Part Eleven-An End, of Sorts
She found herself in a green meadow, dotted with colorful flowers. The air smelled sweet and fresh, like just after a spring rain. She felt...relaxed, a feeling not experienced for quite some time. A woman lounged on the top of a hill, basking in the sunlight. Laughing merrily, she called, gesturing towards her.
"Isn't it a glorious day?" the woman asked. She was tall, with striking features, moonglow skin, bright emerald eyes, and long black hair. "Welcome, my daughter."
"I'm afraid I don't understand...where am I?"
The woman smiled gently. "Do not be afraid, my child. You are in a paradise."
She frowned. "Where is my daughter? I want to see my daughter! Please, whoever you are, send me back!"
The woman sighed, and reached out her hands, touching her forehead with cool fingers. "Goodbye for now, then, my dear."
She felt cool. After a memory of hot, flashing pain, that feeling was welcomed happily. She also heard voices, hushed voices, speaking near her. She tried to open her eyes, but everything was blurry, so she quickly shut them again, and drifted back into sleep.
But no more dreams came. She was awakened by new voices, ones she could comprehend.
"I'm surprised she's lasted this long, Majesty. There's little we can do for her now."
"You're a healer, by the Goddess, so heal her!" came the angry reply. "She's alive, I know it, and she'll stay alive! Just do your damn job!"
The other man sighed deeply. "We are trying, Your Majesty. We will do everything we are capable of to keep her alive."
She turned her head slightly, and opened her eyes. Though the sight was blurry and incomprehensible, she forced herself to keep them open. Slowly, things began to come back into focus. Suddenly, her husband knelt beside the bed and took her hand.
"Gods, you're alive!"
Alianne managed a weak smile. "Barely," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I feel awful."
"They've treated all of the burns," Casimiro replied, looking at her solemnly. "You should be back to normal very soon."
"W-where am I? What happened to the Tortallans?"
He looked away. "There was a battle...a vicious one. Many are dead, including my cousin Enrique."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Catalina will be heartbroken."
"I-I know."
She paled. "What's wrong?"
"Jonathan is dead."
Alianne smiled. "But that means we won, right?" She looked at his crestfallen face. "Right, Casimiro?"
"It looked as if we would win," he answered dejectedly. "And we did, thought not totally. Most of the nobles, including Meron, now call us monarchs. But because we were forced to retreat from Corus by the mob, others do not call us their rightful king and queen."
"So Roald still rules."
He nodded. "Yes, but a much smaller country. Almost a fourth of the size it was before."
"Then he is king of Tortall in name only," Alianne remarked thoughtfully. "And by somehow connecting ourselves with them, then we could strengthen our claim to that throne."
"Exactly. I was thinking Elena. We marry her to this little Tortallan prince now, and then she can grow up here. It's perfect."
She smiled. "You're right...Roald won't stand a chance."
Seven months later, Alianne paced her chambers furiously. After having waited almost nine months, she was sick of carrying the baby. Thought she knew it was foolish, she was begging the child to come out. Within a second, she would be on her knees.
Catalina entered quietly. She smiled at the sight of the queen so distressed. "Any day now, Your Majesty. I swear, the little prince is as ready to be born as you will him to be."
"Oh, I wish. Any word from Tortall?"
"Your husband sends his greetings. He is in Persopolis at the moment, helping sort out a tribal dispute."
She frowned. "I wish he could have been here. It would have been so much easier. But I suppose he has to go over there from time to time."
"Begging Your Majesty's pardon," Catalina began reluctantly, "but is it all right for you to receive a visitor?"
"Oh, gods, I suppose. Everyone's already seen me as fat as I am." She smiled wryly. "Just show them in."
The lady curtseyed low and exited. Soon after she'd left, what seemed to be a silk-clad lord rushed through her door.
Oh wait, it was a silk-clad lord. Her twin brother, to be exact. Alan, now duke of Olau (on his grandfather's death and his inheritance, Casimiro had elevated him to one of the highest-ranking members at either court), grinned when he saw her. "You look worse for wear," he exclaimed, and seized her in a hug. "Gods, you're fat."
"I'm almost nine months pregnant, you dimwit," Alianne snapped. "What d'you expect me to be, emaciated?"
"I'm just teasing. You look beautiful, sister."
She smiled. "You flatter me."
"Oh, I suppose," Alan replied lightly, as he poured himself a glass of wine. "It was a dreadful trip over. We were hit by a nasty storm at the halfway point."
"I wondered why you weren't here yet."
"Yes, speaking of that, why am I here?"
Alianne shrugged. "Moral support, I suppose. Since Casimiro's been away so long, you were the next closest person. I mean, the rest of our family's barely speaking to me."
He grinned at that. "Actually, they don't really mind you. Well, Thom hates you, but he's just like that. Join the club...he hates me too. Calls me a 'gods be damned traitor.' That is, when he acknowledges my existence, of course. It's not so hard to avoid him, though; we have very different friends."
"Hmm, interesting. Frankly, you are a traitor, though I wouldn't damn the gods while saying so."
Alan's eyes widened innocently. "Just because I helped Casimiro sneak that army into the city doesn't make me a traitor!"
Alianne looked back at him and shook her head. "You are impossible, you know that?"
"Well, you've told me that almost every day since we were five, so, yes, I've got the picture." He grinned, and held out his arm. "Well, sister mine, will you show me your beautiful palace?"
She took it. "Absolutely."
The baby came in the middle of the night. As she laid back, exhausted, against the pillows, Alianne found herself reaching out instinctively for the child. "Well?"
"It's a boy," the midwife answered. Alianne let out a sigh of relief, and looked up at Catalina, still holding her hand.
"His name will be Enrique," she announced. Catalina smiled sadly and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. "He would have been so honored."
Alianne nodded. "I know." She turned and summoned a servant. "Alert the courtiers that a prince has been born. And have one of the couriers send a message to His Majesty in Persopolis." She turned back to the baby and sighed with relief that he looked almost exactly like his uncle Alan, complete with his blond hair and bright green eyes. No one need ever know now, she thought with relief. No one ever will know...
And yet, will they?
A/N: It's not complete, not yet anyway. That's just another wonderful cliffhanger for y'all. There will probably be another couple of chapters for this fic, though I don't actually know what they're going to be about…*sighs* Oh well. Yeah, so, review! *winks* Since I'm in a uber-good mood, cause we've had TWO five-day weekends in a row (Thanksgiving, then snow days), I'm going on a posting spree! Yay! Plus, I'm almost done with this fic, which makes me sad and excited at the same time. Though, I know I'll have fun writing the one about Elena.
Love,
Anne Boleyn ^_~*