Author's Note: I really didn't like the last chapter, so I wrote this one. Oh, and the answer to Alanna's self prophesy the Goddess referred to…think about the title of this fic.
Tamora Pierce wrote it. I fan-fictioned it.
Chapter 9: I Lost You
"Ah, the lady of the hour." Alanna turned to the voice. Liam Ironarm stood there, smiling at her. "I believe thanks are in order."
"Thanks?" she asked, puzzled.
"I told you you'd thank me when you were queen. And here you are, Lion Queen." Liam looked tan and fit as always, Alanna observed.
"Thanks," she said, not really meaning it. She'd been queen for a few hours and it hadn't been all that wonderful. She'd mostly moped up here on the dais, while Jon ate and drank and talked with all the foreign diplomats.
"You don't sound happy."
Alanna shrugged. She had no interest in talking about her problems with the Shang Dragon. It wasn't worth it, rehashing her wounds, and they were in public.
"I do have a question for you—because you're queen, are you no longer King's Champion?"
"What?" Alanna hadn't even remembered that, but like a tinder striking flint, a fire started in her brain. There had been no mention of her individual achievements, rights, titles—that she too was a Knight of the Realm of Tortall wasn't even mentioned. And her appointment as Jon's Champion certainly hadn't been said. And now that she thought about it, the only titles mentioned only talked of her relationships with other men—her birth and adopted fathers, her brother, her husband. She'd been looking for an excuse, any excuse, to lit into Jon. And here it was.
"I don't like the look you're got on your face, Lioness. Listen, forget I brought it up—" Liam began, palms up as Alanna snarled. She whipped around, eyeing the crowd for her husband. "Alanna, look, you've been crowned for a little bit—isn't it a little late to dig into him for that?" Liam tried reasoning, but it was not good enough to persuade her. She moved away from him. This was the last straw—Jon had promised her over and over that she would be as important as he to the throne, that she was bringing him glory and honor and they would shake things up. How was she supposed to shake things up, make a difference, give some semblance of reality to the sham she was living if they didn't even own to her proper title?
However, she could not rip into Jon as she would like, because he was dancing with a foreign dignitary, some beautiful girl from the Copper Isles—closer look revealed to Alanna that it was Princess Josiane, daughter of the Rittevon house.
"Easy, Lioness," Liam whispered. "You'll get your chance—look, your friends want to celebrate for you. This is your day. Give Jon an opportunity to enjoy this coronation."
Alanna obliged, but barely. She managed to dance with Gary and Raoul and Myles, chat with Thom and Thayet, argue with Roger and Faithful, and congratulate Eleni on her beautiful new wedding ring. All without exploding. However, she whirled on Jon the moment that they had an opportunity. Jon must have seen this coming, must have noticed her angry prowling, must have been warned what she was angry about, because he immediately went into defense mode.
"Alanna, I didn't know they were going to say that. I'll have it fixed. Don't worry–"
"Fixed? How do you fix something like that? I am not Lady Alanna of Conte or Lady Alanna of Trebond and Olau. I am Alanna of Conte and Olau, King's Champion. Because the way they proclaimed it, I am not queen. Someone else is." She was so angry, so indignant. Jon didn't see. The Councilors had played him for a fool. They were finding ways to peg her in and force her to be how they wanted her to be. And Jon was letting them.
"It's not that important, Alanna. It's just the way things have always been done. It's hard to change."
"Jon, this is the reason you married me. To make history, to make changes."
"People are watching," he said through a tip-lipped forced smile. "Please just smile and pretend to be pleasant for everyone's benefit."
"No."
"Alanna—" Jon's tone turned threatening.
"It'll be a relief when I leave in a month," she growled, turning on her heel.
"Alanna, you're not leaving in a month," Jon said tiredly. "You have to stay right here. As queen, you're needed to be in Corus most of the year, unless we are on progress or at war. You can't just go off roaming on quests anymore."
"Who decided that?" The disappointment was so bitter going down Alanna had to fight to not throw up.
"What did you expect?" Jon asked crossly.
"What you promised me!"
"I never promised you that."
"Yes, you did. The second time you proposed—after it was decided I would be your Champion."
"That was if you were only Champion, that didn't go with queen."
"But I am queen and Champion, aren't I? Not that anyone gathered would be aware," she snarled.
Jon's face set, as he repressed his anger.
"I need to use the privy," she growled, gathering the material of her dress and marching away, leaving Jon to deal. She headed down one hallway to another, trying to find the furthest privy from the ballroom. She was muttering madly under her breath, cursing Jon, the Council, and herself.
"Angry, love?"
Alanna whirled, startled out of her mad ranting. George Cooper in fine breeches and shirt stood before her. She had seen him in the congregation at the coronation and had seen the distress in his eyes—the depression and the hurt and the longing that she had caused—and had felt the so strongly the realization of her wrong decision and the irreversibility of it.
"You could say that," she snapped. Without preamble or invitation, everything poured out of her. It felt almost as if she was vomiting words—words and feelings and bottled-up emotions. She told him of her anger and frustration and loneliness and helplessness, of her problems with Jon, Thayet, the Council, Thom, Roger, Faithful, Myles, everyone else. She spoke of how it had gotten to the point where she couldn't keep up with herself, so how could it be possible for her to try to keep up with everyone? Even just everyone she loved, never mind those she loathed! She told him of all the fittings, the practices, the restrictions, the houndings, the hidings, the lectures, the diets. The only thing she didn't tell him was the Goddess' visit and her secret longing for him.
"One small lass like yourself shouldn't be bottling all that up, there," George remarked when she was spent, shaking his head back and forth.
Alanna sighed and sunk to the ground. "You were wrong, I guess."
"I was?" the tall man asked, as he sat next to her.
"You said I'd make them dance to my own tune. Sure feels like I'm dancing to their tune—all of their tunes. I don't even know what my tune sounds like anymore."
George shucked her under the chin. "Sure you do. It may be lost under all those complicated melodies they're trying to make you jig to, but you've still got your beat. Your beat is simple, like a drum. You make the rhythm as fast and as slow as you like, and once you learn how to beat the drum right, they'll have to follow your tempo."
Alanna smiled. "You always know how to say the right things."
"I try," George said. His gaze never wavered from her face, and she found it difficult to decide whether she wanted to look away or hold his gaze. She found herself blinking a lot in an effort to do both.
"I suppose I should be over this."
"Over what?" His voice lowered softly and he leaned towards her. She would not look at him.
"You know, this dealing thing. I mean, I had to be someone I wasn't for years as Alan, now I'm just going to have to do it differently."
George shifted back—clearly he thought she was taking a different direction with this conversation.
"I'll just have to learn to put up with it as qu—" she stopped and stood. She still couldn't think of herself as queen. It was too…surreal, unrealistic…horrible.
"Put up with?" George asked, standing too.
"As qu—" she still couldn't say it. She forced her vocal chords and mouth to form the words. "As…queen." She looked up at George and tried to smile, unaware of how miserable and desperately unhappy and determined she looked. Their eyes met, violet and hazel, and Alanna felt lost in the depths of the feelings she saw in George's eyes. There was friendship—strong and loyal friendship—and pity and helplessness and love—a love so powerful it made it hard for her to breathe. It was a love that spoke of desire and heat and warmth and…forever. But there was also desperation and loss and hurt, caused by this love.
Before she could think, George's hands grabbed her arms and pulled her to him. His lips met hers and she felt the desperation. But she also felt the love and desire she had seen there, and felt it reciprocated in herself. A wave, a sweet, bitter, hot, cold thunder stormed through her body, wrapping her up in dizziness as George wrapped her tightly in his arms, as close to him as possible. Her heart started humming and she could feel his heart through his chest. She melted into him, holding nothing back. Into the kiss, she poured all her hurt and sorrow and frustration. She tried to tell him that she was sorry and ask for forgiveness for what she had done. She tried to convey to him the love she felt in her heart, the kind of love she hungered for—the kind of the love that wasn't hers and Jon's, but hers and George's…
But she found herself pushed away, and felt as if a vital part of her was ripped away and all that was left was cold…George gripped her face in between his rough calloused hands.
"Why? Why him, Alanna? Why?" His voice was rough and raw. His eyes searched hers, seeking the answer that she couldn't him.
Because Alanna had no answer. There was no rhyme or reason to satisfy George, to explain her folly. There was no way he would understand the twisted logic she had constructed.
"Because…I had to."
"Why?" He let go of her face gently.
Why? Why? Why? She could not find a real answer, all of Jon's arguments sounded flat in her head. Why?
George backed away slowly. "I lost you. Somehow, someway I lost you."
He walked away down the corridor as Alanna slid to the floor, the tears she had been fighting spilling over.
Since Alanna gave him up, I call dibs on George ;)
