Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.
Edited and reposted 4/23/2017.
The late evening sun glints through the base of the Royal Forest, and two people stand by the gates to the city. A crowd of people on horseback spreads behind them (and the growing darkness obscures faces, obscures clothing, obscures everything).
The woman squeezes the man's hand, and they enter Corus.
That is how the story ends.
This is how it begins.
-:-
He is daybreak, a young man emerging from the gloom of a traitor's legacy. Resentful, but loyal (to the Crown in general and Raoul in particular) — he is not his aunt, and he wishes more people could see that. He is a soldier, isn't he, and a noble, and he deserves at least that much respect. He wishes people did not judge him by his family. Delia was a traitor, but he is not.
She is dusk, a young woman pulling apart from her family and falling into the blackness of uncertainty. She knows her duty, oh her duty (of course she does, of course, she's been told all her life, and she's not Kalasin, to have her own dreams), but sometimes she imagines she is someone else, somewhere else, anything. She wishes people did not judge her by her family. Her father wanted to be king, but she never asked to be a princess.
They are not so different — they are not night and day, they are sunrise and sunset, they are Lerant and Lianne.
He knows of her, obviously, everyone knows the Contes (they are the royal family, after all), and he has seen her during parades and at balls and all those noble gatherings he is snubbed during, but he has never talked to her. Most of the time he spent at court was before he joined the Own at eighteen, and she was just a child then, another black-haired royal child to be fawned over, fussed over, coddled, indulged.
She knows of him only distantly — a mention or two by Roald's friend Keladry of Mindelan (you know the one, the one Kally was feverishly jealous of, the one who became a knight) of the standard-bearer when Kel was Uncle Raoul's squire. Although Kel says that they didn't get along, she speaks well of him. He is bitterbitterbitter, she says, but he has a right to be.
-:-
It is entirely chance when they meet. Third Company is back in Corus for Midwinter and Raoul gives them some time off. It is 462, over a year since Mindelan rescued the refugees and became the "Protector of the Small". He is still the standard-bearer, and has not been promoted in the Own (although he fights just as well as Sergeant Dom, he is not a leader) and this does not grant him any more respect. He is an Eldorne (hatedtraitorlockedaway) and twenty-three years has not been kind to people's memories.
He has gone down to the Jugged Hare for ale. Many nobles turn their noses up at pubs in the city, with the commoners, but he likes the anonymity, where he can drown in drink in peace. He is sitting at a table (not exactly alone — his self-pity takes up two chairs on its own) when the door opens. This is not unusual, for it is supper-hour, and the pub is crowded, but the woman who walks in has a nervous gait — looking around as if she shouldn't be there. Her eyes lock on his, his plain brown eyes under plain blond-brown bangs, and she walks over to him, alone-but-not-alone with his ale.
"You don't mind, do you?" She gestures to a chair and he shrugs, taking another swig of drink and looking at her. She is dressed simply but in cloth that does not belong here in a common tavern, and her hair (although unadorned by noblewoman standards, with no pearls diamonds or gems) is styled much too carefully for her to be a commoner.
"Sorry." She takes a seat, sweeping her skirts in front of her in a way that would immediately discount her as a peasant, if he didn't already know she couldn't be. "I'm kind of—" she hesitates, her sapphire eyes flickering up and down his body in breeches and tunic, judging him. He squirms slightly.
"—Kind of hiding from someone." She laughs nervously and smoothes her skirts, and he wonders vaguely who she is. There is a pause, and she is looking at him with those searching sapphire eyes, and oh he's supposed to say something here, isn't he?
"You want a drink?" he says, and her eyebrows go up under her black hair — was that the wrong thing to say? He doesn't talk to women, much — but "Yes, sure," she replies, and flags down the bartender, who gives her a strange look but brings her an ale.
There is a silence, and it is a little awkward but not too bad, and he notices (rather detachedly, as he is getting a little tipsy) that she is a very ladylike drinker, all sips and delicate fingers.
"Who are you hiding from?" he asks, and she glances up — maybe that was too personal? Is she going to leave? But she just sighs and looks away.
"My family," she says, "they—they are very protective of me."
"Oh." He wishes he knew what to say. Dom would know, he thinks, Dom is good with the ladies, but Dom is happily dating Mindelan and isn't even at the pub anyway. "Sorry."
"That's okay," she says, "that's okay. It's selfish, really, isn't it? All they want to do is protect me — I mean, everyone else here has bigger problems, I bet, but here I am feeling sorry for myself."
He is a little taken aback, but her words are true enough, lots of people have it much worse off than her (and him, for that matter) and now he feels guilty, Mithros curse it, for being so depressed.
"Everyone feels sorry for themselves sometimes," he tells her, taking another drink, "I do, I know. Even though my family wouldn't give a copper bit what happens to me." There is only a little liquid left now, and it is getting late, and he should probably head home soon. Not homehome, but where he stays in the palace, much to everyone's disgust — he is an Eldorne, doesn't he know he's not welcome? But he doesn't want to leave this interesting girl with the dark hair and true words, even if she makes him feel guilty. So they sit in silence for a while, and it's not too awkward.
-:-
"I should go, they'll be wondering where I am," she says around dusk, when the sky darkens and those with respectable business start to leave the streets (the city is dangerous for those unprepared for it), but maybe she doesn't want to go.
Maybe she wants to stay and talk to the young man with the snub nose and haunted eyes. She wonders if he is in the army, with those eyes, the ones she sees on Aunt Alanna and her brothers and her own father, those eyes that have seen things nobody should see. So she doesn't make a move to get up, and they sit.
She has never been to a tavern on her own before, and she's so glad to have a companion (although maybe that defeats the purpose of taking time alone to clear her head) albeit a quiet, slightly sulky one.
He hasn't asked who she is, and she is so very grateful. It has been so nice to be herself for a while, which sounds ridiculous, because she is always herself, but it is amazing and exhilarating and breathtakingly amazing to just be Lianne (not Princess Lianne, Her Royal Highness, the middle princess, the one that will have to be married off soon).
She hasn't asked him who he is either, although she guesses he is a commoner. He is dressed plainly, after all, and he is in this pub — but so is she, and he doesn't act like commoners usually do, base and a little bit crude. She finds herself wishing futilely she could get to know this young man better. It would be nice to have a friend who could speak to her (Lianne), look at her (Lianne), see her (Lianne) and not be a princess. She doesn't want to be a princess, sometimes. She wants to be herself.
But she knows as well as anyone that a princess could not, could definitely not have a friend like that. Rumors start as quickly as wildfire after all, and no one would have her, none of those stuffy old foreign kings and princes and dukes, if they didn't believe in her virtue. Her parents always apologize (we're so sorry, Lianne, but you are a princess, and duty—)
And duty always comes first, her duty to the people and the crown. It's not like she could fall in love, anyway, because she is perfectmodestpolitedutiful Lianne, and that's not like her. Kally was the one with dreams, and see how that ended. Vania is the one who flirts, for all she knows it's not serious, can never be serious, and for all she's only sixteen. Lianne is just Lianne, the perfectmodestpolitedutiful princess, who always does what she's told.
So she doesn't go, and he doesn't go, and they sit for a while longer and don't talk much except to say "Want another drink?" or "It's getting late", but they're not alone.
-:-
Eventually it is very late, late even for a single young man out at a tavern, and he exhales sharply and stands. She looks at him, her mouth twisted wryly as he offers her his hand and she stands, not-so-gracefully, since she doesn't usually drink so much.
"Do you need a walk home?" he asks her, and he doesn't mean to be forward, he is worried about a young woman in Corus (not the best part of the city, either) and luckily she doesn't take it that way, and smiles, and her eyes crinkle.
"No, I'll be alright," she answers. Although he doesn't know it, she can take care of herself — Uncle George made sure of it, just in case. He nods slowly and holds open the door for her, and they stand out in the dark for a moment.
It is cold but there is no snow, just mud, and there are no stars shining overhead because it is a cloudy night, and it is not a romantic setting at all, and he doesn't even know who she is, just that she has an overprotective family and is probably rich and has sapphire eyes that crinkle when she smiles.
But something comes over him and he leans toward her (what are you doing, Lerant? stopstopstopstopnow) and her eyes widen and he feels her eyelashes brush his face just before their lips touch.
She pulls away after a moment and he swallows suddenly and steps back.
"Oh," she manages, and he doesn't need her apology, he knows what she'll say, he's been rejected enough, he turns to go—
"Wait," she says, and he freezes, and then her cold hand touches his arm, and he looks at her.
"I'm Lia." She smiles at him again with those crinkly eyes.
"I'm Lerant," he says. "Uh." And there is another silence, and this one is more awkward than the others.
"Can I see you again?" He asks, which sounds silly even to him, but she agrees immediately.
They make plans to meet next week, and she leaves him with a wistful glance and walks away.
Toward the palace where he has to go. He does not want to deal with the awkwardness of walking with her when he already said good-bye, so he just stands in the cold for a moment. As far as he can tell, she is still heading in that direction, although it is very dark, so he could be wrong. Where does she live? Is she a noblewoman staying at the palace? Or was he wrong and she is just a rich merchant's daughter? So he sighs and goes back into the pub, which is open all night long during Midwinter.
"Another drink," he tells the bartender, and goes back to the table, and he is alone when the sun rises and the day breaks.