A Torrid Affair

By Saphron

A/N: Things pick up a bit, so I hope you like this chapter a wee bit better.


Chapter 7: Making Amends

Alanna steeled herself to enter the Great Hall for breakfast; she knew the ordeal to come would not be pleasant. Nonetheless, armed with a deep breath in her lungs and a determination not to let her face show how scared she was, she entered the room and made her way to the squire's table, where she quietly grabbed a banana and doggedly started to peel it.

"So the alchie-lad finally decides to grace us with his presence!" Douglass chortled, slapping a hand on 'Squire Alan's' back and winking at his fellow squires around the table. Everyone laughed, much to Alanna's chagrin. She blushed fiercely—she knew this morning wouldn't be pleasant.

"Seriously though Alan, are you alright? You missed the entire day's worth of lessons, I've never heard of the Duke allowing that unless someone was on their deathbed or something," Sacherell asked, genuinely worried. When Alanna looked up, surprised by his considerate words, she could see that all the other squires, Douglass included, had ceased their laughter and were staring at her with interest, obviously waiting for her reply.

"Um. Fine. I'm fine," she muttered, glancing back down again at her banana. Mithros the spotlight was uncomfortable!

"Seriously, Alan, don't even sweat yesterday, OK," a squire told her while reaching for the jam jar. "We've all been there."

"Yeah Alan, we've all been there," a chorus of voices piped up.

"It's not a big deal, Alan."

"Seriously."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I got so drunk I started dancing with a mop? I think I thought it was a lady…the mop head did kind of look like hair, after all…"

"Ha, I can beat that. Once I was so gone, I tried to impress this girl from the Yamani Islands by telling her I spoke fluent Yamani. 'Course, than she started jabbering away in the language, so I was just nodding my head like an idiot and backing away slowly to escape…until I backed into the back of Duke Gareth. Boy was he mad!"

"Oh yeah? I've got an even better story! One time I was do blitzed, I accidentally made a move on my Aunt Beatrice!"

"Ew Justin! That's gross!"

"Well my Aunt's really young! She's not exactly bad-looking, OK?"

"Dude, she's your aunt, that is SO wrong!"

"The point is, Alan," Sacherell interrupted, ignoring the clamor of squirrely voices around him, "that you shouldn't fret. I know it seems like the end of the world now, but you're probably stressing over nothing and making it into a way bigger deal than it needs to be. Yeah, it was bad, and yeah, you'll be living with the consequences for awhile. But I mean, it's not that bad, right? You're still here, you haven't been kicked out or anything, and Duke Gareth will get over it in awhile. So cheer up, 'k?"

Although Alanna was far from happy-go-lucky, Sacherell's pep talk had the desired effect—feeling marginally more cheerful, she managed to swallow the bite of banana that had been wallowing uncomfortably in her mouth since Douglass had first opened his mouth. True, she had messed up, but her fellow squires had a point—it wasn't that bad. Not so bad she couldn't recover and bounce back, anyway. She had been making mountains out of mole hills, acting like the end of the world, when really it was more like the end of a small city. Bad, definitely bad…but overall the universe would move on with its life, and so would she.

Her fellow squires clearly didn't think anything less of her (if anything, they probably respected her even more and felt closer to her than ever; her refusal to drink had always struck them as an odd trait in a strapping young squire, one that set her apart even more than her refusal to swim with them during summer time, or go shirtless during wrestling matches.) Duke Gareth, too, would "get over it," as Sacherell had put it—she would just need to work extra hard to regain his respect and prove to himt hat she deserved to be there. George, of course, wouldn't hold a grudge against her, she was sure he'd seen his fair share of vomit during his days in the Dancing Dove, a rowdy inn renowned for its occupants' drinking habits. Even Faithful had already forgiven her and moved on, even deigning to let her scratch him behind the ears that morning.

Jonathan, however, was a different story. She wasn't sure how she and Jon were going to recover, but she'd be damned if she didn't try.

Resolved, if not exactly cheerful, she left the hall with her head held high, determined to bounce back from her mistakes. No one was perfect, all that could be asked of her was that she learn from her mistakes and do everything in her power to rectify them—starting with apologizing to her prince and knight master. Well, apologizing after lessons, that is.

--

Alanna came out of her perfectly executed forward roll with a frown on her face where normally there'd be a proud grin. After all, it was the first time in weeks she had managed to complete the technique that others had mastered so much earlier than she had, but the reason she wasn't smiling was because Shae, she was certain, was ignoring her. He had gone around the room helping every other squire except her, positioning their hands and feet, telling them how to conduct a certain maneuver, and helping them individually as they worked in pairs to grapple each other on the ground. But he had deliberately ignored Alanna and her partner, skipping the pair to move to the next one down the line.

Suddenly, Alanna remembered why he might be mad: not only had she missed all the official lessons of the previous day, but she had also missed the last two (yesterday and this morning's) of their unofficial practice sessions at five forty five in the morning. No wonder he was angry with her!

She waited until the end of class (which thankfully, always ended before lunchtime, which meant she had a few moments to spare to talk to him before rushing off), to approach him as he was putting away the Shang-Do mats.

"Um, excuse me, Master Shang Hawk?"

"Yes, squire?"

Alanna cringed at his distanced tone and the formal, slightly derisive title. Just when she had been building a repertoire with a true-blue Shang master, she had to go and wreck it! "I, I, just wanted to apologize for missing our training sessions. I know it's inexcusable, I was—sick—but I'm truly sorry."

Shae actually stopped putting away the mats in the middle of holding one up and quirked his eyebrows at her, "ah. I thought you were angry with me for my comments at the ball, and had therefore decided not to come to our early morning practices anymore."

"Oh, not at all!" Alanna quickly gushed out, "I still want to train with you—that is, if you'll have me as a student," she added shyly.

Shae gave her an appraising look that she couldn't read. "And you'll show up next time, on time, every time, without fail?"

Alanna eagerly nodded yes.

"Very well," he grinned back at her, finally remembering to set the mat down that he had been holding suspended in mid-air. "Which actually works out quite well. Duke Gareth informed me that all training masters, myself included, were to assign you random chores to do for us, so if anyone asks, your 'chore-time' will be taking place at five forty five in the morning," he winked at her, sliding the last of the mats on the top of the pile. "And by the way, I saw your forward roll this morning, and it was excellent. You almost looked as good doing it as you did in that gold tunic the other night." And with that weird final comment, he saluted her and glided off the floor towards the great hall for lunch.

Alanna paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. The first thing that came to her mind was that Shae was incredibly forgiving and kind—extra practice lessons instead of chores? She clearly got a good deal out of the bargain. The second thing that came to her mind, was that that was the second time the Shang Hawk had complemented her (specifically, complemented how she looked), in one week.

Odd thoughts, she wouldn't lie. Odd thoughts indeed.

--

If Alanna thought Shae was the only training master she'd have to make amends to that day, she was dead wrong. Roger was particularly horrible to her during Magic lessons, though no one but her could discern the loathing in his so-called "humorous" teasing of her, and Etiquette Master, Mathematics Master, and even Myles had something to say to her about her "reckless and irresponsible behavior." Whereas the first two had primarily lectured her in front of the entire class until even the tips of her ears were tinted a lovely shade of puce (which granted, made slightly more sense in Etiquette class, since getting shit-faced was considered very poor form indeed. But mathematics? What did alcohol have to do with algebra? No, Alanna's time spent in the mathematics classroom just proved to her once and for all that all mathematics teachers were truly evil, mean-spirited sadists hell-bent on making their student's lives as miserable as possible.)

It was Myles' last lecture—which thankfully, he reserved for after class, when all the other students had left all ready for dinner—which caught her more by surprise. She wasn't expecting to get chastised by the court drunk; the mere idea dripped of hypocrisy--but like it or not, Myles had a vested interest in her well-being, which included making sure everything was OK with her.

"I hear you had a rough couple of days," Myle said gently, motioning for Alanna to take a seat. "Want to talk about it?"

Alanna shuffled her feet dangling in the air above her chair nervously; she didn't really care if Etiquette Master thought she was a drunken, bumbling fool, but Myles' opinion mattered to her—a lot. And even if he was being kind, she still felt awkward discussing things with him. "Do I have a choice?" she asked pertly.

"You always have a choice in everything you do, even if it doesn't necessarily feel that way," Myles said softly, folding his hands on his desk before him. "Except for when you drink. Then you lose control, and the ability to make choices for yourself. It's something we usually take for granted, the ability to control the course of our own actions and lives."

Alanna shifted uncomfortably in her chair—the disappointment etched in Myle's tone was worse than any lecture Duke Gareth could ever give her. "I know," she muttered, too embarrassed to make eye-contact.

"Alan, please look at me when I'm talking to you," Myles commanded gently. "Don't think I'm here to pass any moral judgments or chastise you—I'm sure you've been getting enough of that already—I just want to talk, make sure everything is going alright with you. I've found that when people, especially nice people such as yourself, are turning to alcohol to solve their problems, it's usually symptomatic of something deeper and more important. Have there been any major life changes in your life recently Alan? Perhaps something going on with your family back at Trebond, or with Thom?"

Alanna shook her head no, though she made it a point to meet his eyes as she did so.

"Hmm. What about school, and training? Is the pressure getting to you?"

Again, Alanna responded negatively. Myles tried again; "and the Prince—your knight-master—all is well in your relationship with him?"

Alanna stared at him pointedly, wondering just how much Myles had guessed about her identity. Of course, it was entirely possible that he had innocently used the word relationship in the platonic sense, but it was odd that he has said 'in' your relationship…

Alanna gulped, but shook her 'no' one last time. Myles sighed, clearly realizing he wasn't getting anywhere. "Very well, Alan, I can tell there are a million things you rather be doing than discussing this with me right now, such as sticking your head in a fire-ant hill, but it's fine. I understand. You don't need to say anything. Just—don't forget, I'm always here to talk, if you need me."

Alanna left the classroom with tears bristling in the corners of her eyes. What she wouldn't have given to have her own father care for her the way Myles did, she could never express to anyone.

--

Finally, dinner ended, and she was free to leave for her rooms and find Jonathan. She knew she needed to talk to him before the awkward silence between them stretched even farther. She was still a little peeved about the whole Delia affair—she wanted to hear in his own words exactly how much he had voluntarily resisted her charms, after all—and she still didn't appreciate the way he had yelled at her when she walked in the door, though objectively she knew he must have been worried about her not coming home for the night. Overall, however, she was more concerned with swallowing her pride and offering to discuss matters over with him in general.

Unfortunately, he didn't answer the door the first time when she knocked, nor the second when she knocked again an hour later. He was either very good at hiding out away from his rooms, or he was giving her the silent treatment, neither of which she appreciated. Resolving to do something, she scrawled on a piece of paper:

Jon, we need to talk. –A

And then used a significant amount of her gift to open the locked door between their rooms so she could leave the note on his desk. Much to her surprise, however, she found Jon calmly reading a book in bed, totally oblivious to the fact that an intruder had just invaded his room until she cleared her throat with an annoyed ahem. Why in Mirthros' name hadn't he answered the door?

"Oh, it's you. What do you want, squire?" Jon drawled, not looking up from his book. Though his eyes stayed still instead of scanning across the page, a sign that he wasn't actually reading it anymore.

"I want to talk to you. Obviously," Alanna responded, frowning. That was twice in one day that someone had called her 'squire' in a not-so-respectful tone of voice. What was with Jon that he was behaving like this?

"Well I'm not really in the mood to talk," he shot back, still feigning nonchalance. "We're not, what's the wording? Oh yes, we're so not doing this right now, ok?" He pantomimed, mimicking the phrase she had used earlier.

"Oh come on, Jon!" Alanna cried, stamping her foot in annoyance. "Are you really this immature? You were yelling at me when I was hung over as hell after just receiving the world's longest lecture from Duke Gareth, can you blame me for just needing a little space to myself for awhile?"

"Space? Space?" Jon cried, slamming his book down, apparently forgetting that he was pretending not to care, "take all the space you need Alanna, I'm done with this."

Alanna blanched, dismay etched on every feature in her face. "You're…you're done? What…what does that mean?"

"That means, Alanna, that I'm not going to be some stupid doormat! You honestly expect me to just sit around and wait for you to come home after being out all night just, just canoodleing with George? Ha! Fat chance!"

Alanna positively balked, shocked at Jon's implication. That was why he was mad—because he thought she had slept with George? Not because she had left him at the ball, or gone past her limits with alcohol, or yelled at him when she came home the next morning—but because he thought she had slept with George? Was he serious?

"Are you serious Jon?" She asked him, visibly paling for once in her life instead of blushing, "you think I had sex with George the other night?"

"Well didn't you?" Jon spat acidly, "you were gone all night long, and I know the man likes you Alanna."

"No!" She positively yelled in response. "How could you think that Jonathan? Yes, I was angry that you were dancing with Delia, but that doesn't mean I'd, I'd cheat on you! What kind of woman do you think I am? And just because George may—stress, may, not definitely—have certain, feelings, for me, it doesn't mean he, or I, would ever act on them. Mithros Jon, how could you mistrust me like that?"

Jon looked markedly confused—half of him wasn't sure he could believe her, but the other half wanted nothing more to do just that. If she was lying, it was for good (in the opportunist sense, not the moral sense) reason—making the prince of the realm or your knight-master mad was never a good idea. Then again…when had she ever lied to him?

"Look, Jon," Alanna tried again, "I'm sorry that all this drama happened because I had a little too much to drink, but that's no reason to doubt my loyalty to you. I, I care way too much about us to ever do something like that," she said quietly, shyly. Talking about her feelings like this was hard; she wished she could just say sorry and have it all be over, but she knew Jon needed to hear more than that from her if they were ever to be OK again. "But you in turn need to trust me, OK?"

Silently, Jon nodded, before adding, "I do trust you Alanna…I just don't trust him. I know he likes you, I can just tell."

Alanna frowned, "are you still harping on that? First of all, he's one of your closest friends, you shouldn't think so little of him—he's not some horny dog, you know. He's a good guy"—Jon was practically bristling to hear her compliment him, so she switched tracks—"secondly, you don't need to trust him, you need to trust me. Even if, and this is a big if, he has some feelings for me, as I already told you, it doesn't mean anything is going to happen because of them. If anything, the fact that George has feelings for me should comfort you!"

"How so?" Jon practically snorted.

"Well," Alanna said slowly, taking her time to spell it out for him, "if George likes me, then that means I could easily have him, if I wanted"—("this isn't comforting me, Alanna" Jon interrupted)—"which means, Jon," she continued , "that if I'm not with him, then I clearly don't want him. Because if he didn't like me, then I wouldn't even have the opportunity to refuse him. Him liking me and me refusing him just more clearly proves that I like you the best of all, understand?"

Slowly…very slowly…Jon nodded his acquiescence, apparently appeased and satisfied by her logic. He knew deep down that he'd always feel uncomfortable with Alanna's friendship with George, but she made a good point. She had chosen him over the Rogue, after all…of course, he was a prince, and it was conceivable that that was the only reason she had chosen him over a common thief…but that honestly wasn't Alanna's style. She wasn't interested in titles or the crown, it was one of the most appealing things about dating her—he knew she was in it for him, not for the royal scepter that came with him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusion and assumed you slept with George," Jon murmured apologetically, sounding sincere. "And I'm also sorry about Delia—I swear Alanna, the woman is hell on Earth, she latched onto my arm the entire night with a grip made of iron!"

Alanna smiled gleefully to hear him call Lady Delia—aka: "the competition"—what was the phrase again? Oh yes, "hell on Earth." Very good. Very good indeed.

Jon grinned to see her smiling, guessing the reason why. "Did I mention I think she's gained a couple pounds too? Yes, definitely fatter than the last time I saw her. And what was up with that hideous dress? Did the woman get dressed in a dungeon closet, for Mithros' sake?"

Alanna at this point was practically giggling with ecstasy to hear him barrage the infamous Lady Delia, her arch nemesis in all matters concerning the prince, with such scathing insults. He was obviously being overly hyperbolic on purpose for her sake—but who cared? The point was, Delia-bashing was one of her favorite recreational activities, and Jonathan was clearly willing to participate in her side-hobby.

"Oh, and she had a disgusting pimple on the middle of her nose. I swear that thing could have eaten an entire colony of cows, it was so big."

"I don't think cows come in colonies," Alanna snickered back, "I think they come in herds."

"Oh really?" Jon said, quirking his eyebrows, "well that's useful information. Maybe we could find a herd for Delia to join, you know, so she can be with her own kind…"

Jon at this point had Alanna in torrents, clutching her sides to stifle the vindictive laughter buzzing in her throat. She knew it was wrong to gossip about people and talk meanly about them behind their backs and take such pervasive pleasure in trash-talking them…but honestly, Lady Delia was such a horrible cow, and it felt so good to be laughing with Jon again instead of receiving the cold shoulder. It was like they were unified against a common enemy...to think all the tension between them over the last twenty four hours had just been over some stupid misunderstanding…

Suddenly Jon interrupted her laughing fit with a soft but passionate kiss to her lips. "Mm, forgive me for being such a jealous prick?" he murmured, resting his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture.

"Only if you forgive me for being a hot-tempered, drunken idiot," Alanna murmured back, tilting her chin up to be kissed again. Jon readily obliged, snaking a strong around her back to clutch her to him fervently. A small moan escaped her lips—it was like all the tension and fighting over the last two days had suddenly turned about face, so the intensity of the feelings were still there, only aimed towards a much more positive outlook…Jon, apparently, felt similarly.

Turning his body and taking her with him, he threw her down on the bed and landed softly on top of her, progressing from kissing her lips, to kissing her chin, then neck, then pulling her tunic over her head to kiss her taught tummy. She ran her fingers through his thick black curls as he caressed her, squirming beneath the bulk of his weight on top of her. The weight felt good though—more than good, actually. It felt right. He was using his arms to prop himself up on his elbows so he wouldn't crush her, but she could still feel the press of his chest against her, and his legs saddling her on either side—and the length of his manhood clearly aroused to the occasion.

"Do you know what the best part about fighting with your lover is, Alanna?" Jon queried, not bothering to disguise the heat in his hot-breathed words, nor cease his constant kisses to her glowing skin.

"No…what?" she asked curiously. As far she was concerned, there was no upshot to fighting.

"Well," Jon grinned at her, "the make-up sex is usually pretty damn hot…"

Saphron


A/N: Ok, this was a hella long chapter, and normally I don't like to bother people by begging shamelessly for reviews, but, y'know…hint hint, nudge nudge, wink wink…