Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess
By Saphron
A/N: Ok, I know I went a little wild with the last chapter…but that's ok. Some chapters aren't written for realism, they're written for laughs. Lord Yohan's accent is vaguely East German, just fyi (all those sausages he mentioned are real types of German hot dogs) but overall he was a composite character. Let's pretend he was from Galla or something. And this took so long to get up because we putnew carpets inour house and had to unplug the computers and move all our stuff, sorry mates.But anyway…enjoy the reunion! And thanks for sticking with me for so long, I really appreciate it kids :)
Chapter 36: The Midwinter Ball – Part 3 of Part 2: Carthaki Style
Part 3: Reunion at Last!
"Sweet is the dream, divinely sweet, when absent souls in fancy meet."
-- Sir Thomas More
Last time, on Homeward Bound…
Alanna was actually grateful when about ten of Penikth's guards burst in on their elongated hug and pulled the two apart, that is until they began shoving Jon backwards towards the kitchens and dragging Alanna in the opposite direction.
"Jon!" She screamed, attempting to free herself from the arms of her captures. But her struggling did no good; wrestling had always been her weakest subject.
"Alanna!" he yelled back, before a hand muffled his mouth. His bit down—hard—and the fingers dropped from his face. He sucked in a deep breath and cried out one last time, "I'll find you again Alanna, on Mithros' name, I swear I'll find you!"
…
Lord Oppenheimer frowned, "it's inside, near the potted plants. But hurry up, I want to talk to you about something important!" He waved Alanna inside and she had little choice but to follow. She entered the restroom scowling; cursing the day that stupid doorman was born. She would have gotten away if it wasn't for him!
Alanna scrambled out of the ladies toilet looking resentful, but Lord Oppenheimer didn't seem to notice. He ushered her through a pair of large glass doors on the side of the room, out towards the rose garden. They winded their way through a small vale of eucalyptus trees until they reached a decorative fountain with a rosy cherub on top spouting water from his mouth in a delicate arch. He sat her down on a cold stone bench and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Agitatedly he paced the garden, getting more and more flustered each minute. Alanna sighed in boredom and tucked her hands in the crooks of her elbows, arms crossed. It was a rather chilly winter night after all, even in the warmer southern lands.
Finally he slowed his pace and sat down to kneel by her side. "Listen, Alanna…" he began, while inwardly she cringed at his softened voice. "I know it's unconventional to love a slave, but I've never felt this way about a woman before… you do something to me…I just… oh Alanna, I'm so happy you're mine!"
Alanna didn't know how to reply, she was completely flustered. Yes, she had been half expecting her slave master to make some sort of move on her that night, it was inevitable with her dress cut low enough to tempt the gods, but she didn't fancy such bold declarations of love so soon!
Lord Oppenheimer looked relieved; he had finally gotten what he had wanted to say for ages off his chest. Alanna's discomfiture was lost on his oblivious nature; he was the type of man who saw the world a certain way and expected everyone else to see it that way too. He was like an ostrich that stuck its head in the sand and assumed if he couldn't see the world, the world couldn't see him. In his mind, logic precluded that if he loved Alanna, she must love him back. And if he thought the sky was green, than the sky was green!
"Now that that's out of the way," he beamed cheerfully, springing to his feet, "I'm off to go get The Gadget, I left it in my rooms for safe-keeping, but I want to present it to the Emperor right away! You stay right here whilst I'm away…I don't want some arrogant young buck swooping in here trying to romance my woman!"
Alanna struggled to hide her sigh of relief. Finally, he was leaving, and she'd have a moment to just breathe, to recover from the shock of her slave master's little speech. And oh yeah, escape the chains of slavery!
But Alanna had hoped too soon.
Lord Oppenheimer had made it halfway down the garden lane when he suddenly turned on his heel and slapped himself on the forehead. "I almost forgot!" He cried, pulling a small black metal and leather bracelet out of his pocket. Alanna cringed warily as he approached the bench. Was this some sort of demented love present? But surely even a man with as little fashion sense as Lord Oppenheimer could tell the bracelet was hideous! Mithros, it almost looked like…
"Your slave collar! Or actually, it's a slave anklet now. Rather clever, don't you think? See, it tucks right under your skirts where no one can see it!"
Alanna positively balked. She sprang to her feet and glared daggers at him with all her might. "My slave-collar?" She hissed, "first you declare undying love, and yet you want to chain me like some, some, pet dog!"
Lord Oppenheimer's eyes widened in surprise; clearly he hadn't been expecting such a vehement reaction from his skinny little slave. "It's for your protection darling—"
"My protection?" Alanna seethed, "you call enslavement 'protection?'"
"I told you," Lord Oppenheimer frowned, "I don't want some idiot male swooping into the garden and attempting to drag you onto the dance floor—or worse, his bedroom! This anklet is magicked to keep you within a ten foot parameter, it will keep you safe. Now, I'm off to get The Gadget, be a good girl and wait nice by the pretty fountain. See how adorable this itty-bitty cutsie-wutsie wittle cherub is? Aww, don't you feel better now my sugar-wugar baby girl?"
No words escaped Alanna's dropped jaw; she was too shocked by Lord Oppenheimer's condescending manor to reply. Had the fool just used baby talk with her? Had he actually just called her his 'sugar-wugar baby girl?'
Her slave-master trotted off whistling with a quick flick of his hands that sent the anklet flying under her skirts. Alanna felt the cursed thing snap shut around her leg, a snug but not uncomfortable fit. The doors were closed tight enough so the entire room full of nobles did not hear the furious scream of indignation that ripped through her throat as she stamped her foot and cursed her slave master with every known swear word in the Common language. Bitter tears cursed down her cheek as she threw herself back on the cold, hard stone bench. It was so unfair! She was supposed to grow up and be a knight, not some stupid nobleman's pet 'sugar baby!' Yet her she was, stuck in slavery, chained like an animal in a foreign country hundreds of miles from her homeland and friends! It was so terribly cruel and just bloody unfair!
Unbeknownst to the raging Alanna, Jon, or rather, Lady Candlerella, had spotted the short redhead be shepherded out of the ballroom by her overbearing slave-master, and had followed the pair diligently. He had hid behind a rather large hydrangea bush until he was sure Lord Oppenheimer had left for good, but now it was time for him to make his appearance at last.
"Hullo," a soft voice murmured near her left ear, "don't be sad my lady, it will be all right…"
"Oh shove off!" Alanna cried from beneath buried arms. She was so not in the mood to be hit on—yet again—but some brainless clod of a man!
She heard a quiet chuckle, "is that how squires speak to their knight masters these days? Because I could have sworn the code of chivalry expressly forbids such blatant rudeness…but hey, maybe they changed it while we were gone."
Alanna paused mid-sob. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she found her heart pounding a million times faster. That voice…could it be…? She was afraid to look, afraid her raging grief had caused her to make up the whole thing in her mind…but she was even more afraid to not look. The voice might be a figment of her imagination, but then again, it could be the real thing…
"Jon," she whispered, turning her tear-streaked face towards him. Or—her? There was no Jon standing before her, there was just, it was only, merely a…woman. Another air-headed lady, albeit a rather manly-looking one. Alanna's eyes narrowed, as fury overcame misery. This wretched bitch had just played the cruelest joke on her!
"If Arram put you up to this, I swear to Mithros I'll kill him!" Alanna roared, "I can't believe he told my secret to some, some floozy, just so he could get a laugh! Arram, where are you, I know you're hiding out here somewhere! Come out you bastard, so I can chop off your manhood and feed it to the dogs!"
Jon coughed, fighting to keep from bursting into laughter right there on the spot. Alanna hated it when people laughed at her. But she was just so funny when she was furious! Her cheeks went bright red and she yowled like a cat that had just gotten its tail stepped on… But he knew he couldn't keep her in this agitated state forever, they had waited too long to be reunited, and he wanted the moment to be sweet and romantic, not comical.
"T'is no joke Alanna of Trebond," Jon smiled, slipping off the wig he wore on his head, and wiping a hand over his red-stained mouth to remove the scarlet color, "it's really me, Prince Jonathan. I swore once long ago that'd I'd find you again, and here I am…"
Alanna's eyes widened as she gasped in shock. It really was Jon! There was rouge dotted on his chiseled cheekbones and his eyelashes were curled dangerously above his sapphire blue eyes, but through the face paint and fake chest padding, despite the corset and heels, Alanna knew deep down in her bones that it really was her Prince, come to find her at last.
"Oh Jon!" She cried, flinging herself into his arms. It was such a cliché lady-like thing to do, but she didn't care. He pressed her tightly to his chest and held her as if he never intended to let go. Later Alanna couldn't recall how it had happened or who had started it, but somehow their lips had found themselves interlocked together, their tongues eagerly exploring each other's mouths, and Jon's warm hands entwined in her tumbling curls. Her hands roamed over his chest and along his muscled arms, as she reassured herself that her Prince had come to no bodily harm while they had been separated. He did likewise, running his palms along the sway of her back and the gentle curve of her breasts. She had to fight to breathe properly, she felt giddy, and was grateful his tight hold kept her from falling.
They surfaced for air and than met again, the heat from their bodies encircling them like the shelter of the eucalyptus grove. His deep passionate kisses expressed what no words could express; that he had missed her, thought endlessly of her, loved her. He looked at Alanna like a thirsty man who had roamed the desert for ages and finally come upon a glorious sparkling oasis pool. His eyes drank up the sight of her, and she was filled with dancing butterflies that tumbled in her belly excitedly. She was terrified, exhilarated, and overjoyed all at once. But overall, she was simply happy. She had found her Prince again.
After he had thoroughly kissed her, they stood for a moment squeezed together, basking in the warm glow of reunion. Alanna eventually broke the serene silence by murmuring into his shoulder, "so, why exactly are you dressed as a woman again? Because, you see, when I dress up as a member of the opposite sex, it's to win my knight's shield. You however…oh gods Jon, please tell me you haven't had some dramatic epiphany that's resulted in an 'alternate lifestyle change,' because I'm open-minded, but I don't think we could handle two cross-dressers in the royal palace…"
Jon scowled indignantly over the top of her head, "it's a long story, but no, this is not a permanent change. They wouldn't let me into the ball as a nobleman, so I had to don these cursed skirts. Which reminds me, smart move deciding to be a knight instead of a gentle lady, I never knew hot wax could hurt so much!"
Alanna laughed and tucked herself tighter in the groove of his collarbone. She felt almost sleepy all of a sudden; she was so content and warm. Cicadae chirped a sweet winter tune from behind flower petals and long stems of grass, fireflies buzzed softly near their heads, lighting up the garden like little stars fallen to earth, and even the crescent moon hung low in the sky seemed to be in on the conspiracy to make the night perfect for romance. Contentedly, she sighed…but Jon drew away reluctantly.
"What is it?" she murmured dazedly, almost half-asleep in his arms.
"Alanna," he whispered in a serious voice, "much as I would love to stay here forever in this beautiful garden with you, I really think we should be getting a move on. I know the perfect place in the city for us to stay the night, it's called the Sandlot Inn, I'm friends with the rogues there—hey, what's wrong? Why are you looking like that?"
As soon as Jon had opened his mouth and suggested they leave, Alanna had bitten down on her lip in worry. For she couldn't walk more than ten paces with Lord Oppenheimer's spell on her…she was trapped in the rose garden until he saw fit to free her. She couldn't leave with him. It was impossible. They had finally found each other, but now…
"I can't Jon," she murmured, eyes downcast. "I have to stay."
"What?' Jon balked, sapphire eyes widening. "Why in Mirthros' name not? I thought you—I mean—wait, don't tell me you, you have feelings for, for that stupid, pompous—"
"No Jon! Of course not you dolt," Alanna huffed, rolling her eyes. "But that stupid, pompous mage strapped a magic anklet to my leg that makes it impossible for me to leave this garden until he comes back and removes it. See?" She lifted up her skirts to reveal, true to her words, an ugly black leather strap lashed to her ankle. Jon swore and bent down to attempt to remove it, but he met with little luck. The lock was strong as steel. "Don't you think I already tried that?" she asked bitterly, "it's magic Jon, you know how difficult powerful spells are to break…Mithros, I even tried George's lock-picking tricks, but it's not an ordinary metal clasp here…it's cursed magic."
"But you have the gift!" He vented angrily, "and so do I! Maybe together…?"
Alanna's eyes lit up, "I hadn't thought of that…" she murmured softly. "Ok, take my hand, and on the count of three just…I don't know, shove your gift into the lock and try and open it!"
For three second she waited with bated breath, her slender hands held in union with Jon's strong ones. Together they reached deep inside their cores and withdrew the strands of glowing magic within them; Jon's a deep blue, Alanna's a vibrant purple. The gift's mingled into a pulsating indigo as it surged into the cold steel of the metal lock. For a moment the anklet grew warm; Alanna felt the metal heat up uncomfortably. She gritted her teeth through the pain—she had handled worse before!
One moment stretched into two, then three, finally four—it seemed as if an eternity had passed in that short span of time. Jon's brow was furrowed in concentration, and sweat poured down his shoulder blades in a steady rivulets. Mithros, this mage's gift was strong!
Jon glanced up and saw Alanna's dangerously pale pallor. Her eyes were shut tightly and pain was etched on every inch of her gentle features. He broke the spell in alarm, tearing his hands away from her so quickly she nearly tumbled over.
"Why'd…you…stop?" Alanna gasped, trying to regain her lost breath.
"It was hurting you," Jon murmured, concern engraved in his grimace. "And besides, it wasn't working anyway…the spell's too strong."
"I could have handled it…" Alanna muttered, though her shaking hands claimed otherwise.
"Sure you could have, everyone knows Alanna the Fearless Female Warrior is actually invincible," Jon commented dryly, enfolding her quivering hands in his steady ones.
Alanna sniffed in disdain. She had forgotten what an annoying prick Jon could be sometimes. "For you information, I am perfectly—" she began to admonish, but was interrupted by the sight of an approaching figure in the distance, "shit! Lord Oppenheimer's coming back! You've other men—er, though you're not exactly dressed as one…but still! You don't want to be thrown out of the ball or arrested by the guards! Scat!"
"But Alanna! We just found each other again! How can I possibly leave you?" Jon cried, making a split decision and whipping out Lightning from beneath his skirts, fully intent on challenging Lord Oppenheimer to a dual on the spot.
Alanna's eyes widened at the sight of her beloved sword. "How did you…? No, never mind, tell me later, it's not important now. You have to go, Jon, you can't stay and fight Lord Oppenheimer right outside the ballroom door where everyone can see! You'll be caught for sure! And then they'll find out that not only are you a man in disguise, but you're a runaway slave…do you know what the punishment in Carthak is for running away and impersonating a noble? Death, Jon…it's death."
"But Alanna—!"
"NO! It's not worth it! The Prince of Tortall will not die on my account; now get out of here, Lord Oppenheimer is almost around the corner!"
For the briefest second Jon hesitated, every fiber of his being tensely hanging on end. He wanted so badly to stay and fight, but he knew the smart move was to go. There'd be other chances for him to be with Alanna…but right now he had to run. In heels, as fast as he could.
Jon sheathed the blade, tucked it beneath his skirts, and hurriedly affixed his wig to his head, ignoring the fact that it was on sideways. A lock of fake hair in his right eye was so not his priority right now. "Just tell me where I can find you later, after the ball…your rooms here in the Emperor's palace, where are they?"
"In the west wing, on the third story, down the hall and to the right, there's a statue of a knight outside the door, but Jon you can't come to my rooms when Lord Oppenheimer's there! He's sleeping right next door!"
"We'll figure something out," Jon hurriedly whispered, ducking behind a large hydrangea bush. "I'll see you soon, I promise!"
He was gone in an instant, vanished into thin air like a puff of smoke. That last she saw of her prince was a flash of silver from his glass slipper, before he disappeared into the darkness for good.
--
Meanwhile, from the ballroom floor, two men were peering through the large glass windows, looking as if their haul of Midwinter presents had been exceptionally good that year. A large spittle of drool was actually hanging from Chartres' dumbstruck mouth, and Lord Yohan Vilhem Ulbrecht couldn't stop twirling his handlebar mustache gleefully.
They had watched in awe and lust as Lady Candlerella and Lady Alanna had joined together in the rose garden for the world's hottest lesbian make-out session! Then the girl-on-girl action got even better, when Lady Candlerella dove under Lady Alanna's skirts for a little oral pleasuring! Mithros! It was the best, most pornographic show either man had ever seen in their lives!
"Zat vas very, very good yah?" Lord Yohan Vilhem Ulbrecht breathed, his nose still pressed firmly to the glass. "In my country, ve never see ze ladies kizz each other like zat, but I do love ze uber lezbianz, yez I do!"
"Ohhhhh yeah, so do I…" Chartres replied idiotically, a stupid grin plastering his glassy-eyed face. "I don't think I'll be able to walk straight for the next half hour…"
(A/N: When boys get boners, ie: their manhood becomes erect, they have a bit of trouble walking properly. They can do it, but they sort of have to slouch and shuffle lol, it's actually kind of funny to watch…)
To Be Continued…
…Saphron…
A/N: YES! REUNION AT LAST! OH THE JOY! OH THE RAPTURE!
Oh, wait, crap, they were seperated again weren't they? Awww, horseshit...
No worries kids, there's much more A/J fluff forthcoming...detailed A/J fluff...I've always wanted to write some really steamy sex scenes. PS: What's your opinion on slipping in a little slash? (Not with Alanna and Jon of course, but with two other fairly main characters...opinions?)
So, did you all like the chapter? Was it everything you hoped for? Were you disappointed, relieved, happy? Feedback please yes?