Disclaimer: Oh yes. I'm sitting in my huge New York City apartment, typing on my state-of-the-art computer, enjoying on my endless supply of ice cream. Definitely. Not. Sorry, I ain't Tamora Pierce. If you're looking for her, you're just gonna have to look elsewhere. The only parts that are mine are the plot and Ewan.
Author's Note: We can't just leave Jon unconscious on the floor, Alanna wondering why a god just told her she's Champion when she isn't, blood on Jon's wall, and Alanna with a sword not hers. That would be completely unfair of me. So, always remember; check your seatbelts, batten the hatches, and hang on tight! And also, I seriously apologize for this taking so long. I was hugely busy; then I had some major decisions to make in terms of where I want to go with this, so I had to keep changing things and moving them, etc. Hopefully the next chapter will not take quite this long.
"Hasn't someone taught you better? You know not to overextend yourself! You were this close –" Duke Baird held up a thumb and forefinger about a half-inch apart to demonstrate "- to killing yourself. No, you can't leave," he added as the man tried to get up. "You're going to stay here in the infirmary for a while."
"Champion?" Alanna looked like she'd just been hit with a ton of bricks. "Champion? Me. Champion. No." She dismounted clumsily, made nervous by the god's allegation that she, of all people, was King's Champion of Tortall.
Ewan smiled smoothly. "Slip of the tongue, mortal. Slip of the tongue. I meant full-blooded knight, you see. Even we gods may get confused at times. Now, would you so honor me by joining me in a fencing match? My skills are a bit rusty."
"Let me put Pride away." Alanna was slightly wary; Ewan seemed more slippery then he had at first. Not quite as… well, as honest as he had. Although, that could just be her sharpened senses catching the tiniest mistake. If calling me King's Champion is a tiny mistake, then I'm an expert seamstress.
Uneasily, she returned Pride to his stall and his tack to its hooks and racks. Unsheathing her sword – it wasn't really Lightning anymore, was it? – she left her sword-belt and boots in a mound of currently unnecessary horse blankets. Woman, what are you doing? You realize you're fighting a minor god. They can't die. You, on the other hand, very well can.
Well, I'm not going to, she countered her own conscience as she strode quickly over to the practice courts. Stretching, she faced her now-shirtless opponent. There are times I wish I could go shirtless, she thought before turning her focus onto the matter at hand. Balancing the sword in her hand, she began to circle warily. Disconcertingly, Ewan did not begin to shout insults as many of her opponents did. He, like she, thought that it was a pointless waste of breath, apparently.
Suddenly he struck in with a hacking backhanded sweep towards her left side. She quickly blocked it, dancing in towards his shoulder. Efficiently, he dodged out of the way. Seeing the stocky mortal as a worthier fencing partner than he had originally, he brought his sword in, striking hard, flashing in, out and around, back and forth. Alanna blocked all but a few of his strikes; those she failed to block left shallow cuts along her arms, across one thigh, and across her right cheekbone. Quickly, she managed to get in a few attacks of her own, but he easily blocked. Coming back, he quickly and efficiently flipped the sword out of her hand and put his sword to her throat.
"Well fought," he said, not breathing hard at all, despite having just executed one of the most complex series of strikes Alanna had ever seen.
"You as well," she returned, panting slightly. Fighting mortals may not take a toll on the gods, but fighting gods definitely takes a toll on mortals, she thought wryly, cleaning her sword and doing cool-down stretches.
"Look, Raoul, I'm sorry I snapped at you the other day. I need help. Baird won't let me out of bed for another three days, but Alanna was with…"
"Wait. Slow down!" the big knight replied. "I'm very confused."
"I tried blood scrying to find Alanna." Raoul whistled. "It worked, to a point. I found her, but I don't know where it was. She was with some man… Someone I don't know. And I know that love should be built on trust and all, but I don't know where she is and I don't know who she was with. Afterwards, I fainted, and Baird says that I almost overreached myself. Now he won't let me leave the infirmary for three days. Do you see why I need help?"
"Wow… Blood scrying – Jon, do you realize that over three-quarters of the mages who try that end up dead?"
"Holy shit… No, I didn't." Jon looked troubled. Struggling into a sitting position, he scrubbed at his sapphire eyes with the heels of his hands. "I guess love does make us blind. You know I love her. Now, will you help?"
"What do you want me to do? You know nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your father probably wants to send me out on boarder patrols in a few days again. So you expect me to defy him – my king, who I swore an oath of fealty to – to go looking for what is essentially a needle in a haystack."
"I'm sorry. We need to go about this more logically. You're right."
Cuts and scrapes miraculously healed, Alanna was now starving. Returning to the stable, she pulled on her boots, returned her sword to its sheath, and buckled the sword-belt around her hips. Giving Pride a last rub on his nose, she double-checked that the tack was cleaned and oiled before going up to what she assumed was the Goddess' castle.
And a castle it was. The outside was all rough stone, with many clear glass windows, shutters wide open to let the day's light in. It was four stories tall and sprawled over her land. At the back was a pleasant stone courtyard area, with a round table and six chairs. Several rooms on the upper stories had glass double doors and balconies fronted with elegant wrought iron railings.
Slowly, taking in the view, Alanna ambled towards the door she recalled coming out of. Pulling it open – the hinges were so well oiled, they made not even a whisper – she walked into the hall once more. The room felt oddly empty. It seemed like the type of room that should've been filled with ladies in petal-soft gowns in jewel and pastel tones, handsome knights and nobles in tunics and spit-shined boots. Instead, she, scruffy, wearing men's clothes, and with a sword-belt around her waist, was the only person there.
Tip-toeing, she headed towards the first door on the right. Drawing room. Well, that's helpful. In case I'm ever invited to a formal tea party here, she thought sarcastically. Continuing down the line of doors, she finally opened the fifth-to-last one. It was the Great Hall, filled with empty tables. Only a small round table on the dais was set, and that with only two places. She walked up to it, slowly, almost reverently. Choosing one place, she sat down. Glancing at the empty plates, she looked up.
And there was the Goddess, in all her glory. She was a more normal height here, taller than Alanna, but not over seven feet tall. She was dressed simply in a teal-colored dress and slightly darker overdress. Her long chestnut hair was bound back with a circlet of gold, and her only other adornment was a small gold chain around her throat.
Alanna quickly scrambled to her feet, scraping her chair back in her hurry to bow. "Sit, my child," the Goddess requested with a smile. "I hoped you would be able to find the Hall." She rang a miniature silver bell that sat to her right. Suddenly, the first course – chilled apple soup – was before them. "And now we eat. First, a prayer. Mighty gods and goddesses, we request your guidance throughout the remainder of our day, and the remainder of our lives."
And with the practice of years, Alanna intoned, "So mote it be," before picking up her spoon and hungrily attacking her soup.
"I don't see how it could be any of these places," Jon groaned. Raoul had brought him a stack of maps and books featuring or mentioning places that were somewhat similar to what he had described.
Raoul groaned and buried his hands in his hair. "Damn it, Jon, that's all there is. Unless you want me to bring you maps of the desert or something. You mentioned green plants and a stone castle, and I don't think the Bazhir can claim any of that."
"You're right. This is ridiculous. I suppose I should just trust her to come back, shouldn't I." It was not a question at all, rather, it was just a statement.
Hunger satisfied, Alanna leaned back in her chair. "I wonder how much everyone is missing me?" she thought aloud.
"Would you like to see them?" Without waiting for a reply, the Goddess waved her hand over the tabletop. It twisted and swirled in a pattern of wood-grain, before allowing itself to reform into a picture with a birds-eye view of a castle chamber.
"You're right. This is ridiculous. I suppose I should just trust her to come back, shouldn't I." Jon was speaking, apparently to Raoul. Both looked slightly worried, and a pile of books and parchment maps was spread on the table between them.
"You should," Raoul replied. "She's independent, you know that. If you want her to marry you, you'll have to let her do some of her own things."
Jon sighed. "That's what I was afraid of."