the_lioness | (no subject)

(no subject)

Alanna is not pleased.

Not only has it turned into the worst, gods-cursed winter in recent memory, but Jonathan had ordered her to travel in it.

He'd best have a good reason.

She knows it's not an emergency; that would have been acceptable. It's a meeting of some sort, she believes, and that is most certainly not. Whatever his purpose, she'd made sure not to arrive even a minute early. Time to put on formal dress, naturally, but this moment here in his private antechamber adjoining the audience room will be their first conversation since his summons.

And she intends to begin it in an appropriate manner.

"I'll have you know that my family and I could be enjoying the Great Southern Desert right now," she snaps after marching through the open door. "This better be good."

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Jon looks up and gives his Champion a grin. Alanna's well-known hatred of the cold has been a source practical joke fodder for years. He's resisted making a supply of snowballs...for now.

"Nice to see you too, Alanna," he greets her drily. "I hope your travel was easy?"

"I would reply at length as to why it was not," Alanna growls, "but I still can't feel the entirety of my face."

An exaggeration, certainly, as she's chewing on her lip while looking around the room. A moment later she returns her gaze to Jon, giving him the requisite once over.

"You look nice," she adds ungraciously.

Jon laughs and rises, grabbing her into a fierce hug. "I missed you too."

He releases her and gestures towards the chair nearest the fire. "Have a seat and fill me in. How are the children? And Adam," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Alanna suffers through the hug, possibly pressing her cold nose to his neck in revenge, and shakes her head when he offers the chair.

"I'd rather stand. It was a long ride." Besides, something about all this has her on edge. "They're fine. Cold," she smirks. "I taught Grace how to put snow down Adam's neck.

"Thayet and the prince?"

Jon leans against the chair, laughing at the image of tiny Grace attacking Adam.

His smile softens. "Wonderful. Roald gets bigger every time I look away from him, I swear. Thayet will be joining us later, so you can flatter him to her all you like then."

His expression gets slightly more serious. "I expect you are wondering why I called you back now."

She nods.

"The thought did cross my mind," she answers wryly, watching him with wary eyes.

Goddess help her, she hopes this has nothing to do with diplomacy.

Jon knows Alanna too well to not know what she's thinking. He hides a grin as he pulls a sheet of parchment from the pile beside him.

"Thayet and I have been working through several ideas, changes to the kindom. I think this is one in particular that you will be interested in."

He hands her the sheet, then sits back in his chair to watch her read it.

Changes to the kingdom...

Puzzled, Alanna takes the sheet and blinks down at it without yet reading a word. She spent most of her journey contemplating why she was being summoned to Corus -- well, that and the cold -- and if this is a proclamation making someone else his Champion, the only possibility to occur to her frozen mind, he's going to be sorry.

She bites her lip and begins to read.

King Jonathan and Queen Thayet of Tortall do hereby decree that girls of noble birth...

Alanna swallows hard and takes several quick, choppy strides to stand in one of the corners, back to Jon.

are forthwith permitted to train for knighthood alongside noble sons.

She reads it through twice before slowly lowering the parchment, still facing the wall and utterly speechless.

"Alanna?" Jon says quietly.

He's not sure what her reaction means. He had a feeling she might not be happy with him for waiting this long. He twists a bit of his tunic in his hands, waiting for her to turn around.

She shakes her head, refusing to turn around until she's certain she won't burst into tears.

"It's just... I think of all it means. All it would have meant to me," she says in a low, rough voice. "Thank you."

Jon moves over and puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"You have been such an inspiration as my Champion. I'm just restoring this country to how it used to be. We need more warriors like you."

If his voice is a little husky, blame it on the weather.

Stupid weather.

Alanna swallows and clears her throat, likely for the same reason.

"Of course, I don't know what took you so long," she says, giving him a sidelong look over her shoulder, "but most rulers wouldn't even have considered it. You are truly an excellent king, Jonathan."

She mumbles something else (thank you, again) under her breath and turns to give him a tight hug.

Jon oofs slightly at the force of her hug, and grins into her hair.

He pulls back and holds her shoulders, his expression slightly more serious. "I don't know how soon we will have a candidate," he warns, "but the choice is there if someone wants to take it."

"Someone will," says Alanna, a fierce look in her eyes.

Her hands come up to grip his shoulders as he does hers, fingers kneeding his tunic like a cat, and it's a miracle she doesn't fly apart from the edgy, thrilled, anxious energy running through her body.

She feels like she could run all the way to lower city.

"What does your Council say? They won't like it," she points out. "They won't make it easy."

Something about her face suggests she'll make it just as difficult for them.

"They aren't happy," Jon says, "but they will agree. Not everyone thinks it's a terrible idea. Some were raised on legends of the warrior women as you were."

He sighs, gives her shoulders one last squeeze, then releases her and gestures back towards the chair.

"There have been several names suggested for a new training master. One in particular has been pushed. Are you familiar with Lord Wyldon?"

Gary, Raoul, Myles, Duke Baird, the Lord Provost: Alanna is busy mentally listing friends who'd probably be in favor of the proclamation, when Jonathan's question snaps her back to the here and now.

Wyldon?!

"Unfortunately," she growls, and red stains form high on her cheeks, telltale signs of imminent temper. "Don't tell me you don't know why he's being pushed! He's a conservative! Goddess, he thinks I'm unnatural! And he's not fond of what you've been doing."

Ignoring the chair again, she paces back and forth.

"I know," Jon replies grimly. "But it's a good solution. The council will feel like they have some measure of control over the kingdom. They certainly aren't happy with the changes Thayet and I have been pushing. And you can't deny his prowess as a soldier."

He watches her pace as he speaks.

Regrettably, he's right. Lord Wyldon of Cavall is an exceptional fighter and he'd be a good page training master, which is precisely why he's so problematic. She can't in good consciousness say he's ill-suited for the job.

Several minutes pass before Alanna feels it's safe to respond.

"Once the proclamation is read, it becomes law," she says slowly and with great restraint. "If a candidate presents herself, he'd have to train her."

Jon nods. "I know. But let's cross that bridge when we come to it, alright? For now, let's celebrate a major accomplishment."

He reaches down and pulls up a dusty bottle and hands it to her with a grin. "I've been saving this for a special occasion."

Feeling better for having said it, Alanna gives a jerky nod. Soon, the corner of her mouth is tilting up in a reluctant grin.

Try as she might, she can't help but be happy and optimistic.

Girls can train for knighthood...

She loosens the cork, then pulls it out of the bottle with her teeth.

"I can't think of an occasion more special than this."

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