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July 439
When the first rays of sun slid through the high windows of the chapel, the priests came. Jonathan rose to go with them, still in a trance. Gently they conveyed him to the Chamber and ushered him inside. Alanna tugged at her earbobs, trying to think of nothing at all.
When the door swung open, fifteen minutes later, she was the first one there to catch Jon, as he had once caught her. He smiled at her tiredly, murmuring, “Not bad—if you like ordeals.”
Alanna bit back a laugh. Gary came up to take Jonathan’s other arm; they helped him to his rooms, where he could sleep for a few hours. With a sleepy wave, Alanna parted from Gary and went to the nearby chamber that had been prepared for her. The last thing she saw as she drifted off to sleep was her gold-washed mail, glimmering at her from the rack in the corner.
-
Alanna wakes to the sound of a closing door. Blearily, she watches her visitor approach, his footfalls soft and familiar. The chamber’s drawn curtains do little to disguise his tall form. When her sight finally clears, Jonathan is sat by her on the bed, restless—and searching.
“Come here,” she says. As he slots himself beside her, she lays a comforting hand on his arm. He’s shaking.
“Bad dream?”
Jon’s chuckle is low. “Of a sort.” His lids drift shut for a moment, easy silence descending between them. Alanna stares at the ceiling, keeping still. I’ve missed this, she realises slowly, a touch surprised. Even after everything—this will never feel wrong.
“It’s helping,” Jon offers after some time, his breath steady. “Being right here and now.”
Turning, she shifts forward and leans her forehead against his. He sighs and curves his hand around her neck, muscle memory kicking in. Sapphire eyes peer back at her, gratefulness clear in their depths.
When their lips meet, it’s gentle. Aching. Jon’s thumb caresses her jaw, soothing in circles before his tongue slides against hers. Strong arms pull her close, seeking and desperate. She threads her fingers into his hair and opens her thighs, cradling him. I’m here, her body assures, as the world drops away around them. I’ve got you.
“Alanna,” Jon whispers later, when it’s over. “Thank you.”
Flushing red, she stands and reaches for her shirt. “Hush,” she commands, embarrassed. “Let’s never speak of this again.”
She hears, rather than sees, his grin. “Alright.”
Relieved, Alanna draws close to Jon again, sharing with him one final kiss. Chaste and lingering. A proper parting, at last, between old lovers—and the best of friends.
-
A week after the funerals, the King found his Champion in the catacombs, seated on a bench and gazing at the blackened Gate of Idramm. Lightning stood there, thrust into the center of the design. The blade was streaked with soot, the jewels of its hilt cracked and blackened. Jonathan gripped the sword, trying to free it without success.
“It’s alright,” Alanna told him. “I don’t want it. There are other swords, and I like Lightning right where it is.”
Jon released the weapon and looked at his filthy hands. “Good.”
“I’m just thinking. Will you please get away from the Gate? You make me nervous.”
The King shrugged and came to sit beside her. “What’s on your mind?”
She hesitated for a moment before saying, “Would you…mind, if I went to the Bloody Hawk for a while? I just need time to think, and I’d like a rest.” She smiled. “I’ve had a busy year.”
“Take all the time you want,” Jon assured her. “I know where to find you if there’s need.”
October 439
In the second week of October, Thayet and Buri came to the Bloody Hawk escorted by a squad of the King’s Own. Alanna was glad to see them, now that the edge had worn off her grief for Thom, Liam, and Faithful. It wasn’t long before Alanna began to wonder if Thayet had come to talk about a particular subject. Whatever it was, she couldn’t bring herself to discuss it for days.
-
Alanna clutches the basin, squeezing her eyes shut. Trying—staunchly—to fight the nausea. She lasts mere seconds before her gorge rises violently. Bile, flooding swiftly, burns her throat. Alanna retches and retches, putrid and loud, her stomach caught in huge, endless spasms.
By the end of it, she’s dizzy and sweating. Alanna swipes at her mouth and slumps to her knees. Merciful Mother! I’ve nothing left.
She barely registers the sound of someone entering the tent. Cool, gentle hands mop at her brow. “It’s alright,” Thayet soothes. Alanna accepts the offered waterskin with trembling hands. “Alanna, this—” Thayet hesitates, worry laced in her voice, “This isn’t the first time. Not since we arrived last week. I’ve called for Farda.”
Drained and miserable, Alanna nods.