Queen's Own: As I am an incredibly nice author to my poor, 'unloved' muse, she is getting yet another ficcie. Goddess bless! I'm going AJ on you peeps (not that that's a bad thing!). A bit of a random note: as I was writing this I was listening to my little sister (who's in fourth grade) listen to 50 Cent's 'It's Your Birthday' or whatever it's called. Anyways, thought the lyrics were sort of relevant, though they're not in this ficcie. That's enough randomness from me.
Siri: I love it when she gives me ficcies! This is a one-shot peeps. Something that's been driving be crazy for the last little bit. A different POV of Alanna's 17th birthday. I've done Gary's POV, and Madame Pierce has done Alanna's, but what was Jon thinking?
Queen's Own: Do we even want to know? sighs Well, here goes nothing.
Siri: Disclaiming kitty here! We own absolutely nothing! Tamora Pierce owns the characters and the plot.
Queen's Own: If you see a row of stars separating the text, it means we're switching POVs. And okay, I lied; we get Jon's POV after we get a bit of Delia's POV.
Happy Birthday
She leaned against the stone railing, smiling coldly into the night sky. They're so stupid, she thought, thinking of the knights dancing behind her. Show them the right smile, and they're yours. The right words and they think you're theirs. The right gestures, and you're in their bed. She curled her lip in disgust. I could stab the prince to death and he'd probably thank me for giving him the honor.
Someone below her looked appreciatively at the expanse of bosom her low cut dress displayed –green, of course, her signature color. She replaced her expression with a pretty smile, waving slightly at them. They waved back, taking an arm away from the lady they were with, who scowled and grabbed it back. As soon as they were gone, a cold, cruel smile took its place. Men. They were all exactly the same!
An arm stole around her waist. "Lady Delia," the prince said softly. "Would you care to dance?" She smiled prettily at him.
"I'd love to, your highness." She spoke, not only with her tone of voice, but with her whole body, from slightly lowered lids, to the way she leaned against his hand, telling him that dance was the least of what she'd love to do. He smiled and led her off among other dancing couples. Many of the other knights and young nobles glared at Jonathan, jealous of his opportunity to snare the belle of the ball, the most lusted after lady at court for a long time. Surprisingly though, there were one set of eyes that glared, not at Jonathan, but at Delia; a pair of purple eyes that had followed her every move with hatred for quite a while. Her lips twitched in amusement, though she suppressed a smile. She had thought for some time now that Alan of Trebond was a boy-lover. More specifically, that he was in love with his knight-master, who she just happened to be dancing with. I should tell Alex, she mused cruelly. Roger would be pleased- Alex could get to Alan, convince him we are not a threat, then remove him from our path to the prince. Roger had been looking for a way for quite some time.
Alan stalked out of the ballroom. She could see him trying not to do anything but leave casually, but he did all the same. A cruel smile tugged at the edges of her lips. Jealousy was a powerful tool. Having had it used against her, it was all that much more amusing to have it working for her instead. She knew from personal experience that it was all too easy to use against people. Maybe she should tell Alex- he was good at that sort of thing after all, as she could well attest.
The dance had just finished when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Lady Delia." She turned from Jonathan to sweep a deep curtsey to her lord and master.
"Lord Roger," she murmured.
"Roger!" Jonathan was obviously glad to see his cousin. Stupid prince. "How are you tonight?"
"Very well, thank you," the duke replied. "Might I request a dance with Lady Delia?" Jonathan bowed and conceded her to his cousin.
"Of course, if the lady so wishes," he said, a hint of jealousy apparent in his voice. Roger gave no sign of the amusement she was sure he must be feeling.
"It would be my pleasure," she answered demurely, accepting Roger's outstretched hand. He brushed it with his lips and led her away. As she watched the prince leave quietly, she wondered where he was going. Probably to see that pesky squire of his. Stupid prince trusts too easily, and doesn't look to see where he's going. One day he's going to trip- or someone's going to trip him.
Jonathan walked out onto the balcony, looking into the night sky. He had been inconsiderate of Alanna, really. It was her birthday after all. But surely she would understand- as the prince he had to attend balls and when Lady Delia was there, there was no reason in the world not to. Smiling slightly at the thought of the beautiful woman, he stepped back inside, heading for the door. Now that Delia was dancing with Roger, there was nothing to keep him here. He would go apologize to his squire. Not that he really had to, but it would be a good gesture. He smiled mistily as a memory that had nothing to do with Lady Delia brought itself to mind.
"Alanna!" he said, opening the door slightly. Where was his squire? "Alanna?"
"Here, Jon." Her voice was muffled. "I'll be there in a minute!"
"What are you doing, squire?" he asked. His squire's face appeared from behind her bed.
"Trying to find my pesky cat," she replied, annoyed. "He's here, I know he is, but he's hiding." She sighed in exasperation, before scowling. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then seemingly thought better of it and closed her mouth, flushing slightly.
"What is the matter?" he asked, amused. "Why are you blushing?"
"My cat has seen it fit for him to –ahh- enlighten me with his rather acidic wit." She glared under the bed. "Needless to say, I am not at all amused." Jonathan laughed.
"Talking to animals is considered a sign of an unstable mind," he teased. The uncertainty that he sometimes felt around his squire was not plaguing him at the moment, and he was hardly aware of the differences between this Alanna and the Alan he'd known before the BlackCity. "But here, I'll help you look." He walked over and knelt beside his squire, looking under the bed. There was no cat. Alanna sighed in exasperation, stood up, and flopped on the edge of her bed.
"It's no use," she complained. "He'll stay hidden until he wants to come out."
"Sounds like a squire I know," he said, eyes dancing. "Stubborn as-"
"All right!" she said, laughing. "I get the point." Narrowing her eyes, she muttered something under her breath that he didn't quite catch.
"What was that?" he asked. She blushed again.
"Nothing," she said hastily. "Just my-" She turned beet red and glared at the door. "I am not jealous, you priggish, assuming, feline!" Jonathan was curious.
"Who would you be jealous of?" he asked. Her face matched her hair now, and it was impossible to distinguish the roots of her flaming hair from her flaming face.
"No one," she muttered. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.
A black head poked up from behind Alanna and stuck his nose in her ear. Surprised, she jumped. One of her feet hit the still kneeling Jonathan in the nose. He winced. "There you are, Faithful!" she said, angrily. "I'm so sorry Jon!"
"Don't insult the cat, Alanna," Jonathan said. "You know he won't listen. You've got better things to do. And my nose is fine. You didn't hit it that hard." She bent over to look at his nose.
"You're sure?" she asked, concerned. "It wouldn't do with the Crown Prince to show up at a ball, with a bruised nose." He smiled.
"I'm fine."
Alanna smiled back. Suddenly caught in her amethyst eyes, he leaned forward and kissed her gently. She didn't react in anyway –now that he thought about it, she'd probably been too shocked. After a minute, she'd pulled away. For a split second, they'd been so close that he could feel the heat of her blush. He looked up at her, to see a face as pale as her sheets. Catching his gaze, she flushed again.
She stammered something that he didn't quite catch and stood. He stood as well and, seeing how closed her face was, left.
He came back to the present as the memory absented itself from his focus. The palace gardens are beautiful this time of year, he thought with a sigh. The place where he stood was surrounded by green: flowers twined around each other, trees overhung the path. Vines twined around the legs of a bench that sat next to a flowering tree. Illuminating the scene was the Goddess' lamp, serene and full. The bench was not the normal white marble it should be, and, looking closer, he saw a cloak was draped over it. On a hunch, he walked over and picked up the cloak. Looking at it closer, he smiled: it was Alanna's. So this was where his squire was.
A beautiful black haired woman in a violet dress walked down one of the paths. Seeing something familiar in her and after studying the woman for a minute, Jonathan's smile widened- she didn't take the normal mincing steps of the court ladies, but the wide strides of a boy.
"Hullo," he said calmly, holding out her cloak. "I think this is yours." She slid a black wig from her head, revealing red hair, cropped as short as a boy's.
"How did you know it was me Jonathan?" Alanna asked.
"I guessed," he admitted. Then, unable to resist at teasing her, he added, "And then I saw how you walked and I was sure." She laughed slightly, as he'd known she would. He did not however, expect the slight shiver that went up his spine at the sound of her warm laugh. A thought came to his mind, unbidden: In a dress, she's more than a match for Delia. Immediately, he tried to refute the idea, but found that he was unable to. Where Delia's beauty was fragile and womanly, Alanna had something special that made him love her- Where did that come from? Love her? Love Alanna of Trebond- his squire?
"Mistress Cooper tried to cure me of walking like a boy, but it doesn't seem to have worked," Alanna admitted. She was so relaxed now, in contrast to after he'd kissed her. She'd been tense then, but she seemed to have forgotten her awkwardness now.
Catching sight of a glint of gold behind the ember-like stone Alanna wore, he stepped forward and caught it in his hand. "What's this?" he asked, though he already had a suspicion as to what it was. Listening to himself, he winced: he sounded the way he always did with the ladies, not casual as he had meant to sound.
Alanna blushed. "It's a charm- to keep me from having children." Though he knew she hadn't meant it as one, the words sounded almost like an invitation to say what he so wanted to say. Throwing caution to the winds, he somehow gained the courage to do what he did next.
Putting his free arm around her waist, he asked softly, "Have you ever tried it out?" She was blushing as red as her hair.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her hands on his chest. Her voice sounded more like the boy she pretended to be than the woman she was. She knows what that means, he decided.
"This." The word was scarcely past his lips before they were pressed against hers. He had kissed her twice before, but this was by far the best of the three. She didn't resist –again probably too shocked to do anything. He kissed her, loving the feel of her lips against his. I love Alanna. It made him giddy to admit that. Heat rushed through him and he couldn't think straight. He didn't want Lady Delia anymore; had he been thinking clearly he would have probably realized at that point that the woman was a slut. But he wasn't thinking clearly and at the moment there wasn't a thought in his world besides Alanna: the feeling of her lips on his, how much he wanted her.
Such were the thoughts in his mind as his hand traced down and began undoing the laces of her bodice. He knew he'd gone too far when she pulled away from him abruptly, but was too far gone in thoughtlessness to repair the damage. "No!" Her voice was as afraid as he'd ever heard it. "I was crazy to think- Jonathan please!" We were both crazy. Crazy in love.
She can't retie her laces, he realized, feeling somewhat detatched from what he was saying and what he was thinking. Gently, he laced them for her. It was easy- he'd had plenty of practice.
"You're fighting what has to be. And you know it as well as I do." Later, once he was thinking clearly, he would regret those words; priggish and conceited, they were everything that would drive Alanna away, not pull her to him.
"I- I know no such thing!" she denied fiercely. She almost had him convinced, but even the clear part of his mind could see that she was trying as hard to convince herself as him. "I promised myself once that I would never love a man. Maybe I almost broke that promise just now because of moonlight and silliness-"
Anger and hurt rose in him. Silliness? Is that what this is? Silliness? No love, no caring, no friendship- silliness? And a calmer, less angry realization. It's not silliness to me. "Stop it," he said softly. "We belong to each other. Is that silliness?" Please say no, Alanna. You don't know how much it would mean to me. To you, if you would let yourself believe it. Seeing that she was not going to respond, he said, softer, "Surely you've realized all along this had to happen." Nevermind the fact that I've only really figured it out for certain in the last few minutes.Seeing that she was still not going to say anything, he released her. "Go away, before I change my mind."
As he watched her turn and run back to her room, he reflected over the conversation and shook his head at his stupidity. Unlacing her bodice, 'You're fighting what has to be', 'Go away before I change my mind'- Gods, she's never going to love me now. Not now that I've been such a prig. Berating and cursing himself, he walked back up to his rooms.
He didn't hear Alanna in her rooms. She was undoubtedly in bed right now, curled up with her cat- he felt a surge of envy towards the black cat. Opening his door quietly, he slipped inside and locked the door. Moving quietly, he began getting ready for bed. He was –almost- resigned and ready for sleep when he heard a knock on the door. Realizing the knock came from the connecting door, he froze. Dare I hope?
Cautiously, he walked over and opened the door. Standing in the doorway was Alanna. It was like a scene from a dream. Her eyes were bright with so many foreign emotions: fear, desire, even- yes, a hint of –dare he say it- love.
"I'm scared," she said softly, her eyes locking with his.
"I'm scared too," he answered, equally soft. And that's the truth. To my knowledge, no one has ever slept with their squire before. It's probably happened- but why do I care? I love her, she –I think, I hope- loves me. "At least we can be scared together."