Chapter Text
Alan has never opened any of Roald’s letters. True, he has opened the few official missives of King Roald, as he must as a Lord sworn fealty to his king. But he can’t bear the pain of reading the letters from Roald the man. But neither can he bring himself to throw them away either. So they sit in a pile in his desk, in a false bottom that he warded long ago, before he disdained magic. He has never replied to any letter. It was the one rule Marinie had for him. The only way he can bring himself to honor her memory is to keep it, even though Alan knows she would howl at that being the only promise he was capable of keeping. She would much rather he had been a father to their children, been a decent lord, been anything but what he’s been for the past two decades, than simply not writing to his former lover.
It is a formal missive from King Roald that prompts Alan into reading two decades of letters, and oh there are so many more than he thought. Roald had written frequently at first, more than once a month for over a year, then every few months, then more or less once a year. But Lord Alan of Trebond has been summoned to Court, and it has never been said that Alan of Trebond has gone unprepared into anything short of a contest at arms. And Alan wants, no, needs to know what became of the Roald he knew, that he would be so quick to move on from his beloved Lianne. Roald has never been one to let go of anything he loves or wants; it may be the only trait he shares with his father. Alan’s desk full of letters proves that.
But then perhaps it is not a lack of love for Lianne that drives Roald to summon Alan to Court—perhaps it is Roald clutching at any lifeline to prevent him from following Lianne into the Peaceful Realms. Alan thinks that perhaps he would have been better off if he could have seen Roald after Marinie’s death. Well, unless Gareth of Naxen had skewered him for making things difficult for his sister. (Gareth of Naxen had already wanted to skewer him. Alan didn’t need to make it easier for the man.)
So Alan reads. The first letters are filled with such passion and longing that Alan is glad Marinie told him not to read them, that he would only be punished himself further to regret leaving his lover for his duty. But they also remind Alan of life and of the good things in it and for the first time since Marinie’s death the world does not seem so empty and gray. For the first time, Alan has energy again, and seeing Coram’s jaw on the floor when he finds Alan in the yard drilling with a sword is a sight that makes it worth the effort. Barely. Twenty years of neglecting the sword has not done his skills there any favors.
Roald’s later letters are still filled with wistful longing, but they give an astonishing amount of detail and insight into the goings-on at Roald’s Court. And they are more than enough to raise Alan’s hackles about Roger of Conté. Hadn’t Alan warned Roald about his nephew? Hadn’t Alan told Roald that nothing good would come from that boy, that Jasson had filled his head up with too much ambition and Daneline with too much slyness? Why on earth would Roald have trusted such an powerful young man with diplomatic powers, sending him to seek support in all manner of foreign courts? Did Roald want to gift-wrap his throne for his nephew? And then to recall him for protection—as if the man wasn’t the top suspect for sending a magical illness to kill Roald’s beloved wife and then Roald’s only heir. Did Alan leave with the entirety of Roald’s brain?
Roald’s letters about Alan’s son are nostalgic, filled with reminiscing from when they had been their sons’ age. Roald stating that his son had the right idea, making a Trebond his squire and if only Roald had thought of that himself.
There is no letter congratulating Alan on his son’s knighting, which is strange. It’s been nearly two years since Thom has earned his shield. But if Lianne had taken a turn for the worse, Roald would be too busy worrying to write his former lover a letter. And given Lianne’s death from illness when she had always been such a healthy and strong woman, well. Alan is capable of simple logic.
It does not take Alan all that long to get ready to come to Court. He hasn’t been truly running Trebond since he had the grippe badly five years ago and Thom had sent Coram back to Trebond to oversee the fief. To oversee his father’s likely deathbed. But Alan had pulled through, and Coram was a more effective steward than Alan had ever been. True, Coram had left to return to Thom upon the boy’s knighthood, but Coram had left a bevy of well-trained other servants in his stead, and now all Alan has to worry about is signing the expenditures. It makes Alan wonder why he hadn’t done that years ago; Trebond is flourishing, compared to its struggles when Alan had been trying to run it by himself. But then Thom has always been too clever for his own good, so it isn’t that surprising that his son would have a solution to this. The fact that his solution also means that Thom will not have to worry about wasting most of his time running a fief and can focus on his books, well. Thom came by that honestly.
Alan also wonders why his daughter has never come up in any letters from Roald—surely she would have been presented at Court? Or, well. She was sent to a convent. She might have decided to take vows—Maiden-Daughters specialized in guarding the temples and the Goddess’s courts, and that does seem more suited to Alan’s memories of his daughter than looking for a husband at Court. He really should know, regardless, and it’s a sign of how terrible a father he has been that he doesn’t. But Thom should be at Court, and after he gets to know his son again (or really, for the first time), he can see if he can also have a relationship with his daughter. He hopes he can.
Alan arrives in Corus three weeks after being summoned. He spends the first three nights in the townhouse that has belonged to the Trebond estate since his grandfather’s time. Since there were enough Trebonds to justify having a Corus townhouse. Alan is grateful for the rest after over a week on the road, mostly. Alan is even more grateful that Cousin Catherine is not in Corus currently—the absolute last thing he needed to be dealing with was his second cousin, who saw him less as a person and more as a way to keep herself in the style she had become accustomed to, despite her lack of interest in doing anything to help the family. He also orders an entire wardrobe to be made, though only rushes a few pieces through so he will have something that isn’t twenty years out of fashion when he presents himself at Court. Well, hopefully. He’s relying entirely on the tailor, who had been a recommendation from a friend of Coram’s. And while Alan trusts Coram wholly, Alan isn’t sure that he can rely on the man’s fashion sense , and Alan is nearly certain that any friend of Coram’s would share the guardsman’s tendency towards functionality over anything else. But George seemed like a competent young man who was far more familiar with Court fashion than Alan would have suspected of a commoner, so perhaps he isn’t being led astray. The tailor George recommends is shockingly willing to fit him in and complete a rush job and seems very skilled to boot. He isn’t sure why the tailor was so insistent on red and gold details on the tunics when Trebond colors are red and black, but the man makes it work, somehow . The first time Alan sees himself in one new outfit, Alan is struck with the knowledge that this is by far the best he’s ever looked. He wishes Marinie could see him like this. At least Roald will see him like this.
On Alan’s fourth day in Corus, he relocates to the palace. The Trebond suite has been aired out by servants. It hasn’t been used since he married Marinie and left court. Thom keeps rooms in the palace, but not in the Trebond suite. Alan isn’t sure whether he’s grateful for that or not. His son hasn’t been to greet him since his arrival, which stings. Alan understands, though. He wouldn’t be rushing to greet anyone who couldn’t be bothered to write him for ten years. In fact, Alan is rather dreading having to face a Court who he hasn’t heard from in longer than that. And he hadn’t even thought of bringing the books he had borrowed from Cousin Gereke with him to Corus to return to the man. Knowing Gereke, he hasn’t forgotten about Alan’s nigh theft of some of his spell books, and he’s been spoiling for a fight about that fact for at least fifteen years. At least that fight will have an easy resolution and an easier apology, even if Alan hates apologies.