Queen's Own: This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but so many people told me I should continue it that I felt guilty. And then it ended up being an epic instead of an epilogue. So I split it into two chapters. This is the second-to-last chapter of Being His. Oh, and a random note, I'm listening to my sister playing Avril Lavigne's song "My Happy Ending" which I think sort of fits this fic. So does Evanescence's "My Immortal" from George to Alanna. Awww!! Thanks so much to Gauri and Teresa for their feedback, you guys make great betas!
Vira: The only thing we own is the plot and any characters you don't recognize, aka Lianne, Roald, Jasson and Roger. Everything else is a creation of the wonderful Ms. Pierce.
This is set fifteen years after the first chap. Lianne is nineteen and surprisingly, still unmarried, Roald is eighteen and a knight, Jasson is sixteen, Gary's squire and mostly tucked in the corner and ignored, and Roger is sixteen and again, most people politely ignore him and pretend he doesn't exist.
Epilogue I
Lianne of Conte, oldest child and only daughter of King Jonathan IV, bent her head in mourning as she walked along behind the ranks of men in black. Her hair was done up in an elaborate knot on the back of her head so none of her hair fell to conceal the tears welling up in her eyes. Her throat ached with the tears she could not shed. It had been three days since that accident. Three days since her mother had died.
Her mother's gelding had been incredibly placid. He'd needed to be for the queen to ride side saddle in full skirts. So as a groom boosted her mother into the saddle, no one expected the dependable bay to rear. Lianne's red roan palfrey danced out of the way as the horse took off, eyes rolling with pain and fear.
Time seemed to slow as the gelding approached the fence, then jumped it. And the queen had tumbled slowly in a flurry of blue skirts onto the hard earth. Lianne had sat, deaf and dumb, as her heart pounded in her ears. It can't be. I'm dreaming, she's okay, she's got to be.
"'Anne!" Roald tugged on her elbow, tears welling in his eyes. "'Anne, you're the only Healer here- you need to see if she's okay." Flanked by Roald and Jasson, she'd proceeded forward to where an anxious groom knelt over her mother's body. Silent, she dismounted and suddenly stumbled the last few steps to her mother's side.
"Mother," she whispered, clinging to the last shreds of composure to keep from wailing with fear. "Please be okay." Shakily, she extended a hand, only to yank it back. Her composure broke, and she buried her face in her hands, dumbly denying it, shaking her head. "No, no- it's not true, it isn't true- she's not-"
Strong hands pulled her to her feet, and she clung to the comforting shoulder, sobbing as her brother's tears soaked into her hair.
But now she was alone, following her mother's funeral procession, garbed not in mud-splashed purple, but in somber deep lilac that could have been easily mistaken for a dark grey. Roald walked further on with Jasson and her father. She made no effort to hide the tears streaming down her face. Tortall's Queen is dead.
It felt like hours later that they reached the burial grounds. Now, she stepped along to stand between Roald and Roger. The four of them held hands as a Priest of the Black God stepped forward to speak the funeral speech. Though Roger had been a symbol of all that was turbulent in Lianne's life, the three true-born children of Jonathan had gravitated to his unloved bastard. He had gradually been accepted into their circle, becoming their fourth sibling. He could have been Jasson's twin- the two looked enough alike. Now, she clung to his hand until her fingers were white.
"Delia left court," Roger whispered quietly. He never referred to her as 'Mother'. "With Sir Alexander in disgrace. They proved it- she paid the stablehand to put a thorn under your mother's saddle pad. She'll be brought back soon enough, I suppose. That's treason- she killed Her Majesty." His voice became almost choked on that last sentence. His mother had killed the mother of his best friends, the woman she had so dreadfully wronged almost seventeen years ago.
Lost in thought, he put his arm around Lianne's waist, as she struggled to keep her composure. Distracted, it wasn't until the queen's casket had been lowered into the damp earth that they realized who was conspicuous only by his absence: the king.
She's dead. The words echoed over and over in his head. She's dead- and it's the fault of a woman who bore me a bastard son. He closed sapphire eyes in an effort to dissuade memory. But, like so many things in his life, attempting to prevent it, only drew it nearer.
Am I your friend?"
"I do believe you are. I'd like you to be."
"Well, then I am- Jonathan."
In all my centuries, I have not known such a jest! Young lion- see your companion for what she really is."
"She?" Confusion shot through his head as Alan doubled over in pain. But as he straightened, the Ysandir's remark became all too clear.
"I may be a girl, but I can defend –or attack- as well as any boy!" She blushed. "Highness- I-"
"Later." The explanations he so desperately wanted would have to wait. He handed her his tunic. "Just- who are you?"
"Alanna of Trebond, Highness."
I'm going to travel and do great deeds." He laughed and ruffled her hair.
"I believe you. Don't forget your friends when you're a legend."
She laughed. "You'll be more famous than me! You'll be king one day!"
"And I'll need all my friends. Will you still serve me when you're doing great deeds?"
"I'm your vassal. I'll never forget that."
Alanna of Trebond- I will be honored if you will serve as my squire."
She kissed his hand, and he saw the tears that she tried to blink away. "My life and sword are yours, Highness."
He looked at her, lying there on the bed, finally awake, as she squeezed his hand. "Thank you for taking care of me Jon." Reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from her face, he found that he had –half on purpose- brought their faces very close together. And he could stand it. He kissed her.
I'm scared." Her eyes were bright, and she had never looked so beautiful to him as she did now. "Help me, please."
"I'm scared too," he said, voice rough. "At least we can be scared together."
Come as my betrothed." The words lay between them, and he could feel the tension suddenly appear.
"Jon, I can't!" she'd finally exclaimed.
"Why not?" Why couldn't she marry him?
"Because I'm a scandal. I killed your cousin. For six years I was disguised as a boy-"
Tired of her arguments, he interrupted her. "I knew what you were, for most of that time." Please say yes, Alanna.
At least they're women, Lady Alanna!" he said. "At least they know how to act like women." Silence stretched between them as he watched her grow angrier and angrier. And at that moment, he was glad to see it.
Finally, she hissed, "I refuse to marry you!"
Enraged, he'd replied, "And I think I'm well out of a potential disaster!"
"Obviously! Find yourself someone more feminine, Jonathan of Conte!" She stalked out, and he watched her go, feeling rather proud and vindictive. It was only later, riding home, that he'd realized how much of a fool he'd been.
Alanna?" Footsteps could only mean one person, since he'd forbidden anyone else to disturb him. He rose from his desk to greet her, surprised and relieved. Suddenly, unable to help himself, he'd pulled her into his arms. "I need you," he whispered into the red hair he'd missed so much. "You have no idea- he killed himself, Alanna. He killed himself and now- I'm the- King. There's an entire country depending on me, and- Gods!" He straightened, pulling away so he could see her face. Please say yes. "I'm so sorry for what happened in the desert, Alanna. That was- a mistake. I still love you and I need you, Alanna. Marry me, please." He was begging now, unashamed. "Please- I love you so much Alanna, I need you as my queen." She was obviously shocked.
"I- I-" And then came the word he was pleading her to say with every fiber of his being. "Yes."
"Thank you," he murmured, happy for the first time since his parents had died. "My Queen."
Sometimes, we don't realize how much of a fool we've been until the consequences of our actions have caught up with us in an irreversible form. Caught in sadness and self-blame, the King of Tortall lowered his head into his hands and cried. He didn't know who he was crying for, or even what. All he knew was that he couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop grieving. He grieved for the loss of the most incredible woman he'd ever known, the woman who'd been a best friend to him for so many years, the only woman he'd ever loved, and the woman he'd hurt the most. He was grieving for the past they'd left behind, a past of promises that were now broken, a past of dreams that had never been fulfilled. And maybe, just maybe, he was even grieving for himself.
Jon- Sometimes we don't realize how much of a fool we've been until our actions have caught up with us in an irreversible form. To be blunt, I never should have married you. I ruined both of our lives, our children's lives- we were so young, with so much of our life ahead of us. And now, well, we're not exactly old, and already I feel the years pressing down on me, weighing me down. I can't help thinking that we denied ourselves of more than half of our lives, lives that should have been spent as best friends married to someone else. I have Seen that I am going to die soon, at the hands of your mistress. Please, Jon, send her from court, if only for my memory. Please. Keep Roger around- the children love him. And please- let Lianne choose, as much as you can. Don't imprison her the way we imprisoned ourselves. There was a long time when I was very angry at you. You tried to claim that my shield was not my own, you called me whore, bitch, you hit me, you had an affair and you lied to me. But now, being angry can't do anything but hurt. So I regret my decisions and apologize. I can only hope that you would do the same. I'm so sorry, Jon, for everything. And I love you. I always have, and I always will.
–Alanna
That night, the king summoned his eldest daughter to him. Lianne of Conte went timidly to his study, and knocked on the door. She saw her father very little, and very rarely under pleasant circumstances.
She fell gracefully into a deep curtsey, eyes fixed on the floor. "Lianne." The voice held its usual note of command- as well as a different tone that she'd never heard in it before. She rose, still keeping her eyes fixed to the floor. "Have I been that bad of a father? That my children won't even meet my eyes?" The words threw her off, so that she was forced to think for a moment before replying.
"Perhaps, Your Majesty," she said softly, raising her eyes to meet his. "It is what we have seen you do, that makes us afraid." His eyes flashed dangerously, and she ducked her head again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I've gone too far."
"No." His voice prompted her to raise her eyes again. "No, you haven't. In fact, it is I who must apologize." He met his daughter's eyes for the first time since she was a small child of three. "I am sorry for what I have done to you."
"What changed you?" she asked, stunned.
"Sometimes," he said, eyes gaining a faraway look. "We only realize how much of a fool we've been until the consequences of our actions have caught up with us." His eyes returned to hers. "Lianne, I have something that needs to be done. It's for your mother. I think, that you are one of the only people who can do it. Will you?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "Your Majesty."
Lianne of Conte, Princess of the realm of Tortall, knocked on the door of the large house, face hidden under the hood of her cloak, trying to escape from the rain that pounded down onto the streets of Port Caynn.
"Are you sure this is the right house?" Roger grumbled beside her. "I'm freezing."
"This is what Father's contact said," she said crossly. "I'm just doing what I was told."
"How do you know-" he began, but was cut off as the door opened. A young man stared fiercely down at them.
"What do you want?" he challenged.
"I'm here with a message," Lianne said firmly. "For one George Cooper." Whoever that is.
"An' who are you to be deliverin' such a message?" he demanded. Lianne bit her lip, unsure what to say.
A middle-aged man looked over the younger man's shoulder. "What's goin' on?"
"Strangers, Marek," he said swiftly. "Claimin' they've a message for 'is Majesty." The older man's eyebrows snapped together. His Majesty? But this man couldn't be a king, not living here and with a name like-
"An' who are you?" he asked. Lianne shook her head in annoyance, and her hood fell back. Marek raised a lantern- and stepped back a pace in shock. "Alanna?" he whispered, stunned. "But no- ye can't be-"
"I'm Lianne," Lianne said quickly, taking advantage of his shock. "Alanna's daughter. Now, may we come out of the rain?"
"O' course," he said, moving aside to let her through into the hall. "Rand, get 'is Majesty." The young man scurried off to do what he was told.
Lianne and Roger waited quietly in the hall. One of Roger's hands rested on the hilt of the sword he'd brought with him. "An' who are you?" Marek asked, noticing him for the first time.
"Roger," he said tensely. "Of Eldorne." Marek raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "I am Her Highness' companion on this trip from Corus."
"Marek, what's this?" Lianne looked up at the new voice. The speaker was a tall man, of about her father's age. His brown hair was graying at the temples, and his hazel eyes held experience and command. He carried himself like one accustomed to being obeyed, much like her father always did.
"See for yerself, Majesty," Marek said tersely.
"Who are you?" 'Majesty' asked.
But she never got a change to answer. As he stepped off the stairs towards her, the lights came on in the hall, bright after the dark night. As he caught sight of her, his eyes widened with shock- and something else. His eyes flicked from Roger, then back to her. "Alanna," he whispered, much like Marek had done. But Marek's tone had not held the sadness and pain this man's voice held now. "Jon, Alanna, you-" But he shook his head, lowering the hand he had raised. "You can't be her. You're her daughter, aren't you? Jon's daughter."
"You know my father?" she asked, surprised as much by the bitterness and sorrow in his tone as the fact that he knew her parents. "And- Mother?"
"Aye," he said hoarsely. "I knew them- a long time ago. What brings you an' your half-brother to Port Caynn, Highness?"
Trying not to show her shock that he had recognized her and Roger so quickly, Lianne replied evasively. "We're on an errand for the king," she said quietly. "But before I may deliver the message, who are you? And how do you know who we are?"
"I am George Cooper," the man said quietly. "As to your companion- he had to be one of Jon's children and Jon would never send two of his heirs out together into Tortall, unguarded." He smiled sadly. "I taught him too well for that. Now, what's your message?" He said it as though the answer was something he wouldn't want to hear.
Wondering yet again who exactly this man was and how he knew her parents, Lianne, reluctant for some reason, told him. "We were sent to bear the sorrowful news. The Queen-" She stopped, unable to continue. George's face began to register a scared, almost pleading look, as though he was begging that what he suspected was not true.
"My mother," Roger said, spitting the word as though it was something to be ashamed of. "Killed her." His words rang in the sudden silence of the hall. Marek's face drained of color, and he looked swiftly at George Cooper.
His skin was sheet white, hazel eyes filled with an immeasurable pain. "Alanna's- dead?"
"I'm sorry," Lianne said softly. But somehow, it didn't begin to fill what she felt like she should be saying, what she wanted to say. "I'm so sorry."
"See them t' guest rooms," George said, voice choked. "I'll speak with you in the mornin'." He retreated as Marek watched. Once he had left, the man shook his head. Rand, who had reentered, looked confused and slightly dazed.
"I'll show ye t' guest rooms," Marek said, quietly, bowing to them. "Highness."
"I'm Lianne," she protested, following him.
"'Anne?" Roger asked softly as they walked. "What happened there?"
"I- I don't know," she admitted.
She's dead. She can't be. George stood out on the balcony of his room, looking out at the city. His sight blurred as tears filled his eyes. How could you leave me, Alanna? I've been waiting for you for so long, love. And now, you're gone. The woman I've loved for so long, for so many years. He lifted pain filled eyes to the heavens. "Trickster," he whispered. "Great Mother. How could you do this to us?" The tears in his eyes began to spill over. "What did she ever do to deserve this?"
He reached under his shirt, for the worn cord that hung there. He wasn't one for lovers' trinkets, but several weeks before Alanna had been married, he'd had matching rings made by a silversmith that he knew. One of them, he had given to her. The other, he had kept, all these years, hung around his neck, a silent reminder of the woman he loved. He pulled the ring from the cord, snapping it in one swift movement, before placing it on the ring finger of his left hand. If only. If only.
As tears rolled down his cheeks, he stared up at the sky, vainly trying to invoke the Sight, his patron god, anything, to see something that wasn't there. A single cry of rage split the night, before he sank to the stone and cried, huddled like a small child. I've loved you so long, Lioness. Ever so long.
To George's credit, the rooms were not the reason neither Lianne nor Roger could sleep that night. They were well furnished, with comfortable beds. But though Lianne lay silent for a long time, sleep eluded her. Instead, thoughts swam through her head, things that did not make any sense, things that didn't fit together, things she understood all too well.
Roger on the other hand, lay awake, for entirely different reasons. He had not had a quiet night to think since the Queen had been killed, and now that he had it, he was not sure that he liked it. He spent his night grappling with guilt and anger. Guilt because of the wrongs he had been born of, the pure maliciousness and thoughtlessness of his parents. But his anger was directed at the harlot who had dared call herself his mother. From the moment she had been free of him, she had begun working to regain her perfect figure, abandoning him to nurses to pursue the attentions of both t he king and Sir Alexander. The only time she had ever paid attention to him was to flaunt him in others faces or to use him to gain her own power. Other than that, she had been too preoccupied with the king and Sir Alexander. That knight had always scared Roger, and he'd kept well out of his way whenever he visited Delia's suite, which was often.
When a maid came to wake the two of them in the morning, she found both of them already awake. Roger was the possessor of black circles under his eyes that made him look slightly raccoon-like. Lianne just looked tired.
George looked little better when they saw him in the study the maid showed them into. His face was drawn, hazel eyes looking large and full of pain over dark circles revealing that he too, had not slept at all.
Roger and Lianne accepted the breakfast the maid brought them and ate it, keeping one eye on George. He said nothing until they had finished, and the maid had cleared the dishes away. Then, he cleared his throat quietly.
"How did she die?" His question was quiet and all too clear.
"Delia killed her," Lianne said, equally quiet, staring at her hands. "She put a thorn under her saddle pad- her horse reared and she fell." Her mind revisited the horrible sight- blue skirts tumbling to the earth, her mother lying still in death.
George smiled bitterly. "Your mother and Delia always hated each other. I remember when she first came to court- she snared Jon, the slut. Alanna had a reputation for bein' shy of all the ladies, but with Delia- that wasn't shyness. That was hatred, plain and simple, just as Alanna hated Roger." Roger started. "Aye, she hated the Duke of Conte, all right." His eyes abruptly came back to the present. "But that was a long time since. More'n twenty years now."
"How- how did you know my parents?" Lianne ventured quietly.
George smiled slightly, a real smile for the first time. "I bet you don't know a whole lot 'bout your parents." Lianne shook her head. "I first met your mother when she was just a lass of ten. I was seventeen, or so. I had just become the Rogue." At Lianne's confused look, he elaborated. "The King of Thieves in Tortall." Lianne's eyes widened in shock, but she didn't dare interrupt the story she so desperately wanted to hear. George seemed to be forgetting he had an audience as he continued.
"We met on her first day in Corus." He smiled faintly, remembering. "Her servant, Coram, accused me –an' rightly so- of bein' a thief. She went up the hill and I didn' hear from her for a while. Then, into the city she came one day, her 'n her big friend Gary. Mind you, I thought she was a lad, an' so did everyone else, even Jon. Alan was her name, Alan of Trebond.
"We became friends fairly quickly. She came to visit me a lot, eventually bringin' Jon 'n' then Raoul down to meet me at the Dove. An' then," He smiled again. "She had a few problems with her disguise. Nothin' that no one else would notice, but rather troublesome for her. So she told me the truth. Have to admit, I was surprised. Alan was a girl. Not somethin' you hear about every day. But everythin' finally made sense too.
"We were friends, best friends. An' then," His eyes darkened. "'Round the time she turned fifteen, I- I began to fall in love with her. Problem was, I wasn't th' only one. See, Jon had found out she was a girl when they went to the Black City several years a'fore."
"That was Mother and Father?" Lianne exclaimed, interrupting. "I've heard the legend, but- I never knew it was them!"
"Oh, aye," he said. "That was Alanna and Jon all right. Jon found out she was a girl, and asked her t' be his squire- of course she said yes. He was also one of her closest friends- mine too. But he was noticin' she was a girl too- really noticin', even though at the time, he was sleepin' with your mother." He nodded at Roger. "Anyways, Alanna knew how I felt, and she knew how Jon felt. An' she chose him over me." His expression darkened. "I understood, and I was willin' t' wait. And I did.
"She became a knight, defeated the Conte Duke, who revealed her true sex to the whole court durin' their duel. An' she went to live with the Bazhir. A little while later, Jon followed her to the desert. An' he proposed. She said no, an' they got into a fight. He left, an' she stayed there, a shaman. An' I dared t' hope.
"But then, Their Majesties died, and she came back an' married Jon. An' you were born. I wasn' there for any of it- I couldn' stand t' see her, married to him. An' so I never knew what was happenin' to her."
Lianne's face clearly reflected her shock at what George had told her. "I never knew half of that- and she was my own mother! The Conte Duke, the Black City, the Bazhir- I didn't even know much about her time as a squire, aside from what I had managed to weasel out of Duke Gareth- Gary, I guess you know him as. And- I've never heard you mentioned."
"Not surprising'," he said quietly. "With th' way your father's been actin' t' her." He took a deep breath. "Ye're gonna need t' head back t' Corus soon, before your father starts worryin' about you two."
"I was actually thinking we would head back today," Roger broke in. Lianne glanced at him, but didn't comment.
"Jus' let me or Marek know, an' ye can leave whenever you want," George said. Though his voice was perfectly polite, Lianne had the distinct impression that he would hardly be disappointed to see them gone. Really, she couldn't blame him. Looking as much like her mother as she did, she must provide a ready knife to the heart.
"Thank you," she said, with genuine warmth. In the last few hours, she had really come to like and respect this man.
"Thank you for comin'," he replied. "Before ye leave, come t' me. I've somethin' for Jon." Lianne nodded.
"I will," she promised.
Hardly an hour later, she was standing next to Roger in the front hall, taking a thin package from George. Looking at the rain, still pounding down outside, she furrowed her brow and cast a spell on the package, to prevent it from getting soaked. Tucking the letter into her pack, she pulled up her hood against the rain. "I'll make sure it gets to him," she said quietly. He nodded, and left. A different young man was there to let her and Roger through into the streets of Port Caynn.
They made their way quickly through the streets to a local inn, of a good reputation. Roger had a quick discussion with the barkeep, and they were in the stables, saddling their mounts. Within minutes, they were on the road again, heading home.
Queen's Own: More coming soon, I promise!!!!!! I've been working really hard to get this out, so please review and make me feel appreciated. Huggles to anyone who reviews, and if you don't want huggles, you can have cookies. Who other than me has finished Trickster's Queen and thinks it's a good book??!! Ok, that was my random comment of the day. Now, until the next chap! Queen's Own