To whom, with all submission, on my knee
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.
"
--King John; V.vii.103-105

Corus was silent. It was not, however, the same silence Alanna had noticed upon King Roald's death. That had been a quiet and respectful silence; this was a tense, deserted, astonishment. It was worse than the road had been. This was a city; in the early evening it should have been still thronged with tradesmen and beggars, not sparsely peopled with hurrying, hunched figures. Alanna had been mentally preparing herself to force a path through a crowd, but there was no need. Her and Raoul's presence was barely remarked, except to give them free and deferential passage all the way to the palace gates.

She was reluctant to relinquish her horse to an overawed stable boy: she had been looking forward to the well-worn ritual of caring for her mount as a way of preparing herself for, well, for whatever for which she needed self-preparation. But Raoul made a significant motion with his chin, and so she simply wiped her suddenly sweaty palms ineffectually on her leather riding breeches and followed. She had no reason to be nervous, she told herself. Absolutely no reason. This was ridiculous, she lectured herself when her stomach refused to listen. She was skilled on the battlefield or in single combat; she had even learned to make herself useful, or at least not a hindrance, in the council chamber. She had probably spent more time at the palace than at home; she was certainly comfortable there. Grief was one thing. Regret was one thing. Anger was one thing. This was something else, and it was unacceptable!

"It isn't your fault, Lioness." She had not noticed Buriram Tourakom, now Lady of Malorie's Peak as well, approaching. She, having apparently already greeted her husband, now addressed herself to Alanna. Alanna scowled. She had thought she had unpicked that particular knot last night once and for all. And now Buri would bring it up again!

"Just what your son did," Buri commented. "Or rather, what he would have done were he not so polite to his elders."

Son? Surely…

"Alan," Buri clarified quickly. "Gods, Lioness, you didn't think I meant…?"

"I don't know what to think about anything anymore!" There was an uncomfortable silence. Alanna knew she must look as though she were about to become hysterical.

"You know," Buri said quietly. "Actually, you probably don't know, but I'll tell you anyway. You were my model, Lioness. When I was barely a woman and in a strange country, not knowing which way to turn myself, I looked to you. You were strong, you were loyal, you were determined, you made difficult choices as best as you were able. Don't let me down now."

Before Alanna could answer, Raoul was at their side, unclasping his own cloak to drape it around his wife. "You oughtn't to be out in the cold like this, Buri" he scolded.

Buri's look stated her opinion of his coddling very clearly. "I'm not going to go keel over if I move, dear."

Alanna couldn't help but smile. "That's men for you," she informed her younger friend. "George tried to keep me in bed for the first week when I was pregnant…" With Thom, she had been about to say. "When I was first pregnant." Buri squeezed her hand.

"It isn't very cold, anyway," she told her husband, handing back his cloak. "And the Healer said it wouldn't matter a bit that I'm a little older than most."

They walked together through the courtyard. It was cold, and dark clouds promised the winter's first snowfall. Black hung from the palace windows, and all its gay flags were respectfully lowered. But Alanna's eyes were pulled not up but down, to the narrow slits -- no more than an inch high -- that allowed a bit of natural light into the palace's lower levels. Where she looked, she saw the windows to servant quarters, or service wings: kitchens, perhaps, or clerks' offices. But on the far side of the great yard -- where she was carefully avoiding looking -- underneath the chapels and the armory and the courtrooms, similar slits helped light the upper rooms above the darkest, and perhaps most feared reaches of Corus: the Royal prisons. In those dungeons malefactors awaited their judgment, and there they submitted to the law's awful power to maim, torture, and kill. There, her son undoubtedly waited now. And there -- perhaps -- he would be punished. As King's Champion, Alanna had learned very quickly to steel herself to the unpleasant fates of offenders against royal justice. It had not been difficult: she had little compassion for criminals, no matter their desperate pleas for mercy. She had never felt that an evil childhood or impoverished circumstances excused lawlessness. She still held such sentiments. But she had never before felt a chill when she contemplated the fortress-like building that housed the courtrooms and their lower, companion chambers.

Alanna and her companions were not the only ones crossing the courtyard. Soberly-clad servants scuttled from building to building, or stole a moment from their work to huddle and gossip with a friend along a wall. These bobbed reverences as their betters passed, but doubled their whisperings in their wake. Alanna was nearly knocked over by a careening page, the royal device on his uniform marred by a hastily-applied bend sable. He briefly glanced up at them, then blinked quickly a few times, keeping his head lowered.

"'Pardon, my lords, my lady," he said. "I…"

"No matter," Raoul replied.

"Though a little more care might be appropriate, under the circumstances." Buri added her comment softly but firmly.

The boy looked stricken. "I didn't mean any disrespect to… to anything! My lady. Really, I… I…"

This time, Alanna took pity on him. She had never been a mothering sort, but he was so flustered… He reminded her a bit of Alan at that age. "Of course you didn't," she said.

The boy's eyes got wider. "Lady Lioness?" He said, and then turned a brilliant pink.

Alanna nodded. "But go on, now; you were quite in a hurry, I believe."

With a final bow, he left them, walking quickly but sedately.

"Alberic of Groten," Raoul commented. "Ansel's an arch-conservative if I ever knew one, but his son's not a bad sort, from what I've seen. Quite capable and willing to learn, and cheerful besides." Perhaps realizing the incongruity of the current atmosphere and his praising a boy for his good cheer, he said nothing more.

They passed into a smaller courtyard, ringed by buildings that held apartments for nobles who lived at court, and the pages' and squires' wings. By virtue of being King's Champion, Alanna could always expect to be housed here. And here it was quieter. Only one figure hurried across -- toward them. News of their arrival had already spread, then. Alanna squinted to make out its approaching features in the gathering dusk. Something seemed familiar about it… it was Alan.

But he walked more slowly the nearer he came. When he was some feet away, he stopped to bow carefully. Alanna remembered, an aching lump in her throat, the times when little Alan had raced to her arms upon her infrequent returns to the Swoop. And now, he didn't seem to welcome even her gaze, let alone her embrace. She wondered if it was Raoul's presence -- No! It couldn't be that he was embittered over that! Alan was old enough to know that circumstances unforeseen could appear at any moment. And with a reorganization of the King's Own coming up so suddenly… No, it must be something else. Well, then, if he would not greet her first, she would have to meet him. She left Raoul and Buri to run to her grown son.

He was nearly a head the taller; she had to reach up to hug him. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and he had been crying. "Oh, Alan." Poor Alan: he had always been anxious for approval, and now this… It would be for him what it would have been for her had Roger succeeded when she was Jon's squire. She wanted to comfort him, tell him it would all be all right in the end. But how could she? It would not be all right. And it would not end soon. At least he looked well, if one discounted his nervous, flickering stare. A strong young squire, ready to become a upright knight of the realm like his mother. She had heard from Raoul that he had half-contained … It … in Jonathan's chambers and run to give the alarm. That he had demonstrated again how levelheaded and conscientious he was.

"Mother. I--" He hung his head, stepping slightly away from her. "I'm sorry, Mother."

"And what have you done to apologize for?" That wasn't how it was supposed to sound. She meant to comfort, not to accuse! How out-of-touch was she from her children, that she could be perfectly kind to an anonymous page, but always distant from her own son? She tried to correct it. "Alan. I'm so proud -- and so glad -- that I have one good son left to me."

"I'm not. I'm not a good son."

In the background, Buri muttered, much louder than she'd probably intended. "Well, boy, you haven't committed High Treason yet; puts you up a few notches in my book, at least."

Alan had heard it as well. "What -- What are you going to do, Mother?" He asked quietly, hesitantly.

"Do? I shall serve the Crown, as I always have. I'm not so old that I need to retire as the Champion (though if there's another who can do it as well, I'll step down)." It was the truth, but not an answer to the question he had really asked.

Over Alan's shoulder, Alanna could see another group approaching: one lead figure, trailed by a few others. The king. This was it; this was the object of her apprehension. Alan, hearing the footsteps, and guessing at their implication, scuttled off to the side.

"Sir Alanna." She blinked. It was Jonathan. No, of course not. On the periphery of her sight, she could tell that her son and companions were bowing.

She followed their lead. "Your Majesty."

"Well. You made good time."

"It was an easy journey, sire. Easier than what awaited -- awaits -- us, I think,. Both Roald and Raoul nodded slightly in affirmation. "So what news? What's happened?

If Roald was surprised to hear the question from her and not from Raoul, he hid it almost completely. "Much the same as it was," he said, looking towards Raoul. "Numair Salmalín makes us his report tomorrow." Now he looked at Alanna. "It's expected that he'll recommend using the Dominion Jewel to exorcise Roger's spirit, so that Master Thom can stand trial." How could he say that so calmly? But he had dealt in these words and phrases for nearly a week. Repetition brought familiarity, she supposed. But to her? To say so coldly, 'Master Thom can stand trial?' It wasn't that she was surprised. Not at all. Roald had every right not to care. He had every right to be angry. She was angry herself. And of course there would be a trial. She had known that from the first. There would be a trial, a capital trial… "Though of course," Roald was saying, "my Lord Archpriest will have something to say about it as well."

"Don't they always." Such a typical comment from Raoul!

"There are no reports of unrest and the borders are stable, though it is too early to tell with any certainty whether my father's death will have sparked a change there. Thanks to our couriers, the entire realm is aware that the king is dead." Roald stood at ease, his arms instinctively clasped behind his back.

Raoul nodded. His eyes showed hint of a private smile behind the bleak demeanor he had worn since had arrived at the Swoop, probably since Jonathan's death. "A few worries the less, at least. And --" He hesitated a moment -- "You unquestionably do outrank us now, Your Majesty," he said gently.

For a moment, Roald clearly didn't understand. Then he raised his eyebrows and carefully adopted a more relaxed stance. "Thank you, my lord." He paused a moment, as if to include Alanna in his next words, and separate them from what had gone before. "I had thought not to burden you further until tomorrow." They nodded at that. She was tired, Alanna realized. Not unduly exhausted, but filled with the honest fatigue of a long day of travel. Time to sit down and think was very welcome. "My father's funeral is in two days time. His body is in state in the Sun Chapel, should you wish to pay your respects."

Jonathan. Could she do it? Could she look at his body and realize that Roger had won? -- No, not won: Roald was king, and the spirit-thing would be gotten rid of. But could she face her longtime enemy's victim -- and her son's? Her king? She was being ridiculous. Of course she could. And she had to see his body, had make her apology, and say goodbye. Had to pay her respects. And not only to the dead, either…

She knelt to Roald with almost imperceptible care, removing her still-sheathed sword to lay it between her and the king.

"Sire." She held out her joined hands. A cool breeze suddenly passed across her face and through the cloth of her shirt where the undergarment was exposed at her lower arms. "I am your liege-woman, of life and limb, of truth and of earthly honor, bearing to you and your heirs against every creature living or dead. So help me, my Gods." Against every creature living or dead. When Old King Roald had died unexpectedly, many had delayed in giving their wholehearted allegiance to Jonathan. She would make it clear that she did not intend any such wavering with this new king.

He had taken her hands in his. "I accept your fealty to me and to mine." His voice was only a little shaky, and that perhaps because he was startled. She kept her head lowered, less for the outward semblance of respect than because she did not want to look into Roald's face. She told herself that it was simply because she could not bear to see his visage, so similar would it be to Jonathan's. And it was true! Father and son had always been very alike. During their few days on the road, when he spoke to distract her from her worries, Raoul had said as much. "And I shall bear it in good faith, in truth and earthly honor, against every creature living or dead." Roald raised her up to give her the kiss of peace.

He seemed to have steadied himself, Alanna thought, looking critically at her new king. It had to be difficult to accept the homage of an older, more experienced knight from whom one had been used to take direction. But Jonathan had not been ill at ease, and he had done as much. You didn't see him until months after the fact, not a scarce week, she reminded herself. Most of Roald's slightly dazed manner would be the shock of it all. And this would not necessarily be easy for her either, the realized. Could she trust a man to lead her whom she had held in swaddling clothes? Duke Gareth had, and Myles; they would do so again. They would all muddle through this together, then: she and Roald, Raoul, Gary, Myles … and the younger generation, too. Keladry, her old squire Nealan of Queenscove, Alan.

She could almost feel Raoul suppressing another smile on the edge of her line of sight. Since when had the blunt old Lioness gone in for ceremony and show? Ah, Raoul, but you know how important it is to fill the void, to reforge the web.

And indeed, Raoul was stepping forward. "It takes an old friend to remind one of one's own duty, I suppose, sire." It was the half-joking, half-deprecating sort of remark for which Raoul had always been known, though now his voice was quiet, even solemn.

As Raoul knelt, Alanna wondered suddenly if her Alan -- or Roald himself, for that matter -- truly realized the importance of such moments. Pledging faith and rendering homage: these were the cornerstones of their world. This younger generation was so concerned with their legal reform, with their Council of Lords and Commons, that they were in danger of forgetting that the realm was not tied together with pieces of paper, with impartial laws, but with oaths of fealty, with the individual, personal bonds between people. Lady Knight Keladry spoke of equality under the law, of uniformity of the law, but Alanna could see the end of that vision, and it frightened her. An impersonal government that paid in specified coin for the service of its knights. No, not even knights. In the world that was the inevitable product of this zeal for change, there would be no knights -- no nobles -- only soldiers. No fiefs where a lord cared for the well-being of his people. It was the world the merchants wanted. A world where everything was regulated by unchangeable and rational law. It would never stand. You could not hold a country together with greed and reason alone. A man -- or a woman -- needed an oriflamme for which to fight, a lord to whom to be loyal. She had not been motivated only by a desire to show support to Roald when she had sworn to him so precipitously.

She had not watched her king's face when she had done her homage, but she studied it as he and Raoul swore their oaths. He was solemn. He understood the grave and awesome bond that was being created, she could tell. He fully realized the burden of lordship, the responsibility of justice and leadership that he took as he accepted fealty. Perhaps there was hope for Tortall, after all. A few flakes of snow began to fall. Even if these were the first, it would be an early winter.


Apologies for the delay: I'll try to be more regular.
--A.R.