#jonathan conte

“My apologies Sire,” she said through gritted teeth. She lowered her voice to say, “as we discussed previously, my shyness prevents me from being an entertaining party guest.”

“Nonsense!” Jon grabbed her by the arm and steered her toward a clump of young women. “Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”

“Lady Adelina, may I present Alan of Trebond, my squire,” Jon said, to a young woman a head taller than Alanna. She held out her hand, which Alanna dutifully kissed. “And Lady Idonea,” Jon said, his hand already on the arm of a tall, ruddy, brunette who looked down her fine nose at Alanna.

“Aren’t you a treat,” Lady Idonea said with a fake smile, turning back to Jon and resuming their conversation.

And now Alanna saw why she was brought over. Jon wanted to talk to Lady Idonea undisturbed, and he wanted Alanna to entertain Lady Adelina. The anger built up in Alanna’s chest, and she had to remind herself that she couldn’t expect Jon not to talk to eligible ladies. As the heir to the throne, he had to secure a wife at some point. Whatever her and Jon had was completely secret, they couldn’t give a hint of it in public without risking the exposure of her gender (or an entirely different set of problematic rumors).

Still, a part of her wished that Jon would take her by the hand, dance with her, make it clear to everyone that he was interested in her.

Alanna carelessly tosses half-filled tea, it splatters on Jon’s horse, Jon loses control and crashes into a tree. Alanna’s carelessness is an actual and proximate cause of Jon’s crash related injuries.

Kel carelessly tosses half filled tea, it splatters on Neal’s horse. Neal does not notice but is also too busy staring at Yuki, and so doesn’t notice when his horse crashes into a tree. Kel’s carelessness is not an actual or proximate cause of Neal’s crash related injuries.

“Unincorporated?” Zahir usually didn’t admit when he didn’t know what a word meant but after a year as King Jonathan’s squire, he’d learned that it was better to understand everything than it was to seem smart. The King expected everyone to understand him and act accordingly, which meant he was more than willing to explain new words and concepts if people needed.

“It means they’re not part of the larger Bazhir society. They don’t trade with you, they don’t participate in major cultural rituals and most importantly, they don’t participate in the ceremony of the Voice.”

Zahir had heard of that. “You mean the people of the Eastern Shore?”

—

Surely I can’t connect Tortall and the history of Western Sahara into one fic?! And yet!

Jon allowed himself one frustrated sigh as Alanna shut the door behind the 8th candidate he’d met that day.

“Oh no, you can’t be tired yet. Democratic Party nominee for President, don’t let a day of meetings bore you,” Alanna said.

“I’m not bored,” Jon hated the defensiveness that crept into his voice, but the day had worn on him. “I’m disappointed. This is really the cream of the crop?”

“Jon.” Now it was Alanna’s turn to sound frustrated. “I arranged meetings with every governor, senator and Congressperson I could. You didn’t exactly give me an expansive criteria to work with. I had to pull state assembly representatives for goodness sake.”

“I didn’t think it would be this hard to find someone,” Jon said. He knew he was outside the mold of what the Democratic Party was looking for. The son of a wealthy Congressman from Connecticut, no one had been surprised when Jon Conte II was elected to take over his father’s seat. But Jon had shocked and alienated some of his base after he passed his first bill, a tax increase on millionaires and billionaires, with the revenue supporting a program that helped low income people heat their homes. He’d lost a fair amount of donors, but gained even more loyal volunteers.

During his ten years in Congress and six years in the Senate, Jon had proved himself to be an effective legislator and negotiator, as well as a champion of progressive ideals. His filibuster against the repeal of restrictive gun laws in his first year in the Senate has catapulted him onto the national stage, and created a significant amount of pressure that the bill was dropped.

When the presidential election rolled around, some in the party worried that Jon wasn’t electable outside of the liberal east coast enclave he represented. But Jon proved to be popular across the country, due in no small part to his wife.

Thayet Wilima was a Senator from Idaho with a fierce determination and a strong moral compass. Jon had fallen in love with her almost immediately. She’d been elected during his second term in the House, and carried many of his bills in the Senate. The two got married four years after they started dating and were something of a political power couple. When Jon decided to run for President, Thayet helped him craft a platform that would appeal not just to educated eastern progressives, but to working class people all across the country.

He looked at his wife now, who was sitting in on his meetings with possible vice presidential candidates. “What do you think, Thayet?”

“I think your best choice is the Governor of North Carolina,” she said. “He’s older, so he lends experience and gravitas to the campaign, and he may help in the South.”

“No disrespect, but he was so boring I don’t think he’ll help anywhere,” Jon grumbled.

“Jon!” Alanna sounded exasperated. His campaign manager, Alanna had been working 12 to 16 hour days since Jon first announced his run. She believed whole-heartedly in the candidate, but sometimes she wished he wasn’t so stubborn. It was times like this his “Rich Congressman’s Son” side showed through. She shot a glance at Thayet. The two women, both from working class backgrounds, served as a strong check on some of Jon’s elitism. “What exactly do you want in a candidate?”

“I do want someone who can appeal outside my own base, which means someone from the South or the Midwest,” Jon said, with a nod to Alanna. That had been her idea. “But I want someone dynamic, someone with governing experience, and for the love of all the Gods above, someone who’s not a white man!”

Alanna was quiet for a moment, and then an evil looking smile spread across her face.

“No, what’s that, that’s your Idea Face,” Jon said. “Last time I saw that face I ended up running for President.”

“What about Thayet?”

“What about her?”

“As your Vice President,” Alanna said.

“Alanna, don’t be ridiculous,” Thayet said. “I couldn’t be the First Lady and the Vice President.”

“Why not? The responsibilities are basically the same, and you meet every one of Jon’s qualifications. You’re highly intelligent, you’re incredibly progressive, and middle America loves you. Hell, they love you more than they love Jon.”

“No way. Categorical no. Right Jon?” Thayet asked, looking to her husband for support.

Jon was looking intently at Alanna. “She’s my main policy advisor anyway. It’s actually probably better if she’s elected, then she has a constitutionally protected way to give me advice.”

“It would help you fend off any charges of a meddling wife who pulls all the strings, which you know the Republicans will do,” Alanna said.

“And it presents us as a partnership, equals, which is what we are. I actually think this could work.”

“Hello!” Thayet said. “Isn’t anyone going to ask what I think about all this?”

“Sorry. But think about it Thayet. We would be unstoppable,” Jon said. “And beyond that, I think you’d be good at it. I think there’s no one I’d rather have take over if I die.”

“Romantic,” Thayet said sarcastically. But Jon could tell from the look in her eye that she was considering it.

“Do you think it would hurt Jon politically,” Thayet asked Alanna.

“Truthfully, Thayet, I think it would help him.”

Thayet nodded seriously and looked back at Jon.

“Ok.”

“Ok you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it.”

Jon leaped out of his chair to give his wife a hug. “Thayet! We’re going to be history makers! The husband-and-wife team changing this country for the better.”

“I’ll start working on an event where you can make the formal announcement,” Alanna said, already composing an email on her Blackberry.

The worst thing about the Own was having to be the ornamental garland at state functions, a duty Raoul hated.

“I do not see what purpose my presence at any ball serves,” said Raoul said one afternoon, years later, fiddling with a quill as he sat easily in one of King Jonathan’s chairs. King Jonathan had grown into a strong leader, and Raoul, closer to 40 than 30, was proud of how his friend had turned out.

“You command a vital military force in our kingdom,” said King Jonathan, not turning his attention from his documents. Raoul had barged in, demanding to be removed from his social obligations, and the King hadn’t taken the time to look up.

“It’s a great honor, Your Highness, one I thank you for,” said Raoul, meaning it. “And I don’t mind trotting out the Own in all our splendor, jousting with conservatives and showing off. But the banquets. Why must I attend the banquets?”

The King looked at his friend with tired eyes. “We’ve discussed this. Because you command hundreds of men, and you are the Lord of two fifedoms. People want to meet you.”