Disclaimer: I don't own anything; it all belongs to Tamora Pierce.

Author's Note: The majority of this story is the memories and thoughts of Jasson, but there are a couple of places where it's a little confusing who's perspective you're in. I tried to make it clear, but I don't know how good a job I did at that.

Love Lost

Jasson of Conté looked around the private dining room. Silence filled it, suffocating the inhabitants. His blue eyes roamed from face to face finally landing on his mother. Pity reached new heights as he gazed into her eyes. They had once been bright with life and wonder, but now, they were dull and full of sadness. But, then again, it wasn't her fault that their family was falling apart slowly day by day. It wasn't her fault that her children had abandoned their childhood home in search of greener pastures, not that Jasson could blame them. Only he and Roald remained, Roald because of his obligation to Tortall as future king and Jasson wouldn't leave his favorite brother alone in this hell they called home.

He shifted his stare to the other end of the table where his father sat, always the picture of protocol and courteousness. King Jonathan lifted his head and gazed back at him with blue eyes identical to his own. Jasson averted his eyes to the food he had been pushing around on his plate for some time now. He prayed to Mithros that this dinner would end soon and he would be free from his father's presence for a time. To be as far from his father as possible had been his only wish since that day so many years ago.

It was one of those things he had tried to forget, but he had failed miserably. The memory of that day still lay in a dark corner in the back of his mind always choosing the most inopportune moments to jump to the forefront of his thoughts. He had never been able to look at his father the same way after that day. The image of the man he had loved and respected was forever and irreparably tainted. That fact saddened him more than any other.

He still remembered it just as clearly as if it had only been yesterday. He had been five, maybe six, and was bored beyond belief. All of his siblings were either grown or had much more interesting things to do than give him the slightest bit of attention, so he was left to find his own amusement. Looking back on the situation now he realized that anyone with half a brain, or a spare minute to care, wouldn't have left a young boy to his own devices. It was a recipe for disaster.

Fifteen, or so, years ago:

Having scoured the palace for entertainment and finding none, he had returned to the royal chambers and thrown himself on his bed as he worked himself into a proper sulk. He spent several minutes huffing in hopes someone would return, hear his pouts, and take it upon themselves to appease him, but the chances of that happening were miniscule seeing as how that person who found him was usually his mother and she was currently away from Corus with a Rider group.

He had just reached the peak of his moping when he heard the door open. He leapt off the bed and peered out the doorway into the sitting room. He was surprised to see his father slouched in a nearby chair with Lady Alanna seated across from him. Usually the king spent the majority of his day locked away in his study with his advisors, it was a rare occasion to see him before bedtime in the royal suites.

He obviously hadn't been noticed or was deftly being ignored, neither of which were a new experience, seeing as how the two adults were still in deep conversation. He took the time to examine the pair; it was a widely known fact that when the Lioness was in the capital she and the king were rarely ever seen without the other somewhere nearby. His keen young eyes took in every detail of the scene. He memorized every freckle, gray hair, and wrinkle, and then made sure to store it away in his memory. He, unlike his brothers and sisters, had not had the privilege of spending anything that could be considered quality time with his father. State dinners and other public affairs were really the only time he spent near his father, and even then it was cut short by his accursed bedtime.

"Jon," Alanna spoke softly in a tone he didn't think he'd ever heard come from her mouth, "what's bothering you? You look awful," she said bluntly. He was appalled. No one had ever taken that tone with his father; even his mother spoke with the utmost respect when she addressed him. He fully expected his father to give her a stern reprimand for her lack of respect, but once again he was wrong.

"You know very well what's bothering me. The crops failed in the north and the villages are starving. It hasn't been a good year, and there isn't enough to feed everyone. We've spent weeks trying to find enough grain to get everyone through the winter, but there isn't enough money in all of Tortall to buy that much food."

"I really wish you wouldn't lie to me," she said, glaring at him as he rubbed his temples. "I know you better than you think, Jonathan, and don't think I can't tell when you're leading me around in circles."

"I hate to disappoint you, but you're wrong."

"Liar," she challenged, a dangerous tone in her voice. Jasson crouched on the floor, hoping she wouldn't spot him; he had no desire to be on the receiving end of her temper.

"It's nothing." Alanna only raised an eyebrow at the terse statement. "Thayet and I had an argument before she left, and I haven't heard from her since."

"What on earth did you say to her?"

"Why do you automatically assume that this is my fault?"

"I believe that is self-explanatory," she replied smugly. "Anyway, she's with the Riders and she's only been gone for four days."

"Five," he quickly corrected. She rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh to accompany the insolent gesture.

"She'll be back before you know it and the two of you will have made up, I'm sure of it."

"Well, I'm glad someone is. We've been fighting so often lately that we've hardly gotten back on good terms with one another before she's taken to sleeping in Kalasin's old bedroom again."

His head dropped to his hands, his body hunched over and Jason wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a tear roll down his father's cheek. Never before had he seen a grown man, much less his father, cry. Men didn't cry, not his father. He was strong and powerful and… and a king. Kings didn't cry. He then resolutely decided that his father was definitely not crying. He watched as Alanna moved from her chair to kneel in front of his father and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, which normally would have been out of her reach considering their vast difference in height.

"Jon, why didn't you tell me things had gotten so bad?" He looked into her eyes, now completely in control of his feelings, and shrugged in a noncommittal way. Jasson saw Alanna's eyes flare with anger. "I understand that communicating has never been a strong point with you, but I would highly recommend that you improve at it, otherwise I wouldn't be surprised if she leaves you."

"Oh, as if you're the queen of conversation. Your tongue has almost been the death of you more than once."

"I resent that," she hissed, now standing in front of his chair.

"You know it's the truth," he said calmly. Not liking the feeling of looking up at her, he also stood, but now she looked quite small compared to him. The top of her head barely grazed his chin.

She took a step back, but then apparently changed her mind because she flung her entire body at him. He was caught by surprise and stumbled backwards barely staying on his feet as she landed several well-aimed punches. He managed to catch one of her fists but then the other one hit him squarely in the gut causing him to double over. She used the opportunity to push him to the ground and straddle his waist continuing all the while to use him as her personal practice dummy. After the initial shock of it all passed, Jonathan was able to easily flip them so he was now atop her small frame. She spent a few more useless minutes struggling before falling limp against the floor, her chest heaving from the physical exertion.

"You do realize that your small stature is not to your advantage in wrestling," he teased, no longer angry with her. He sat back on his heels, still pinning her to the ground, as she crossed her arms and scowled at him. She pushed against his knees but he wouldn't budge.

"Are you going to get off me now or not?"

"Hmm… let me think, about it…" he replied, his eyes never leaving her face. "I don't think so."

"Let me up right now," she growled.

"What if I don't want to?" he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

"Jon," she warned, seeing him leaning closer, "don't –" she started, but her words were cut off as his mouth covered hers and his tongue slithered in between her open lips. Jasson watched in horror as his father kissed someone who was most certainly not his mother.

When Jon finally detached his mouth from hers, Alanna quickly raised her hand and slapped him with all her might. She was quite pleased as the resounding smack filled the room and a red welt appeared on his face.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded angrily.

"Like you don't know," she hissed, practically livid. "Don't think that you can kiss me whenever you please just because your wife is gone and the two of you are in a tiff."

"Yes, I'm going to kiss you and throw my marriage out the window just for the hell of it. I thought you knew me better," he challenged.

"I know that you can be an ass, which is exactly what you're doing right now."

He gently laid his hand over her mouth. "I've wanted to do that for the longest time. It wasn't just a heat of the moment kind of thing I did just because Thayet's gone and I'm in desperate need of bedmate."

"I don't need to hear this," she said fervently as she struggled to get out from underneath him.

"I think you do. If you haven't figured out by now that I'm still in love with you then you're denser than I thought."

"Think about what you're saying! Mithros, are you crazy? You are throwing happiness away with both hands for nothing!" she shouted.

"Nothing? I really thought you had a higher opinion of yourself than that," he joked, trying in vain to lighten the mood. "Do you want to know what Thayet and I fought about? Well, I'll tell you. She told me that she could live in a loveless marriage, but she wouldn't put up with me fawning over another woman. She was talking about you, and I denied it. I was lying to her and to myself, but I realized that she's right. No matter how much you don't want to hear it, I love you, Alanna."

She was speechless. His voice had been laced with emotion through the entire diatribe and he finally choked on it as his voice caught in his throat. She reached up and ran her fingers across his cheek drawing her hand away quickly as if it had burned her.

"Don't do this to me, Jon. Don't put me through this," she begged. "I'm married to George," she stated, as if to reassure herself.

He clambered to his feet and extended a hand to help her up. She brushed off her tunic not daring to look him in the eye. "Why is it that you haven't brought that up until now?" he questioned softly. She met his gaze, but once again averted her eyes as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"I don't know… it just didn't seem…" she trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence. She flinched when his fingers tangled in her short hair; his other hand under her chin lifted her face so she was looking him in the eye.

"Try to refrain from slapping me this time," he whispered. This kiss was gentle, tender. It was filled with years worth of passion. She surprised him when her hands went around his neck and she returned the kiss with equal fervor. He would never have ended it, but soon the need for oxygen overpowered his desire to be close to her.

"Just this once," she said quietly, and he repeated the sentiment before claiming her mouth in another kiss. Things quickly escalated as hands fought to reach heated skin and mouths laid claim to every inch that was exposed. They separated briefly to help the other out of tunics and shirts. After that, the two stumbled across the room in the direction of Jon's bedroom. He pushed them both through the open doorway and kicked the door closed with such force that the decorative sword that hung on the wall shook as it banged shut.

Jasson got to his feet. He hadn't moved as the scene had played out before his eyes. At first, he had been bored stiff and therefore, intrigued. After all, spying was a young boy's favorite hobby. But slowly he had wished not to be privy to the display in the other room, but he didn't dare move lest he be caught. While he wasn't sure if punishment would have been worse than watching his father swear his love to another woman and proceed to try and eat her face, he wasn't about to take the chance.

Not knowing where else to go, he exited the suite as quietly as possible and made his way to the other end of the palace where his brother, Roald, stayed. He moved quickly through the halls trying his hardest not to be noticed. When he reached Roald's rooms, he hurled himself at the door and pounded on it relentlessly until it swung open, at which time he fell into the room and collapsed against his brother's legs. Roald would explain it all away and everything would be fine, it had to be.

"What's the matter squirt?"

Roald closed the door and sat down on the floor across from where Jasson had planted himself. Sometime since leaving his room he had started to cry and the tears still continued to stream down his face. It didn't help matters that he had to recount what he'd seen to his brother. He was so busy talking that he didn't notice the scowl that replaced the look of concern on his brother's face. At the end though, Roald stood and left the through the door which Jasson had barreled into a short while ago.

He looked at the closed door very used to being left, even unintentionally. It was, as he had come to realize, the burden of the youngest. The only solution he could see to this particular problem would have been if he had been lucky enough to have been born an only child. So he sat and waited for Roald to come back and remember he'd left him there.

Present:

That had been the last day that he had used the adjective great to describe his father. If pressed, he would admit that his father was a great leader, but as a father, a role model, a man, he was lousy. He had tried to love them all, but he had been unsuccessful because he couldn't love any of them as much as he loved her. In his father's defense, there had been no other acts of infidelity besides the one, but that one had been enough to cause the break from his father. Betrayal was an issue all to itself though, his father may not have been with his Lioness physically again, but mentally he had always been with her. Over the years, he had forgiven his father, but things would never be normal between the two of them.

His father had taken him aside later that day and begged forgiveness. He might have gotten his wish if he hadn't asked for penance and a secret-keeper in the same breath. Jasson gave him half of his request. He hadn't been able to forgive, not right away, but he had kept the secret. He buried deep inside of himself never telling another living soul. He wasn't proud of himself for keeping the secret and he was ashamed to call that man father, but he'd refused to make their family the next scandalous story that made its rounds in the court gossip mill. He wasn't even sure whether his mother had ever found out or not because by the time he'd taken interest in her feelings she was already drowning in grief.

After that day he'd watched his father like a hawk, especially when Lady Alanna came to court, which wasn't all that often. But never again was there anything bordering on impropriety. Well, nothing that he'd seen anyway. What surprised him the most about his observations though was that it wasn't Alanna he watched. He didn't blame her. It was his father he scrutinized, not allowing him any room for error. This revelation led him to the truth of what troubled him the most about the entire situation.

His father wasn't a god. He was a man who had weaknesses and made mistakes.

The End