Author's Note: This story, which will contain several more chapters, is being written for the July Challenge over at the Tamora Pierce Writing Experiment forum. It will be a frame story with the prologue and the epilogue transpiring during Alanna's time as a page, and with the body chapters of the story taking place back when Duke Gareth was a page. Hopefully, this causes no confusion. If anyone is befuddled, though, please feel free to say so in a review, and I will do my best to clarify.
"The soul that sinneth, the same shall die: the son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, and the father shall not bear the iniquity of the son: the justice of the just shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked will be upon him."-Ezekiel 18:20, Douay-Rheims Bible
Prologue: Wars of Our Fathers
Duke Gareth of Naxen glanced up from the document he was reading which compared the prices of grain over the last decade when a firm knock sounded upon his study door.
"Come in," he called vaguely, noting with some satisfaction that the cost of grain was making modest gains. That would please the realm's farmers and nobles, although the city dwellers wouldn't be happy. Still, city folk were never content, and a kingdom, given all the conflicting interests of its myriad subjects, could never be run in a manner that pleased everyone all the time. All a prime minister like himself could do was advise the king on how to best serve the maximum number of beings. Truly, it was a thankless chore, but, since his brother-in-law had appointed him to the post, it was his duty to do it as well as he could.
"I'm here," his son Gary announced, stating the obvious, stepping into the office, and shutting the door after entering. "I'm right on time, too. Really, I think I deserve some medal of honor for that."
"You deserve no medal of honor, silly boy." His lips thinning, Duke Gareth tucked the document about grain prices into a desk drawer, so that he could attend to his responsibilities as a training master and as a father. "Sons are supposed to obey their fathers, and I don't believe people should be rewarded for meeting expectations. Rather, they should be punished when they fail to do so. Besides, being right on time is just another way of saying that you were almost late."
"Then I can almost get punished for almost being late and that would almost make sense, sir," remarked Gary, as jovial in his impudence as ever.
"Your use of the word almost is almost becoming excessive." Smiling slightly, Duke Gareth gestured for his son to slide into the chair opposite his desk. "Sit down."
As Gary complied, settling his broad frame into the seat, it occurred to Duke Gareth that the young man must have grown overnight again. It was always astonishing to think that the baby Gareth had cradled in his arms had developed into a page whose size could only be rivaled by the gentle giant Raoul of Goldenlake. Of course, it was really no less incredible that the mewling baby had morphed into a young man with a vocabulary at least as extensive as Gareth's.
Gareth had tried to be a good father—one who was present for all the milestones in his only child's life—but there were still a million precious moments that he missed. That couldn't be avoided, he supposed. He would have been forced to stand over his son while the lad slept if he didn't want to miss any of the boy's phenomenal growth, after all, and that idea was one of the most preposterous he had concocted in months.
"You have grown since I last saw you, Gary," he said, as he did every time he laid eyes on his son. Perhaps that was the father's mantra during the teenage years, much as "sleep well" was the one for the infancy era. Of course, the words themselves didn't matter. Only the ritual of repeating them had any meaning. "You must be at least three inches taller than you were last time we spoke."
"You say that every time you see me, Father, and we meet nearly every day." Gary rolled his eyes like he always did at this point in the ritual.
"Well, if you didn't cause so much trouble, I wouldn't have to see you so often," replied Duke Gareth crisply, completing the rite. Then, getting down to business, he went on, "Anyway, today I haven't summoned you here to punish you. Instead, I want to ask you about the progress of the page, Alan of Trebond, whom you are sponsoring."
"Since Jon is always appointing me to sponsor the newest pages in this rat warren of a palace—" Gary emitted a long-suffering sigh, and Gareth overrode him sternly.
"It is an honor, son, to receive tasks from royalty. It means they trust you to do the job well. In this case, it means that your cousin believes you intelligent enough to instruct newcomers and values your ability to read people's characters."
"Naturally, I get my intelligence and people-reading abilities from you, my revered father." Gary's chestnut eyes sparkled mischievously. "Now, since I was interrupted earlier, I don't remember the precise words of wisdom I was about to utter, but I do recall that the gist of them was that because I have so much experience with sponsorship, I can just tell you all the information you require without you having to ask me a single question in order to save time. Let's get started, then, shall we?"
Without waiting for a response, Gary carried on in a rush as his father hurriedly unscrewed an inkwell and began to write down Gary's report. "Name: Alan of Trebond, oldest son of Lord Alan of Trebond. Sponsor: the creatively-named Gareth the Younger of Naxen. Academic Progress: Alan arrived able to read, write, and perform basic arithmetic, which could be signs of genius. For the most part, he completes his work on time. While he is rotten at mathematics, he has the sense to seek the help of a mathematical wizard like Alexander of Tirragen. His reading and writing is average to above average, and he seems to have a special love for military history at least as it is taught by Sir Myles. The boundless delight he feels when studying etiquette with Master Oakbridge is about equal to that of any other page."
"Gary," Duke Gareth cut in sharply, as he scribbled down a censored version of his son's assessment, writing that Alan was proficient at reading and writing, adequate at etiquette, and possibly above average in history. "You know that I can't use half of what you're saying."
"Feel free to paraphrase, Father, as long as you don't put quotation marks around things that aren't direct quotes." Gary brushed the duke's objection off briskly before going on, "Warrior prowess: Alan is relatively skilled at archery and riding. He also, so the evidence indicates, is not above engaging in the occasional fistfight with a scab like Ralon of Malven. Additional comments: Alan is good company and cracks funny jokes especially about boring etiquette classes, and that's the most glowing endorsement a page could receive from his peers."
As Duke Gareth finished modifying his son's observations to something befitting a formal report, Gary stated in a smooth tone, "Since I saved you so much time by answering your questions before you could even pose them, I think it would be fair if you took the time to answer a question of mine."
"What question would that be?" Warily, Duke Gareth arched an eyebrow.
"Alan said you didn't seem to care for his father much," Gary explained. "I was wondering what created the bad blood between you and Lord Alan."
"I don't like many people." Duke Gareth pressed his lips together. "That doesn't necessarily mean there is bad blood between us."
"Father, that answers about fifty questions I didn't ask." Gary snorted.
"You didn't ask any question," his father pointed out dryly.
"I did indirectly," argued Gary, lifting his chin.
"Just as I answered indirectly," Duke Gareth retorted.
"I don't know why you won't just tell me the truth, Father," snapped Gary. "When you skirt around questions, it makes me imagine something at least five times worst than what really happened."
"It was many years ago, son." Sighing, the duke shook his head. "What happened many years ago between Lord Alan and me doesn't matter."
"How can you say it doesn't matter?" demanded Gary, brown eyes burning. "If there's one thing I've learned in history, it is that the past matters, and ignoring it won't make it vanish. Nobody likes to say it, but without our past, we wouldn't be us. Everything we do is either a homage to or a rejection of our history. Those who believe that they are above the study of history merely end up repeating the mistakes of the past because of their arrogance. In the crudest sense, it doesn't make a difference if we love or hate our fathers, we are still shaped by them. It doesn't matter if we wish to resolve or continue the wars of our fathers. We still need to understand them before we can end or carry on them."
"Well, even if we don't manage to make a knight of you, you'll make quite a scholar." Wryly, Duke Gareth's lips quirked upward.
"Did you not approve of Lord Alan because he was always more of a scholar than a knight?" Cocking his head sideways, Gary frowned. "Not everyone can be a cunning warrior, Father, just like not everybody can be a brilliant scholar."
"My problem with Lord Alan was never that his nose was always buried in a book," responded Duke Gareth tersely. "My issue with him is that, for all his scholarly tendencies, he was always a fool. He never respected the danger and the complexity of the things he sought to comprehend. I doubt that, in all his years as a scholar, he has once considered how a piece of knowledge that he had no right to possess could destroy himself or those close to him. That is a mark of an idiot who doesn't understand what he is dealing with even after years of book learning. You see, what they say about Lord Alan not being ambitious isn't true. Yes, he has no interest in court games or in being even reasonably competent at the fighting arts. However, he has always had a ruthless streak, and there was never a time when he wouldn't do anything to have more knowledge than everyone else. A man who lacks drive or whose ambition overleaps itself can be tolerated, but a man like Lord Alan who is simultaneously too ambitious and not ambitious enough cannot be forgiven. At heart, Lord Alan is selfish, careless, and stupid. A more detestable combination of traits is nearly impossible to imagine. That is why I don't like him. There are many scholars in the world whom I admire greatly, son, but Lord Alan of Trebond will never be among them."
"Even by your standards, those are harsh words, Father." Gary's frown deepened as his forehead furrowed. "What did Lord Alan do that could possibly justify you despising him so much?"
"It's a long story." Duke Gareth shook his head.
"Then you'd better start telling it now." Gary folded his arms across his chest, his face and voice resolute. "I don't intend on moving so much as a muscle until I've heard it all."
"Let the dead past bury its own dead." Duke Gareth's jaw clenched. "Don't drag it into the present to create more casualties."
"As I said earlier, the past is never dead." Gary shot his father a penetrating glance. "If you don't tell me what happened yourself, I will ferret around until I find out the truth about what transpired between you and Lord Alan. Why not give me the story with your bias if I'm going to uncover it in another way if you don't?"
"I won't tell you it with a bias," Duke Gareth established in a tight tone. "I'll just give you the facts of what happened. Then you can draw your own conclusions."