A/N: ok, this is just an idea thats been running around my head for a while and I said something about it to Mads and she said I should write it, so...here it is. And thanks sooo soooo much for beta-reading Mads!
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I don't even own the title. It's Shakespeares. Everything else is Tamora Pierce's. Don't sue me!
~~~~~
Keladry of Mindelan glanced up at her best friend Nealan of Queenscove - but his least favorite aunt calls him Nealan, she reminded herself with a slight smile. The two "lucky" squires were helping to serve at an important banquet.
"I thought we were done with this once we became squires," Neal groaned, attempting to juggle a large tray with two pitchers balanced on it, and a pile of cloth napkins.
Kel opened her mouth to warn him of the impending disaster - the crashing of his tray to the ground - but never got a sound out. Someone - a man, she registered - tumbled backwards into her, causing Kel to both drop her tray and fall into Neal, who also let go of his tray.
Gazing at the mess before them, Kel shook her head, picturing all the fun the Stump'd have punishing them. She could only imagine . . .
"One bell stables, two essays, five laps around the tower - at the top of course -"
The list went on and on.
"There goes my free time," Neal muttered ruefully.
"What free time," Kel hissed back.
The two turned to discover the culprit.
"Sir Myles?!" Kel cried, surprised. Then, suspiciously, "Are you drunk again?" She looked over his dilated pupils and sweaty forehead and decided he must be - though he'd never admit it.
"Drunk? A grown drunk like me man?" Myles was so out of it that he couldn't string together a proper sentence.
"Well, intoxicated then," Neal told him. "Is that any better?"
Before his teacher could answer, however, Lord Wyldon was stalking over with a look to kill. "What is going on here?" he roared, shocking a brunette in a peach colored gown with Scanran lace trim - Neal's love-of-the-week - into a dead faint. "What in Mithros' name are you doing?"
"Why Mithros and not the Goddess?" Neal asked, just to irk him. "Isn't that sexis - "
Kel kicked him. All they needed now was more punishment. Not that she knew what to say either, so she just stared blankly and hoped it wasn't too harsh.
But Myles had begun this mess, and Gods be damned, he was going to end it . . . if a little strangely.
"Pardon me, shir training mashter shir . . . but I musht, absholutely musht borrow Keladry and Nealan for a moment. They musht walk me back to my rooms . . . I'm afraid I can't do it myshelf. And I've got shomthing to give them. We were jusht leaving now." Despite his drunken state, he somehow managed to thoroughly confuse Lord Wyldon enough to let them go. Or maybe, rather, it was because of his drunken state.
Ad they stared at their teacher in amazement, Kel and Neal trailed - at first - out after him. Soon, though, they realized that he had been telling the truth when he said he couldn't get back to his rooms alone. Then they wrapped their arms around his waist and let him lean on them.
"Just . . . how - much. Did. You . . . drink?" Neal grunted.
Myles only smiled sheepishly, giving Kel an idea that however much exactly he had drunk, it certainly had been way over the limit.
"Did you really need to give us something?" Neal asked.
"Yes, yes I did. And I couldn't give it to you in class so this is almost a good thing."
"Wonder if he bought it," Kel pondered. "The Stump, I mean."
"Stump?!" Myles may have been drunk but his hearing was as acute as ever.
"Umm . . . that's, uh, Lord Wyldon," Kel answered, mentally smacking her forehead for being so loose-tongued. He was a teacher, after all . . . though certainly one of the more up to date ones.
Myles shook his head. "Alright then . . . I won't ask."
"Don't," Kel advised.
The mis-matched trio slowly stumbled around the hallways of the palace, a hair away from being lost. Their conversation had lost its steam and died off, leaving only the eerie silence of ancient passages to grace their ears. A rat scuttled in front of them, red eyes illuminated in the darkness, but none of them noticed.
Neal felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Eyes darting wildly around the room, he began to sweat. What's going on, he thought, sweaty hands beginning to slip from their grip around Myles' waist.
Neal wasn't the only one feeling strangely (A/N: Now, if that isn't an understatement, what is?) Kel was jumping at shadows and, in order to keep herself from reaching Neal's point of paranoia, was reciting, I am a Yamani lake, I am a Yamani lake, I am a Yamani lake . . ., over and over in her mind. (A/N: LoL, Madeline! *g* just HAD to use it!)
Sir Myles seemed to have suddenly become quite clear-minded. But, one could almost smell his fear (A/N: But only if you sniff long enough...) and he was visibly quivering.
And they weren't the only ones suffering. Unbeknownst to them, King Jonathan of Conté, still at the banquet, was feeling restless. Tapping a gloved hand rhythmically against his breeched legs. His wife attempted to distract him from his angst, but he waved her off. Something was wrong.
Numair Salmilan, black robe mage, shifted uncomfortably. Leaning against the wall, he shifted again. Glancing at Daine, his lover, he noticed her discomfort as well. When she met his eyes, he attempted to reach out with his magic in order to ease their fears. Finding nothing, he retracted and resigned himself to a nerve-filled evening.
And far away from the Palace, Alanna the Lioness paced the outer walls of the Swoop. Pounding a fist into her palm, she let out a frustrated cry. Turning to her husband, George, former King of Thieves and current Baron of Pirate's Swoop, she asked, "What is it?" While engaging herself in yet another magical attempt at answers. Still none came.
George, having seen nothing with his Sight, sighed. Drawing Alanna close, he whispered, "Let us go to bed now. The children are asleep . . . "
His tone made her shiver, but Alanna pulled away. "George . . . I can't just go to bed when something's so . . . wrong!"
"At least try to sleep. Whatever it is, it plans on staying hidden."
Reluctantly, Alanna agreed, but told him that first she wanted to walk the walls again and search one last time. Kissing him, she promised to be in soon, and George warned, "Don't overreach yourself, Lioness."
Alanna was already drifting away though, and took no notice of his words. Shaking his head, George thought, That's the only problem with loving Tortall's one and only Lady Knight - she never comes to bed! Grinning he went to check on the children. They were sleeping peacefully, looking like the angels they weren't.
Alanna leaned out over the edge of the wall. Focusing on the ground, she tried once again to find the source of her anxiousness. Lacing her fingers together, she put both hands palm down on the cool stone. The back of her neck prickled, and, not knowing what else to do, she sent up a prayer.
"Great Mother, what is happening? I can feel something wrong tonight. George can feel it too. Is . . . is there something I must - or can - do?" She asked the stars, then sighed, receiving no answer.
"What evil brews here tonight . . . ? "
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I don't even own the title. It's Shakespeares. Everything else is Tamora Pierce's. Don't sue me!
~~~~~
Keladry of Mindelan glanced up at her best friend Nealan of Queenscove - but his least favorite aunt calls him Nealan, she reminded herself with a slight smile. The two "lucky" squires were helping to serve at an important banquet.
"I thought we were done with this once we became squires," Neal groaned, attempting to juggle a large tray with two pitchers balanced on it, and a pile of cloth napkins.
Kel opened her mouth to warn him of the impending disaster - the crashing of his tray to the ground - but never got a sound out. Someone - a man, she registered - tumbled backwards into her, causing Kel to both drop her tray and fall into Neal, who also let go of his tray.
Gazing at the mess before them, Kel shook her head, picturing all the fun the Stump'd have punishing them. She could only imagine . . .
"One bell stables, two essays, five laps around the tower - at the top of course -"
The list went on and on.
"There goes my free time," Neal muttered ruefully.
"What free time," Kel hissed back.
The two turned to discover the culprit.
"Sir Myles?!" Kel cried, surprised. Then, suspiciously, "Are you drunk again?" She looked over his dilated pupils and sweaty forehead and decided he must be - though he'd never admit it.
"Drunk? A grown drunk like me man?" Myles was so out of it that he couldn't string together a proper sentence.
"Well, intoxicated then," Neal told him. "Is that any better?"
Before his teacher could answer, however, Lord Wyldon was stalking over with a look to kill. "What is going on here?" he roared, shocking a brunette in a peach colored gown with Scanran lace trim - Neal's love-of-the-week - into a dead faint. "What in Mithros' name are you doing?"
"Why Mithros and not the Goddess?" Neal asked, just to irk him. "Isn't that sexis - "
Kel kicked him. All they needed now was more punishment. Not that she knew what to say either, so she just stared blankly and hoped it wasn't too harsh.
But Myles had begun this mess, and Gods be damned, he was going to end it . . . if a little strangely.
"Pardon me, shir training mashter shir . . . but I musht, absholutely musht borrow Keladry and Nealan for a moment. They musht walk me back to my rooms . . . I'm afraid I can't do it myshelf. And I've got shomthing to give them. We were jusht leaving now." Despite his drunken state, he somehow managed to thoroughly confuse Lord Wyldon enough to let them go. Or maybe, rather, it was because of his drunken state.
Ad they stared at their teacher in amazement, Kel and Neal trailed - at first - out after him. Soon, though, they realized that he had been telling the truth when he said he couldn't get back to his rooms alone. Then they wrapped their arms around his waist and let him lean on them.
"Just . . . how - much. Did. You . . . drink?" Neal grunted.
Myles only smiled sheepishly, giving Kel an idea that however much exactly he had drunk, it certainly had been way over the limit.
"Did you really need to give us something?" Neal asked.
"Yes, yes I did. And I couldn't give it to you in class so this is almost a good thing."
"Wonder if he bought it," Kel pondered. "The Stump, I mean."
"Stump?!" Myles may have been drunk but his hearing was as acute as ever.
"Umm . . . that's, uh, Lord Wyldon," Kel answered, mentally smacking her forehead for being so loose-tongued. He was a teacher, after all . . . though certainly one of the more up to date ones.
Myles shook his head. "Alright then . . . I won't ask."
"Don't," Kel advised.
The mis-matched trio slowly stumbled around the hallways of the palace, a hair away from being lost. Their conversation had lost its steam and died off, leaving only the eerie silence of ancient passages to grace their ears. A rat scuttled in front of them, red eyes illuminated in the darkness, but none of them noticed.
Neal felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Eyes darting wildly around the room, he began to sweat. What's going on, he thought, sweaty hands beginning to slip from their grip around Myles' waist.
Neal wasn't the only one feeling strangely (A/N: Now, if that isn't an understatement, what is?) Kel was jumping at shadows and, in order to keep herself from reaching Neal's point of paranoia, was reciting, I am a Yamani lake, I am a Yamani lake, I am a Yamani lake . . ., over and over in her mind. (A/N: LoL, Madeline! *g* just HAD to use it!)
Sir Myles seemed to have suddenly become quite clear-minded. But, one could almost smell his fear (A/N: But only if you sniff long enough...) and he was visibly quivering.
And they weren't the only ones suffering. Unbeknownst to them, King Jonathan of Conté, still at the banquet, was feeling restless. Tapping a gloved hand rhythmically against his breeched legs. His wife attempted to distract him from his angst, but he waved her off. Something was wrong.
Numair Salmilan, black robe mage, shifted uncomfortably. Leaning against the wall, he shifted again. Glancing at Daine, his lover, he noticed her discomfort as well. When she met his eyes, he attempted to reach out with his magic in order to ease their fears. Finding nothing, he retracted and resigned himself to a nerve-filled evening.
And far away from the Palace, Alanna the Lioness paced the outer walls of the Swoop. Pounding a fist into her palm, she let out a frustrated cry. Turning to her husband, George, former King of Thieves and current Baron of Pirate's Swoop, she asked, "What is it?" While engaging herself in yet another magical attempt at answers. Still none came.
George, having seen nothing with his Sight, sighed. Drawing Alanna close, he whispered, "Let us go to bed now. The children are asleep . . . "
His tone made her shiver, but Alanna pulled away. "George . . . I can't just go to bed when something's so . . . wrong!"
"At least try to sleep. Whatever it is, it plans on staying hidden."
Reluctantly, Alanna agreed, but told him that first she wanted to walk the walls again and search one last time. Kissing him, she promised to be in soon, and George warned, "Don't overreach yourself, Lioness."
Alanna was already drifting away though, and took no notice of his words. Shaking his head, George thought, That's the only problem with loving Tortall's one and only Lady Knight - she never comes to bed! Grinning he went to check on the children. They were sleeping peacefully, looking like the angels they weren't.
Alanna leaned out over the edge of the wall. Focusing on the ground, she tried once again to find the source of her anxiousness. Lacing her fingers together, she put both hands palm down on the cool stone. The back of her neck prickled, and, not knowing what else to do, she sent up a prayer.
"Great Mother, what is happening? I can feel something wrong tonight. George can feel it too. Is . . . is there something I must - or can - do?" She asked the stars, then sighed, receiving no answer.
"What evil brews here tonight . . . ? "