A/N: this is yet another one-shot inspired by Kitty Ryan’s incredible Seanfhocal Circle challenges through the Dancing Dove forum.  The particular challenge was called “The Night Before” – and we were to write about characters the night before they completed their great deed, or took on tasks that changed the course of the story.  (perhaps one of the best Sean-challenge ideas yet, imo!)

Characters, as always, belong to Tamora Pierce, and are used with her permission.

~Wielding Power~

“Your highness—majesty—er, Jonathan?” Raoul asked, knocking softly on the door that led to Jonathan’s outer chambers.

“Yes?”  Jon winced.  No one knew what to call him these days.  Including himself.  The king-to-be rubbed his eyes.  He was sitting at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him; his fingers were stained from ink.  One letter, from Myles, was clutched in his hands.  He’d been rereading it all evening, trying to create some plan of action. 

“It’s just three hours until dawn, and you have to meet your council in the morning.  You have to designate an acting prime minister—no question there, we all know it’s going to be Gary—and discuss security with the Lord Provost.  You haven’t made any official decisions yet.  Tomorrow’s the big day.”

Jon felt a tremor of anger wash over him, but fought to contain it.  Did they think he stayed up each night, working into the wee hours of the morning, for his own pleasure?  Did they not realize that his father had never taken Jon under his wing to teach him how to rule a nation?  Did they not realize that he, too, was in mourning—but without the benefit of being able to mourn?

He stood awkwardly.  His back hurt from spending so much time hunched over his paperwork. 

“We can arrange to have a scribe.  Gary says he couldn’t manage without them, and he’s not handling any more than you are.”  Raoul reached over and rubbed Jon’s shoulder with one strong hand.

Jonathan shrugged him off.  “I don’t need scribes.  I need time to get everything done.  We’ve got only a few more months, and everything is in shambles.”  He plopped down onto his bed with a sigh.  “We need to keep arrogant sorcerers away from the court.  We need to find Delia of Eldorne and lock her in a tower.  We need to catch people doing the things we suspect they’re doing.  We need to get our strongest ally out of the inner cities and into the nobility.  We need Alanna here.  We don’t need a scribe.”

Raoul sat on the bed beside him, his massive frame casting a shadow over Jonathan’s.  “I don’t know about all that.  But I think you need sleep.”

“I need Alanna,” Jon whispered.  Raoul shifted uncomfortably beside him.  There was never any need for them to discuss Jon’s relationship with Alanna.  By the time it was revealed, she was on her way out of the palace.  Raoul had never said anything to Jon, but there was no question that Gary had filled in all the blanks. 

“Go get her,” Raoul said softly.  “We all need her here.”

Jon snorted.  “Yes.  Everyone would love that.  I run off to the Roof of the World in order to collect Alanna from her larger-than-life mission, and in the meantime Roger slips in and takes the throne.  Yes, wouldn’t that make everything better?”

Raoul looked hurt.  “I didn’t mean it like that.”  He paused for a moment, tugging at his earlobe while he studied Jon.  “You have the power to send half the kingdom out to search for her.”

Do I? Jon asked himself.  He knew what he was capable of, and he knew from Myles that he wouldn’t be acting blindly.  She had said where she was planning to go—by now she’d certainly succeeded.  He’d slipped into Coram’s mind every night for as long as he could, gauging how far east they had traveled, and how they fared on the road.  She was smarter than to quest for a dream.  “She’ll return without our help,” he whispered.  “She’s going to come back here triumphant and she’ll help us straighten everything out.”

Then we can figure everything out, Jon thought.  Maybe she was right all along—marrying each other would be bad.  She needs to be free to wander, and I can’t resent her for that.  But we’ll never know if we don’t live through this coronation. 

He stared up at his friend.  “What are you doing with the Own right now?” 

Raoul shrugged.  “Resting.  Recruiting.”

“Can your second-in-command take over?”

“Yes,” Raoul answered, his expression confused.  “What do you want me to do?”

Jon stood, dragging Raoul to his feet.  “I want you to go back to your quarters and start packing.  You’re on a diplomatic mission, once I get this signed off by Uncle Gareth.”  He shoved the protesting young man out of his room, then sat down at his writing desk once more.

He quickly jotted out a letter to be sent to Port Caynn—a courier vessel would carry Raoul from there to meet up with Alanna.  And he could post messengers all along the Great Road, if she chose a different route.  She could be home in no time, if Raoul was successful in finding her.