Sequence, a song of the lioness fanfic

A/N: Finally decided to put this as a long, broken, numbered one-shot, because the reread was too choppy even for me, and that says something. Thank you to everyone who stayed with the original (slow, sorry!) updated version, and hopefully you will find this format easier if you ever wander back.

Disclaimer: Really?

Sequence

He has set only one foot within the palace walls before a flustered messenger stumbles up and thrusts a sheet of parchment into his face. After doing the necessary actions to keep his nose from getting broken a third time, apologizing profusely for said actions, and ruefully watching the now-limping messenger hobble away, George finally glances down at the notice in his hand and groans aloud.

It's an immaculately penned request, politely wondering if one mischievous Baron George Cooper of Pirate's Swoop would be able to get his wandering feet to amble down into a private conference with King Jonathan of Conte and Sir Myles of Olau, to discuss a certain, quite interesting event that has just occurred – now.

Obediently guiding his two ambling feet towards Jonathan's personal study, George scans the request again and raises his eyebrows as he realizes the odd adjectives Jonathan had inserted. Another groan erupts, this time scaring a maid into tripping over her own laundry basket, when he intuitively figures out that Jonathan had probably wanted to put much stronger words in the place of these. This…is going to be fun.

He enters the room to find two pairs of stern eyes directed towards him, accompanied by tight lips and rigid frowns. Undaunted, George asks if he ought to spy-proof the room before any yelling starts. Jonathan says nothing, only waves his hand to activate the magical barriers stretched along the walls of the room. George jumps as the blue fire reaches the part of the door he had been learning on. Rubbing his smarting back, he glares at his King, momentarily forgetting it should be the other way around.

III

The three men seem to occupy more space than just their body masses; Myles leaning forward in the chair, Jon perched on a corner of the desk, and George warily easing backwards after the magic subsides.

George carefully examines his opponents – or perhaps that's too strong a word. Regardless, he reads three things; body, face, and eyes. He sees an uncomfortable strain through their limbs, and tense, clenched muscles. That is easily interpreted, as is the disapproval shown through their facial expressions, which haven't changed since he's walked in. Myles' eyes at least, match his face, radiating anger and disapproval. But Jonathan's…even a former thief-king can't untangle the web of contradicting emotions residing in Jon's eyes.

It feels like hours have passed with no sound, no changes, no movement, but George's biological clock tells him that only four minutes have gone by. He's sure that can't be all, but it's proven incredibly accurate before – as a glowering Lioness will grudgingly admit, so George wonders if the time difference from the Copper Isles could have anything to do with it. In fact, he's beginning to feel like he's in the middle of a Players' tableau scene that's been frozen for too long.

He has only four more seconds to ponder this thought, before the long-delayed yelling starts. Myles rises up slightly from his chair, and eyes flashing, starts to lecture heatedly; about duty to the realm, about personal safety, about potentially jeopardizing an entire spy network for the fate of a single girl, conveniently forgetting the girl is his own grandchild. It's everything George expected, except – he expected the words to be coming from Jonathan. Taking in the look on the king's face, George sees the shock that confirms his opinion.

The next five minutes sees a shift in alliances, as the two kings, one former, one present, stare at each other, and then at the raging Myles. This is a side of him neither has seen before; if she were here, Alanna could have told them it was the same Sir Knight who had commandeered the Prince's sickroom decades ago, but she wasn't, so the two men can only gape in silence at the startling transformation in the man they'd thought they knew.

In these same five minutes, Myles seems not to notice the startled silence. There is no reason to. He's producing enough noise to cover it, and engulf several other rooms besides.

During the lengthy tirade, which feels six times as long as it really is, Myles displays himself as a man worthy to be called the Lioness's birth father. Only…George is quite sure a wildly passionate kiss won't help in this situation.

Fortunately, Jonathan has less idiotic ideas. It does take six deep gulps of breath before he works up the courage to break into the rant, but he does just that - imperiously thanking Myles for his invaluable input, but gently suggesting he leave to cool off, as there are certain reprimands only a monarch may administer. This seasoned courtier from the reigns of three kings takes the hint. With a curt bow to Jon, and a smoldering glower at George, he exits the room through the door the latter quickly slides aside to vacate.

VII

The slam of the heavy, oak door seems to break the tension, and the air in the study loosens and flows again, as the two left start laughing. The laughter goes on perhaps longer than necessary, but the reasons are sevenfold; relief, awkwardness, anxiety, shock, release of pressure, apprehension for what must follow once they stop, and just a hint of real mirth.

The laughter does the job it was intended for, and both men relax visibly. The atmosphere is still not completely comfortable, for they know serious matters are yet to be discussed – but at least they will be talked about as honest conversation between friends, and not the political word weavings of monarch and vassal. Their gazes flicker between each other and various points in the room. To and fro, seven rounds in all, as each tries to find a way to broach the subject.

VIII

The eighth time their eyes meet, George finally does it. It's not the right start, nor is it the whole truth, but with no other words in mind, he says it: "Sorry."

Jonathan asks for verification of this fact, and George can't give it, not whole-heartedly at least. Because he's sorry about only some things - as a spymaster he knows how stupid he was, and how much he risked by going to Rajmuat. As a friend he is wracked by guilt for the worry and strain so plain on Jon's face. But…as a father, there is simply nothing to say. George turns away and curses himself in eight different tongues for starting a clause he can neither finish nor lie about.

Jon watches this silent display with badly concealed amusement - he had thought George knew nine languages. The chuckles wither and die on his lips as he recognizes that he himself is in the same position, torn between the contrasting faces of king and friend.

He steps across the room to touch his fingers lightly to George's shoulder, breaking the other man's profanity streak, and feels the muscle beneath him tense up hard. Making his decision, Jonathan utters nine words that have never held more meaning: "For my own daughters, throne and stars could've shaken." Another nine words: "And I would've done the same as you did" are never voiced, but too many words would break the sincerity of this moment anyway, and it is the things left unsaid that hold feeling. Friendship means more right now, all else will have to be dropped.

George raises his eyes, and nods in silent understanding. It is no official pardon, but the subject being as fragile as it was…there never could've been an official condemnation either. As such, the matter is considered resolved. For the sake of appearances, they decide a ten week exile from Corus will be sufficient. George thinks of the seas of Pirate's Swoop with longing and grins wickedly. It's a gift wrapped up in a punishment, and Jon well knows it.

That decided, they settle in for a talk long enough to fill those ten weeks. Thinking back upon it later, George is astonished that he of the impeccable memory can recall not a single complete phrase of that conversation. But he knows there was never any better. When the tenth messenger comes to inform them that the edgy Lioness has reduced yet another servant into tears, George finally has to pull himself wearily out of his chair. Pausing outside, he has a last piece of advice for Jonathan, "You might want to consider hiring some less skittish servants. Clumsy they are too. If it had been my rule back in the days of the Dove…" Letting the sentence trail unfinished, he bravely heads down the corridors to face his livid wife. Jon grimaces and shuts the door quickly, his mind suddenly filled with the image of disfigured servants storming the palace in search of their ears.

Any comments appreciated. Especially anything weird you notice, because this reloading is from my original file, and I have no way of remember whether I did any edits while using the document manager.