Wow, codeine can knock you out or keep you awake until 5AM. Anyway, it fueled this, so it isn't all that bad. Some of you were confused by the last chapter, but this one offers a bit of explanation. Enjoy!


Alexander of Tirragen regretted many things in his young life. His mother despised him, showering his sisters with affection while silently despising him. His father had died of a sudden illness when he was still a tiny boy. His great-grandmother continued to expect him to pull down the very heavens and prove himself better than his peers, shunning him if he performed less that spectacularly. The past thirteen years had been anything but pleasant, and as he found himself standing before his king, he wondered if there was a god with a vendetta against him. It was simply incomprehensible that his path in life was so jagged and bumby.

Now he had another thing to regret, saving the Lioness' granddaughter.

King Jonathan of Conte, wise and proud king revered throughout the world, faced a dilemma. Much like had happened three years ago, the grandson of the man who had once been his friend stood in his private office, a practical copy of the once great man. There were differences, of course, but they were only detectible if time had been spent with this Alexander and the late lord of Tirragen.

It would require more tact than he felt like expending, but carelessness would cost Jonathan greatly. The situation wasn't one he could ignore and walk away from.

"Is that all that happened yesterday mornining, page?" It was difficult to be unbiased in a situation like this, at a time like this. Jonathan fought hard to reign in his grief, his anger at the unfair ways of fate, barely winning when he remembered the small dark-haired boy slowly recovering in the palace infimirary. "Well, page?"

If he had been given a choice, Alex would have preferred to face the band of immortals all over again. "Yes, sire, that is how the events transpired."

"And the other page that was found nearby, do you know anything of that?"

Alex could lie, but it would be pointless, it was obvious by the look on the king's face that he knew some of the details. Lying would only serve to put him under further scrutiny. Gods, he hated his life.

"Yes, sire." Before his throat could close up on him, Alex forced himself to swallow. "I witnessed Pirate's Swoop leaving the palace grounds yesterday monrning. I curious to see where he – she – was going when we were all supposed to report to Lord Padriag." Alex didn't want to remember how easily he'd been fooled, how he had believed her act, left his only remaining friend, because he thought that someone knew what it was like to have too much expected of them. The bitter taste of revelation had yet to leave his mouth. "When I finally found Pirate's Swoop, she was at a physical disadvantage to Pierina. I felt obligated to step in and prevent bloodshed."

Steepling his fingers and leaning back in his chair, the king obviously want to know the rest.

"I tried to assist, to give her a chance to excape, but then," Alex's words failed him here. Most of what happened the day before had blended together, and the sleepless night in between wasn't helping his memory. "There were screams, sire. I didn't know until it was too late that Pirate's Swoop had gone off in the opposite diraection. By the time I got there, she was unconscious. I manage to take down another of the creatures that Pirate's Swoop had failed to kill, and then reinforcements arrived. I then tried heal her and the prince as best I could."

"You are still avoiding my question." Alex knew it; he just couldn't bring himself to say what the king had already speculated. "As an act of self defense, I killed Pierina of Stone Mountian in a duel, your majesty."

Alex could still see the scene playing out, if he closed his eyes. The memories, the pained look on his friend's pretty face, had been haunting him every second of the last two days. Knowledge that the person he had defended was a liar and schemer made his actions all the more agonizing.

Jonathan knew that the boy had only offered the barest of details, but extended mercy. He owed it to the boy, after what he had done the day before. Without moving from his reclined position, he dismissed the boy with a gesture. The sound of the heavy door closing masked his tortured groan.

How had things escalated to this? How had he lost so much that was dear to him in such a short time? What would he say to Jonnie if, when, he corrected himself, the boy woke up. How to tell the boy? That he was alone now? That his parents and sisters had gone to join the Black God? It was unfair enough that Jonathan had to deal with the pain of loss, but asking the small boy to shoulder the guilt of survival was too much at his age.

However, this was not his moment to mourn, though. As sovereign, he had matters to attend to before he could deal with the loss of his family.

The goblet of wine was placed on his desk without him having asked for it. A tanned and calloused hand rested on his shoulder, reassuring in its silence. Downing the cup without a care, Jonathan thanked his spymaster.

"You can't do this to yourself now, Jon," George of Pirate's Swoop hadn't swifted from his place. "Alanna arrived an hour ago," he said hesitantly.

"And I take it that you haven't seen her yet?" Fearless or not, few dared to brave the Lioness and her temper without aid. "I'll go to the infirmary in a few moments, George." He was trying to make light of the situation, to act as if it was only a minor incident that had called Alanna to Corus.

Decorum failed him, and the mighty king felt a small bit of his spirit break. Although it was a quiet death that his soul suffered, it was reverberating throughout the palace, throughout Corus, throughout his kingdom and the kingdoms beyond.


In the palace infirmary there was a section that had recently been curtained off. Three men, five women, and thirteen children laid on pristine beds, their faces covered by the sheets. They had died before reaching the palace.

It had seemed cruel to force the Chief Healer to perform his duties, related as he was to a third of the dead, and the younger healers had sent him away while they did his job for him. More than one person wished that they could have also been excused. Death was common, but the butchery of women and children wasn't so familiar to them.

The rest of the infirmary looked little better. The stench of blood, despite the incense burning, refused to leave, and it wasn't all too surprising. Dozens of courtiers, kights, pages, soldiers, and members of the palace staff had shuffling in and out of the room, each suffering from some wound or another, but few requiring to the spend the night.

The one patient to come in without obvious wounds was Kyle of Masbolle. A stablehand had found the boy tied up in one of the rafters covered with hay. He was lucky. The boy was shaking and clearly dehydrated when he was brought in, but his problems had been solved easily enough. A quick healing, orders to drink plenty of water, and an escort back to his room, the page was gone.

Even with all of the patients that were sent back to their own beds, few infirmary beds remained empty, and the healers found themselves going without rest and meals, forgetting their own health in the effort to undo some of the carnage. It wasn't until the afternoon after the attack on the palace, when a quiet voice requested entrance from the posted guards, that the healers left the awful room.

Alanna of Pirate's Swoop, Alanna the Lioness, had seen and shed blood over her years as a knight. She had seen war, poverty, death. She would have willingly spent the rest of her life replaying those appalling moments, if it meant that she could go without seeing what was in front of her. Lying on the sixth bed on the right side of the infirmary was her beloved grandchild. Whichever of her grandchildren it had been, Alanna would have suffered for it, but that it was Eleni, her only granddaughter, the little girl she had believed to be far away and safe, broke Alanna's heart. Riding on the heels of her grief was boiling rage, but it failed to overtake sorrow.

An hour passed before anything disturbed the silence. The lady knight had long since begun a vigil over Eleni, sitting at her bedside and praying to every god of every land that her granddaughter would make it through another night, and many more after that one.

The intruder was a young healer, frightened of this subdued Lioness, but he had tasks to perform. "Mila-"

Alanna didn't correct him, didn't move at all. "I believe that I won't in your way, healer." Imposing even while grieving, she knew that few would challenge her commands for now.

The healer had little choice but to go about his rounds, checking on the status of the twenty-eight injured. Twenty-seven patients down, the small healer steeled himself. "Madam," he called gently from her side. A grunt was the only response he received. "I have to check on her now, milady." He met little resistance and hurried about.

The girl was still covered in wounds that hadn't closed over entirely, but the healers had been spread thin, too thin to treat every superficial injury. The girl would suffer more scars than would ever benefit a lady. Judging from the clothing she had been wearing when brought to the infirmary the healer doubted that the girl would mind a few scras. Without another word to the knight, the healer covered up Eleni and left.

The sound of the door closing was strident to the ears of the room's sole conscious occupant. Silence didn't prevail for long. Alanna cried, something she did on few occasions, and continued to pray. She prayed for Eleni, for the boy lying on the bed next to hers, for the others in the infirmary, for the twenty-one taken before their time.


I'm awful, I know. It was necessary, I promise! Any guesses about the whole thing? I love reading your theories, and some become fact!