginning of Jon's reign. So yeah.

Words: 1620
Characters: Jon, Alanna, (others)
Time: After Lioness Rampant
Genre: Friendship

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Tamora Pierce, not me.

It had been a particularly trying day. All the king's advisers had glaringly different ideas about how to handle the famine. Alanna herself kept as quiet as she could. As the King's Champion, she gave her advice – that the people must be fed, at whatever cost – and then let the boys and Thayet argue it out to their hearts' content. Firm opinions she had in plenty, but the intricacies of politics covered in these meetings were not her strong suit.

Despite his diplomacy and unruffled manner, Jon was ailing. Alanna knew him well enough to see the strain burdening his handsome features. He was born for this kind of thing – debate and decision – but it was still taking its toll on him.

When at last he called the meeting to a close, Jon told everyone that he would retreat to his study to think over what they had discussed. Something about the way he said it, though, made Alanna frown. People were constantly calling on the king's study for one thing or another. Why would he go there? So Alanna waited a few moments, nodding absently when Thayet said they had better give him some time alone. Then she promptly strode off in search for him.

Evening crept upon the castle, and fast. Everywhere she went, there were people finishing up their business for the night and preparing for a late, meager supper. So she went to the one place that took little tending, where a person – or a king – was sure to find solitude. The gardens. Alanna grinned as she remembered another time they'd met in the gardens, when he'd first told her he loved her.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of meandering, she found the king, sitting on a stone-carved bench and staring into the distance. He looked drawn, gray hairs on his head lancing through the black. His sapphire blue eyes didn't seem to notice her approach, but the corner of his lips twitched when she sat down beside him.

"I knew the moment I met you, my life would never be peaceful again," he said wryly, but his voice was more tired than unkind. "Must you bother me even now? I have a decision to make."

She knew his words were spoken out of stress, and she decided not to take them personally. She simply shrugged. "I can't leave my king unguarded. Don't lie, Jon, you'd rather it were me than anyone else."

"You keep me honest." At last he looked at her, gratitude in his gaze. Then he grew anxious again. "Gods, this is a mess. People are starving to death in the streets. Fighting over rotting crumbs, cooking rats; a dead horse is a feast. If I had known this would be the price of the Dominion Jewel's power…"

"You had no choice," Alanna said firmly. "Think about it, Jon. What else could you have done? Let Roger destroy the entire country? How would that have been any better for the people? At least now, this is a danger the people can understand. And you are doing everything you can to feed them."

"The treasury is near empty. So are all the grain stores. I have to decide which country to beggar myself to first, and how deep in debt I should go. Or I have to decide which ancient artifacts to sell, which parts of Tortall's history must be sacrificed to feed her people." He buried his face in his hands. "What if I am putting Tortall in greater danger and shame than ever before? Some king I have become."

Bracingly Alanna grasped his forearm. "Get a hold of yourself, Jon. Only a true king would risk so much for his people's sake. Many others would let the commoners starve. You won't."

Jon laid his hand over hers. "I am blessed to have friends and advisors like you, Alanna. Myles, the Naxens, they're running themselves down to coppers to feed the poor. And have you heard of all that Thayet is doing? She's a godsend. She's been serving the children of the city small dishes of her own making, sewing them clothes... All that, and with child."

"I knew I was right, bringing her here," Alanna said, trying to smile. Jon managed a small laugh.

"Yes. Of course you were right. You always are."

When his hand squeezed hers tightly, Alanna gripped his arm in return. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, she felt the two narrow scars on his inner wrists that were the remnants of his rituals to join the Bazhir, first as their fellow tribesman and then as the Voice. Slowly she rolled up his sleeve and traced the pale skin with careful fingers. Jon was watching her strangely.

"Do you still commune as the Voice?" she asked quietly.

"Of course. Every night. It'll be time again in a few hours. I never feel you there, though."

"I know. How are the Bazhir?"

"They're holding up better than we are. They're used to famine, it seems, living in a desert. It hasn't hit them as hard." He sighed wistfully, touching Alanna's fingertips. "Not that they were perfect, but sometimes I miss those days. Back we were in the desert together."

She smiled up into his eyes, full of memories. "Me too. Life was easier back then." Had it really only been three years?

"We could go back," Jon suggested, and to her relief, his tone was lighter than it had been, and playful, like when they were younger. "We could run off together into the sunset. Elope! Leave this gods-cursed ruling business and never come back. Just two happy lovers dashing through the desert sands." Standing, Jon picked her up and whirled her around in a manner nothing like the elegant courtly dances they were both accustomed to. Alanna laughed as she spun back into his arms.

"Yes! And minstrels and bards everywhere would go mad with glee, singing songs about the King and his Lioness, star-crossed lovers vanishing into the night."

"'The King and His Lioness,'" Jon quoted gallantly, twirling Alanna once more. "I like the sound of it. Come here, my Lioness."

Obediently – because she wanted his comfort as much as he wanted hers – Alanna wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders. For a time, they simply held each other. Jon was tall enough that she could relax into him and hear his heartbeat. She could never help loving this man, she knew: the fierce, impossible kind of love that would sometimes spark more arguments than loathing would.

By the strength of Jon's arms around her, the coolness of his voice, Alanna knew he felt the same way. "I'm glad I have you by my side," he said.

"You always have, and you always will," she replied. "How many times have I saved your life? The Sweating Sickness, the Ysandir, Roger… refusing to marry you, because we both know we would have killed each other by the end of it - "

He laughed, warm and deep, the first real laugh she'd heard from him since the famine began. He separated himself from her so he could look her properly in the eyes. "You mock me," he teased. "I've saved you, too. I taught you how to be a knight and helped you with the Ysandir. I rescued you from Tusaine, I did my fair share in the fight against Roger - "

Here we go again, thought Alanna. But it was a friendly banter, never a competition. Their hands remained clasped as they sat down on the cool bench again. She rather liked when they had this conversation. It reminded her of all she and Jon shared, from companionship to love to this, their deep friendship, love in its own way. Their bond, their experiences, were irreplaceable to her, and sometimes, if they argued or grew distant from each other, she needed the reminder.

Silence settled over them as they gazed into their shared past. Jon sighed next to her. She knew he had to think of the future now.

"Do you want to know why I never commune with the Voice?" Alanna said suddenly. Even she was surprised at her words. Jon looked at her curiously. Squeezing his hand, Alanna met his eyes squarely, smiling. "It hasn't always been because of this. But now, it's because you and I… we already know each other too well. We don't need the Bazhir magic to read each other's thoughts and hearts, do we? And as you – or Coram, I guess – are the only people I'd be comfortable sharing that much of myself with, well…" She shrugged. "There's no point."

To her surprise, she felt Jon's hands cup her face, and then his lips were on hers, a gentle and chaste kiss that lingered perhaps only a second longer than would have been expected. "You never fail to surprise me, Alanna," he said. "And, as always, you are right. Whether it's a good or bad thing, that we know each other so well…"

"…is still open for consideration," she finished, grinning at him. Briefly she kissed him in return and squeezed his hand. "You're a good king, Jon."

"Only because I have you at my side." In the pause that followed, Alanna could see in his eyes that his thoughts were turning back to the problem at hand; their short departure from reality into the world of wishes and memories was over. "Thank you, Alanna. I needed that."

"Anytime," she said. This time, when he rose, Alanna took her place beside him. They returned to the castle as king and King's Champion, the friend and former lover in them set aside for a time, but never forgotten.