-warning, contains slashy undertones.-
"Alan? Squire Alan?"
The boy continued walking, evidently having recently been rendered deaf.
"Squire Alan!" the Duke called again, keeping an edge of impatience out of his tone with great difficulty. It was ridiculous that he was forced to beg for news from a scrap of a boy.
Finally, the small squire halted midstep, having obviously figured out for himself that he could not feign deafness any longer. Roger was reasonably surprised that Alan appeared to have become that intelligent. "Can I do something for you?" There was a pause, then, almost lazily, "your Grace," was added.
For a moment, Roger struggled with himself, wondering if he should just send the boy on a laborious, meaningless errand, instead of risking increasing that dreadful self-importance the squire possessed. "I wondered if you had any news on how the Queen was faring?"
Something flickered behind Alan's purple eyes. Roger guessed it was scorn, and fought hard to keep his fists from clenching. "With all due respect, your Grace, I believe she is your aunt. I would have thought that a Duke would be able to find out more than a lowly squire." He bowed, and disappeared into the squires' mess hall.
Roger cursed the boy under his breath. His ears caught the sound of soft footsteps behind him. Sharply, he turned, to face his former squire, Alexander of Tirragen.
"That boy gets more arrogant by the minute," noted the dark-haired knight.
Roger returned his gaze to the door of the mess hall. If looks had any power at all, the door would have been blasted off its hinges. "And careless," he replied. "He forgets his place. I think this might prove to be a very good time to rid ourselves of my cousin's insolent toy."
Alex paled slightly. Mildly impatient, Roger waited without comment, knowing the knight would be reluctant to murder an old friend. Differences aside, the pair had been close once. But Alan was trouble; Alexander knew that as well as Roger did. Despite the stupidity that Roger would have bet his horse Alan feigned (excepting the fact that when Roger had searched the boy's mind, that had been all it had contained), Alan had the most inconvenient habit of turning up precisely where he was not wanted. Killing off the royal family would prove a much easier task without the redheaded squire.
"Alan likes his privacy," Alex observed slowly, inciting Roger's temper. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to search his rooms, find out just what he's keeping secret." He raised his dark eyes to the sorcerer's blue ones. "It might suit us better to use him as a pawn. Jonathon would never suspect his precious Alan of doing anything."
Alexander's solution was not Roger's desired one, but it would do. "Tell Alan that I want to practise the Wall of Power with him," he ordered. "I'll keep him busy for as long as possible." Alexander obeyed, lips twisted in a satisfied smirk.
"And now, Squire Alan, now we shall see."
Alexander growled with frustration, clenching his hands and glowering at the room as though it was to blame for the lack of result. It looked like Roger's first theory would have to be the one put into practice. Alan was far too neat for Alex's snooping to not leave any clutter. He glanced at the bed, almost hoping that it would reveal the answers he looked for. The sheets were neatly piled at the end, the pillow uncrumpled. It looked like no one had slept there for days. In fact... Alex sniffed the pillow, wrinkling his nose as he realised that it still smelled of the worms Gary had put there for revenge a fortnight back. Alan must have been sharing girls' beds. He shook his head, smiling. All this time, we thought he was gay.
Alex got to his feet. A very disappointing afternoon. His dark eyes flicked to the adjoining door, connecting squire and knight master. Best to check...
He rapped sharply on the door first, calling "Jon? Alan?" before cautiously entering, breathing a sigh of relief as he noted it was empty.
In contrast to Alan's room, Jon's desk was littered with paper, his bed obviously slept in. 'Jon's a proper gentleman - he uses his own room.' Scuffling about, Alex discovered a pair of Alan's shoes. Strange, he mused.
Moving to the desk, he scattered a few pages, before stopping at one drawing. Of a female. Asleep in Jon's room. Titled 'Alanna'. And the female? Alan. Thoughts fired up in Alex's mind, each as impossible as the last.
The door was opening again. "Jon, I thought you weren't back until tonight..." The door was fully open and dark eyes, laughing with what he knew, locked with amethyst, exasperated and confused. "Alex, what are you doing here?"
Alexander chose not to reply to that, not being able to think of a convenient cover story, and stood, covering the distance between them in a few steps. He trapped Alan/na against the wall and pressed his lips to hers.
Alanna's mind opened to confusion. Alex was gay? He thought she was? Why had he been in Jon's room, anyway? Had he wanted to kiss Jon? Was this just to silence her?
She tried to push him away from her, although it was the knight who broke the kiss, though Alanna continued to struggle. Her violet eyes were wide with shock, lips still parted from their meeting of his. His brown eyes were smouldering as he leaned back towards Alanna. Thinking he meant to kiss her again, she ducked.
He laughed hoarsely, though she couldn't find any humour in the situation.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you, my darling..." She winced; repulsed by the fact that he thought she was Alan. "Alanna." Or not.
She froze in his grip.
