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The door to Duke Gareth of Naxen's study was solid oak, darkened with age and thousands of coats of polish. It was sturdy enough that overly curious pages could not eavesdrop on their training master's conversations through it, though that might not have been intentional. Alanna of Trebond shifted from foot to foot as the duke's servant Timon rapped smartly on the wood, wondering why she'd been called away from her sparring session to attend on the duke. Timon had only shrugged when she'd asked, saying that he wasn't certain but that it was urgent.
"Come," the duke commanded, and Timon opened the door and bowed Alanna inside. She tried not to feel grubby and dirty, and wished she'd had time for a quick bath and change of clothes before being presented to the duke.
She walked three steps forward and bowed, as protocol demanded. But when she straightened, her thoughts were abruptly derailed as she caught sight of the man sitting in a chair in front of the duke's desk. A servant, dressed in livery - in the colours of Fief Trebond.
Alanna felt herself grow pale. There was no reason she could think of for her father to have sent a courier to Corus. No reason why the man should have looked troubled and exhausted, as if he'd ridden hard to get here. And certainly no reason why Duke Gareth should have been frowning at her the way he'd once done when she'd been a page, and in trouble for fighting.
The only explanation she could think of was that her secret had been discovered at last, and the man had come bearing her father's decision of what should be done with her.
Only... that didn't make any sense, she realized after the first moment of panic had passed. If Duke Gareth had realized that he had a girl hiding among the boys of his squires, surely she would not have been allowed to blithely continue with her duties while they sent a message to her father and waited for his answer in return. At best she would have been placed under house arrest, confined to her quarters. At worst, she'd have been hauled in front of the king and a magistrate to answer for her crimes against the law and the gods.
"Y-your Grace?" she said, cursing herself for that slight waver.
"Alan, come in," the duke waved her forward, and if he still seemed upset, it didn't appear to be directed at her, exactly. "Sit down, please. As you can see, a messenger from Fief Trebond arrived today. He's looking for Thom of Trebond, but..."
"But my father is confused, as always," Alanna said, lowering her eyes as she sat in the indicated chair. This was familiar territory, at least. She'd already had the conversation with Sir Gareth where she explained about her father's poor memory, and inability to tell his 'sons' apart. Thankfully the courier was not a man she recognized, and probably new to her family's service. If he'd known the truth about his master's children, he would already have informed the duke when Sir Gareth sent Timon for 'Squire Alan'.
To her surprise, the courier shook his head. "I'm afraid not, m'lord squire," he said gruffly. "Yer father's not much of anythin', anymore. The Black God has him in his care, now."
"The... what?" Alanna heard a strange roaring in her ears, and it made it difficult to understand what the servant was saying. She stared at him, trying to make sense of his words and failing.
"It were a fever, this past winter," the man continued doggedly. "Maude did ever'thing she could fer him, but it were his time, I guess. I was s'pposed t'bring the message t'Lord Thom." He shrugged, a helpless expression on his face.
"Thom... my brother..." Alanna felt disconnected from her body, as if the words were being spoken by someone else. It reminded her of the time when she'd healed Jonathon with the help of the Goddess, except this time there was no comforting Presence assuring her that everything would be all right. "Thom's in the City of the Gods." 'Lord' Thom, the messenger had said. But that wasn't right, because the lord of Fief Trebond was her father, and her father...
Her father was dead, she finally understood, and the knowledge felt like a blow.
"We'll send a palace courier to him immediately, of course," Duke Gareth was saying, his words reaching Alanna distantly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Alan. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."
"It's all right, your Grace," Alanna said, feeling numb. "Thank you, getting the message to Thom is the most important thing now. He'll know what to do." If he wasn't so absorbed in his studies that he didn't even notice the message. He was so much like their father, that way.
Duke Gareth studied her a moment longer, but finally nodded. "Very well, Alan, you may go. You're excused for the rest of the day."
"Thank you, your Grace." Alanna stood and bowed, the motions mechanical. The duke inclined his head in acknowledgement, and she left the study.
Timon looked worried as she passed, but she only shook her head and moved a little faster, not wanting to stop and answer questions. She hoped nobody else would see her in the halls and try to talk to her, either. She still felt disconnected, as if there was something soft and gauzy wrapped around her, insulating her from the world.
Duke Gareth had probably intended that she spend her free time in one of the chapels, dedicating prayers for her father, but when Alanna finally looked around she discovered that she'd returned to her own room instead. As if a rope had been cut, all the energy drained out of her abruptly and she collapsed down to sit on the bed, burying her face in her hands.
Her father. The only family she'd ever known other than her twin, since their mother had died giving them birth. And yet in so many ways he was more distant to her than Maude or Coram. He'd never been able to tell her and Thom apart. He'd never spent any time with them, save the occasional dinner when he wasn't so completely buried in his dusty scrolls and books that he forgot to eat. Even then his thoughts had usually been more on his researches than his children.
Still, he was her father. Alanna felt as if she should be crying, grieving for him like a proper daughter would. Or was that a girl's reaction? Jonathon had cried when they'd thought his mother was dying, during the Sweating Sickness. Many of them had grieved then, when their friends had died. But they'd been children, and that was different.
Coram, she should tell Coram. He'd served with her father for his whole life, and he would want to know what had happened. Was he on guard duty today? She couldn't remember, couldn't seem to think past the fog that had enveloped her.
There was a brief knock on the door between her room and Jonathon's, and then he opened it without waiting for her to answer. "Alan, are you in here? Gary said his father had sent for you..."
He stopped short in the doorway as she looked up at him. She opened her mouth to explain, and nothing came out. All her words had been blocked behind a lump in her throat that also seemed to be holding back the tears she could not shed.
"Alanna..." Jonathon looked a little lost, as if he wasn't certain what to say. Alanna stifled a half hysterical giggle, thinking that she'd never seen her friend and knight-master with quite that expression on his face before. She wondered what her own expression was, to make him look like that. "Gods, Alanna, what is it? What's wrong?"
"My father is dead." Alanna finally managed to find her voice, but the words emerged wooden and hoarse. "They sent a messenger to tell Thom that he's Lord Trebond now, but they found me instead." Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it to still the betraying motion. "I suppose I should be glad it wasn't someone who would know enough to know that 'Alan' should be 'Alanna'."
Finally Jonathon moved. He sat beside her on the bed and to her surprise he took her in his arms, pulling her tightly against his chest. "Jon, you shouldn't," she protested, trying to pull away. "What if someone comes in?"
"Then they'll see me comforting a friend, and there's nothing wrong with that," he replied firmly, refusing to release her. "I'm sorry, Alanna. I wish there was something more I could do."
She shook her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him and absorbing the warm strength of his arms around her. She rarely got to be this close to him, not since he'd learned the truth in the Black City. She rarely got to be this close to anyone. Perhaps she was acting like a girl, leaning on a man for comfort, but just this once she decided she didn't really care.
"It's not like I was close to him," she whispered, closing her eyes and hiding her face in the curve of his neck. "I hardly knew him. I was so young when I left, and he'd be horrified if he ever knew what I'd done."
"Shh." Jonathon rocked her like a child, pulling her closer still until she was practically cuddled on his lap. "Hush, Alanna, it's all right. You don't always have to be strong, you know."
The first scorching tear finally pushed its way out to trail down her cheek, and Alanna sniffled. "I suppose I should be grateful. Now he'll n-never find out," she said, her voice growing choked as more tears followed the first. "He'd p-probably just have disowned m-me, when I revealed the t-truth after I get m-my shield..."
Somewhere deep in her heart, though, she'd hoped that he wouldn't. That her father would look at what she'd made of herself, at all the effort that she'd put into becoming one of the finest knights in Tortall, and that he would be - if not proud, at least accepting. For all that she knew in her head it was a hopeless dream, still she had dreamed it. And now that dream was dead, and she would never know whether it could have come true or not.
That was what she cried for, sobbing in Jonathon's arms as grief overtook her at last. Her last chance to see pride and love in her father's eyes had slipped away without her even knowing it. At the moment of his death he had cared so little for his children that he had still never even noticed that Duke Gareth's reports of her progress had been about 'Alan' and not Thom. For all that her plan to hide her identity and become the next great Lady Knight had depended on that lack of attention and affection, she hated him a little for it. And so she cried.
Jonathon held her and made soothing noises over her head, and didn't judge her or think less of her for crying like a girl. Alanna clung to him and to that offered comfort, and wept herself out in his arms.
Only when the torrent of tears had slowed to a trickle, and her sobs had subsided into ragged breaths, did he speak again. "Your father was a fool, not to see your worth. To ignore you the way he did." The prince ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it back and catching the last of her tears on his thumb. "I'm sorry that you'll never have a chance for him to realize that, and return your love. But for what it's worth, Alanna, I am proud of you, and I care about you. You are not alone."
That nearly started her crying again, and only the fact that her throat was raw and her eyes and head ached with the force of her grief prevented it. "It means a lot, Jon," she said, huddling a little closer to him. "Thank you."
"Anything for you," he whispered into her hair, or she thought he did. Perhaps grief and exhaustion had muddled her mind. She wanted to open her eyes, ask what he'd meant by that, but she just couldn't seem to summon the energy.
Instead she fell asleep still curled up against his chest, feeling warmed and comforted by his presence. Feeling close to someone in a way she hadn't since the last time she'd seen Thom, five years before.
Feeling... loved.