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When Alanna told him she was thinking of retiring, George had laughed.
“I know you and your thinking, darlin’,” he’d said.
She’d countered that she meant it, and he knew she did, that’s what terrified him. She knew she needed to retire, she was thinking about it, but Alanna never did anything by thinking about it, she simply did. Or didn’t.
George laughed because it hurt too much not to. Because his wife was beautiful and wonderful and brave, and she might think, and think, and think, but she would never retire, not really, not until after this next last mission, not until after she couldn’t anymore.
George had been thinking about Alanna retiring for a while now. It was the way healing magic had stopped working right for her that spooked him the most. There was the simple, straightforward terror of knowing she was going out without a safety net, the naked fact of it, that her every misstep was so much more likely to bring her death now, without being able to depend on magic to pull her back from the brink. But it also scared him in a more bone-deep existential way. George grew up with healing magic, his mother’s gift warm and kind beneath his skin. Ma had used her gift on him all through his childhood, on his every scrape and bruise, to heal his every illness, or even just to make the hunger feel less pressing some nights. George grew up steeped in healing magic, he can’t imagine how much magic you would need to pump into a person in order for it to stop working, how often and how badly a body would need to be broken, torn to pieces, in order for it to stop allowing itself to be put back together again.
George doesn’t want to think about it, all the times his Alanna almost didn’t come home to him, all the pain her life is filled with by default. He doesn’t want to think about the stories her scars tell him, doesn’t want to think about magic itself giving up on the body of a woman with a death wish. But he can’t help thinking about it some nights, alone in the dark, with no way of knowing if she’s even still alive.
When George was twenty seven years old, he chose to live long enough to grow old.
It was more complicated than that. He was going to give up the Rogue in any case, after he had betrayed it for Jonathan. He couldn’t accept himself as its king after that, even if his people could. But he could have done something else, fled the country, that had been what he was planning.
But Jon gave him a pardon and a Barony, papers to sign and oaths to swear, and George chose. George chose to give up his freedom, chose to belong to Jon the way he’d promised himself he’d never belong to anyone again after he killed the old king of thieves, he chose the pardon and the Barony, he chose life. And he chose them for Alanna.
He knows it’s more complicated than that, and he knows the circumstances aren’t comparable, but a small lonely part of him wishes she would choose the same for him.
But they aren’t comparable circumstances, and he and Alanna aren’t comparable people, Alanna will choose her duty every single time, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, choose anything else, it’s in her nature. George knew that when he married her, and he wouldn’t change her for anything.
But still.
It would take a miracle for Alanna to retire.
“Kyprioth,” George says in his empty office, “I believe you owe me a favor.”
“Oh, are you finally collecting?” The god asked, appearing in his office.
“Possibly,” George said, “This favor of yours, it will be something I actually want, an actual favor to me, no strings attached, no unintended consequences?”
“Of course,” said Kyprioth, seeming a little offended, “My tricks are tricks, my deals are deals and my favors are favors. I don’t mix up the three.”
George nodded, he’d thought as much. Of course, the god’s good intentions didn’t mean he wouldn’t ruin their lives accidentally. Gods didn’t understand human nature, human feelings and desires, anywhere near as well as they thought they did. Kyprioth was better than most, but even he screwed up on occasion, even in regards to people he liked. But just this once, George would take the risk.
“I want Alanna to retire,” George said, “And I want her to be happy about it.”
“You couldn’t have asked for that just a little earlier?” Kyprioth asked.
George could have envisioned several responses to his request, that was not one of them. Gods were bad at taking human feelings into account, but Kyprioth was better than most, at least when it came to the specific humans he cared enough to pay attention to. George doubted this would be the god’s way of informing him of his wife’s death. The trickster sounded frustrated and faintly… embarrassed?
“What?” George said.
“Well you see, that particular problem is already being handled.”
“What. ”
George hated it when gods made no sense.
The god sighed. He knew how George felt about this sort of thing, and he also knew that George could be relentlessly annoying in his pursuit of answers.
“Look,” Kyprioth said, “It’s being handled. My sister and I have a plan, we’ve already put it in motion. And before you ask, I would count it as your favor anyway, but this plan happens to come with a pretty obvious timeline, and you’d never accept it once you realized I’d made things happen before you even asked.”
“Your sister? The Great Mother Goddess? I thought you hated each other.”
Kyprioth waved a hand airily. “Oh, you know,” he said, “Family.”
George imagined Alan and Aly as gods. Then immediately decided he didn’t want to imagine that.
“Alright,” George said, “But why? What’s in it for you?”
“Well it’s really my sister’s idea, you understand, you know how she is about Alanna,” Kyprioth said, back to being oddly embarrassed, “And well, I did sort of steal your daughter from you.”
George raised an eyebrow, “No you didn’t,” he said, “Aly stole herself. You don’t get to take credit.”
“Fine,” he said, “I facilitated your daughter’s stealing of herself.”
“You think you owe me for that?”
“I can do things just to be nice , you know,” the god said, sounding defensive, “You’re one of my favorite people, after all.”
“Huh,” George said, “I guess I can buy that. You know, you used to say I was your favorite person. How’d I get downgraded?”
“Seeing as I now have my very own queen, she pretty much has to be my favorite person. Also, I’ve met your daughter now.”
George grinned, delighted, “Well, third place ain’t bad when you put it that way,” he said, then returned to the point of the conversation, “But back to this plan of yours and the Goddess’s, we will like it, won’t we? It’s not going to ruin our lives or destroy the kingdom or anything, is it?”
The god rolled his eyes. “No, the great sir Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau retiring will not, in fact, destroy the kingdom. My sister thinks the plan will make her happy, but then she would ,” the god shrugged, “I think Alanna will be happy too, on the whole, but I’m not sure I know here well enough to judge. At the very least it’ll be good for her. You will absolutely love it, though.”
“Well,” George said, “I suppose I can be satisfied by that, thank you,” he added, sincerely enough that the trickster looked deeply uncomfortable. Kyprioth was not a god accustomed to heartfelt gratitude.
“Yes, well. It was all the Goddess’s idea. Are you done with your interrogation, oh Whisper Man? Can I go now, or will you keep bothering me with questions?”
“I’ve asked everything I need to,” George said, he wasn’t going to ask what the plan was, he knew how Kyprioth loved surprises, “You’re free to go annoy Aly now. Tell her her old da says hi.”
“I don’t follow your orders, mortal,” Kyprioth said as he disappeared.
“Yes, but you want to go annoy your favorite person,” George said to thin air, knowing the god could still hear. That was the best thing about conversations with gods. You could always get the last word in.
George was satisfied. Meddling gods could be uncomfortable things, even, or maybe especially, if they liked you. But George did like surprises. Just this once he’d wait and see.