A Song of the Lioness drabble that wormed its way into my mind and formulated itself on a bus ride in Brazil (after years!)
Now how did that happen?
Jonathan x slight Alanna undertones
He swirled the tumbler and watched his brandy lip the sides of the glass, before slowly settling into stillness.
Regret, thought Jonathan of Tortall gloomily, is an inevitable downward spiral. Playing What Ifs is a pastime for fools. It could only be a destabilizing force for both his politics and his soul.
Particularly when his regrets were about him being king. Then it was just plain dangerous.
Still, it didn't stop him from engaging in this morbid exercise from time to time. He was usually careful not to let it get too out of hand.
He rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, a gesture of defeat.
Jonathan didn't usually think about what his life would be like if he wasn't king. After all, it was the life he was born into. And, if he was looking objectively, he was good at it. Not to mention Her Majesty the queen always noticed when he wallowed. Thayet had been born and bred in royalty as well, and despite her earlier hardships as princess and now as queen, her strength was such that she never felt sorry for herself. Jonathan admired this, and was determined to keep up - at least in her presence.
But Thayet wasn't present right now. Because she was furious with him. In all their years of marriage, it was the first time she had moved her things to a different room.
It felt like his entire family had turned on him. Or he had turned on them. He had not seen Kally for days, and the last time he saw her, his bright, fiery princess had been a defeated, tearful bundle of a young girl. Roald, after seeing his sister in such a state, had flounced after her, giving him a long, hard angry stare on the way out. And when Thayet returned from her post with the Queens Riders and learned what he had done, she had turned white and speechless with fury.
And Jonathan finally let himself think the thought he and his several glasses of brandy had been trying to keep back. If he hadn't been king, Kally could embark this year on her dream of becoming a lady knight. Kally would not have been tied down by a marriage alliance formed by himself even before she could walk.
Of course, as a princess, she had always known this. And as a king, he knew these sacrifices were necessary. But it was one thing to ask it of himself, and another to ask it of his children. When he looked into her eyes full of bitter disappointment and weary acceptance, eyes much older than her age should allow, he marvelled bitterly that with all his power as king, he had still let her down.
And he wondered how many more of his children's hearts he would have to break.
If only he were not king.
But - and he also tried not to think about this, to no avail - a tiny part of him felt a bit of relief. In addition to being deprecating, it was a highly selfish thought. Kalasin as page, as squire, as lady knight hit a bit too close to the other time he regretted his role as king - or king to be, at the time.
Sir Alanna, before she was King's Champion.
Dimly, he wondered why his regrets all revolved around lady knights.
Jonathan recalled with exceptional clarity the only moment he had hated being the crown prince of Tortall - an emotion so strong he had never felt anything like it before or after.
It wasn't the moment Alanna refused his hand in marriage (twice) - although it took longer than Jonathan would have liked to admit to get over his frustration, his desire, his love, and his wounded pride. But if he was being honest about those weeks in the desert (and evidentally it was that kind of night), he knew he had - however subconsciously - been bullying Alanna into being his Queen, and blinding himself to the knowledge that she would never want it.
If regret doesn't ruin a king, wilful self-deceit certainly would.
No, it had been that day in winter after Alanna had won her shield. The time when she was still more his squire, lover, and partner in crime then legendary knight. He had watched her ride away from him into the desert (metaphorically speaking) with the desperate feeling that he, and not Coram, ought to be the one adventuring by her side. The knowledge that he couldn't, and never would, came as an excruciating and unexpected feeling of loss.
It wasn't only that he sensed then he would eventually lose this woman he loved, but he saw, with the alarming clarity of foresight, that a piece of him was riding off with her into this proverbial desert sunset. It was the part of him that delighted in frivolous arguments and heated debates, that loved fiercely and with abandon, that courted danger and adventure on every road.
The feeling ripped through him with an intensity which left him numb and dazed, gasping, heart pounding irregularly. He had never felt a pain of that kind, like something being physically torn from his body. He never imagined being king would demand that kind of loss.
It was only for a moment, but it was a long and terrible moment.
Jonathan had turned Darkness away from the Palace Way then, until he was under the shadows of the towering palace walls. His mouth was a grim but firm line.
Okay, he had thought wearily at destiny, even this.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the room was as dark as his thoughts. The candle stubs had burned themselves out. Through the iron wrought window, he saw that dawn was creeping over the horizon. Jonathan didn't know if he slept at all that night - but Gary would kill him if he fell asleep during council meeting.
Jonathan of Tortall drained the last of his brandy, and stood up with stiff legs, already anticipating the day. There was still some time before he was due to meet his Champion for morning practice. He would go to Thayet and have breakfast, then go to the tutors room to see his children. The reconciliation would not be an easy one and would take time, but Jonathan knew that between the three of them, it would happen.
He shook his head to clear the residual but crippling sadness that comes with thinking about regrets.
Lionesses, he knew, were never meant to be held captive.
Future empresses were never meant to wield swords.
Kings were never meant to... well, there were a number of things a king was never meant to do.
And regret was certainly one of them.