12. Chess

There was a soft knocking on the door to his chambers. Myles looked up from the intricate map spread across his lap, covered in circles and arrows of various colors. Not another war council- the last meeting had just finished barely two bells prior, and they were no closer to a solution than they had been months ago. George had assigned all his best men to glean whatever information was to be had, but they were still coming up empty. As he started to rise from his seat by the fire, ignoring the protests of his stiff joints, the door slid open to reveal not a royal messenger but a young page.

"Don't get up Grandfather, I was just hoping to talk to you for a moment." Alan was at his side before he could protest, grabbing his arm and easing him back into the chair.

"Is there any news?"

He wondered what Alan really wanted to ask. They both knew that with the passes still snowed in from the winter, it could be weeks before the first solid reports from the border began arriving. And his grandson would have been one of the first to know- after the King of course- if anything had been heard, however small; it was one of the advantages of having a grandfather who was the realm's chief Spymaster.

Indicating that Alan should sit, he drew up the small table that had stood by the side of his chair until it was positioned between them. On it was a small carved chess set, over which generations of knights received advice or a kind word or good conversation. Pouring himself another mug of tea, Myles offered his grandson a drink and settled himself for a long evening. The boy was a stubborn, and though he clearly had something on his mind, he did not seem eager to address it. Myles was willing to wait.

Alan had always been his favorite, if he was allowed to have a favorite grandchild. It probably should have been Aly; she was the born spy, charismatic and witty, the perpetual center of attention. And more like her mother than either would care to admit, though her interests clearly lay in her father's work. She was her father's darling, just as Thom had always been the closest to his mother. Alanna took extra care with Thom, fearing that her eldest son would follow his namesake down the lonely path to ultimate power and untimely death. So she made sure to let him know he was loved, and that he would never be alone. But mostly, she made sure to watch him carefully.

The boy across from him, sitting in silent contemplation as he considered his next move, had always been the odd one out. Quieter and less ambitious, he often seemed to be forgotten when surrounded by his more outspoken siblings. Alan had surprised everyone when he had decided to by a knight at 13; no one had seemed to notice that it had been his dream all along, but had needed the extra three years to find the courage to step out of his sister's shadow. Seeing him find the strength to follow his own path had been one of his grandfather's proudest moments.

The last few months must have been hard for the young lad, what with his mother headed north, his father riding from one end of Tortall to the other in search of any small hint as to the Scanran's plans, and his sister flitting about the court catching all the boys' eyes in an effort to prove that she didn't miss him. Aly had taken her twin's decision to start page training hard; up until last fall they had been virtually inseparable. Now they threw themselves into separate pursuits, Alan his studies and Aly her mischief, afraid to admit how much they missed one another. It hurt him to see the two so at odds with one another, but he knew that it was something that only they could work out. All wounds healed with time, and they loved one another too much to fight for long. Or so he hoped.

"I don't want to go to war. All the other pages, they can't wait to be squires, so they can go fight like their fathers or brothers or uncles. They can't wait to be heroes. But I don't want to go to war, and I don't want to have to be a hero."

Though softly spoken, the words carried easily across the small table, seeming all the more sudden after the stretch of silent contemplation. About to reassure the young boy that no one would expect the pages to fight at the border, Myles caught the shame in his eyes and realized that this was something deeper than a child's fear. After a moment of thought, he picked up a wooden pawn from the game before them and faced his grandson for what could quite possibly be the most important discussion they would ever have.

"No one should want to go to war. To watch the men around you fall as you struggle to end a life before another can end your own- only the extremely ignorant or the extremely cruel could actually desire that. Many of the pages have seen the effects of warfare, but perhaps you've seen more than most, having to watch your mother ride off into the distance time and time again. It's natural to be afraid of death, especially when you're young. But I believe that when the time comes, you will find the courage to do what is asked." He truly believed it; Alan had a hidden strength, not that of his father or his mother, but something that was uniquely his own.

"As for being a hero, well, I'm going to tell you a secret. I never wanted to be a hero either. And I haven't been. I let the other knights ride out to slay immortals, safe behind my desk. But in the end, that's what the realm needs. It's like a chess board; all the different pieces have to play a part. The pawns may not move as far, but the game can't be won without them. If all the world was heroes like your mother, everyone would be gone adventuring and there would be nobody left to plow or farm or govern the country. Not to mention that there wouldn't be anyone left to need rescuing. Your role may be different than your parent's, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. And I know you well enough to say with confidence that you will find your place, even if it seems impossible now. Because not every soldier can become a legend, and not every person can have their name remembered forever; sometimes just being remembered by those who love you the most is enough."

Alan simply thanked him and turned his attention back to their game, his expression unreadable. But he seemed more calm and contemplative even than normal, so Myles could only hope that the words had rang true.

He had seen so many young knights ride proudly into battle. He had seen those same knights return, bandaged and bruised, and watched them get slowly get better, knowing that the deeper wounds were those beneath the surface, the ones that no healer could help. And he had known that he couldn't weep for them, because they were in fact the lucky ones. The ones who had made it home. It was in the cost of war that his life had been measured, and he cursed the gods that he had lived to see another fought. As he pictured the soldiers at the border, ready to fight and die because someone had told them it was their duty to their country, Myles couldn't help but think that maybe Alan was the smartest of them all.