This story is dedicated to Droplet of Salt, one of the awesomest friends a girl could ever have. You rule, my friend.
Disclaimer: Not. Mine.
A/N: Wow, yet another new story….I've been meaning to post this for a while, since it's been done for more than a month, but I've barely had time to edit it for posting…anyways, this is set a few generations after Kel and Alanna, at the point where female pages, squires and knights are becoming more and more common. Enjoy…
Rhiannon stared into the mirror for the twentieth time in an hour. All she saw was a girl she didn't recognize. She knew that it was her reflection, but she had no memory of how she'd become the person in the mirror.
She had no memory of her past at all. She didn't remember where she'd grown up, or the people she'd grown up with. She'd been left to fend for herself, without even an idea of who she was or where she'd come from.
She watched her reflection, taking in what she saw, as if for the first time. Her hair was long; it fell to the small of her back in glossy red-streaked chestnut waves. Her eyes were a pale shade of gray - the color of a storm cloud after the rain had fallen. The color seemed to be intensified by the cat-like slant of her eyes. Her features were delicate, but angular, giving her a not quite noble appearance.
But that meant little to her. Who was she? Was she a merchant's daughter, or a thief's girl? Was she the daughter of a noble family, or a maid? What had she been before?
She sighed, shifting on the bed, all she knew was her name, and only part of it as it were. All she remembered was that she was called Rhiannon or Rhia, that she preferred the latter, and that she had the Gift.
All she wanted to know now was what she'd lost, if it was worth going back to. She punched the pillow in annoyance, then leaned against the wall. It was so unfair that she had to go through this. It frustrated her to no end.
After a few moments, she picked up the journal she'd purchased, using her ghostly bluish Gift to light a candle that was on the bedside table. From there, she picked up the quill that she had placed there, along with ink, earlier that day. Dipping the tip into the black ink, she began to write.
I don't know who or what I am. This frustrates me to no end, not knowing what I can do, what I'm good at, and if I have a family somewhere that loves me. I don't like this one bit. I can't tell whether I was a noble, or a commoner.
What can possibly be in store for someone who has no identity, and no idea what they can do? I mean, it just doesn't make sense, least of all to me. Where can I go, besides the lower city? What can I do? Will I ever get my memory back?
Oh, asking all of these questions irritates me even more! I want to punch something, but if I do, I'll likely break it, and be very sorry when I have. I just don't know what to do...I don't even know who I am. All I know is that my name is Rhiannon, and I go by Rhia, but what's my surname? Do I have one, or am I a noble?
Alright, I have to stop asking questions, but still...I want to know who I am. When all I have is my name, and my magic, I don't know if I'll be able to tell. I'll be Rhia Turner from now on. That's a relatively common surname, and I don't want to go by Rhiannon – it's way too formal. Well, I might as well get to work on finding a job…
Rhia blew on the page until it dried, closed the book, and set it aside. Then she slipped her boots on, and took a deep breath before she left her little room in the best-known inn in Corus – The Dancing Dove…
A/N: Review! It helps me write faster if I know you guys like it.
Oh, and I'd like to point out that this was partially inspired by the story Finding Freedom by Droplets of Salt, which has very sadly been discontinued, so major props to her for writing a wonderful story while it lasted.