Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess

By Saphron

A/N: HOLY –insert expletive here- I leave for a week and WOW look at all those reviews! –joys, happiness, rapture- I'm sooo glad you all liked last chapter so much! Thank you for your constructive feedback, it was most helpful! And thanks for the plot ideas, I have a plan all ready for how Jon and Alanna are going to be reunited (again) but I love hearing YOUR ideas too! I'm still unsure about the slash, it remains to be seen, the little "uber lezbianz" scene was partly a test to gauge audience reaction. For the most part it met with high approval, which is quite promising. Obviously, although the scene was intended to be funny, I in no way meant any disrespect towards gay people, as I appreciate, tolerate, and value all human beings regardless of their sexual orientation. You may have noticed, but I intend this fic to be a little edgy, a little provocative. It deals with slavery, ethics, sex, sexual awareness, etc. so… I'll probably have to up the rating at some point lol. Like right now. Anyway, enough blather, read on, read on. And again, sorry for the delay, I'm carrying sixteen units at college this semester, and it's quite time-consuming, oy…but I really do read and appreciate and love each and every one of your reviews and I DO care about everything you say, and fear not, I'm not dead, just busy…

PS: If you usually skip Tortall scenes, there IS a Carthak scene with Alanna at the bottom.

Chapter 37 – R.E.B.E.L.

"The most heroic word in all languages is revolution."

-- Eugene Debs

Tortall:

Gary paced from one corner of the room to the other, each angry stride wearing a thin groove along the smooth stone floor. He glanced again at the windows and scowled; the cold metal bars remained, taunting him, entrapping him, maddening him. The solid wooden door was equally impenetrable; Duke Roger has added not just the standard deadbolt lock, but the strongest sealing charms this side of the Western hemisphere. He was trapped, trapped like a fly in a spider's web. And all he could do was pace fruitlessly from one inconsequential point to another, going nowhere, always nowhere.

Gary's only comfort remained in the fact that he was caged in his own bedroom, which thankfully included all the basic amenities necessary for a comfortable existence, such as books, bedding, and toilet facilities. However, he was still confined to a square box roughly twenty feet by thirty, and the mere notion of imprisonment was infuriating. He soon grew bored of furiously throwing his books across the room and pounding on the (silencing spell enchanted) door. Even following a tireless ant carrying a bread crumb three times the size of its entire body mass across the cracks and crevices of his floor boards soon grew wearisome for the bored to tears knight.

Duke Roger was clever enough to know that if he threw one of the realm's most beloved knights in the (incredibly public) dungeons, a costly civil war would be delivered at his feet in moments. Instead, he had placed the youth under house arrest and instructed the court that Gary was ill and not to be disturbed while he recovered from his "sudden mental breakdown."

It was a brilliant strategy, really. Gary was out of the way, where he could no longer spin his dangerous web of knowledge and influence others to rebel against the Duke, but at the same time his captivity appeared innocent to the public eye. Duke Roger was feigning a devout bout of concern over Gary's mental well-being that could rival the Lady of Naxen's, and everyone seemed to be under the impression that Gary had indeed snapped from the strains of knighthood.

While a few rare but keenly perceptive nobles were suspicious enough to question such a convenient excuse, most were blissfully oblivious to the truth. Oh, Gary's little outburst had certainly raised a few eyebrows, but there was hardly enough evidence to prove the acting King of high treason! Some might have been inclined to belief if Gary had been present and able to reinforce his shocking claims, but his conspicuous absence only lead to doubt and a regression back to the safety of denial. Such was the Duke's intentions, and such was the result.

Nonetheless, Gary's friends did what they could to restore the reputation of their missing comrade, if only through subtle means that would not catch the Duke's vengeful eye. Myle's history lessons to the squires seemed to suddenly lean heavily on past textbook cases of high treason, such as the assassination of King Midas IV by his royal advisor Sir Goldentouch, and Raoul was observed by a host of onlookers thoroughly stomping on the legs of a sniveling page by the name of Matty who reportedly claimed one dreary day during fencing practice that Sir Gary was "mad as a hatter and deserved to be locked up with the other paranoid conspiracy theory lunatics who think Stormwings were real and Prince Jonathan had been kidnapped by an all female crew of swash-buckling pirates." Sir Raoul apparently did not take this notion too well.

Yet these meager attempts to right what was so unjustly wrong in the political arena of Tortall's upper-class did little to change the dire situation at hand. Gary's dramatic announcement was quickly losing the limelight to the latest scandals and court gossip of romance and chivalry, whereas previously all that was discussed at tea parties and picnics was the "accusation," as it was quickly christened. Now the main topic of such affairs typically featured the latest marriage proposals and jealous financial estimates of various fiefs' fiscal worth, with the occasional speculation on foreign diplomatic affairs.

Nonetheless, Myles and Raoul had managed to gather a small but dedicated covert group of believers, who gathered weekly in secret to discuss what could be done to aide their cause. Together they called themselves the Resistance Establishment of Believers against the Evil Lord, or R.E.B.E.L for short. Among their numbers they counted the original founders Sir Myles and Sir Raoul; Gary's close friends, squires Douglas and Geoffrey; the younger pages Jerome, Taylor, and Justin, all three inseparable best friends whom Gary had taken under his wing some many moons ago for a little advanced fencing instruction out of the kindness of his heart (and aided by the fact that Jerome's older sister was the lovely Lady Cynthia of Devonshire); Stephan the horse hostler, who knew Gary to be an honest young man, and had picked up from George that Duke Roger was not to be trusted; Cookie the palace's head Chef, and her favorite assistant Minnie, who often giggled when Sir Gary wandered into the kitchen for a late night snack and kept him long after his piece of pumpkin pie had been eaten; Lady Ameetha, who was madly in love with the imprisoned young knight and thought it quite the romantic tale that if she could aide him in such an important and obvious way he would surely return her unrequited feelings of ardor tenfold, so had knowingly sought Raoul's assistance immediately following the accusation, aware of the man's position as her beloved's best friend; Sir Gareth the elder, an obvious choice; and lastly, Sir Alex of Tirragan, who had approached Raoul much like the Lady Ameetha, suspecting plans were in the works to free their childhood friend. Sir Myles had privately questioned Sir Alex's loyalty and true intentions, given his history as Duke Roger's personal squire, but Raoul had insisted Alex was with them solidly. Myles had little proof against the court's best fencer, and left the matter to rest, knowing he'd never be able to persuade his partner in rebellion. However, he remained vigilant, his piercing eyes surprisingly lucid behind the normally clouded haze of alcoholic stupor, leaving Sir Alex little chance to sabotage their all-ready fragile and danger-fraught plans.

"Hush now," Raoul directed towards the milling, muttering mass of followers crowding his tiny knight's apartment. A palable tension hung in the air; although Duke Roger had proclaimed no edicts banning an pro-Gary movement, few had illusions that if caught they'd survive to tell the tale. If Raoul had not known and trusted each man or woman present personally, they'd never had made it through the door. Their covert society remained a fortress of caution. "It is time to begin the first meeting of R.E.B.E.L," he intoned, casting his gaze across the flickering eyes of his fellows, as if searching each shining pool of color for deception or deceit, "Our first order of business is to locate Turnip's whereabouts. Although the Duke claims he is ill—yes Jerome, what is it?"

"Er, sorry to interrupt," the young sandy-haired page piped up, "but I think I missed something. Were we supposed to bring vegetables to this meeting? Because no one told me anything about any turnips! I might have some wilting carrots back in my room somewhere, I was saving them for my horse but if you need them for our cause…"

"No Jerome," Raoul explained patiently, "Turnip is a code name for—" his voice abruptly dropped to a barely audible whisper "—you-know-who, the man we're attempting to rescue! In case we need to discuss R.E.B.E.L. business outside these walls, we need to be able to communicate in secret. Hence, the top secret codename, Turnip. All right? Now, if I may continue—what, Lady Ameetha?"

"Why is the codename 'Turnip'?" asked the noble girl, crinkling her nose, "I mean there are so many nicer vegetables to name him, such as Tomato. Everyone likes the taste of tomatoes, but I haven't heard of anyone who likes to eat Turnips!"

Raoul let out a strangled utterance of exasperation, interrupting the pouting girl. "First of all, a tomato is a fruit, not a vegetable, and secondly, people's vegetable preferences are hardly relevant seeing as we're not actually going to eat the man in question! It's just a codename I've devised and we're not changing it! Now, if we may finally continue, our first order of business—what Stephan? And for the love of Mithros this better not be about codenames or vegetables, I swear—"

The normally shy hostler shook his head, a slight blush creeping over his lined but gentle features as he opened his mouth to speak in front of the crowd. He was a horse person, not a people person, and disliked public speaking almost as much as Squire Alan reportedly disliked dancing with noble ladies. "Pardon th' interruption Sir—"

"In here you may call me Comrade," Raoul interrupted, nodding for the hostler to continue.

"—er, pardon me then Comrade, but I 'ave word from th' Rogue himself that'd he'd like to partake in our noble efforts like, if it pleases ye that is."

"George!" Raoul cried, his brown eyes lighting up brightly, "Gods I had forgotten about him…but of course he must know what's going on, his messenger pigeons would have seen to that. Good heavens we could use his help, although of course he can't physically attend meetings, but yes Stephan, please tell him he if officially a member of R.E.B.E.L."

The rest of the followers looked thoroughly confused, but Raoul didn't bother to explain. When questioned by an overly curious Lady Ameetha , Raoul simply brushed off the matter and claimed George was "just an old friend of Gary's, wanting to do his bit." She bought the explanation readily, and returned to her day dreams of Sir Gary's extremely broad and muscular shoulders…

Of course, Sir Alex had not been so easily dismissed. Although he didn't press the matter after one initial inquiry, as that would appear far too suspicious, he did tuck away the knowledge that the Raoul and Gary were on intimate terms with the King of Thieves, aka: the Rogue himself. Doubtless Duke Roger would find this knowledge invaluable…

"Now our first order of business is to find a way to get and receive messages from Turnip. Duke Roger claims he's ill, but of course, we suspect otherwise. No visitors are allowed to enter his rooms, save the Duke's particular healers, not even Gary's own parents! Obviously, this is a cover up, and Turnip is being held against his will…"

The meeting continued long into the wee hours of the night, with little accomplishments to show for it other than the development of a glaring enmity between the Lady Ameetha and the cook's assistant Minnie, both of whom seemed to lay claim to Gary's tender heart. Nonetheless, Raoul and Miles were cheered by the small turnout, and pleased to finally be taking action as opposed to sitting around doing nothing. Action was always better than helplessness. Tomorrow Raoul planned to ride to the city to discuss matters with George, and Myles wanted to track down and question the healers allowed to enter Gary's room and see if one of them could be bribed to pass messages along to him. Gold often spoke stronger than keys or rules.

R.E.B.E.L. was officially underway.

Carthak:

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.

Alanna had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Finally, her Prince had returned to her, if only for a few minutes…she had seen him, touched him. Embraced him. The moment had been painfully blissful, until they were so cruelly separated, yet again.

Alanna felt dazed, as if she had dreamed the whole reunion only in her mind. Yet before she could get her bearings again, Lord Oppenheimer came waltzing through the garden, a bulging box tucked in the crook of his arm and a gleeful smile lingering on his face.

"Ah, there you are my little snuggle bunny, I'm glad to see you've calmed down some!" He chirped, waving his hand in one quick fluid motion to remove the cumbersome slave anklet.

"Huh?" Alanna replied numbly, still reeling from Jon's sudden appearance—and just as sudden disappearance. "Oh, right, yeah…" she mumbled sourly, her voice dripping with irony, "that cherub really helped…"

"I knew it would, all girls love silly things like that." Lord Oppenheimer beamed, missing the sarcasm. "Hmm, that's odd, do you smell a faint burning scent in the air?" He added, turning his nose to sniff curiously around him.

"Er, not at all!" Alanna squeaked in reply, "Brr it's chilly out here, shall we go back inside?"

"Excellent idea darling," Lord Oppenheimer smiled down benevolently at her, "it's time for the unfurling of my greatest creation!"

He tucked his free arm around her waist and led her to the pleasant warmth of the ballroom. Alanna glanced back once over her shoulder, but the grey night revealed nothing of her Prince. There was only darkness.

Inside, the ball was still buzzing. The promenade had ended long ago, and most nobles had returned to their tables for a scrumptious seven course meal. The guests were just tucking into their spinach pastry appetizers, when Lord Oppenheimer strode confidently across the center of the room towards the Emperor's royal throne, his short red-haired slave in tow.

All eyes turned towards the mage; rumors had been circulating for weeks about his mysterious "gift" to the Emperor. As the mage approached the dais, the Emperor put down his spoon and an expectant hush settled over the room like a cloak.

"My most noble Emperor," Lord Oppenheimer began demurely, dipping into the deepest of bows. A fierce tug on the hem of Alanna's sleeve reminded her she should show her respect as well, so she awkwardly dipped into a fragile warbling curtsey that at best could be described as "somewhat adequate."

"I would like to present to you the fruit of my creation, the jewel of my mage's work, the crown of my lifetime—The Gadget!" He whipped out his invention with a flourish as an audible gasp of wonderment swept throughout the room in a wave. Curiosity soon followed…what was this strange device exactly? It looked like a rather large glass sphere, instead of which dashed fierce bolts of lighting in dazzling flashes of color. The sparks danced across the walls chaotically, lending a dim but pulsating aura of neon bright color

"I thank you for your gift," the Emperor said stiffly, as custom required. "But what is it?" He added, his aroused curiosity more persuasive than mere social etiquette.

"It is the manifestation of the legendary Mage's Ball, a device so powerful, the likes of it have never been seen on Earth since the great gods themselves deemed to allow humankind to harness such awesome power, some countless centuries ago. Within this one tiny sphere contains enough force to move mountains, to sweep seas across land, to make forests spring from grassy knolls. By tapping into this virtually unlimited pool of magic, healers can stay alert for hours on end in the battlefield, never running the risk of over exerting themselves again. Indeed, Emperor, if I may be so bold, I would exert that this invention will change the face of healing magic and warfare forever!"

The crowd looked positively dumbstruck, but a wave of gleeful delight stole rapidly across the Emperor's features. He looked practically demonic as he reached out his hands and grabbed the glass ball, now a vibrant fiery red. Crimson shadows of lighting bols flashed across his face as he held the thing, every inch of the man trembling with anticipation and ecstasy.

"You have done me a great service, mage!" The Emperor roared happily, "for this wonderful creation you bring me, I shall award you with anything you want, within limits of course. But gold, jewels, land, what is your desire?"

Lord Oppenheimer shook his head bashfully. He knew the Emperor would be overjoyed with gratitude, but he wasn't used to standing so obvious in the spotlight.

"Well…" Lord Oppenheimer began demurely, bringing the speech he had prepared for months to the forefront of his mind. Finally, he would get his heart's wish! Oh, this day was gloriously golden indeed! "All would really like in this world is a high-ranking teaching post at the University, so I have some means of supporting myself in all my future endeavors."

"Done!" The Emperor snapped, his booming voice echoing throughout the hall, "I dub thee University Headmaster!"

A spindly man the very picture of prim and proper decorum—presumably, the previous University Headmaster—squawked with outrage and tumbled out his chair onto the floor, but few paid him little heed.

"And, for asking such a modest request, I shall also give you 10,000 gold nobles, so you need never worry about 'supporting your future endeavors,' as you say!"

Lord Oppenheimer looked wide-eyed, but secretly pleased. He had thought to ask for a bit of gold, but didn't want to seem too presumptuous…now however, it appeared he'd get the money anyway, and really could begin his future endeavors after all!

"You are most generous," Lord Oppenheimer cried gratefully, tearing up in the eyes a bit, "in which case I'd like to announce my future endeavors to the world, if it pleases you, my Emperor?"

The man waved a disinterested hand of approval; having granted the mage's request, he had now turned eagerly to the glowing sphere of power in his hand…by the Hag, it was beautiful…

"With the money the Emperor has so munificently bestowed upon me, I would like to announce a party that you are all invited to—"

The crowd interrupted him with a hearty cheer of approval. Nobles loved a good party, especially an extravagant one that would cost hundreds if not thousands of gold nobles. That pretty much guarenteed the food would be good.

Lord Oppenheimer blushed, but charged onwards with his announcement, only pausing briefly to wave humbly around him, before declaring happily, "a party to celebrate my betrothal to the beautiful Lady Alanna!"

…Saphron…


A/N: Bit of a cliffy, no? Tehe. Big hugs to all!