Author's Note: This fic was written for the June Challenge at the Tamora Pierce Writing Experiment forum, which everyone should feel free to peruse after reading and hopefully reviewing this story. In terms of a Tamora Pierce timeline, this story is set at the end of Lioness Rampant after the botched treason plot on Jon's coronation day, and the flashback returns to the time the first Alanna book when Alex is Roger's squire.
Personally, I've always felt that Tammy didn't examine Alex's old friends' reactions to his treason as much as she could have. (Frankly, I've felt more emotion at the betrayal of middle school friends than her adult characters experienced when their old friend committed treason, which I just find kind of odd.) Anyway, this is my attempt to fill that gap. Hopefully, you guys will enjoy it. Don't hesitate to let me know in a review, as usual.
Shadows
He never could forget that day. As long as Gary of Naxen lived, he never would because that day had led inexorably to yesterday, another day that was forever etched into his mind. Another day that had the power to tear his heart asunder and chill his bones to the marrow.
Yesterday had been a day that he was confident would survive in infamy as long as the realm itself endured and possibly even longer. It had been a coronation that had been sullied by a bloodbath. It had been a day marred by treason and earthquakes. It had been a day poisoned by insanity, chaos, and attempted regicide. It had been a day that even the blind and deaf would have to remember into their senility, because it had impacted everybody in the country in some fashion.
Compared to the fiasco that Jon's coronation had rapidly dissolved into, the day that Gary was remembering as he stared down at Alexander of Tirragen's bloody and battered corpse was meaningless. Yet, it was often the seemingly insignificant moments that resulted in history's most combustible experiences. After all, if it hadn't been for that deceptively ordinary day, Alexander of Tirragen might never have committed treason and might never have been lying dead on the frigid altar of a dim and deserted chapel.
It was for that reason that Gary couldn't bear to think about that day that had transpired so many years ago, just as it was for that reason that he wished he could forget it. That day filled him with regret, since he could see the events of that day so much more clearly now than he could discern them then. His wisdom hadn't come along until too late, as always. He hadn't seen the crossroads until he had directed Alex down the wrong path.
Now that he knew what a crossroads that day had been, he couldn't help but think of how different things would have turned out if only he hadn't been so blind and so dumb. Images of how much happier they all could have been wouldn't stop crowding his mind, and Gary realized that the two most painful words in Common were "what if." What if never made anything better. It just tortured people with guilt, and taunted them with glorious vision of events that could never be. What if just highlighted the tragedies that even the supposedly cleverest beings brought down upon themselves through their own folly.
Of course, Alex was fortunate to be in a chapel at all, Gary tried to console himself, even though at this point there was really nothing that could improve his mood, and he didn't feel like a dead traitor could be called lucky. It had required much persuasion on Gary's part to convince Jon to have servants drag Alex's body out of the earthquake's rubble, but he hadn't minded doing the persuading. After all, it had provided him with the delusion that he was being a true friend to the boy he had been so close to during page training—the lad who had a wit almost as dry as his own and who had been a mathematical wizard.
When it came down to it, he owed Alex this much at least, especially because it had been his failure to be an appropriately loyal friend that had permitted Alex's descent into darkness. Oh, he could assuage his conscience a thousand ways, and none of them made any difference. He could tell himself that he had never meant to betray Alex. He could remind himself that he had never intended to hurt Alex by focusing so much of the attention he had once devoted to Alex on Alanna, instead. He could insist to himself that he hadn't meant to shunt Alex further into the shadows. He could claim that he had never planned on abandoning Alex when he needed him most. Most definitely, he could argue that he had never intended to turn a blind eye to Alex's suffering and bewilderment. Until his death day, he could staunchly maintain that he had never planned on allowing Alex to drown in his own ambition.
He could do all of those things, and they wouldn't make a difference. Indeed, it was only justice that they wouldn't. After all, such thoughts and feelings hadn't changed what happened to Alex a jolt. No, intentions didn't matter—only actions did. In their own manner, thoughts and emotions were lies, and the only reality was action.
In his mind, he had always planned on being a good friend to Alex. However, in reality, which was all that amounted to anything, he hadn't been. It was no comfort that in the final analysis none of them—Jon, Raoul, Alanna, and certainly not Duke Roger—had ever been good friends to Alex. None of them were supposed to have been Alex's best friend like Gary was intended to be.
Therefore, it was only fair that Gary would be tortured by memories of Alex and of all that he could have done to save the person who was supposedly his best friend if only he had kept his eyes open and his wits about him. If he couldn't have a true best friend in life, Alex deserved one in death, and someone needed to mourn him properly. That duty fell to Gary, since nobody else wanted to think about Alex.
Gary could understand why. Alex had been a traitor, and no one wished to consider them too much. Normally, he wouldn't have been thinking about a traitor, either, but he couldn't prevent himself from thinking about Alex. He couldn't stop telling himself that if he had been a better friend to Alex, then Alex would have been a better friend to Jon, and all of their lives would have been so different. By the same token, he couldn't hush the nasty voice in his head that hissed that he, Raoul, Jon, and Alanna had been the ones to desert Alex, not the other way around.
Worse still, he couldn't stop recalling one day that had seemed so typical that it had lulled Gary into a false sense of security. More precisely, he couldn't prevent himself from recollecting a handful of minutes on one fateful day that may have knocked the balance of Alex's life askew forever. He could still remember that day as clearly as if it had occurred within the past week, although it had happened back when he had been Lord Stephen's squire, and Alex had recently become Duke Roger's.
It was a cold winter's day, and the corridors when Gary was rushing to Lord Stephen's chambers to fetch something stupid that his knightmaster had forgotten were largely empty as most of the nobles were wisely clustering themselves around one of the Royal Palace's many fireplaces for warmth. Therefore, he was rather astonished to find a slight, swarthy figure scrunching up against what must have been a terribly chilly ebony pillar.
"I see you've become a great pillar of our society, Alex," he called out merrily, as he came closer and recognized the figure as his friend. "What? Do you reckon that this whole wing of the castle will come crumbling down without you supporting it?"
"Even with me supporting it, it might come crashing about our ears if you keep shouting," responded Alex, his breath turning to mist. His dark eyes alert and his enigmatic face oddly wary, he flicked his head from left to right, as though wanting to ensure that they truly were alone in the hallway before he hissed, "Do you mind lowering your voice a tad?"
"I suppose that I could talk in an indoor voice just for you." Grinning, Gary obligingly lowered his tone and leaned against the other side of the pillar. "What are you doing out here, anyway? Your small, thin body is designed for losing heat, not conserving it. You should be sitting around a fire if you can manage it, running about on errands like a dutiful squire, or practicing your fighting skills like the aggressive person that you are. Those are the kinds of things that will prevent you from turning into a block of ice that won't melt until midsummer."
"I'm playing hide-and-seek." Alex shrugged, and, at the time, Gary couldn't determine from the other teenager's blank expression whether he was jesting or serious.
Deciding to draw Alex out in the hope of receiving a satisfactory answer to this question, he pressed, "With whom are you playing hide-and-seek?"
"Duke Roger," whispered Alex, his eyes flickering from left to right down the corridor again, as though he was frightened that the words themselves would summon the sorcerer. Well, that answered the question of whether Alex had been joking or serious at any rate. Hiding from your knightmaster was a very serious business not to be undertaken lightly, although how his friend could have done something that would infuriate the placid Duke Roger was a mystery to Gary, as was why his proud friend would lower himself enough to flee, anyhow.
"You're hiding from Duke Roger?" Gary echoed incredulously. "Mithros, what in all of the Eastern Lands did you do that was so awful that got him so cross at you that you thought you had to hide from him?"
"Nothing." As he established as much, a muscle twitched on Alex's face, but Gary couldn't comprehend its meaning at the time. "I did nothing."
"If you don't want to tell me what you did, you can just say so," snorted Gary, "instead of insulting me by treating me like an idiot. Obviously, you did something or else you wouldn't be hiding from your knightmaster."
"If I say I didn't do anything, Gary, I didn't do anything," Alex replied, and, from his still expressionless features, Gary couldn't figure out whether he was telling the truth or lying, and so he chose to believe that his friend was being honest. After all, Gary had scarcely had any time for pranks as a squire, and Duke Roger was keeping Alex busier than Lord Stephen was keeping Gary.
"Maybe you didn't, but he thinks you did, and that's why you're hiding from him," suggested Gary, deciding not to think about how much trouble he would be in with Lord Stephen for dawdling. "Well, I hate to say it, Alex, but you went about the wrong way convincing him that you didn't do it. Running off and hiding behind a pillar like this just makes you look guilty. You should just go back to Duke Roger immediately. Apologize to him for whatever he believes you did and for 'lying' when he first confronted you about it. Then, just hope that the punishment won't be too much worse for your 'lying' and hiding. Isn't training to be a knight all about learning to take harsh blows you don't deserve without whimpering?"
"Yes, it's all about taking harsh blows you don't deserve without whimpering," Alex agreed flatly, staring down at the calluses on his palms from all the years of private fencing lessons he had endured with Gary's father.
After that, Gary expected Alex to head in the direction of the next wing, where Duke Roger's rooms were. However, his friend remained motionless, and, trying to sound encouraging and again striving not to contemplate the punishment he was accumulating for himself for his tardiness, Gary pointed out, "Don't worry. It's not like Duke Roger is going to beat you. He won't leave a mark on you. I doubt he can even yell half as long as Lord Stephen can. The worse that can happen to you is a punishment essay or extra hours of work."
"He won't leave a mark on me," repeated Alex, sinking into the ebony pillar further. Then, a tinge of panic entered his voice as he reached out and clasped Gary's wrists. "I can't do this anymore. I can't be his squire anymore."
"What?" Gary yelped, horrified by the very idea of Alex not being Roger's squire any longer, and somewhat pained by his friend's tight clench on his wrists. Carefully extricating himself from Alex, he continued, "Have you replaced your brain with dung recently? You can't stop being Roger's squire now. People will talk. They'll think that you did something so disgraceful that Roger dropped you as his squire. Your whole life will be ruined only months away from your Ordeal. Is that what you want?"
"No." Alex's head dropped, so Gary couldn't see the emotions written on his friend's face. "I don't want that. My mother and father will disown me if that happens. People in high places have begun to really notice me now that Duke Roger selected me as his squire, and my parents are proud of me for that, but that popularity will work against me if I decide not to be his squire anymore. Like you said, Gary, everyone will believe that he dropped me, and there will be a hundred rumors about me circulating by this time next week. My parents would think that being a scandal is worse than being unknown. At least when you aren't known, there is the chance of becoming popular in the future. Once you become popular and mess up, your family has no choice but to cut you loose like the weak link you are. You're right. I'm stuck with Duke Roger until my Ordeal."
"You really have replaced your brain with dung!" A chortle rose up in Gary's throat, and he wasn't shy about letting it out of him in a roar. "You're not stuck with Duke Roger. In fact, you're whatever the opposite of stuck is. You're lucky to be his squire, and by tomorrow, everything will be fine between the two of you again, and you'll know as well as I do now that you were crazy ever to think of not being Duke Roger's squire anymore."
Alex opened his mouth to reply, but he was chopped off before he could begin by a hearty voice shouting from the far end of the hallway, "There you are, Squire! I've been looking all over for you. People are certainly right when they compare you to a cat—you can definitely slink off like one."
As Duke Roger strode down the corridor, Alex seemed to melt into the ebony pillar, and Gary couldn't understand why, since the Duke didn't appear irate to him. When he came closer, Duke Roger spotted Gary, and added, "Oh, and young Gary of Naxen, too. What a pleasure."
"It's nice to see you again, as well, Your Grace." Gary returned Roger's beam. When Alex still didn't speak, he nudged his friend in the ribs, demanding, "What's wrong with you? You said he was mad at you, and he doesn't look angry, so why don't you say anything? You aren't actually part of the pillar, you know."
"I'm afraid that I might have shocked poor Alex." Duke Roger's musical tone managed to sound regretful. "He was correct in saying that I was rather furious with him a short while ago when he stumbled across a magical experiment that I was working on. Truth be told, it was something of a dangerous experiment, and I was terrified that he would manage to kill himself or someone else by mistake. Of course, I was wrong to expect someone who doesn't have the Gift to appreciate just how lethal it can be, or what particular experiments are most perilous."
Turning to Alex, whose astonished face was now becoming blank again, Duke Roger went on, "Alex, I'm sorry that I shouted at you. Many knightmasters, I'm well aware and I suspect you are, would be cross at you for running off on them like that, but I am grateful that you did. You provided me with time to think and realize that I was wrong to be so harsh with you earlier. In my defense, I can only say that the Conte line is mercurial, unlike the stoic Tirragen one or the clever Naxen one."
"It's me who should be sorry, Your Grace." Finally stepping away from the pillar, Alex bowed. "You asked me to get one scroll from your study. I should have fetched it for you instantly, instead of spending a moment peeking over your work."
The words were polite, but they lacked the charm and the smoothness of Duke Roger's. As graceful and as agile as Alex was when he moved, he could never mimic those qualities when he talked. Perhaps, Gary often thought, speaking made his friend uneasy. After all, Alex was a swordsman and a mathematician, not a wordsmith.
For whatever reason, though, people, Gary had noticed, struggled to form a connection with Alex. Maybe they were scared of his secretive face, and how it never gave anything away, just as his muscles never indicated the next angle of his attack when he was in a duel. Most beings were terrified of secrets and mysteries, and Alex was one big enigma who always seemed to know more than he revealed, although, as Gary always told himself, some mysteries were wonderful and not all secrets were dangerous.
At any rate, Alex, despite his fiery ambition, seemed better suited to the shadows than the bright sunlight, and whenever he watched his friend, Gary couldn't help but wonder if Alex would be happier if he learned to be content in the shadows, rather than in the limelight.
"Well, now that we have both apologized, we can move on, and put that spot of unpleasantness behind us, I hope," responded Duke Roger, all smiles. "Have a good afternoon, Gary. Come along, Alex. If you finish polishing my sword quickly, we'll be able to squeeze in a practice bout before tonight's banquet, and I know how much you look forward to the chance to show me how slow my old reflexes are."
"Coming, sir." Obediently, Alex trailed after Duke Roger, but there was nothing eager about his movements despite the promised swordfight, and when he pivoted to wave at Gary, there was a wary cast about his face again, as though he were bracing himself for something.
Convincing himself that he had misinterpreted Alex's facial expression, Gary ran down the hallway to fetch what he needed for Lord Stephen. Now that it was clear that his friend wasn't going to lose his hide, it was time for him to worry about his own.
Gary was wrenched out of his memory when the door to the chapel swung open, causing the candles in their sconces to falter as though they were about to burn out. However, when the door closed again, the candles flared up once more.
Craning his head to see who else might have the nerve to mourn Alex, Gary saw his father stumbling down the nave.
"Father, you had a heart attack yesterday!" exclaimed Gary, lurching forward to help his father into a pew. "You shouldn't be out of bed, nonetheless walking around without help."
"Duke Baird has done a fine job restoring me." Duke Gareth, panting slightly, waved him off. "The realm's in a tenuous enough state as it is that you have plenty to worry about as Prime Minister without fretting about my health, which I can manage perfectly well by myself."
"Yes, almost giving yourself another heart attack from the exertion of coming here by yourself proves your point magnificently." Gary rolled his eyes, deciding that it would be weirdly comforting to lapse into the role of insolent adolescent instead of jaded adult on the verge of shattering under too much guilt and too many responsibilities. "Are you quite certain that enough blood is flowing to your brain?"
"Gary, I had to come here." As he established as much in a frail voice that was scarcely above a whisper, Duke Gareth riveted his eyes on Alex's corpse. "I invested hours training with him over the years. I taught him everything I knew, and look how he used it. Seeing him here like this makes me wonder where I went wrong with him. No matter what anyone claims, you and I both know that as a boy he embraced the Code of Chivalry more zealously than most knights, so how did he end up committing treason?"
"You want to understand how you ended up creating a monstrosity," concluded Gary bitterly. "Well, Father, the answer is Alex wasn't a monstrosity."
"Gary." Duke Gareth shook his head heavily. "I know that you and Alex were close for years. Myself, I spent hours training alone with him, and I came to understand him about as well as anyone could, given that he preferred to keep his deepest emotions buried inside him where only he could find them. However, there is a point at which you have to acknowledge the facts. Alex committed treason. He wasn't always evil, but he became a monstrosity. We may grieve for the old Alex that died many years ago, but we cannot afford to deny what he turned into."
"Then that brings us full circle, so that we are back to trying to understand how a good boy could turn so bad."
"Yes, we are." This time, Duke Gareth nodded heavily, and, for a moment, it appeared as though he could not bear to carry the weight of his own head.
"I blame our sly friend Roger," snorted Gary. "He could see the talent and the ambition burning in Alex, and he knew exactly how to manipulate him. He knew how to promise Alex greatness and never deliver. He figured out exactly when to praise Alex for his swordsmanship in order to gain his trust and affection. Moreover, he could see as well as any of us that Alex was no wordsmith. As soon as he met Alex, he must have realized that while Alex could keep practically anyone at bay with a sword, he couldn't protect himself from the silken traps words can forge."
"As a boy, Alex was naïve," Duke Gareth sighed. "He was forever demanding perfection of himself and others, and it was such a shock to him, I think, whenever anyone violated the Code of Chivalry. It is true that he would have been easy prey for a charismatic man."
"Yes, it must not have been that hard for him to slip into Alex's brain, and once he was there, it must have been a simple task to darken the shadowy elements in him and extinguish the lighter ones," continued Gary, not bothering to keep the spite he felt for the man who had corrupted his boyhood friend out of his tone. "It's ironic that everyone should think of Alex as the more secretive one of the two, when really he was the open one since he made it apparent that he was an enigma from the outset. On the other hand, Roger tricked you into believing that he was being honest with you and that you knew him well, when, in reality, he was the exact opposite of what he pretended to be."
Silence fell between the two of them for a long moment, and then Gary admitted, "Still, I can't say that I am completely innocent when it comes to Alex's downfall. There were warning signs, but I chose to shut my eyes to them."
"Warning signs?" His father arched an eyebrow at him.
Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Gary plunged into an explanation of the day that he would never forget.
"I didn't recognize then what was occurring because I didn't want to think about it, having troubles enough of my own," he finished. "Now, I wish I had been a better friend to Alex and done so. It should have entered my mind then that Alex would never have fled just because Roger shouted at him. That makes no sense. Alex was many things, but he was never a coward, and, if he feared yelling so much, he never would have survived years of personal lessons with you, Father. Alex must have seen something that was so compromising to Roger's plans—maybe those nice little dolls he had- before Roger was willing to include him in them that Roger lost his façade, and perhaps even used magic against Alex. Of course, Alex would have fled then, and once he was out of Roger's chambers, he would be safe, at least temporarily. As long as he was in public, Roger couldn't be seen running after his squire like a madman, and he couldn't perform any magic or shout anything that would make anyone suspect that Roger wasn't the upstanding man everyone believed him to be."
"Alex can't have thought that he could conceal himself behind an ebony pillar forever," remarked Duke Gareth.
"I think he was buying time and hoping that he could devise a strategy to protect himself," Gary answered. "I'll bet while he was trying to do so, Roger was figuring out how he could salvage the situation and tempt his squire into joining his cause sooner than he had planned. Father, although he did his best to keep himself calm and expressionless, I think Alex was panicking. As he told me, he couldn't be Roger's squire anymore, and, yet, as I pointed out and as I suspect he already knew, he couldn't stop being Roger's squire, either. Quite apart from the gossip and the potential of being disowned, Roger would never leave him alone if he knew what Roger was plotting, because he would be liability."
"He should have come forward with the evidence that he found," murmured Duke Gareth. "If he had, all of this might never have happened."
"He wouldn't have the time to snatch anything before he left the chambers for the first time, and he might not have even fully believed what he had seen himself," Gary pointed out. "Even if he had believed what he had seen, nobody would have consented to search a popular duke's room without solid evidence, and no one would have been prepared to take the word of a squire over a duke. Once he had returned to the rooms with Roger, Roger could easily have worked enough painful and persuasive magic on him that he would have no desire to tell anyone. The promise of glory accompanied by the judicious use of persuasive charms and a bit of magical torture would keep Alex in line just fine."
"He should have complained to someone about being tortured." Duke Gareth's face was paler than a white bedsheet now. "Knightmasters aren't allowed to abuse their squires."
"Nobody would have believed that such a charming nobleman would be so cruel to his squire behind closed doors," replied Gary grimly. "Besides, even if he had come forward, there would be no evidence that he had been tortured. As he said to me, Roger would leave no marks on him, so he would have no choice but to bear those harsh blows that he didn't deserve without a whimper. Of course, perhaps he did whimper or scream, but he did so silently enough that nobody could ever hear. Well, I suppose the upside to being tortured on a regular basis is that the Chamber must feel like a pleasant summer picnic by comparison."
"I am to blame." Gareth's fingers tore through what was left of his muddy brown hair. "I taught every page never to admit to or complain about being bullied."
"Oh, I am as much at fault as you are, Father." Here, Gary stretched out a hand to clutch his parent's. "I gave him the exact same advice that you would have. I told him to take a punishment he hadn't earned without a sound. What kind of friend says that? Surely not a good one. Worse still, that was the closest he ever came to confiding any real secret in me. I entrusted many to him, and he never betrayed them, but I couldn't pay back the favor properly."
Overcome with disgust and self-loathing, Gary paused, shaking his head, and then burst out, "It sickens me to think, but I did what everyone else would have. I assumed that Roger was too perfect a person to ever abuse his squire. I assumed that the knightmaster is always in the right, and the squire in the wrong. I assumed that even if the squire is in the right and the knightmaster in the wrong, the best thing the squire can do is be quiet and accept an unfair penalty without complaint. I assumed that Alex had no cause to be terrified, even though hearing a tinge of panic in the voice of one of the toughest people I knew should have been enough to make alarm bells clang in my head. In short, I was exactly the kind of blind fool that Roger relied upon when he formed his plots. I was the sort of deaf idiot that allowed Alex to essentially be abused in front of me. I all but heard Alex beg for some sort of salvation, but I turned a blind eye and a deaf ear."
"Gary, you could hardly have surmised that Roger was committing treason," Duke Gareth informed him gently. "Everything falls into place when you know about the treason. If you don't, it seems innocuous enough. If you don't, it appears like Alex was overly curious, and then acted impulsively when he was caught being nosy. If you don't, you are lead to believe that Roger is generously forgiving his squire for messing around with dangerous but legal magic that Roger was experimenting with. Also, don't forget that Alex himself contributed to making you believe the lie you were fed. When it comes down to it, he did his part in permitting himself to be manipulated into a situation where Roger could persuade him to commit treason."
"Of course he did his bit in maintaining the half truth that Roger concocted," choked out Gary. "Obviously, he walked off behind Roger without a protest. Naturally, he apologized for his actions to Roger. He had to do what society expected of him, and that's what our grand civilization wanted him to do. It wished for him to live a lie and accept abuse in silence all so it could keep up its respectability. It didn't mind having a young man sacrificed to a megalomaniac magician as long as it happened behind closed doors, so nobody had to go through the disagreeable process of seeing or hearing it transpire. Well, you know what, screw society and its nonsensical rules, because that's what civilization and all its codes of honor did to Alex."
"Gary," gasped Duke Gareth, his hands flying to his heart, and remorse flooded Gary as he realized that if he wasn't careful he might cause his father to go into cardiac arrest again. "You shouldn't say such things when you are the Prime Minister. In case it has slipped your mind in the midst of your grief, you are the closest advisor to the king. You are expected to show some respect for our government at least."
"I respect government well enough, Father," Gary answered, hoping this would soothe the other man. "It's polite society and all its petty rules that I spit on, and that's not at all the same thing."
Before his father could gather his wits enough to respond, Gary went on to pour out the entire litany of his charges against society. "I hate society, because it is twisted. It tells us that when we are shoved to the ground, if we lack the strength to push the person who knocked us over down, we should put the blame on ourselves and claim that we fell over if anyone asks why we are bruised. Why should we do that? Why should we be ashamed when we weren't the ones who brutally pushed someone weaker than ourselves? Then, society wisely informs us that we should never complain when someone with authority treats us unjustly, because that makes us whiners. Well, why shouldn't we make our voices heard when we have a legitimate grievance? Why does society insist that it takes more strength to endure a wrong silently than to speak out against it? Why should anyone have to tolerate any slap that they don't deserve on the whim of someone higher up than them? Why does everything society says conspire to make the victim, rather than the perpetrator, feel guilty? Why does society teach an adolescent boy that if he is being tortured he should just say that it's perfectly fine because it leaves no marks on him?"
"The traditions you speak of have been in place for centuries, and I'm not certain that you convey the complexities of them in your tirade," observed his father dryly. "Perhaps when you have calmed down and want to examine another angle, you could speak to Alanna. I am sure she'd be happy to defend many of the customs you just scoffed at."
"I wager she would," Gary agreed in a tone almost as dry. "She's another great warrior stoic like Alex was. I seem to surround myself with people who will insist while blood is pouring from a fatal wound that they are not, in fact, injured in any fashion."
"Humph. Well, if they are dying, perhaps they are trying to spare you some distress," commented Duke Gareth. "However, all of this is rather beside the point. The point, if I follow your rant correctly, is that you blame all of society for what Alex did. Tell me, do you happen to fault Alex at all for his own actions?"
"Of course I do, Father," announced Gary grimly. "I blame him for being weak when he decided to meet society's definition of strong by not complaining about treason or torture, and just silently accepting abuse and willingly following Roger into a lion's den. I fault him for being the good, obedient squire when he should have raised an uproar. I hold him accountable for being so concerned with what everyone else said that he forgot to listen to his conscience. I hold him responsible for being so focused on following the rules to the letter that he failed to worry about doing the moral thing. I fault him for being so obsessed with his reputation that he no longer understood what really mattered in life. In short, I blame him for being weak when he thought he was being strong, for being bad when he thought he was doing good, and for being silent when he should have shouted."
"What good would his shouting have done when you yourself claimed that there was no evidence against Roger?" his father argued.
"Oh, he didn't have to stay at the Royal Palace," Gary answered. "He could have run away from here and joined up with mercenaries. If he fled far and fast enough, he could have done it. Granted, his name would be mud, because everybody regards mercenaries as amoral scumbags who will do anything as long as there is a coin at the end of it. Still, he shouldn't have cared so much about what everyone else thought about him. Instead, he should have paid attention to what he thought about himself, and he would have known that he was no traitor and wasn't weak or evil no matter what the ignorant claimed on the contrary. He would have been able to spend his life engaged in swordfights, and, really, he was happiest fencing. He didn't need anything else—he just allowed his family and Roger to convince him that he did. All in all, he would have been better off in the shadows, but he couldn't accept that and so he died trying to fit into the limelight."
"Alex had honor to satisfy, Gary," Duke Gareth reminded him. "He wouldn't have been content to be a mercenary."
"You mean he had too much pride," Gary corrected, staring at Alex's cold corpse. "Yes, our Alexander of Tirragen was too ambitious to accept that he was born to blend into the shadows, too naïve to ever think that the Code of Chivalry might be wrong, too prideful to stand for being anything less than the best, and too stoic to ever complain about any harsh undeserved blow especially if it didn't leave marks. No wonder Roger found him easy to manipulate. His ego would relish the promise that he would be Roger's Champion, and he would never dream of complaining about the abuse he received."
"May he rest in peace," muttered Duke Gareth. "Somehow, I doubt he got very much of it when he was serving Roger."
"I doubt he did, so I hope he's resting peacefully now." Gary nodded his head in somber agreement. "Of course, if he isn't resting in peace, we'll never know, because he is far too stoic to say so. Now that he's facing the Black God's judgment, I can only pray that he realizes how wrong he was, but even if he did, I don't suppose that he would admit it. That would be beneath his dignity."