by Atlantis Forester
A.N. I'm so TERRIBLY sorry for all the delays! I'll try harder, I promise, but I'm in the painful process of rewriting almost all my fics! Forgive me!
Chapter Four:
"YOU'RE CRAZY!!!!!" A furious yell echoed throughout Corus, shaking it's foundations. The yell came from one of the rooms in the palace.
Jon winced and plugged his ears. "Alanna! You're going to make me deaf!"
Alanna glared ferociously at the people surrounding her. The poor seamstresses cowered in a corner.
"Mithros, Alanna!" Jon exclaimed. "It's just a DRESS!"
"AND WHAT DO I NEED A BLOODY DRESS FOR?!?!?!" Alanna's voice mounted higher and higher in the pitch scale. "ESPECIALLY ONE WITH FRILLS AND WHATNOT ON IT!!!"
"I'm telling you! Tonight there's a formal ball, and we need to clarify things to the others. It was specifically organized for that reason!"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE CLOTHES I'M WEARING NOW, ANYWAYS?!?!?!"
He winced. "Alanna, please! I'm begging you! If we don't clear things out soon, then rumors and scandals will pass around, and there'll be trouble!"
Alanna frowned inwardly at herself. What rumours?
A brave seamstress hesitantly walked forward. "Can I take your measurements now, my lady?" she asked in a small voice.
Alanna scowled blackly at Jon. "NO WAY IN HELL!!!" she roared.
"Alanna! PLEASE! I--"
A rough, pleasant voice interrupted Jon. "Aw, Jon, don't push the lass. I'm sure she'll reason somethin' out sooner or later." A tall man with twinkling hazel eyes stepped into view from behind him, grinning. He was garbed comfortably in a loose white shirt, soft brown breeches, worn leather boots, and a simple forest green tunic. A black wool cloak was slung around his shoulders, and his light brown hair was ruffled.
At the sight of him, Alanna frowned. Like Jon, he seemed very familiar. This seemed to trigger something in her, and and she saw a scene in the depths of her mind.
He looked around, checking to see if anyone was coming, then suddenly tilted her face up with one hand. "Alanna," he whispered, "I'm takin' advantage of you now, because I may never catch you with your hands full again." He kissed her softly and carefully.
Almost as if in a trance, Alanna murmured two name, one a name she'd never known. "George. Jon." Suddenly, she looked back and forth between him and Jon and felt a faraway pain in her heart.
Startled, Jon and the familiar man stared at her. Alanna shivered. "I'm going to my room," she said quietly before stumbling out of the room, her hands clutched to her chest.
A soft smile spread on the hazel-eyed man. "She remembers my name," he murmured to himself. No one made a move to follow Alanna.
Gasping for breath, Alanna clutched her head, trying to stop the flow of strange visions. First came one of a boy who looked exactly like she did when she was ten; next was a scene of a strange version of her pummeling a blond boy with crooked teeth; the next was a stranger picture--the picture of Jon/George's soft lips on hers.
"What's going on?!" she cried to herself. "What's happening to me?!"
Jon swallowed another mouthful of seasoned wine. "Mithros," he muttered to George, who was sitting across the table from him. "She confuses me!"
"Did she ever confuse you before?" asked George.
"Well... no... yes... Oh, I don't know! It's just... she was just her. Stubborn, beautiful, strong... What about you, George?"
"Alanna was Alanna," said George thoughtfully. He laughed loudly at Jon's bemused face. "I think that, in some cases, bein' born common is better than being born noble. You try too hard to explain what you feel. This is what I say: the only way to explain something you can't explain is to explain it by something that you can't explain."
"Oh, that's very clear," remarked Jon, a great deal of sarcasm lacing his voice. "I can just see it clear as daylight!"
"I don' think that's the issue right now, and you know it. What we're both really thinkin' on whether Alanna will really become herself again and who she'll choose."
Jon's beautiful sapphire eyes met George's clear hazel ones. They clapped a hand on each other's shoulders.
Thom dipped a weary hand in the cool water in the silver basin. Alanna... Why did she die? After her passing, he no longer felt any motivation for anything. The only reason he continued to persevere in the arts of sorcery was for the memory of his beloved sister.
However, lately, there had been disturbing news. Not news sent to him, but an imbalance in the core of the world. Even the thick-headed masters could not ignore the odd signs. But that was not what was most unsettling. For a while now, Thom could feel his sister's presence again.
It might be about time that I visited the palace.
Alanna finally scrambled into a sort of courtyard. Looking around, she noticed rows upon rows of lethal swords, spears, bows, and other such weapons. Her gleaming violet eyes set upon a sword lying motionless on the dust apart from the others. Still enveloped in her dreamlike haze, she slowly trudged to it and picked it up with great difficulty. Some inside instinct was telling her to pick it up. Strange circular shapes filled her mind, and, unconsciously, she swung the sword in the shape of these circuits. It was difficult at first, but became much easier as she continued, almost as if she'd done this her entire life.
Alanna closed her eyes and followed sweeping, strangely heartbreakingly familiar motions with the sword, getting faster and faster. She performed incredible jumps, ducks, spins, metal whistling about her head as she swung the sword in downward strikes, butterfly slashes, upward strokes, stabbing moves. Tears rolled down her cheeks, mingling with the sweat of her exertion. She continued like this for a long, long time...
It started to rain. The castle was thouroughly searched, but only the inside. No one thought to glance outside the window and notice a lone figure in the growing darkness, silver flashing all about it in circles.
A.N. Yet again, INCREDIBLY short. It's just that I was in a hurry to give you all at least SOMETHING. Yet again, forgive me!