Merry Christmas to all! The idea for this little oneshot just came upon me suddenly, and I typed it up in a half hour. I would appreciate if, as an early Christmas gift, you would leave me a review! Anyway, happy reading, and happy holidays to everyone!
Best wishes,
Claire
Duke Gareth the Elder smiled, an expression that did not often cross his face. Young people these days were so transparent, and Alan of Pirate's Swoop had not inherited his father's ability to dissemble. Rather, he had his mother's open face, and as for Lianne, well —
She was the image of her grandmother, really. Gareth's smile disappeared as he thought of his late sister, wasting away until her death — but luckily, his grandniece seemed to be much heartier than her grandmother. Perhaps it had been Roger's curse that did her in, but Lianne had begun to weaken most alarmingly after Alan of Trebond took seriously ill and then died.
"Don't tell, brother," she would whisper to him as she slipped out to meet her lover. And Gareth had not told. But if he had, maybe, his sister wouldn't have fallen so deeply in love with Alan of Trebond, and she would be alive.
"Be happy for me, Gar," she said. But Alan had turned his back on her, just as he had turned his back on his children. And Gareth had watched as the light in Lianne's eyes faded and she began to court Roald. Gareth had seen the love, though, in Roald's eyes, and he had prayed that, maybe, this man would heal Lianne.
But instead, Lianne had pulled him down with her. When Lianne had wasted away, Roald had killed himself.
"Gareth," she had whispered. "Jon — he's in love with his daughter, isn't he?" She had watched as Jonathan followed Alan's daughter around, chased through the desert after her. And perhaps she had foretold the heartache that lay in her son's future, and had tried to stop it. Gareth, too, had seen it, seen to a minor degree, the fascination that his nephew held with his Trebond squire. He had suspected nothing, though, until Alanna revealed herself. And then, with a sinking of his heart, he had feared for his nephew, not because he disliked the girl, but because she was a Trebond and he Lianne's son. The Trebonds were irresistible, it seemed, to Lianne and her son, for not even the treacherously lovely Princess Josiane could distract Jonathan. And Alanna of Trebond had indeed left Jonathan. It seemed that the Trebonds were not meant for Lianne and her family. Gareth feared, in his heart, that Alan of Pirate's Swoop would too break his grandniece's heart. And he watched heavily as the two pulled their horses to a stop in unison, Lianne's face laughing. How long, he wondered, till Alan turns that smile into a sob?
As Duke Gareth watched, Lianne staggered as she dismounted, mud-splattered, from her horse. Alan was there in a moment, catching Queen Lianne's namesake. The two froze, looking at each other, until Alan smiled and gently pulled her to her feet. And perhaps, mused Gareth, there was a chance.
"Uncle?" Jonathan of Conté leaned against the doorway of Gareth's door. "Is something the matter?"
"No, not at all, Nephew," Gareth murmured. "They will be a couple yet."
Jonathan looked, confused, at his uncle, but he had long learned to listen to what Gareth said.
"If you say, Uncle."
Gareth smiled. History did not always repeat itself, and he had a feeling that the fate of Queen Lianne would not be Princess Lianne's.
Please...?