Disclaimer: Although it seems kind of redundant saying this yet again – Tortall does not belong to me, nor do the characters.
Once again, I had been pondering about Alanna and Jon's fate. And out came – this. A simple, one-shot story inspired by my stubborn muse. [My apologies for previously giving the idea of a 'Slash'. :)]
Without a doubt, this story is dedicated to those who reviewed my last one-shot: Pseudo Inferno. Many thanks, guys, for feeding my writing muse.
He looked about his study; perhaps – perhaps it was to be for the last time.
No, definitely for the last time.
A part of him wanted to stay, wanted the comfort and routine that had been his life for the past forty-three years. He had traveled widely, but always, he had returned here at the end of the journey with a light heart. It had sheltered him, protected him – the palace was his home.
Yet, a greater voice called to him; a tune stronger than all the forces and elements of the palace added together. It was something he could not find in Corus. He had been waiting all these years, waiting for the moment to ripen.
And that moment had come at last.
The flickering oil lamps around the room bathed him in warm, lustrous light. Shadows of old memories bade him farewell from every corner of the room. Yes, it was time to let go. Time to follow the call of his heart.
His eyes lingered on the large, life-sized portrait hanging opposite his desk. The people in the portrait stared back at him. There was himself – His Majesty of Tortall, posed, smiling – with a platonic arm draped around his wife. She looked flawless, beautiful, yet he sensed - not for the first time - an aura of nervousness and apprehension. Ranged around them were the children: Liam, with his mother's green eyes; Kalasin, the court beauty, with that mischievous, impish grin; and Prince Roald - the oldest of his children. His heir to the throne. Silent and commanding, much the way he himself had been in his youth. 'He will make a good King', Jon thought with pride.
A noise at the doorway startled him, yet he did not turn. Even before he recognized the sound of her footsteps on the polished, hardwood, he knew who it must be. Only she would come to him at a time like this.
Queen Thayet joined him in front of the portrait, silent, lips drawn. If tears had been shed throughout the day, her eyes bore no sign of bitterness. If her heart was bleeding with grief and sorrow, her face did not show it.
It was always going to come down to this, and her mind knew it well. Over the years, he had treated her as a husband should; caring for her, protecting her, shielding her from harm… He had given her the warmth of a family, and had showered her with gifts and bad poetry on her birthdays. However poor his compositions might be, she had kept and cherished every one of them.
He cared for her greatly, and who knows, he may even have loved her. But underneath it all, she knew she had always been his second choice. She was Queen, if only because the one in his heart had not wanted the position. She had had her place by his side for the past eighteen years, but never a place in the depth of his heart. It was reserved, and she knew it well. He was waiting – HAD been waiting for the past eighteen years – for that spot to be filled. And finally, that time had come.
She had tried to keep him at bay, to keep his charm and allure from winning over her emotions. Because one day, she knew, she would have to let him go. But she had failed – she had let him get past her defences. If she suffered now, then this was her consequence.
So be it.
"Is everything ready?" Jonathan asked her in a low, tenor voice.
She nodded, not trusting her voice, least it betray her frantic desire to cry. Finally, she chocked out; "Yes, my Lord. Your horse is waiting".
He drew her closer to him. She stood limply at his side for the last time – listening to his soft, but urgent voice. He spoke of their past together, of their reign as King and Queen of Tortall.
He spoke of how their time had now drawn to a close.
"Take care, Thayet." Gently, he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. The last kiss she would receive from her husband – her King. "Whatever you should do in the future, my best wishes go with you."
He turned to go; and she caught his hand. "Jon!" He paused, mid-stride.
Her emotions had gotten the better of her, and she struggled to suppress them. There was a river of words wanting to pour out of her mouth – all eighteen years worth of it. But she bit them back. If not for his sake, then for hers; she swallowed. Revealing her heart now would only make it more painful for the both of them. "What – what shall I tell the court?"
He tensed, not turning around to face her. Finally, he spoke the answer she had already guessed. "Tell them… it was a hunting accident."
Gently, he detangled his fingers from hers, and walked firmly out of the room. She bit back a cry, and closed her eyes – as if to force back the grief threatening to escape, but did not try to stop him. The moment had come, and she knew it was time to let him go. Perhaps, someday, if fate willed it, they would meet again. As friends.
Down in the courtyard below, she heard the sounds of a horse's hoofs, pounding against the hard earth, growing fainter and fainter all the while. She listened, until the last vestiges of it faded into the distance.
With a sign, she turned away from the portrait. It was his time – his time to listen to his heart, and follow his dreams.
Somewhere, she knew, there was a woman waiting for him. A certain woman with fiery, copper lock and stunning violet eyes – waiting to fill the missing piece that she could not.
A/N Hmm. Perhaps I should re-name this story "She Knew". Lolz. After going back to edit it, I have realize I used this phrase over 5 times. :P Comments and reviews?