Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Ok, hardly anything. Definitely nothing to do with the characters in this fic. Anyways, enjoy!
"You can't tell anyone Sam."
Sam turned over on the grass, the blades tickling her bare feet. Propping her head up on one hand, she looked over at her friend, rolling her eyes.
"Hanna, why do you want to see a tourney anyway? They're so dumb. A bunch of dumb boys fake fighting with each other while people bet on who's going to win. They're all fixed anyway."
"It's not the tourney I want to see; I'll be able to see the Capitol! And I'll get to see it with him. Who cares about the fights? I'll be able to get out of this stupid small village!"
Sam watched her friend, feeling her own mouth pull into a frown at how miserable she looked.
"You won't even tell me who he is. It's a long way to the Capitol on foot; what if something happens to you? And what about your mom - she's going to be so worried when she can't find you."
Hanna scoffed. "Yeah right. The only time she notices me is when I'm getting yelled at for something. If I'm gone, then I'm not doing something wrong. She won't notice."
No, your mom cares about you. She asks you about your day, she makes sure you have clothes to wear and food to eat. It's my mom who wouldn't notice if I went missing.
Hearing the silence from her usually talkative audience, Hanna rolled over to face her friend. "I'll be fine Sam. After all, I'll be with him. He's better than any knight in shining armor that I could find in the Capitol. And he's all mine."
The next morning began like any other. Sam got out of bed before dawn, starting the fire in the main room of the shanty that she and her mom shared. After checking to make sure that her mother had found her way back to their home sometime during the night, Sam was off to the pig farm down the way from them. It was run by an elderly man with no children to take over for him; if Sam was able to fill the pigs' troughs with their water and slop before he came to check on them, sometimes she would get a piece of the man's breakfast for her help. A chance of food was always better than no chance at all.
This particular morning she wasn't so lucky. The pig farmer glared at her as Sam emptied the last pail of water into the pigs' trough. Picking up a nearby pitchfork, the old man hobbled towards her.
"Get away from my pigs you little urchin! If I catch you back here one more time, I'll call the Guard on you!"
Sam slid out between the rails of the pig pen, darting towards the forest that hemmed in the village. The man never chased her too far and hadn't called the Guard on her yet, though he threatened to do so at least twice each moon. She'd leave him alone for a few days; it was usually enough time for him to forget and have breakfast for her again.
As she made her way slowly back towards the Common the sun began to rise, painting the sky with brilliant oranges and pinks, luring the other villagers out of bed to begin their day.
"G'day Samantha!"
"Good morning Miss Barbara. How are you today?"
"Well, Master Trent headed out to the Capitol not too long ago, wanting to sell his ironwork to the knights competing in the tourney. Made such a ruckus, loading that wagon with all them metal bits." Miss Barbara sighed. "Figured since I was up and all, might as well get an early start to the day. Off with you now, your mom's probably wondering where you're at."
Sam smiled politely in the woman's direction. Probably not. I wonder if Hanna's still here or if she really left.
She continued her trek until she came to a small dilapidated inn. It rarely saw any guests, but once in a while a weary traveller would stop by when they had misjudged the amount of time it took to get to or from the Capitol. The Frey's, Hanna's parents, ran the place and were always kind enough to have some odd job for Sam to complete in exchange for a small meal.
"Oh, hello Sam. Old Man Gregor run you off his farm again?" Master Frey was a giant of a man - at least to Sam - but had eyes wrinkled from a life full of smiles.
"Yes Master Frey. And he waited till I was done with all the lifting too!"
He let out a full-bellied laugh that made Sam want to smile along with him. "Well come on in, we'll get you some warm porridge and you can help me cut and haul the wood to fix up these steps. One of these days I swear I'm going to fall through the darn things." He started to walk back into the inn, but paused and turned as he reached the doorway. "Did Hanna happen to tag along with you this morning?"
"No sir." Sam looked him straight in the face, fighting the need to look down at her feet. Hoping that would be the end of his questions.
Master Frey sighed. "That girl. Sometimes I can't get her out of bed before breakfast is half over, other times she's up so early I wonder if she actually slept. No matter, I'm sure she'll turn up sooner or later."
Sam went about her day, doing small tasks here and there for a bit of food, a piece of cloth, or a bit of thread. Anything to stay out of her mother's way in the daylight hours. Anything to keep her mind off of Hanna, and who she might be with. Anything to help her keep her mouth shut and her worry to herself.
One day went by, then another. The old pig farmer, Master Gregor, once again shared his bread and bacon breakfast with her. Every day, Master Frey would ask, "Have you seen Hanna?" and every day, Sam would look into his face and reply, "No sir."
Until one day. Smoke covered up the mid-day sun; the earth beneath her feet trembled. The next morning a frantic rider approached the village, telling anyone within earshot of huge rocks that flew through the air on fire, smashing through the Tourney Grounds and all that surrounded them.
He spun tales of a blaze that was so hot, the knights armor melted into their bodies; of fires so wild, that water could not tame them. Of how he watched, horrified, from a nearby hill as none escaped from the flames. Not the women and children, or knights, or horses, or even the members of Control's Guard. And of how no one knew how such a thing was possible.
That night, Sam packed up what little she could carry and headed for the Capitol. If Hanna was in the area, she would find her. If not, well, there was nothing left for her in the village. She didn't belong there. And if she happened to come across information on what could rain flaming rocks down from the sky… so much the better.
"But Father, you promised!"
John looked into his son's face, so hurt, so angry. He reached out a hand to push back a lock of unruly blond hair, only to have his son jerk back, arms folded over his chest.
"I'm sorry Andrew, but King Peter has called together an emergency meeting of his advisors and delegates. He's the King - I have to go."
Andrew dropped his gaze to focus on a half-unearthed stone by his foot. He continued to nudge at it with the toe of his boot.
"Son, look at me."
He continued to dig up the stone - it wiggled now. The earth would soon release its hold on it. Dust covered the bottom half of his boot; he would have to take care to clean them before Mother noticed.
John sighed and grasped his son's chin.
"Andrew, I promise that if there were a way for me to take you to the Tourney without disobeying my King, I would. You are the most important person in my life, you and your mother. But the King is the King, and we must follow his orders, no matter our personal feelings on the matter. I know I would much rather watch the knights than have to pander to a bunch of puffed up delegates all telling the King how to run his own country."
The anger was disappearing from Andrew's eyes, though the hurt still shone through.
"I know this doesn't quite make up for it, but over there is Ser Ramsey. See?" John drew his son's attention across the road to a man in armor leaning against a horse that was so brushed that the gleam of its coat rivaled that of the man's plate mail.
"Ser Ramsey is to ride in the joust at the Tourney, and he has agreed to take you with him. You'll be able to meet all the knights and the competitors from all over the Realm. He may even let you practice your riding on an actual warhorse, if you ask him nice enough."
A small smile began to tease at the corners of Andrew's mouth.
"Well go on then son, you have a very full day to get to - and I have your mother to appease."
John bent down to whisper into Andrew's ear. "Between you and me, I'm almost more afraid of your mother's wrath at me missing out on this day than I am of the King's. Wish me luck in dealing with this fearsome creature?"
A grin appeared on the boy's face, his nose crinkled up and eyes dancing in mischief. He gave his father a brief hug before running off towards Ser Ramsey. The wind carried his laughter back to John's ears.
Taking a deep breath, John looked up towards the doorway where his wife was standing, an exasperated half-smile playing across her lips.
"I'm sorry my dear, but-"
She cut him off with a soft kiss, hand on his chest. "I know the man I married, John Greer. Your sense of duty towards the Realm is one of the many things I love about you. I'm sorry that you cannot be the one to show the Tourney to Andrew, but I understand. If the King calls, you must answer. It's who you are."
With a pat over his heart, she turned to follow after their son. "Now if I'm not mistaken, you have quite the circus to help wrangle at the Palace. Best not to keep the King waiting; some of those idiots he's cooped up with may not survive."
"Very well. Give my love to Andrew. I'll miss the both of you."
"Father, we haven't even seen the smiths yet!"
The man in question closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and proceeded to help his wife and young son into the back of the cart. "Sameen, I already told you that we must get going if we're going to make it back home before nightfall. I let you stay far too late visiting with the warhorses; there's no way that we will arrive back at the manor before supper."
Seeing the furrow etching its way between his daughter's eyes, he compromised. "How about you stay up front with me. When we get out of the Capitol, I'll let you drive the horses. How about that?"
Sameen tilted her head, considering the offer. With a single sharp nod, she spun on her heel and clambered up to the front bench.
Her father let out another heavy breath as he wondered, not for the first time, why his daughter couldn't have been his son; she would have made a much better Lord Shaw than a lady of whichever house he happened to marry her off to when she was old enough. Next year, he would have to start preparing her for courtship, to give her time to get used to being a proper lady. His wife already scolded him for letting Sameen run so freely. But the time would come soon enough that he would have to say goodbye to his little shadow; he wouldn't rush it any sooner than absolutely necessary.
As the day wore on, the clomping of the horses and the rocking of the cart lulled the two passengers to sleep, but Sameen's eyes were alight with pleasure. Sure, the horses weren't going very fast, and they didn't have to turn very much, but she was telling them where to go. She held the reins as her Father watched the sky and told her about the pictures the clouds created above them. The stories were kind of boring, not enough battles took place in fluffy clouds, but it was much better than listening to Mother tell her about how a Lady was supposed to act. Proper Ladies didn't seem like they could have any fun at all!
Boom.
A loud noise that seemed to echo through her bones filled the air. The ground shook, the cart wheels rattled on their axles.
Boom. Ba-Dum.
One of the horses let out a piercing neigh in fright, taking off down the road at breakneck speed. The cart listed from one side, then to the other, as the horses fought the harness containing them. Her Father grabbed at the reins, hauling them back to his chest, but the horses wouldn't slow down.
"Marcus, what's going on?" cried out Lady Shaw. Robbie started crying, an annoying wail that made Sameen want to punch him.
"I don't know my dear, just hold on! I don't know when these beasts will stop!"
On and on the horses ran, Father guiding them the best he could as smoke filled the sky and obscured the path, hoping that the horses would run themselves ragged and stop before too long.
"Father, up ahead - get them to turn! Make them listen!" To his horror, the road made a sharp turn to the left, the land to the right crumbling down into a raging river. No amount of pulling got through to the horses, so lost were they in their fright.
Sameen heard a scream -Mother!- then cold water covered her body, a sharp pain radiated through her head, and all was quiet.
The ground was cold and wet under her. A cough wracked its way through her body, water spilling out of her mouth. A large hand clapped her on the back, and Sameen whirled around, only to put a hand over her mouth as the world spun and colors faded around her.
Through the roaring in her head, she heard a voice saying, "Take it easy lass, that was a nasty tumble you took. Deep breaths, get your bearings." The voice paused, then continued in low, gentle tones. "What's your name girl?"
"Sameen. Sameen Shaw."
"Well then Shaw, you're a right lucky one. Coulda split your head open, what with that current. What were you doing in the river after dark?"
Blinking, Sameen looked up and scanned the sky and river. Night had fallen. No horses, no cart. No other people besides this man with short curly hair and a patchy beard.
"Father? Father!" she rose to her feet, looking up at the man beside her. "My family was coming back from the tourney and the horses spooked. We fell into the river… Father!" Sameen continued to call out towards the river. "Did you see him?"
The man put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face him. "Two horses and a cart? A man and woman, a young boy?"
Sameen moved away from his hand and went back to scanning the river. "Yes, do you know where they went?"
"Girl, look at me." Once he had her attention, he continued. "We found them Sameen. I'm so sorry; they didn't make it."
Slowly, Sameen nodded. She looked down at her feet for a moment or two, then looked into the stranger's face.
"Do you have any food; I didn't get to have supper."
The man blinked, and nodded back at her. "Me and my men made camp not too far from here. I'm sure we can find you something."
"Ok."
The man led her away from the river. They walked for a while before the noise of a campfire greeted their ears. "My name's Hersh by the way."
"Ok Hersh. Do you have any jerky at your camp? Or swords? I like swords. Not to eat though. That would be weird"
The halls of the Palace were abuzz. Servants, soldiers, nobles, visiting delegates; all of them were trying to piece together what might have happened. One room in particular was filled with people frantically attempting to make sense of the event.
"Silence!" An older, heavyset woman had made her way to the front of the room. Immediately, a hush came over the gathered group. "Take your seats." Fabrics rustled, heavy wooden chairs were dragged across stone floors. Silence returned to the group. "We are not children; to squabble as such shames the title of "Advisor". Now, will those with an eye witness account of the event please identify yourselves by the raising of a hand."
You could have heard a pin drop as the advisors, previously so chatty, now were reduced to statues except for their ever-flickering eyes. None wanted to be the first to admit that all of their chatter was based on hearsay - whispers of gossip. After a moment, one shaky hand made its way into the air.
"Yes Advisor Finch? You can tell us of the event?"
"Y-yes, Madam Control."
A moment passed. One too many. Madam Control locked eyes with the advisor seated across the room. He rarely spoke in these meetings - though he could be quite the conversationalist when gotten alone. Control suspected that it was the large number of people these meetings gathered that stilled his tongue.
"Yes, take all day. It's not as if the King doesn't need this information on the attack."
The advisor seated to the left of him, a Nathan Ingram, gave him a slight nudge. "Come on Harold, tell the lady what happened."
"Well, it's quite defies conventional explanation. One moment the day was bright and fair, the Tourney progressing as expected, and those gathered enjoying themselves. I was on a nearby rise overseeing an artist the King had commissioned to capture the event. Suddenly, what appeared to be flaming rocks rained down from the sky. Not as if someone had shot them with catapults. A hole in the sky opened up and flaming rocks that appeared to be the size of a cart wheel fell out."
Harold paused, halting his desire to get up and pace the room by tightening his grip on the arm rests of his chair. The edges of the wood cut indents into his palms, the slight pain anchoring him in the moment.
"I must have counted upwards of three dozen before it occurred to me to move. By the time they ceased falling, the entire Tourney Grounds were decimated. Not a person, horse, or building survived."
Harold swallowed and lowered his eyes to the table.
"And what, pray tell, should we tell the King? His brother was among those in the lists, and he hasn't returned to the Palace. Collier's are not particularly known for their patience when grieving; he will want an explanation, and quickly."
Silence reigned in the Advisors' Hall. "Anyone?"
Harold once again raised his eyes to meet those of Madam Control.
"There is only one plausible explanation that I can offer: Magic… has returned."