Disclaimer: Of course, I own nothing...
Why Couldn't I?
The figure was old; it was immediately apparent from the slowness, the deliberateness of the motion, from the sharp tap of the walking stick accompanying ever second step. Those footsteps continued up the passage way, past torches flaring in the cressets casting ghastly, elongated shadows to flicker and dance in a parody of motion the body they lit could no longer achieve. At last that old form reached a heavy oak door, removed a heavy brass key from the heavy folds of the robe, and left the torches to cast their sputtering light over nothing but the old stones of this remote part of the castle.
Folding erratically into the chair before the desk, papers were drawn closer, rifled through, re-sorted, by the scant yellow light of a single candle. Tiredness ached through the old body. She knew if she did not do this, to keep her kingdom safe, to protect the law, no one else would. That was why she fought knotted ribbons with arthritic fingers, peered at archaic script with time dimmed eyes, forced her mind to process the great tangled web of law and precedent. She had done this all of her adult life, and it had been done with fervour and diligence, with unswerving duty, and above all with self sacrifice. Self sacrifice! She knew all of that bitter pill. These young chits, they thought they could have it all. That brazen savage, The Lioness, remained, protected and favoured by the King, and all with an inkling of her history knew why that was. The young Mindelan girl was doing nothing but distracting her peers, even if she could take the training. You can't do it all, the old woman thought, there isn't enough in one body, in one soul. You have to chose, dedicate yourself to the one thing, and make that your life. She had chosen, back as a child, before she even knew what she was choosing to do, or more importantly, what she was choosing not to have.
She had chosen, left her family with a secret shame, and taken the work, and shaped her life to serve her king and the law. She had forged a place for herself, amongst the dry old men and drier documents, with her meticulous work and unswerving devotion to duty. The secret she had carried like the child she would never have, deep and nurtured, belonging to none but her. No husband, no close friends, just the duty to leave her cold at night and the Law to hold close to her heart. Nevertheless, she had done all she could aspire to have done, and could not deny she was respected and honoured as Lord Magistrate, foremost keeper of the Law of Tortall.
Turomot of Wellam reflected that Alanna had not been the first Lady Knight for a century, she had. She had become a desk knight early, hid herself and any sign of her sex amongst the documents and protocol. Still, it rankled like acid in her mouth that this new generation of females could aspire to do all she had done and yet live openly, not face the loneliness and sacrifice she had so willingly under taken. Maybe that was why, even amongst the conservatives, she was opposed this new generation of lady knights. Turomot sighed. At her age, it was all the same anyway, but in decades past, all the desires and emotion she had furiously suppressed, down to even the wish to don a beautiful dress, all for nothing…the bitter, furious though raced through her mind. If I couldn't do it, why should they be allowed to? A quieter thought followed; if they can do it, why couldn't I? The candle flickered out.
A/N: I realise this is a little out of left field...but the thought that someone else hid her identity like Alanna had always intrigued me. Please let me know what you think.