This was written for Men of Tortall's September JoGeNuDoNaRo challenge. Many thanks to Lioness and Navi for allowing me to bend the rules and post this a little late.
This is a slight AU of what I imagine would've happened if Alanna had gone back to Corus with Jon in WWRLaM.
Breeches or skirts.
A chair or a throne.
A fief or a castle.
Thoughts fly through Alanna's head. She ought to be happy, yet she feels weighed down. Her gown is covered in beads, in tiny little diamonds. Heavy lace – who knew something so delicate could be so weighty? – tries to pull her back as she walks. Pearl buttons cut into her back as she attempts to breath. Couldn't they have taken some of the material from her many layers of skirts to cover her chest?
Calm replaces anxiety when he meets her eyes. That brilliant blue she loves so much. Shining now, his eyes are wondrous, and when he finally takes her hand he whispers to her.
"You look so beautiful, Alanna. So lovely."
She beams. Her eyes fan out over the assembled crowd – the king and queen, most of the court, and all of their friends. Including George. Dear George – how it must have pained him to come, to watch, but she was glad to see him.
The actually ceremony is what she was dreading the most, although now the thought of what's next frightens her more. What is next? Dancing – never her strong point – and going back to her rooms. Her rooms. Jon brought her to them yesterday, expecting her to be excited – there were many rooms, an unnecessary amount in Alanna's opinion, and the bed seemed too large for one person. Yet she was expected to sleep there alone, it seemed, and Jon in his bed – in his bed, truly, or would he seek someone else when her belly was round and her figure gone?
She shook herself mentally, shocked that she would even think he would be unfaithful. But he was, wasn't he? A tiny voice asked. She scowls, and then remembers all the people watching and rearranges her face into a smile.
What next? The passion she saw in his eyes now would engulf her, engulf them both, that night – there would be nothing between them then, and nothing in the future, not even the measly protection of an amulet, weaving a web of spells. Was she ready for that?
A chair or a throne.
One room or many.
Now was no time to be having doubts, that was for certain. He was gazing at her so, and she knew he loved her, and she loved him, too, so much –
A bedroll or a feather mattress.
A tent or a canopy.
- but at what cost?
There is always a price. She had thought she could pay, but now she doubted.
A helmet or a crown.
She was only wearing a silver circlet – holding her veil in place, symbolic – and it felt heavy, heavier than any armor ever had.
Hazel or sapphire?
No, she was decided – she could not pay this cost.
There was a priest talking, his voice dry with disuse.
"…til death do you part?"
She meets George's eyes. His eyes look over bright, or maybe it is her.
"I'm sorry, Jon…I'm so sorry. But this is one thing I can't do."
Thanks for reading! I'd appreciate a review.