Author's Note: This is what happens when I re-read the Song of the Lioness Quartet—plot bunnies come to me and then I just have to write oneshots like this. This takes place during In the Hand of the Goddess after Duke Gareth falls off his horse.
Disclaimer: I am not Tamora Pierce in case you still haven't figured out that she doesn't post her stories here.
Royal Privilege
At the moment, Gary of Naxen wanted nothing more than to be beside his father, but that wasn't possible because Duke Baird and his two assistant healers had told him in no uncertain terms that he would only get underfoot. Even though it had been over an hour since he had arrived in Duke Gareth's outer chambers, he had decided that he wouldn't budge until he was admitted into his father's bedchamber.
While he waited, he tried not to imagine all the damage that his father might have sustained when the man's normally placid mount had unseated him. Desperate to think about anything but his injured parent, he found his eyes focusing on his cousin Jon. Jonathan had raced into the Duke's outer chambers mere moments after Gary had, and, since the healers hadn't been any more eager to permit him in than they were to allow Gary entrance, Jon had settled himself on the sofa opposite Gary.
As prince of the realm, Jon could have overruled them. If he had wanted to, he could have used his royal privilege to gain access to Duke Gareth not only for himself but for Gary. However, he hadn't wished to do that, Gary noted sourly. Jon had been happy to draw on his royal rank to prevent Gary from riding over to his father when the man was hurt, but he wasn't willing to employ his rank in order to allow Gary to see his father now.
The bitterness of that thought astonished Gary. Normally, while he was unbearably sarcastic even to his friends, he was cheery. He delighted in poking fun at individuals and situations, but that trait was born out of a love of life, not a hatred of it. Mockery amused him, and he loved making himself and others laugh.
Right now, though, the last thing he felt like doing was laughing. Still, he was smart enough to know that his current antipathy toward his cousin was largely a byproduct of his concern for his father, not a result of anything Jon had done. Therefore, he shouldn't share his sarcastic observation with Jon. After all, the words would only wound Jonathan, and wounding Jon wouldn't heal Duke Gareth. Besides, Gary was aware that Jon was very fond of his uncle Gareth. Indeed, Jon wouldn't be waiting across from him now if he weren't.
Anyway, Gary reminded himself, he had no business taking out his problems on someone else, and that would be an exceptionally poor life decision if the person he chose to vent his temper on happened to be the crown prince of Tortall. Even if Jon weren't the heir to the throne, though, Gary wouldn't want to say anything truly biting to him. After all, Jonathan was his oldest friend, for they had known each other ever since they were knee high to grasshoppers, and Gary had vowed to himself long ago that while he would be sarcastic to his buddies, he would never say anything truly scathing to them.
Still, the temptation to remark on how selectively Jon utilized royal privilege raged inside him, and it was a relief when he was distracted by the door to Duke Gareth's bedchamber swinging open, and both he and Jon lurched to their feet at the noise.
"How is he doing?" Gary and Jonathan demanded in unison of the female healer who strode out of Duke Gareth's bedchamber.
"He is awake now," she replied wearily, as Gary and Jon clustered around her, eager for any news of the Duke. "His back and head weren't harmed, Mithros be praised. However, his left leg has been broken in three locations. We were able to mend the breaks, but he will be tired and find movement difficult for several weeks to come. You may see him now for awhile."
Gary was about to hurry into his father's room when a hand on his shoulder halted him. "Yes?" he asked shortly, turning to glare at the prince, who had stopped him.
"I would like to see Uncle Gareth alone for a few moments, Gary," Jonathan answered. His tone was soft, but when Gary met his cousin's bright blue eyes, he saw that it was still a command.
Even Gary couldn't get away with defying a direct order from the prince, and he was well aware of that fact. Feeling as if steam was spewing from his ears, Gary spun on his heel, stalked back to his chair, and dropped into it. "Of course, Your Highness," he said, deciding that it was acceptable to release a full barrage of sarcasm on Jon now that the prince had dared to usurp a son's right to be the first to visit his father. "My desires and fears are nothing compared to yours, after all."
"I'll only be a few minutes," Jonathan told him, but Gary was in no mood to be mollified.
"Take your time, Your Highness," he countered. "I would hate to think that I caused you any inconvenience whatsoever, and it's not as if I have feelings that can be hurt, anyway."
Jon opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. For an awkward second, the two young men studied each other, Jon looking uncomfortable, and Gary irate. Then, the prince pivoted and entered Duke Gareth's bedchamber.
Once his cousin had disappeared into his father's room, Gary glowered at the door, waiting impatiently for Jonathan to emerge, because the instant the prince left the room, Gary wanted to enter it. Finally, after what felt like an eternity—and if it was an eternity that would only have been something for Gary to add to the ever growing list of the manners in which Jon had abused his rank today—but was probably only a few minutes, the door opened again and Jonathan stepped out.
Before Jon could say anything else to make his blood boil, Gary rushed into his father's room. As he approached Duke Gareth's bedside, his breath caught in his throat. His father had always been pale, but now he looked like he had either just seen a ghost or just became one, for he was more ashen than a bleached white bed sheet. The blue veins that crisscrossed his body were visible. His face was streaked with sweat, and his chestnut eyes were drained of the shrewdness and sharpness that they typically surveyed the world with.
Gary wasn't stupid—in fact, ever since he had learned to plagiarize his father's signature at the age of four, he had been called too clever for his own good—and he realized, intellectually that one day, his father, like everyone else, would perish. Yet, something about Duke Gareth's feeble appearance drove that stark fact into him more than anything else could. One day the giant of his youth would keel over and die, and when that happened, the part of Gary that was a child would be killed forever.
"Don't just stand there." His father's voice, which was far softer than it should have been, broke into his musings, and he recognized that he had frozen halfway to the man's bed. "Come closer. I am not an animal that eats my own young."
"How are you feeling, Father?" Gary asked as he reached the bedside at last. The second that the last syllable had sailed from his lips, he regretted the question, since it was obvious to anyone who had the sense of a gander that the older man wasn't doing well at all.
"I'm fine."
"I suppose 'fine' is your way of saying 'I feel like I just got trampled over by a wagon,'" snorted Gary.
"I'm fine," Duke Gareth insisted, sounding weaker than his son had ever heard him before. "Anyway, if I were in any pain, I would deserve to be for being foolish enough to lower my guard. Any horse can unseat a man, and any man can be thrown from a horse, and I should not have forgotten either of those facts."
"Your mount is of a sweeter temperament than a daisy." Gary shook his head. "I still don't understand why she went mad like that."
"Neither do I," admitted his father, sinking farther into his mound of pillows. "I really am fine, though. You needn't worry about me."
"You're my father!" Gary exclaimed. "How can I not worry about you?"
"Exactly. I am your father, and so I should be the one worrying about you," Duke Gareth said as though this were as plain as daylight.
"Mother will kill me if I don't care for you properly."
"I doubt it." Duke Gareth offered a wan smile. "She never killed me for almost working you to death in training."
"Well, I had my revenge for that," smirked Gary, hoping that he was taking his father's mind off any pain the man was in at the present. "I don't think there's been a page in history who was as much of a troublemaker as I was."
"There probably hasn't," Duke Gareth agreed faintly. "There were times when your pranks were almost the death of me."
"Now I see why you almost killed yourself by falling of your horse." Gary felt his throat constrict as he fought to turn this nightmare of a day into a joke so that he could laugh it off as he did with so much else. "You'd do anything for a rest, wouldn't you, Father?"
"Anything short of murdering you." As he established as much, Duke Gareth's eyes drifted shut, and Gary suspected that his father would be solidly asleep within a few moments.
Quietly, Gary crossed over to the door. As he opened it, a thought occurred to him, and he turned around to ask, "Is there anything you'd like me to get for you, Father? Tea? Books? Flowers?"
"No." Duke Gareth kept his eyes closed as he answered. "I'm a busy man, and I could use the peace and silence. Besides, after seeing you, there is nothing else I need."
Swallowing hard, Gary exited the room, shutting the door softly in his wake. He was always discomfited by statements of affection and preferred it when everyone was making wisecracks at one another's expense. Clear declarations of affection were too raw for him to handle.
He was so flustered by his father's last sentence that it took him a moment to recognize that Jonathan was seated on a sofa in the outer chambers.
"How is Uncle doing?" Jon wanted to know as soon as Gary registered his presence.
"He's sleeping now," Gary informed him with a coldness he had never used against his cousin before.
"That's good. Rest will help him recover," Jon murmured. A tense silence ensured, and then he added, "Gary, I hope you aren't angry with me."
"Why should I be angry?" Gary blinked in feigned confusion. "Who could be angry at someone who forbade them to ride over to their injured father and then insisted on visiting their father first?"
"I care about Uncle Gareth as much as you do," Jon pointed out defensively, a flush mounting on his cheeks.
"No, you don't," hissed Gary. "He's my father, and nobody except Mother and Aunt Lianne could ever love him as much as I do. It's presumptuous of you even to think that you care about Father as much as I do, and, even if you are the prince, you have no business insisting on seeing him before I do. If there was pressing issues for the realm, then, yes, but since there weren't, you were just being selfish and ignoring my feelings. You just had to have whatever you want just like you had to have the best toys when we were little and the greatest squire when we became knights. Well, I accepted all that with only token complaints, because you are prince, after all, and so it is your right. However, you aren't allowed to have my father. He's not yours. He's mine, understand?"
"Yes." Jonathan's eyes were wide as he stared, abashed, at his cousin. "Gary, I wasn't trying to steal your father from you or anything, I swear. I just wasn't thinking—"
"Well, your problem is that you never think, isn't it?" snapped Gary. His tongue was only sharpened by the fact that he knew he was often accused of being too smart, and, worse still, he suspected that this was true. He immediately saw answers to problems that would perplex most beings for hours, he had read most of the books in the library, he had an excellent memory, and he could analyze data and reach a conclusion rapidly. He knew that his mental acuity terrified people, because they saw in him a power that they couldn't understand and could never control. Maybe everybody feared Jon's royalty the way they cowered from Gary's intellect. The very idea raised Gary's hackles even more, and he continued even more harshly, "Rather, to be more precise, you never think about anyone but yourself. You never pause to consider the impact that your actions will have on other people, because other people don't matter as long as Prince Jonathan is happy."
"That's not true, and you know it, Gary!" Jonathan flared up. "Maybe I didn't take your feelings into account as much as I should have today, but you can't accuse me of not caring about anyone. I wanted to see Uncle first since I care about him."
Breathing heavily, they glared at each other. Then, Jon commented more quietly, "Gary, please believe me when I say that I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Perhaps it doesn't matter whether you intended to or not. I doubt a dead bug cares whether you meant to swat it or not."
"You aren't a bug, and you're still alive." Jonathan dismissed this. "Don't be cross at me—"
"You can order me to do many things, Jonathan, but you can't make me change my feelings," Gary interrupted derisively. "I suggest that if you want me to no longer be furious at you, you ask for my forgiveness instead of ordering me to give it to you."
Jonathan's eyes sizzled like the hottest part of a flame for a moment, and then the wrath burning in his eyes was transformed to defeat. "Please, Gary, don't be mad at me. We're off to war soon, and I can't bear the thought of us doing that as anything less than friends," he began in the stilted fashion of one unaccustomed to giving apologies. "Alan might be my best friend, but you are my oldest friend, and I need you around if for no other reason than to shout at me like that. You and Alan are the only ones who would dare to, and I need someone like you to advise me."
As he listened to his cousin, Gary felt his anger dissipating, and he was ashamed that he had said such scathing things to his friend. Trying to conceal his guilt, he replied gruffly, "Don't worry. I love Tortall enough not to let you have an unchecked ego, and I shudder to imagine the future that awaits this country if I am not there to keep it from toppling into a massive rut. Besides, how could I not forgive a prince who would actually apologize to insignificant old me?"
"Are we all right then?" Jon eyed Gary dubiously, as if he didn't think their argument could be over so soon.
"Yes, we're all right," Gary confirmed, grinning. "I have better things to do than argue with you, after all."
"And I have better things to do than listen to my insolent cousin," scoffed Jonathan, and Gary knew that they really were all right, and that as quickly as the rift had developed between them it had been sealed again.
Now, they were closer than ever. Now, they both knew that while Jonathan might have been born to act, Gary was born to think, and while Jonathan was born to be king, Gary was born to be his adviser.