Author's Note: the character you'll meet in this fic started out as "Sumari," the exotic, culturally conflicted half-Bazhir thirdladyknight!Sue who fights evil and makes a name for herself. I couldn't maintain the Mary-Sueness, so I renamed her and refocused the story. You'll see much of my Hamlet obsession in this, or a similar theme of teen angst, elusive identity, and "what am I going to do with my life?" senioritis. So in a way Zina's a Sue after all, because she's a projection of me.

My goodness, nearly original fiction here. Tortall, Alanna and Keladry belong to Tamora Pierce; everything else is mine.
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Veiled

In the bustling streets of the city of Whitelake, washed with the smart fall air, an unusual disturbance was taking place. To all appearances it was a small one, and business went on as always, but by morning the town would be buzzing with "who would have thought" and "go see for yourself." The object of this commotion was a young woman in a green wool cloak, dark hair hanging down her back in a plait, now weaving through the streets on a blue roan. Beneath the cloak she wore a sturdy green shirt, leather tunic, brown breeches and calfskin boots rimmed with mud. Attached to her saddle was a shield with a border of blue and cream, marking her as a female knight.

The porter who received her in the yard of the White Rabbit Inn said nothing for a moment, looking her over. Then, as he took her horse's reins, "One of them distaffs, are you? They seem to be swarming the realm these days - first the Lioness, then that Mindelan woman, now you." But it was said good-naturedly.

"Good sir," the knight replied, dismounting, "I hardly consider that 'swarming'." She had a broad face with high cheekbones, long, arched brows and hazel eyes.

The man grunted his agreement. "Well, go on in, milady. Master Oned will see to your accommodations and such."

"Thank you, sir." She dropped a coin in the porter's hand and strode to the inn door, disappearing inside and leaving the townspeople to gossip in her wake.

The innkeeper, Oned, showed her to a cozy set of rooms furnished with a snarling bearskin rug in front of the hearth. "Will you be staying long, milady?"

"Not too long. I came to visit my father's friend Conen, who's the head of the armoring guild here." The lady knight stripped off her leather gloves and rubbed her hands in front of the fire. "Do you know him?"

"Of course." Oned nodded. "A right good man, Conen. Did you say your name, lady?"

The knight straightened. "It's Fazina. Of fief Brandele." She half-smiled. "I keep trying to add the 'Lady Knight' part, but I can't convince even myself."

"Fazina?" The innkeeper repeated, frowning. "If you don't mind me saying, milady, it doesn't sound Tortallan."

"My father, in his traveling days, spent some time among the Bazhir. He married my mother from the Ruby Serpent tribe. Sir, please have my bags brought up here, but don't unpack anything. I'm going out to see Conen now, and I should be back around dusk." The Lady Knight Fazina of Brandele moved toward the door.

"Very good, milady. Welcome to Whitelake." Oned smiled and bowed.

She smiled back and left.

.. .. .. .. ..

Zina wore her hood up on the way to Conen's, choosing to repel too much suspicion. Reactions to women knights were still mixed; some applauded them, some cursed them. She herself still hadn't decided how she felt. This was what she'd always wanted, but it felt so strange to assume the title. She hadn't gone back to the Ruby Serpent in years, and doubted they would welcome one of their own as a knight - showing her face, unkept by male relations, drawing attention. The royal court was likewise ambivalent. Some there were her friends, and the instructors and military commanders certainly appreciated her skill, but it was clear they would prefer such skill in a male knight.

So Zina had left Court after getting her shield, to spend some time with her family and herself, and to think about things. Even after months of this, she wasn't sure what conclusions she could draw. She had spoken a few times with Keladry of Mindelan and even the Lioness, but both of them seemed so sure of themselves and their places. The Lioness had taken on her training as a male, and quickly distinguished herself. Mindelan from the start had had to battle an environment that still looked askance on female warriors, for the most part. Zina had always felt uneventful. She had done fairly well in her training, gotten along with her peers, worked hard for the instructors, and encountered few real obstacles - which itself might have weakened her resolve. She sometimes thought she had never really decided to be a knight, never put all her heart into it, but had simply gone through the motions. And now what?

She continued to wait for some sign or divine omen, but she was beginning to think it would be a very long wait. While her shield certainly wouldn't expire anytime soon, she felt an urgency to achieve something, or at least join the Own or the Guard as her peers had. But that didn't seem entirely right either.

She had come to Conen's front door. Before she could knock, it swung open and her blacksmith friend filled the frame. A large smile also filled his face. "Zina," he declared in booming tones. "Come here, you old girl."

Zina smiled back and stepped forward to accede to one of Conen's bear hugs. That was what her father often called the smith, a big bear with a big heart. "Careful you don't break a rib, Conen. I wasn't planning to go into battle just yet."

He chuckled and released her. "Come in, then, let's not stand here in the cold." Zina followed him toward the kitchen, breathing in the smells of stew and smelting iron. Conen glanced back at her. "You look fine, milady. Mithros, if I haven't seen you since you were knighted… it's been too long."

"You haven't missed anything," she told him jokingly, sitting at the oak table. "Where's Annalee?"

"My wife is at a neighbor's house." Conen put a steaming mug of cider in front of her. "Helping the woman recover after a birthing. She's been there for three days now - but she knows I can manage things in the meantime." He added a plate of chestnut cakes to the table.

"Of course you can," Zina agreed, taking one of the cakes and nibbling it with relish. "And how's trade these days?"

Before he could answer, an apprentice burst into the room. Soot-streaked and flushed, he had obviously come from the smithy. "Master Conen - sir." The boy gulped and ran a hand through his lank brown hair. "We just got two more orders, one from the mayor to fix his dagger's hilt, one from his groom for two bits and a four-pronged rake. They want 'em in three days."

Conen waved the boy away. "Then it can wait until the evening. I've a guest now. Just tell Lem to write it in the book, and I'll see to it all later." The apprentice nodded and disappeared again.

Zina glanced in the direction he had come from. "Business seems good."

"Aye, it's well enough," said the smith after a swig of his own cider. "Too well, perhaps."

"Oh?"

Conen shrugged, leaning forward on his elbows. "I've had a lot of the smith business, and saved a good pile of money. I'm thinking to retire in a year or few, and sell the smithy or pass it on to Lemmy -" he named his oldest son - "if he wants it, though it looks like he's got his heart set on the University." This last was not said without pride.

Zina's eyebrows sprang up. "Retire, at your age? I can't see the rush - or the need." Neither could see imagine her bulky friend, now fifty-three, as anything other than a master smith.

He chuckled. "No need to stay in the trade, lass. Metalwork isn't exactly a hobby, it's what we do to earn our bread and that of future years, so we can step out of the business and live at ease while we grow old." He scratched the back of his bristly neck. "To tell you the truth, Zina, I'll be glad to give up working…. I never saw myself as a blacksmith from cradle to grave."

There was an odd prickling along her forehead. "And what do you see yourself as?" Zina asked dryly. "Or what will you?"

"A retired old smith who likes to stop by the tavern a few times a week, and keep up with his children and friends." Conen chucked her under the chin. "And I'll want to travel. I've always wanted to stay by the sea."

Zina nodded. "Right."

"Anything wrong with that?"

"No! Nothing."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, you looked like it."

She smiled, with effort. "I should admit I'm jealous of your seaside holiday. Don't forget to let me come for a stay, will you?"

Conen gave a belly laugh that all but rattled the dishes on the table. "Lass, if I have anyone for a stay, it will be you. And speaking of which, tell me a bit about how you do these days. What have you been up to since you got your shield?"

Zina quickly bit into a cake, then remembered she had to chew it. "Oh, nothing, really. Just wandering around - visiting people I didn't have time to see in my training, that's all. I've got to be the least glamorous lady knight in Tortallan history."

He looked at her sternly. "You've got to realize glamour isn't the important thing, Zina. You are."

She made a face. "I did swear an oath to serve the realm, Conen."

"And would you believe me if I said you had an unspoken one to serve yourself?"

She laughed at the expression.

"Really, Zina. First you should be happy, and the realm comes after that."

Zina picked at her chestnut cake. "Sometimes I think it's the other way round - if I were doing something for the realm, that might make me happy."

"Zina…."

She shrugged. "That's how it is, Conen. I don't know what I want to do, really, or how I want to do it. And my not doing anything is a problem, because I… had the impression that knighthood and I would do something for each other." She looked up at him. "I'm not one of those driven heroes people imagine lady knights to be, you know. Sooner or later the people who are for lady knights will grumble that I'm not so great as they thought after all, and the people who are against us will crow and shout out that I'm nearly as bad as they thought after all. I thought I could avoid the whole thing by not doing anything, biding my time and stepping out of the way, you know, but that's not doing a thing to help." She laughed shortly. "I found that being a lady knight was a lot more problematic than I thought for us indecisive folks."

Conen crossed his arms. "Girl, you're worrying far too much about what other people might think. Hang 'em."

She shrugged. "Mother taught me differently, I suppose. Where she came from there was nothing but what others thought of you, and I think she likes it that way."

"How is your mother?"

"Oh, back with the Ruby Serpent for a stay. Back with her people." The distaff gave a faint shiver.

"What is it?"

Zina glanced away. "I've just been thinking lately about what she might be telling them of me."

"Now really, do you think she isn't proud of you?" Conen demanded. "It may be hard, with the things she believes, but I saw how she looked at your knighting. No one can sham that kind of pride."

"Oh, I know. Believe me. Just think how hard it must be on her, too, to feel proud and not be able to be proud of me when she's with the Bazhir." She tapped her fingers on the table. "She may well wish I would just go one way or another, be a knight to the core of my heart or throw it away and don my veil again. I still carry one, you know. Just because. I wear it when we visit the Serpent, or when we used to, though they know I don't when I'm here up north."

He frowned. "But you don't truly want to, do you?"

"Well -- wearing it every moment would make things a good deal simpler."

.. .. .. .. ..

A lot of things would make her life a good deal simpler, she decided as she walked back to the White Rabbit through the soft twilight. She just didn't know what they were, or, for the things she did, she couldn't bring herself to do them. And meanwhile, she was there - moldering, she felt, in the damp mire of time. Sometimes she blamed herself, sometimes others and sometimes just fate.

The fire in her room had burned low, and Zina undressed quickly in the chill. She fell onto her bed and dreamed of a little cottage by the sea, a long stretch of sand washed with the filmy tide.