A/n: Thanks for all your reviews they were all really great and supportive! I haven't worked on this fic in ages but I've fallen in love with it again and, because of that and because of all your encouraging reviews I'm putting this chapter up super-quick, quicker than I would've normally. It's also to make up for the long time between most chapters.. yeah, so I hope you like it and enjoy the trory action while it lasts because though I hate to admit it, for Tristan and Rory, tough times are ahead. Enjoy the story!

A Thousand Miles

Chapter Seven: Dancing

Jess swung his head back from an offending blow, his temples already throbbing. The King's burly guards, dressed in black with red sashes, laughed loudly, and aimed another punch at Richard, who was still unconscious on the ground. Jess started to feel concern towards his friend – he was beginning to worry that Richard might suffer some permanent damage. His fingers itched to grab the small, silver dagger, sewn between the golden trims of his jacket, or the sharp, curved, metal spikes hidden in the cuff of each sleeve. Jess had made the suitable adjustments to his blue jacket so he could carry weapons without looking conspicuous, just in case anything went wrong. But though Jess loved to boast about his many, various talents, there was one that he kept to himself – sewing. A sharp slap across his face with a sword hilt brought him back to the current situation. Wiping the blood away from his nose, he automatically reached for his dagger, but then stopped himself. He didn't want Rory to die. Looking across the room from him, he saw Jon hovering over Richard's body, staring at the sword in his unmoving hand. Jon leant forward as if to attempt to snatch the sword up, but then froze, and caught Jess' eye. He didn't want Rory to die either. Jess cringed, as he received a whack in the back from a large mace, and fell to the ground, ceding to the pain. So involved were the guards in playing with their amusements that they didn't notice a shadow pass over the walls and out the door. Charles noticed though. Mitch, save us, he thought, and tried not to let the tears fall as two guards pulled him roughly by his shirt and thrust him against a wall.

* * * * *

Mitch always knew that he was big. When he first joined Jess' band of thieves, he was a little reluctant that he would be accepted because of his size- large men weren't really good at creeping in the dark. But quick-minded Jess had accepted Mitch into the group, giving him jobs that he was good at, jobs that involved fists and muscles, rather than brains and feet. And, during time, and with the help of the other thieves, Mitch had developed his own style of disappearing into the shadows'. He could now do it as quietly and efficiently as any respectable thief, and he was quite proud of himself too. But here, in the palace, was where his talents were sorely tested. Yet, somehow, he managed to get past the guards, and managed to go unnoticed into the hall where the coronation ceremony was to take place. Of course, the fact that he donned guard's clothing helped him a lot. He had the facial expression and apparent mentality of a standard palace guard, and his bulky figure helped a lot too. So he managed to get to the hall un noticed.

He stood at the back of the hall with a couple of other guards, who were joking to each other about some woman or another. Mitch hid an expression of disgust, and viewed hi surroundings. The hall was large, very large, and open. It could hardly be called a hall at all. From his standing spot he could see the night sky, the stars twinkling in the distance. Huge pillars held up the roof, and dangling from each pillar was a large lantern lit with a single candle, creating a soft, illuminating, magical glow. It was the type of nights where fairytales took place. There was a large, red curtain at the front of the hall, with a golden tassel. As the shrill sound of trumpets rang in the air, the curtain opened

* * * * *

The King's mother grimaced as she heard the foul-mouthed guards behind her joke meaninglessly over some helpless girl. To divert her attention to something else, anything else, she looked to the front of the hall where the curtains were being opened. The trumpets sounded and the King's mother was relieved, for this drowned out the talking of the obnoxious guards. Lifting up her goblet of wine, she took a glance at who was behind the curtain and almost splashed her wine over her silver, silk dress. Could it be? Lorelai Gilmore back from the dead? I thought I had eliminated her once and for all, the King's mother thought. How in the world did she manage to survive that beheading?

* * * * *

As Rory stepped carefully down each step of the podium she was on, she felt the gentle swish of the red curtain on her hand. Swallowing nervously, she was glad that Tristan held her hand in his, and even though she would never admit it, she needed his strength. Walking down a steep-stepped podium in a delicate dress with a thousand people watching you with small beady eyes, waiting for you to trip and fall or do something just as embarrassing, was no light matter.

Tristan could feel the thief's hand shake in his and was slightly amused. Looking out confidently to the audience of nobles and guards, he saw his mother glaring back at him, her mouth pulled tight. Tristan visibly paled. What was it that he had done this time? His mother was angry, very angry. He could tell by the way the goblet was shaking in her hand; by the way her merciless gaze pierced him. Wait, not him, but the beautiful thief that was standing next to him. Now Tristan had to wonder, as his body moved into an automatic bow that he had practised hundreds of times, what did his mother have against this thief? Turning to face her, more to probe his memory than of formal etiquette, he bowed towards her and smiled slightly as she tried to curtsey back at him. He caught her blue eyes, and then something similar to a memory, but not quite, flashed in his mind. Of a girl with deep blue eyes watching him at his father's funeral procession. It wasn't an image, more of a remembrance of a feeling. And then, even further back in time, he remembered a little girl's mother being executed, both mother and daughter having stunning blue eyes. What was their family name again? Giled, Gilles, Gilmore.

he murmured out loud and then brown haired thief immediately turned to him as if responding to her name. When he just stared at her she glared and looked away. Hmm this was something to think about, something to do with the Gilmores and his mother.

Marcus' curt voice interrupted his thoughts, as he announced the proceedings for tonight's gathering. Tristan was to step to the left, his courtier to the right (consequently next to the Duke), and the crowning ceremony should begin! There was a blare of trumpets and a string of high-pitched flute notes. Tristan stood forward while Rory took a seat next to the Duke. She almost admired his confidence, is unwavering nerve to stand up in front of a thousand beady-eyed spectators. Sitting back, Rory watched the ceremony proceed

* * * * *

A new king's coronation is a grand thing, but it is an even grander event when the king is your son. Yet the King's mother's eyes were not on her handsome, blonde haired son, but on the lady sitting rather shyly on the right, next to that annoyingly fat duke. On the outside, her body was stiff and composed as usual, but on the inside she was a confused wreck. Lorelai Gilmore, back from the dead? She had to see Marcus about this, immediately

* * * * *

Rory yawned, and wondered just how long a coronation ceremony took. She was tired of listening to Marcus carry on in his annoyingly superior voice, tired of watching the King's blonde head bob in acknowledgement at all the appropriate times, tired of the entire crowd watching her like she had three heads, she was just tired of everything. She began to wonder why they couldn't just slam the crown on his head and get it over and done with.

Why did I even come here? she asked herself, seriously regretting supporting this whole idea of stealing the crown jewels.

Ah, don't be discouraged just yet, pretty lady, The Duke next to her had overheard her rhetorical question. That king needs someone to stand by him, through thick and thin, even through boring coronation ceremonies.

I'm sure he's got lots of servants to stand by him and suck up to him all the waking hours of his life, Rory complained.

Being a king isn't what you're thinking. Everything isn't handed to you on a silver platter- in fact things are the opposite. The king serves the people. The Duke looked at Rory with his curiously green eyes. And plus, who needs enemies when you have royal advisors like Marcus. He added with a half-smile.

That part about Marcus is true, Rory admitted. But still, why does the king have to be so Rory groped for the word.

The Duke supplied kindly. Yes, I suppose he is, but that's what he's supposed to be, isn't it? You'd criticise him if he was anything else but a king, wouldn't you? he added meaningfully. Rory got the feeling that the Duke wasn't all as flustered as he looked, and that there was more than a spark of intelligence in that chubby head of his.

But still Rory objected, automatically trying to win the argument. He could do a better job at being king

And you could do better than him? The Duke asked. Rory, caught off guard, thought fast.

I don't know, I guess I've never tried. She said, finally.

Believe me, you don't want to. The Duke said matter-of-factly. I've seen the stress that he goes through everyday, and the loneliness. He locks himself in his study for hours on end, alone. His own mother doesn't spend more than an hour with him a week. These past three years he's been studying at Marcus' smaller castle near the coast, with Marcus as his personal tutor. No wonder the boy's not perfect, but if you ask me the boy's doing a hell of a good job considering the circumstances.

Rory was silent for a long while. Then she looked up at the Duke and smiled. she said. You've given me a lot to think about.

Turning towards where the king was standing, she noticed that Marcus had finally put the actual crown on the king's head. She noticed how tall the king stood, how proud. As she watched him she wondered how hard it must be to be a king, and now had a different view on the royal monarchy.

Maybe they aren't all that bad, she concluded to herself.

When the official ceremony ended at the party began, the king turned to Rory, after seeing that Marcus was immersed in deep conversation with his mother. Grimacing visibly, he told her to stay where she was and that he'd be right back, and hurried off to separate the two conspirators. Rory walked off to the side of the wall a little bit, tired of all the half-glances the nobles were giving her, and waited patiently for the king to finish whatever he was doing, keeping Jess in mind. Someone clothed in black reached out and tapped her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and turned around to see Mitch!

Good evening, pretty miss, said Mitch, pretending that they were meeting for the first time. Only his eyes betrayed him. May you honour me in a dance.

Rory smiled a sufficiently shy smile, in case any eagle-eyed nobles were watching. she said, holding out one delicate hand. Mitch took it lightly and led her to the centre of the hall where a group of young nobles had started gracefully sweeping across the ground, swaying to the beautiful music that was being performed. Mitch, putting his right hand lightly on Rory's waste and his left hand in her right, he began to dance with her, slowly, until she picked up the gist of the dance. Rory was surprised at Mitch's dancing ability.

And where did you pick up such a talent for dancing? she asked innocently.

That, my good lady, is a secret, he winked. Then leaning forward, he murmured, How is your good brother?

He's in big trouble after losing my new silk stocking. All his friends are too. They were all in it together. Rory replied hoping that Mitch was getting her message.

* * * * *

After Tristan had split up his mother and Marcus, he took a casual glance at where that pretty, brown haired thief was supposed to be waiting. She wasn't there. Cursing under his breath he felt cold sweat breaking out on his face, and knew that if he didn't find her he would be in trouble, big trouble. Quickly scanning the hall, though, he found that his worries were meaningless. That thief was dancingwith a palace guard! Tristan felt something close to jealousy surge up inside of him. She could be graced with the company of the king, but instead she chose a lowly palace guard? Well, he'd put a stop to that!

As he strode towards her, he saw the two get closer and closer, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. He tried to hide his disgust, and tapped the guard on the shoulder.

Duty calls, he said simply. Get out of here and do your job.

The guard levelled the king's gaze. Yes, your majesty, he said icily, and stormed off, a big mass of muscle. Rory glared at him.

You didn't have to be so rude, she complained.

I told you to stay where you were. Tristan reprimanded her harshly, and patted his sword hilt. I call the shots. And then, without warning, he swept her into his arms and began to dance. Rory looked around and realised that people were beginning to stare.

Why do we have to dance? Rory said, wanting to just disappear into the shadows like she normally would have.

I have to dance as king, and if I don't dance with you I can't keep you in my sight. Tristan explained. Rory frowned, and concentrated on the ground. As much as she didn't want to, she found that the king was an extraordinarily good dancer, and she was enjoying the dancing. The two flowed, they just matched each other. But she would not look into those blue-green eyes, she would not feel the pity she felt for him when she was talking to the Duke, she would not begin to like the king who threatened to kill her.

But, even Rory had to admit, the ground was not a very amusing thing to look at, especially when you were in the strong arms of a superb dancer. So, eventually she looked up, and her deep blue eyes found that his blue-green eyes were gazing down on her, watching her every mood, not with the calculating, cold gaze of an attacker, but the slightly amazed and appreciative gaze of someone falling in love. Rory mentally shook herself, but could not look away from the king's eyes. She couldn't help but imagine what it would be like without the current circumstances. If she wasn't a thief and he wasn't a king and that her friends were held prisoners somewhere in the same castle. What would she feel like? She had a glimpse of the warmth in her heart, the shiver up her spine, and butterflies in her stomach. If she let the feeling completely take over, where would she find herself?

You still haven't told me your name, he murmured.

she said softly, as the song ended on the most perfect note.

Rory felt like she was a princess out of a fairytale. He she was, a peasant, a thief, a swindler, dancing with the king. But something brought her back to reality. The sound she was waiting for and yet dreading at the same time- the sound of someone drawing their sword. Nervously, Rory turned around and saw what she feared most to see- the sight of Marcus holding his sword, the razor sharp tip dangerously close to Mitch's heart.

He's one of them, Marcus hissed, and Rory's heart fell. Their last hope was gone.