Title: Melody
Word Count: 764
Rating: T
Characters: Kel, Alanna
Summary: Alanna regrets, just a bit.

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small – not mine. Tamora Pierce's.
Notes: Kel is…ten-ish. Takes place after the Immortals War but before she actually applies to be a page and her family arrives from the Isles. I actually don't like this one; it feels…all over the place. Eh. Hope you enjoy =D

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Melody

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"You can still change your mind."

"I know."

It's one of those rare days when the fief is silent, save for the chirping of bugs and birds, and Alanna wonders.

Wonders how far childlike curiosity can take a person; wonders if this girl can take the burden no one has touched for ten years (but in much simpler words, of course: she's not one for dramatics when facts will do).

Kel is strong. Alanna knows that—has seen that strength grow over these past six years but strength alone doesn't make a knight. There are other things, things that worry Alanna sleepless, but she can't say a damn word because it wouldn't be fair and Alanna does mind some of the rules of knighthood.

"You're still young…" The words taste strange on her tongue, like that one streak of blue in the orange sky. No one told Alanna she was young because no one had known. And in some far off, seldom visited corner of her mind Alanna thinks that Kel is much older than anyone cares to realize.

There is a certain broadness to Kel's shoulders; it's apparent when she shrugs, her tunic moving restlessly. "I've lasted six years, sir. I think I've another six in me at least."

Sir. Ma'am. My lady. Distance, and Alanna sighs but doesn't reach out to Kel. It's a bit too late for that so she just leans back on her hands, head titled upwards. "It's not…it's different," she says finally. "There's familiarity here; you'll be alone there, and Roald is different from his father. He won't jump to your rescue just because you've met him a few times."

"I know." Kel shrugs again, draws her knees to her chest and sets her chin on top of them. A stalk of grass is twirled between her calloused fingers. "It will be scary. I'm scared."

And the way she says it—plain as day—makes Alanna laugh. "Knights aren't supposed to be afraid."

"Thom says knights are people. The Baron says so too. People get scared."

"Thom listens to his grandfather too much. George doesn't like to argue with either of them." Alanna skirts the issue; knights are knights, harbingers of light and safety. That's all there is to it and digging into it will go into the mysteries of the world and Alanna likes the present. There isn't any use dwelling on things that shouldn't be bothered.

Kel reaches for another piece of grass, and abruptly the animals are silent. Alanna watches as a braid is fashioned, crooked and clumsy: the results of spending all of her time with swords instead of needles.

Regret does not come easily to Alanna, nor do apologies. But this time she admits it easily—she had been excited, elated even, that a child existed who wanted the title of lady knight more than anything in the world. And to think that that child had decided it after seeing the Lioness in the flesh—that it had been Alanna's presence that led to a girl scarring her hands before age ten and knowing more of bruises and hurt than poked fingers and powdered faces.

Kel doesn't see it this way at all. The one time Thom tried reasoning it to her, she'd just laughed and said she wanted it, wanted to learn a bit more about the world. Sitting around and managing a fief wouldn't give her that. Alanna tried, later, and remembers the wide grin and wooden practice sword in Kel's hand as she requested a spar instead.

"I'm grateful, though." Kel doesn't look up from her braid and in the waning light Alanna can tell that her face isn't at all red. It's soft, a bit pale, the way it had been when Duke Baird had led her through Pirate's Swoop by the hand for the first time. "For…a lot."

There isn't a thank-you tacked on the end, not that Alanna expects nor wants it. She scoffs (the bugs start their evening melody again) and squashes the sentimental mood. "My choice. You just got dragged along, pageling."

"I doubt I'll be much shorter than you for long, sir," but there is a smile on Kel's face. They both realize (Alanna in that seldom visited corner) that moments like these, spent on a grassy hill with goddess knows what crawling around them, won't come again. Alanna regrets, maybe a little less than when the day began, but it's not her choice to make.

(And it's a bit easier to let Kel pretend than it is to say the words 'I'm sorry'.)