Spoken and Unspoken
Summary: Kel blushingly admits her affections. Jon doesn't hear.
Jon hadn't realized what was being offered in those hazel eyes, inexplicably softened as they looked at him. He was busy, cursed busy, but that was a flimsy excuse when he looked up to see the tip of her sword-sheath disappearing around the corner just as his mind caught up with her words.
Kel's words were those of affection, spoken with stilted words, a furious blush, and diverted eyes, but Jon had been too distracted to see that she laid herself open to him, and he had unknowingly stabbed her in the heart by his passivity.
If only he hadn't been so caught up in his thoughts about the latest report from Gary that sat on his desk. It wasn't even an important one, simply a reminder about some small duty that 'must be done, forthwith," and that was the most painful part of the entire affair.
Jon didn't get a chance to tell her that he'd been harboring similar thoughts - traitorous to his dead wife, he knew, but he couldn't suppress them - but he reluctantly decided to find her the next day and be the one to take that first treacherous step.
Kel could wait no longer.
She was due to return to the Scanran border, still not altogether subdued as a few rogue warleaders enjoyed the rich pickings of northern Tortall, and had finally convinced herself to speak up.
Kel never had in any of her crushes. Neal had been completely clueless - which was probably for the best, in hindsight - but she'd caught Dom lingering in her company one too many times for it to be innocuous, enough that it would have been safe to make some invitation, but she was too concerned about rejection. Then there had been that useless crush on Wyldon, as they'd become good friends during her time at New Hope and his at Fort Giantkiller. Of course, she was very thankful when thatcrush had died a natural death, unstrengthened by reciprocation.
Still, this was different than the rest. Kel had harbored these uneasy feelings for months and months, and really, affection for a widowed man was such a great deal better than a happily married man.
So she practiced muttering her speech to herself, in the mirror in her rooms, until she could say it quickly, clearly, without being flustered, and in such a way that Jon would only pick up on her non-platonic feelings if he was at least amenable to the idea.
Unfortunately, that plan went straight through the window when she started her oft-practiced speech and he hardly glanced at her. Apparently Kel was no more interesting than the speck of dust that danced in the air that his eyes followed.
She left, miserable, and grabbed her packed bags and her horses and fled to the north.
The first place Jon looked for Kel was in the practice courts. The lady knight was semi-legendary for the long hours she spent training with every weapon, especially her Yamani glaive and her sword.
When she was not there, Jon traversed the palace to arrive at her rooms in the knight quarters. He took a deep breath, patted down his hair, and knocked at her door.
Silence.
A growing feeling of urgency and anxiety in the pit of his stomach, Jon finally found Gary and asked for the duty sheets. To his dismay, Jon discovered that Kel had already left for her six-month assignment as a rogue Scanran hunter. It was a task assigned to the best fighters, and Kel was slated to lead the small group of knights and soldiers.
Still, Jon could not abate his uneasiness. Kel had confessed to feelings that he happened to reciprocate, but because he'd been too damn distracted, she had left with a rejection that should never have existed.
He considered sending a messenger with a letter, and he even got so far as to writing it, but when he looked down at the stark black letters, Jon hid it away in a drawer. What they shared was too fragile, too delicate, even a personal letter was too impersonal. Besides, she didn't need the distraction, he decided. Jon pledged to find her the moment she returned from the north. If she still harbored an affection, then they'd see about this delicate glimmer becoming more.
When she was on patrol, Kel could forget many things. She could forget that she missed New Hope rather more than she'd expected, considering that she'd been more than pleased to be rid of the overcrowded headache. Kel could forget the cold tent and field rations that awaited her back at the camp, guarded by a scant few men as the rest of the fifteen-man force scouted the area for lingering Scanrans.
Most of all, she could forget her humiliating rejection at the hands of the king.
Kel still couldn't believe that she'd worked up the courage to tell Jon, or at least imply to him, about her affections. She was almost proud of herself, or might have been had he proved to be so completely bored by her heartfelt words that his eyes glazed over.
Still, Kel was on patrol. She could forget all of that and focus on the task at hand. The woman preferred it that way, and she moved silently, her eyes and ears open to any unnatural movements.
When her partner gave a strangled gasp at the arrow that had suddenly appeared in her throat, there was nothing in Kel's mind but survival. She didn't even mourn her new friend; she couldn't until she herself was safe, and Kel didn't spare Jon even a thought.
It wasn't until the sword sliced her in the back - the fourth man had somehow snuck around her as she danced with three others - that Kel realized that everything, her entire life, might be for nothing.
Through the agonizing, burning, breath-stealing pain, Kel dazedly watched a spear flash and felt a thud as it pierced her side. Her sword tumbled from her limp hand, and she eyed the blood gushing forth with bemusement.
Her last coherent thought as the blood-reddened sword descended was that at least she'd be remembered by Jon, even as 'that stupid woman who had inappropriate feelings for him who got herself killed.'
The sword bit at her neck, and Kel knew no more.
An ominous letter arrived at the palace. It detailed the death of one Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, along with a royal soldier, due to unforeseen Scanran reinforcements. Not, as the letter, written by Sir Merric of Hollyrose, resulting from any lack of judgment or action on her part. Indeed, the tracks around her body indicated that she'd been ambushed by at least six men, and three had fallen to her blade.
As sad as the news was, no one could understand when King Jonathan secluded himself in his rooms. They knew nothing of the misunderstanding between the two, that Kel had confessed feelings to Jon, but left with a false rejection, that Jon had written his own confession, but never sent it.
Jon tore that letter to tiny shreds until he could no longer read the words that would have aided his conscience. If only he had sent it, then his mind could be clear. Perhaps she'd been distracted, he thought, perhaps he'd caused the death of one of the finest knights because of his inane distraction.
Jon eventually emerged from his chambers, red-eyed and pale from guilt and sorrow. He said nothing, not even to his close friends, for he didn't need them to tell him that it was too late for Kel, and they couldn't understand that it was too late for him.
