An Alan Interlude

There was something wrong with his brother.

All right, if one were being honest and objective, there were a lot of things wrong with his brother. Any of his brothers. It was something that kept Alan up at night, sometimes. If there was something wrong with all of his brothers, then what was wrong with him that he wasn't seeing? Jeffery was a vapid airhead who couldn't take anything serious with a surprisingly vile vindictive streak and rather criminal leanings, going by the supporters he surrounded himself with. Ian was utterly bland, boring and proper to the point of being less interesting than one of his Dirt Dolls, unless the subject was Selena, in which case he was almost improperly focused to the point of obsession. He was lucky his fiancée shared the feeling. And his twin… well, Alan's brother was so talented he'd clearly gotten bored with anything life had to offer by the time he reached the age of seven, since nothing held any sort of challenge for him until he met Katarina, one of the few people he couldn't predict, control, or understand. At which became almost as creepy as Ian. Sure, he'd been sickly in his young, but it wasn't that, he'd gotten over that with time and Light Magic, unlike poor Sirius Dieke, who ironically had a half-brother that could have healed him if his stupid bitch of a mother hadn't been so short-sighted. No, Alan feared there was something wrong with his mind that he couldn't see, something that made him twisted and objectively insane, but everyone was just too nice or intimidated to say so.

That was completely normal. Alan was used to that. That was perfectly normal for his brother, The ADVERSARY And Enemy Of The Alliance, of which Alan was nominally a member, dragged in by his fiancée-in-name Mary, their friends and his own secret, guilty feelings of attraction and the part of his conscience that felt his brother was a bit too creepy at times and someone needed to keep him away from Katarina when that happened.

But this wasn't the usual worries. No, this was something else. For the past few weeks, his brother had been… preoccupied. Distant. Trapped in his own head. It probably didn't look like that to anyone else. Functionaries coming into his brother's office probably saw the perfectly capable administrator and bureaucrat, his already keen skills in the field of paperwork honed to a +10 Refined infusion under Lady President Maria's brutal influence. People who nominally saw themselves as in support of him to be the next king– never mind that father had decades, maybe even a century in him yet– would only see that shining façade he cultivated. Many of the servants, the maids and butlers and hidden assassins that guarded the people of the castle as the next line of defense behind the knights, its Painted Guardians– so named because they were meant to be as easy to miss as the paint on the walls– wouldn't see anything different. He'd still been his usual thoughtless self, taking the fact the servants were there for granted.

But Alan saw. Cadbury probably did too, if the way the butler seemed to be just on the edge of the vicinity of his brother meant anything. He did that when he was concerned about something.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded one stormy morning as he barged in on his brother's breakfast.

His twin sighed. "What did I do now?" he asked with weary annoyance.

"That wasn't an accusatory 'what's wrong with you', that was a concerned 'what's wrong with you'," Alan said.

"Most people would say 'are you all right?'," his brother said.

"And you'd give that fake mask smile and say you're all right," Alan retorted. "So I tried to Katarina my approach and go at you straight with no skill or subtlety."

"Are… are you using her name as a verb?" his brother said.

"Would you rather I Maria'd my approach?" Alan said.

His brother paused. "What would that even entail?"

"I don't know, but I suspect a lot of paperwork would be involved at some point," Alan said. "Probably end up with children I have to take care of."

He brother snickered. "Sounds about right."

Alan nodded. "So, back to my original question: what's wrong with you?"

"Why do you assume anything's wrong?"

"Because you're being an evasive little Patches and answering a question with a question," Alan said. "You're not going to distract me. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just feeling under the weather, that's all. It's this storm." He smiled that disgustingly fake smile. "Really Alan, I'm fine."

"Huh," Alan said. "I didn't realize this storm's been going on for week now. It looked so sunny and clear, but it was a storm the whole time. Must be one of those stealthy storms that pretends to be a corpse and waits for you to pass by to backstab you." He crossed his arms. "I've got all day. Try again. Once you've used up all the lies, you'll have nothing left but the truth."

"Just let it go Alan," his twin snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, finally you admit something's wrong," Alan said with a nod. "Progress!"

"You're insufferable."

"I'm your brother. It runs in the blood. What's wrong with you?"

His brother glared (half-heartedly, Alan noted), drew himself up as if that would help… then visibly deflated. "Fine. Fine. I… I could probably use your help on this." He glanced at his butler Cadbury. "Please make us private."

The butler nodded, shooting Alan a quick look of approval before chivying out the half-dozen servants and, once Alan gave a signal to Ferero, the three who had come in with Alan as well.

"So," Alan said once it was just him, his brother, and the two butlers in the room as the two of them mmoved to secure the dors from eavesdroppers. Alan as fairly sure at least three of those servants were taking souls from Mary to spy for her. "Is this something we should have them in here for or will we be needing to give them more raises and vacation time?"

His brother laughed bitterly. "Who cares?" he snorted.

Alan blinked, then straightened. "Has he been to see–" he began to ask Cadbury.

"Yes, I went to see the Light Magic wielders," his brother snapped. "No Dark Magic, I'm fine."

"Okay… then what's crawled up your gutter and became possessed by the Soul of the Gravelord?" Alan asked.

"I went to see Duchess Claes," his brother said. "About getting her blessing to marry Katarina."

Alan stared at him.

"When was this?" he said slowly.

"A few weeks ago," his brother said.

Alan closed his eyes, sighing in exasperation, and wondered if his father had been giving a very pointed hint. "You went to get her blessing a few weeks ago."

"Yes," his brother said simply.

"After YEARS of telling everyone you planned to marry Katarina, and starting those rumors you intended to marry her as soon as you both graduated."

"There is no link between–"

"Oh, Profound Still it," Alan snapped. "We both know it was you at some point. You told people you'd marry her daughter and THEN only asked for her blessing last week? Shouldn't it have been the other way around?"

"There was no reason to think she'd disapprove. The standing of House Claes–" his brother began.

"How have you completely missed the fact she's been against the idea of her daughter becoming queen?" Alan said. "The fact she's formed a semi-official political faction about it should have been some clue."

"She was against Katarina being queen, not against her marrying me personally," his brother said, sounding like this was an argument he'd been repeating over and over in his head. "Something must have happened. Someone must have turned her against me. I need to find out who it is and discredit them, so that the duchess will realize she's wrong and change her mind… "

Alan glanced over his brother's shoulder at Cadbury, who gave a pained nod. So, his brother had apparently been stuck on these thoughts for weeks.

"So, I assume by how you're muttering like Mary making plans that your talk with the duchess didn't go well?" Alan hazarded.

"I asked for her blessing," his brother said hollowly. "She said no. Very bluntly said no. Said it three times so I wouldn't misunderstand, that she would not give me her blessing to marry her daughter, not give me permission to wed her daughter."

Alan felt a dark twinge of joy beginning to grow in the abyss of his Dark Soul at the news, but he leapt down on it from a great height and killed it with a plunging attack. His brother needed his help, and he had no time for such selfishness! "So does that mean your engagement is off?" he asked, and immediately wished he could slam his head on a wall for the stupid words.

"No," his brother said. "That's the thing. She said I could remain engaged, but we had no permission to marry. A cruel jest."

"Well… "Alan said awkwardly, "you don't really need her permission to get married, legally speaking. It's only tradition, after all. Lots of people elope."

"You've seen how securely Maria imprisons her," his twin said. "How are we supposed to 'elope'?"

"Technically, it's seclusion, and completely voluntary on Katarina's part," Alan said. "It's a part of knight training so young people don't get distracted by their libido." He hummed, nodded. "Well, I can see why you're heads been stuck these last few weeks."

"How could you possibly know what I've been thinking, Alan?" the blond sneered.

"That was uncalled for, 'genius'," Alan said, remaining calm. "Let me guess: you've been going over in your head all the usual things you do to people who stand in your way. Discredit them, audit them for unpaid taxes, bring up hidden crimes and scandal, discreetly exile them to the edge of the country, that sort of thing to make them gone so you can swoop in to get what you want or feel safe or superior or vindicated or whatever. Except this is Katarina's mother and family, and not only is it going to raise cursed, abyssal Izalith if you attacked the Duchess of Morpork like that, you'd have to take out the entire family, including Katarina. And then we'd fall into a civil war because while most people were okay with you doing that to some because they were low-ranked or genuinely deserved it, the Duchy of Morpork is neither, so people would start taking sides, and then we'd be right back to a civil war again."

"And water is wet and cliffs kill knights if they fall from them," his brother said. "Obviously."

"So you've been driving yourself insane trying to think of fantastical theories as to how you might justify, to people or even just to yourself, why the Duchess is against you, constructing some elaborate fantastical scenarios that let you attack someone else, and using that threaten Duchess Claes to allow you to marry Katarina," Alan continued. "Oh, you're thinking 'convince', but be honest with yourself and me and admit you're threatening them. Except this is Duchess Claes, one of the most titanite-tough, stubborn women in the kingdom, made of so much titanite slab her daughter came out of her literally impervious to being hit with hints and clues and with a head dense enough to crack stone. So nothing you threaten to do will change her mind. Your usual intimidation and high-handed negotiation tactics you use for bullies, criminals and people who think their title protects them from the consequences of their depravity and unlawful acts won't work."

His brother glowered at him.

"So you've been trying for weeks to think of a reasonable argument, and you're falling apart because you know the woman Katarina got her stubbornness from isn't going to just roll over for the royal Darksign," Alan went on. "And in so doing you've had to do inadvertent Dark Soul-searching and second-guessing some of your beliefs, which have made you feel worse, which have made you doubt yourself, which has led to feeling even worse, on and on in a cycle of fire and dark."

"Are you done?" the blond said stiffly.

"No, but I think I've said enough on that," he said. "What can I do to help?"

His brother in the middle of opening his mouth, blinked.

"What?" he said. "You're my brother. I don't want you to be miserable. Of course I'll help you."

"You've been insulting my political sense, my intelligence, by debating skills and my fiancée this entire conversation," his twin pointed out.

"The price of my help," Alan smirked.

He got a skeptical look back.

"I'm not a spy, you swamp goat," Alan said. "There's friends, and there's family. Besides, you've been doing so badly it's about time you got some help. All those criticisms about Maria doing everything herself apply to you too."

His brother stared at him… and for the second time in the conversation, seemed to deflate, as if he was taking of some thick, shape-obscuring armor to reveal the real skinny bones within. "Thank you, Alan," he said quietly. "I don't know what to do…"

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "Brother, did you at some point remember to apologize to Duchess Claes for your presumption?"

His brother blinked as his bridge of thought was suddenly set afire by dragons. "Presumption? What presumption?"

"Well, you were presumptuous about thinking she'd be all right with you declaring you'd marry Katarina without her blessing," Alan pointed out. "Which seems to have upset her a little bit, if she repeatedly told you 'no'. Did you even address that?"

"I… was dismissed," his twin said lamely, sounding embarrassed.

Alan nodded, then gestured to Cadbury, who headed for his brother's writing desk. "Well, how about we start this the way you should have and apologize for the rumors and everything about marrying without her permission," Alan said.

"Those rumors–"

Alan raised a hand, like he was stopping an orchestra. "Look," he said. "She knows. She can't prove it, but she knows. This isn't about her being able to prove you started the rumors, she'll act like you did, and she'd be right. So get up from your ashes like a man, own up to it, and apologize. The worst is nothing changes, since she already thinks you started them anyway. At best, you get some good will for saying sorry."

"For saying sorry?" his brother said, aghast.

"You're not a prince putting pressure on a stubborn noble," Alan said. "You're a fiancé who screwed up and is begging your fiancée's family for a second chance. So get on your damn knees and apologize, and maybe you'll get that chance when they see you're sincere. Or is your pride more important than Katarina?"

That last rocked his brother like a greatclub swung two-handed. He stared at the paper his butler Cadbury put in front of him. Than he raised a hand and, to the sounds of the storm outside, began to write.