"It was a deathtrap George!"
The sound of the owners of Pirates Swoop was all that could be heard, within their home. Not a squeak of maids folding laundry, or doors opening, or even the ocean outside of their balcony doors. All that worried George Cooper was his wife, who was currently snapping him, while being hastily bandaged.
The red-headed older woman, her lavender eyes glaring, wasn't being very tolerable. Sometimes her husband wondered if she was actually a Lioness inside a woman's body. The healer, a withered, but still imposing man, named Duke Baird, attended the gaping maw that once was her palm, and fingers. George looked on, the worry and repressed anger in his hazel eyes apparent.
He couldn't bring himself to say anything, staring at the mangled mess that had once been a part of her. Her hands, small and scarred, had taken life from thousands, and given life to many others. And now, that was taken from her. Her left hand, which was just as dangerous as her right, had been taken. Cut to the wrist.
She had been in the thick of a riot, trying to calm the raging swell of citizens who had been starving since Midwinter. The nobles and the King and Queen had been doing all possible to help, but still people were freezing in the streets. The Own had been summoned to help break it up, and with them was the Lioness, the national symbol for strength and perseverance.
Jon, the king, had pressed for her to go, telling her that the people were in need of the Woman Who Rides like a Man. George tried to remind himself that His Majesty meant no harm, but the sentiment meant little when his wife was lying there, helpless. The Duke peered up at her, before speaking. The look in his eyes told George all he needed to know.
"We cannot save it, Alanna. I'm sorry. But we must cauterize it while there is still time. Would you like me to make you sleep?"
Fist clenched in the blanket covering her, Alanna stared at the hand she had made sure to rescue from the fray. She had seen some saved, and sewn back onto a person. She hadn't expected the same result for her own; which was battered and dirty, half wasted away. But Hope had driven her actions, and now she felt empty inside.
Her husband, who was in such a shock he couldn't seem to act on his own terror, watched a tear. It followed a lonely trek down her smooth cheek, glancing across her white lips.
"Just do it."
George made a motion to protest, but was silenced by a wave of Alanna's remaining appendage. She kept her eyes to the ceiling, as Baird removed a large iron bar, which he had set to the fire long before, when he had arrived. So, the man had only been cleaning her wrist wound and stopping the blood by magical means, waiting for the flame to heat up.
When the occupants of the foyer heard her scream, they knew their Lioness's pain. Raoul, who had been near Alanna when the riot took place, was trying to conceal his tears. Gareth, the Elder, was busy trying to keep his son from running to the sickroom and seeing her.
Buriram Tourakom, who was the only one not on the verge of a meltdown, was lost in her thoughts. She knew Alanna had done her duty to the people, even though they didn't do the same for her. The pride she felt for her friends sacrifice reminded her of her fallen family.
Rispah and Coram, who had been notified of the incident, were in a state of ruffled mayhem. Coram was snappish and obviously haggard with worry for the girl he had raised. Rispah, trying to remain calm, was recalling the memory of Alanna piercing her ears.
But when she thought of that, she was reminded of heating the needle. She replaced the idea of a needle with a iron, and saw it searing the woman she had known for years. Running for the privy, they hardly heard the sound of her spilling the contents of her stomach.
Eleni Cooper, Georges' mother, was clasping the hand of her husband, Sir Myles of Olau. She had been Alanna's doctor since the girl was masquerading as a boy, and it was breaking her heart to think that she wasn't in there, doing what she could now. Myles was weeping, the moisture dripping from his beard to stain a Bazhir carpet.
When the door swung open all of the guests were tense with worry. George, supported by a ragged old doctor, was handed off to his mother. Unable to do anything but sob, he collapsed into her embrace. Baird seemed to be much older then he had when he entered the home, speaking in a soft whisper.
"She is weak, and in pain. I have done I possible. She didn't wish to sleep without seeing you all. Two at a time though, please."
The older man was shown out, as Sir Myles asked for a moment with his adopted daughter alone. None of them denied him, as he slammed the door closed.
His first thoughts were of her, when she was young. Her eye blacked by another young boy. She had been angry with him, when he proposed she tell someone about his assaults. She had refused, deciding to grow stronger instead, and fight back. But he knew she couldn't fight this.
She was lying on a settee, a dark emerald blanket pulled up to her waist. He saw the spent smelling salts near here, and knew she must have lost consciousness when they burnt any lingering sickness from her wound. Her eyes were half closed, face as pale as the white hose and tunic she had worn under her armor.
Her beautiful copper hair, which touched her shoulders, was damp, clinging to her face with dried sweat. Her eyes; so unique to him still, caught him. The glance filled him with a horror he hoped to never see in his bright girl. Feeling his own face contort in fury, he brought the girl into his arms, minding her wrapped stump.
She wept into his shirt, embracing him awkwardly. She spoke; the words hoarse and jumbled to his ears. He nodded, making soothing noises as he rocked back in forth with her, fingers in her hair. He couldn't help but he overwhelmed by the absence of her hand. Amazing how something he hadn't really noticed meant so much; now that it was gone.
The night was full of apologies, regret, and sorrow. Alanna had reassured Raoul that he wasn't guilty of anything, besides being a good leader. She accepted Buri's gruff sympathy, and her assurance that she would be back in the saddle soon.
Eleni had come, checking her wound again, adding a well working poultice, just in case. Eleni told her that George was in shock, and that she had allowed him to retire. Alanna understood her husbands' shock. She couldn't even look at herself without feeling a shiver of disgust creep down her spine. She had to give him time.
Both Gareth's had embraced her, the Elder asking after her, and the Younger too busy kissing her cheeks and telling her how worried he was. She had never seen the man that ruffled in her life. Had the situation been different she would have been bursting at the seams with laughter.
Coram had looked her over, before sitting beside her. He couldn't think of much to say, and she didn't really need the words. Leaning against him, she closed her eyes, letting Rispah rub her hand lightly over her back. When they told her they would leave so she could retire, she found her words again.
"What about Thayet and Jon? Alan and Thom; Do my sons know?"
Coram ran a hand through his hair, the large man looking quite uncomfortable. "Ye mean nobody told ye? Their Highnesses couldn't follow, the riot wasn't put down. They were busy trying to find the man that wounded you. They send their condolences though. Buri and Raoul told them to stay behind, for safeties sake.
Alan was told, but he was going to stay behind, and see to the King. He says he will visit ye tomorrow, when the streets are safe. Thom wasn't told as of yet. They were going to send out a rider in the morn. Jon already drafted a letter to be sent to Alianne. He decided to send it through the same messenger going to Thom, so Daine may have the crows send word, figured it would be faster."
He saw the fire inside of her extinguish. He had been half tempted to blacken her sons' backside; her own child, deserting her. He knew the royal family's betrayal was hurting her as well. The king had always been a close friend, and though he had a valid reason for not coming, it had broken the girl.
When the last of the guests were removed, Alanna let the feeling of numbness seep into her bones. Now that she was alone, she didn't have to pretend. For one moment, she wasn't the King's Champion. She wasn't a member of the Bazhir; the Woman Who Rides Like a Man. She wasn't The Lioness, fierce knight.
She was a tiny, middle aged woman; a woman who had killed, been wounded, outlived family, and killed royalty. It all paled in comparison to this moment, this moment when all the words ran dry. When she had been found wanting in her skill, and had paid for it in blood.
She could still see them coming at her, as she tried not to mow them down with Darkmoon. She had been forcibly pulled from the saddle, the mob of people uncontrollable. She had fended them off with sword and axe, but there had been too many, from every angle; women, sick children, and men. She hadn't seen the blow coming, as she pushed a youth away from her, trying to keep him from being injured.
The splintering of the bone in her arm, and the sick crack of a weapon on flesh, had woken her to the pain. She had been lucky to survive, Marek Swiftknife finding her and rushing her away. She had used her gift to stop the bleeding for a time, enough to get her to her home, and to await a healer. Marek had saved her hand, to no avail.
George had thanked him for his rescue, the rogue running off to the palace while he wrapped her wound in a few clothes, asking her if she was alright and making her sit. He had been frantic, while she had been in shock, her color draining as she prayed to the Goddess for help.
She drifted off to sleep, allowing the memory of the riot to slip from her mind. Fingering the ember stone at her neck, she slipped into dreaming. The last words in her ears were ironic and full of grief.
"Here lies the sorceress of Alois, who loved the people who killed her."
My Lord Provost, the most feared man in Tortall's entire thieving world, sat in council with the King, and the men who protected and served him. The discussion was of Alanna of Pirates Swoop and Olau.
"I am proposing that the girl cannot do her duty by the realm. I am suggesting she be removed from her position as King's Champion, Highness."
Wyldon of Cavall had always left a sour taste in the Provost's mouth, and he felt a twinge of rage in himself. The girl had been laid up a day, and already the man was pushing for her to be put to pasture. King Jonathan's face was unreadable, as he spoke.
"I am sorry that you feel that way, but I cannot relieve Sir Alanna of duty until she proves that she cannot fulfill the agreement she made to the Crown and to myself. I would appreciate if you would exert a little more tact as well, Sir Wyldon. There are many who still support the Lioness in this room."
He noticed then that almost all of the knights had a hand on their pommels, particularly Raoul of Goldenlake, Keladry of Mindelan, and Gareth of Naxen.
"Since Sir Alanna is proficient, and can wield a weapon with both hands. I see no reason to doubt her yet. This meeting is over for the moment. I must go and pay my respects to her."
There was a drone of boots on the ground, and the Provost didn't have to turn round to know that Wyldon of Cavall would be on the bad end of a challenge from the Leader of the Kings Own sometime soon. He approached the King, walking with him.
"Sir, may I accompany you? I still need to tell Sir Alanna the fate of her attacker."
Jonathan looked into the worn and weathered face of the sly man, nodding his assent. "I am sure she would enjoy that. I would have run to see her sooner, but duty calls at the worst moments. I didn't know you were so strongly attached to our Lioness though."
They exited to the stables, where Thayet jian Wilima, Jon's Queen, awaited them. She looked almost as worry-worn as the King's close friends, her beauty marred by the redness of her cheeks. She still had the regal presence though, something both men respected her for.
They rode in silence, The Provost watching the roads while the King watched his people. It was unusually quiet in the streets, people mourning the Lioness while fearing the retaliation of the king. The ride to the Swoop was uneventful, both to the riders enjoyment and anxiety.
A maid answered the door, showing them into a room to await the Master. When George Cooper entered, he could have been mistaken for a ghost. Pale, unchanged from the night before, he was covered in Alanna's dried blood. Hair askew and features twisted in grief, he pointed to the chamber adjoining the little sitting room.
"Lass almost killed me last night, coming home dead by a half and missing a limb. Please excuse my state, but I am still…adjusting. I haven't been to see her yet today, I wanted to let her rest. "
He seemed unaffected by his old arch nemesis, but considering he and the Provost had saved the King's life on more then one occasion, it was understandable. Jon spoke, the worry in his voice finally visible, as he shifted from King to Friend.
"Is she alright George? Will she heal?"
"Aye, she will. Said last night she would rather kiss a sow then let herself die in a small time riot. I know the people are hungry Jon, but...she didn't deserve that. If Marek hadn't been there she would be dead."
He opened the door to her sickroom, allowing their guests in first. Alanna was already dressed, her tunic embroidered with small star design, while her breeches were for comfort, instead of protection. They noted the soiled bandage on her arm, which George rushed forward and started to change for her.
She had obviously been groomed by a maid, or perhaps she tried for herself. She was unreadable as they offered her greetings. Saying hello, she bit back a scream when George yanked the bandage taut, after applying a cold poultice.
They were puzzled by the frigid woman; she didn't acknowledge any of them, pushing herself off of the settee. She looked out, off of the balcony; the coast shown like a diamond out on the water. In that moment, she reminded the Provost of her mother.
"Darlin', Jon and Thayet and…the Provost are here to see you."
The elder man snickered lightly at Georges' introduction. Few used his name anymore, and sometimes he forgot it himself.
Alanna finally spoke, her voice level." Yes well I would have appreciated the gesture a bit more; had they come when they got news I might be on my deathbed. But the world is full of disappointment."
Thayet flinched as if struck, while Jon allowed his proud nature to get ahead of him. "That isn't fair, Alanna. We have more to worry about then just you! We have an entire country to-"
She held up a hand, her missing one. She had forgotten. She let out a half mad sounding laugh. "Ah… Jonathan. Spare me. None of this would have even happened if you had let me stay in the palace and teach the younglings. Instead, you told me to go, to show myself so the people would calm. You sent me into a massacre, your Highness! And you hadn't even the decency to come see me."
She quit herself of the room, leaving none of them without a spark of something in their heart. George shared his wives' fury, while Jon trembled in angst. The guilt of her situation had been placed on him, and he did take responsibility for it. Thayet was silent, tears streaking down her face.
The Provost went in Alanna's direction, not staying to listen to the tirade that followed, between Jon and George. Following the hallway, he found the woman on another balcony, two rooms down. She had left the door ajar. She was sitting on the ledge, staring into the water, and brooding.
"What bothers you, Lioness? Don't tell me you've allowed a wound to get the best of you."
He swung up onto the edge with her, silver-white hair flying about. She didn't break her gaze.
"I am bothered by the fact that I fight for these people, I risk my life for them. But the moment things get hard, they turn on me, the same person who is trying to help them."
She stared at the stump hatred and disgust hiding the beauty of her face. Tears swelled in her purple eyes.
"My own people wound me, much more thoroughly then the enemy ever could."