A/N – Okay…Big A/N For a big chapter [16,000+ words! Bigger than my first few Chapters combined!] ^_^

First things first – I'm amazed at the feedback for this! Thank you *so* much to everyone who reviewed! Hope you enjoy the rest of the story (all…erm…three or so Chapters left, anyway!). Please don't hesitate to critique it if you want to, either – as while it's not as fun to read as the "You're so cool!" ones (Hehe), they're useful as anything!

Like…Undiscovered_Actress did! And I'm very thankful for those comments, because it shows me where I'm going a little iffy. So, since she's been so great since the beginning in reviewing, I'll do my best to clarify the points she raised.

· Roger acts differently in this story because…well…he's already got what he wanted. He's 'let down his guard' because he's already got power. I'll be going into that a little later, in fact it's somewhat mentioned in this chapter (and your questioning prompted a longer look at that – so thanks! -_^)

· The Goddess in this story is a little more human, mainly for the ability to have snarky banter between Alanna and her. Also for something that's going to happen next chapter. Good that you recognized it, but…I'll deviate from Tammy's work on that one, thanks! ^_^

· And…as to the third, Alanna in the books doesn't really care that Jon's 'Royalty' until he actually asks her to Marry him. She's fine with being his friend, even his lover, but freaks out only when he asks her to marry her. I just kind of extended that, though as you'll (hopefully) see, she was still in a bit of shock at that time, so she wasn't really being truly expressive.

Anyway, that's those done. Or at least my lame arse attempt at justification, even ^_^

NOW THEN – Onto Chapter…eleven? I forget. Big Chapter, since it's been such a long time since I updated. Though that's not the only reason – as it's an incredibly heavy chapter, lots of dialogue. Lots of plot…lots of angst…I'm not sure exactly how it turned out, so I would be so incredibly thankful for anyone who reviews it! If it does get a little heavy going in places (Notably the 'all italic' bits), please note that down too! Oh, it also took a while because I started another story. Please check it out too! /shameless plug.

Warning – As I mentioned at the beginning of this story, the PG-13 Rating should be considered extremely tenuous. This Chapter in particular is most definitely a mature PG-13. If you are easily offended, primarily by violence, a pinch of naughty language, and some rather throwaway references to sex (not that that's really offensive), please don't read it! Thanks! ^_^

Most of all, Enjoy it!

ARGH! Stupid Italics aren't working properly L If you see a paragraph which begins with and is mostly italicized, just imagine that all of it is. Please? I don't want to look stupid…;)

***

With a gasp, Alanna awoke. The rain was heavier now, pounding into the window to her left in a staccato rhythm.

Patterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatter…

It was, now that she was awake and conscious, almost a deafening sound. She was amazed that she hadn't been awoken before now by it.

A tear fell from her eyelash, dropping onto the sheet in front of her. She watched the patch of wetness spreading into the fabric for a moment, slowly spreading out into the fibres from where it had originally fallen. Alanna, in that special kind of drowsiness that comes from awakening suddenly, thought that it was a lot like her current situation; a single event spreads further and further, a single bad decision, the way consequences of a single poor thought spread and multiplied – from their original position to, well, wherever the tear, wherever she was now.

She shuddered a little. These were too deep thoughts for now. Another tear fell from her eye – she hadn't even recognized that she was crying, though she wasn't particularly surprised by it either. It's just that…

Standing up from off the bed, she grabbed the sheet, wrapping it around her naked body. She worried that perhaps it would wake George, and Goddess knows she didn't want to talk to him at the moment, maybe not even in the morning, but she simply was too tired, too weary at the moment to really care all that much. She wouldn't have the energy or the desire to lie to him at the moment, that was for certain, and she knew that she was going to have to lie in the morning. Lie like she had done tonight – or was it last night by now? Thankfully, when the sheet pulled off the bed, he stirred, but fell back to sleep again.

With the sheet wrapped around her, she waddled over to the window, sitting on its frame. Why had she done it? She couldn't even begin to understand. She'd been upset, yes, but that was an utterly pathetic justification for it. She'd made a bad mistake, a bad choice- this she knew already. But why? This she couldn't get a grasp on. Had it just been her loneliness? At what Jon had told her? Perhaps she had thought that no-one would ever want her; besides George that is, and she'd hung on to that hope? She clutched her head between her hands, shaking it from side to side as the incoherent thoughts ran through her mind. She had no idea why, should she even think about trying to justify it? Wasn't just admitting it was a horrible mistake enough? Enough for who, though – George or herself?

A tear fell rolled down her cheek again, and she could almost feel a painful need to break down, to start sobbing. But no, she'd at least hold up till tomorrow, till she would have to face George again.

Oh Goddess!

How was she to explain this to George? Could she? Maybe it would be better to just disappear, to leave Corus for good. She could tell the Goddess what Jon had told her earlier about his uncle, and that'd be…it would be enough…it might have to be. But she couldn't leave, not now. She couldn't run away from her problems, what she'd done, she was Shang – and Shang fought. She would stay, face up to George and Jon both.

Looking out the rain-streaked window, she sighed. She'd face up to them when she was able to, anyway, when she was less wretched. She was a horrible person, she knew that now; what she had done…

***

"Delia?" she frowned, "What's that?"

"Who's that," Jon corrected, "And she is many things. She is mean, petty, empty-headed, influential, rich, attractive, was well liked by my mother, and;" he stopped, as if the next words were impossibly hard to say, "She is my betrothed."

Alanna…stopped. She froze, unable to really think at the moment, to comprehend. Did he just say…?

"Your what?" she managed to gasp out, after a while. What? She just- No. He couldn't have said…Could he?

He lowered his head, his stubbled chin resting against his chest. "She is my betrothed. The woman who, as per my mother's last wish, I am to marry." He kept his head down, as if afraid to look her in the eye.

Not that she noticed; said eyes were at this moment blurry and unfocused – Alanna seemed to have just shut down. Apart from her brain, at least, which was running a mile a minute. His betrothed?! But why hadn't- What was she like? No! Not like that was important! Why had he not told her before?

"Why?" she whispered, not really noticing that she had said it, had spoken her thoughts. Her eyes were watering, she could tell.

"Why what?" he replied softly, bringing her out of her painful reverie for the moment. With a supreme effort of will, she refused to let the tears fall. Later, perhaps, but not now. "Why am I to marry her?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" she replied, her voice growing harder.

Jon glanced up at her, a small frown dancing across his features. "I'm telling you now." He began, softly. "I mean, yeah it's kind of-"

She raised her hand sharply, cutting him off. She had meant it to be an authoritative gesture – putting her in control of the conversation. She wasn't in the best frame of mind for that, however, and the hand was shaking in shock. "But-" she blinked hard for a moment, as if to purge her memory. Licking her lips, she stammered again; "But why didn't you tell me earlier?"

His frown deepened, and he shook his head softly.

"You kissed me." She told him, hotly. "You held me; you said you loved me."

"I did;" Jon replied, "I do!"

"But you didn't bother to tell me before this that you are promised to another?"

"What? No! It's not like that, Alanna!" he reached an arm out to her, to place his hand on her knee.

She crawled away from him; she didn't think she could be as close as she was to him right now. "Don't," she warned softly. "Don't touch me." She realised how that sounded, and tried to remove some of the venom from her voice. "I'm sorry. It's just- I can't handle that right now." She might not be feeling incredibly charitable towards him at this moment, but there was no point in being needlessly cruel.

He nodded softly, almost pleadingly, "But Alanna, I meant those things I said, those things I did." She sat there, looking at him; he with his silvered tongue. "I meant every word, every touch."

Did he, though? She couldn't know. "But I had a right to know!" she argued, "Before I invested a part of myself in…in this fantasy." She trailed off. Alanna had realised just what this was, after all.

"It wasn't a fantasy, Alanna! It was real; I know it, and I know you felt it too."

It was a fantasy. She had expected him to be everything her fantasy man was – kind, gentle and deeply in love with her. Jon had seemed to be like this, at first, but now…He had lied to her earlier, about this – and about his heritage, too. But she had lied to him too, hadn't she?

Jon seemed to be thinking the same thing. "And you weren't being entirely forthcoming with your own past, Alanna!" It seemed as though he'd become desperate as she didn't answer, his frustration pouring out. "If I had known you were a noble before…"

"What?" she challenged, "What difference would that have made?" a tear fell from her eye, and she hated herself for it. At least her voice was still strong. "It would have made no difference, don't deny it." She added, in a tone that brooked no arguing.

He grimaced. "Maybe not, but what diff-"

"I'm not going to get involved with someone if they're already betrothed!" Alanna seethed. "Especially not the King himself!" she almost kicked herself for forgetting that last part until now. She had been somewhat shocked by that, not as much as the betrothal comment, but still shocked. Of course, she could have dealt with that. Maybe. She clutched her head; it seemed that a new headache was flaring up, though she couldn't really be surprised at that. She was just so confused. "What did you expect me to do? Just be off to the side, to just occupy your interest when you're not doting on this, this;" she sneered, "Delia?"

"What?" Jon looked as if he'd been struck in the face; he looked so dumbfounded. "No! Of course not! I was going to-"

She careened over him, "Was George right in warning me off you? Are you just using me?"

"What? George said-?" He seemed to be as confused as she was, but was that a good sign or not? "Look, I didn't tell you because I didn't want to push you away. I thought it was an innocent little omission for the moment – and I did tell you!"

It was too much, too much. She couldn't handle it – not his excuses, not his justifications; she shook her head at him, and rose to her feet. "No-" How could he toy with her feelings so? "I just-" To make her feel so serene, so at ease, and then to yank it away with a single sentence. "I can't deal with this now." She mumbled to him, feeling an ache in her chest as his expression fell even further- No! She couldn't – Wouldn't! - sympathise with him at the moment, not now, not when she was still so upset and confused at what he had done to her.

"Alanna!" he called after her, pushing off his knees. "Wait!"

She shook her head again, and backed away from him. "Not now, no." She turned, legs pumping, and began to run. Her thoughts kept up, tumbling through her head like barrels- each thought more painful and aggravating than the last. Was George right? Jon could have been using her all along; toying with her emotions with his seemingly sincere declarations of love and the like. What if he just wanted to use and then discard her? She reminded herself that she hadn't known him that long, after all – and while she felt that he wasn't, that he was sincere with what he had told her; and what she had felt from him, she wasn't really in a position to gauge his emotions correctly. Maybe he had been using her.

The thought sickened her, and a sob wracked itself from her chest as she ran. Tree's flashed past her, thinning out, until she realised that she probably wasn't in the small forested area any more. She slowed, gaping in breaths of air – not so much because she was exhausted from the run, but her lungs were burning regardless. Terraces surrounded her, small torches stuck in the ground; it appeared that this was quite a frequented area. She had no idea where she was, either. Maybe she should backtrack and hope to find the entrance to the tunnel again- but no. Jon had used his Gift to open that up, and she had no idea how to do likewise. And she didn't want to see him, not yet. It was still too…raw.

To her left, she noticed that the torches seemed to be organized in two rows- obviously this was a path, then. On a whim – because she certainly couldn't think straight at the moment, she tore off down the path, legs pumping again. Her feet struck something more solid than grass, and she realised she was probably on the pathway now. All she'd have to do was to follow it, and hopefully she'd be...away.

Thunder rumbled overhead, clouds crashed against each other.

She ran, ran along torchlit paths, past noblemen and women who stared at this 'commoner' as she sprinted past them, shocked whispers and gasps rising from behind her. She didn't care, she felt numb to the world. Even when the first drops of rain began to fall, she let them run down her face, the rain water mingling with the few tears which she couldn't stop from falling.

"Oi!" a voice called from in front of her, snapping her back to the present. Her stride shortened, till her sprint was now only a slow jog, and she was able to take a good look at where she was. She was in a very well lit courtyard, the gates standing in front of her. She hadn't been into this one when she had come to the Palace yesterday, but she thought she recognized the area of Corus that lay outside them. "What'choo doin' 'ere?"

There was a guardsman standing beside the gate, holding a torch and calling out to her. Two other's stood behind him, hands on the hilts of their swords. She wondered whether she could run past them quickly; and began to speed up. The Guards were a little taken aback by this, wondering what kind of madwoman had snuck into the palace grounds, probably. She didn't really care.

"Mithros' Marbles! Stop 'er!"

The guard dropped his torch as she flew towards him, and attempted to wrench out his sword. She reached him as he was just beginning to pull it from its sheath, thankfully, and slammed her fist into his face before he could react. He dropped to the ground in a heap, his blood coating her hand. The other two guards swore, and tried to block her escape as well. One was still holding his torch, and she kicked it out of his grasp with a well placed flick of her leg; the motion continuing up into his shoulder, twisting him around. She pivoted, and flung her elbow into the other mans midriff as she did so. He doubled over, and she slammed the same elbow onto the top of his head, sending him to the ground. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that the other man was attempting to regain his balance, fumbling for his torch which had since spluttered out on the wet ground.

She quickened her pace again, and disappeared through the Gates; finally emerging from the palace grounds. The rain stuck her hair to her face, long black strands falling across her cheeks, forehead and over her eyes. She tugged at it violently, jerking it away from her vision as she continued to run. Every now and then she'd slip, sliding to the ground in a heap, but she simply picked herself up again and continued running. She just wanted to tire herself out, to stop thinking once and for all.

He had been using her. Telling her he loved her, holding her; it had all been a lie. He had no desire to be with her at all, except for lying with her. He hadn't told her he was betrothed so she wouldn't run away sooner. He'd gotten what he wanted, obviously, and he was done with her. The thought tore at her, making her feel painfully nauseous.

Down the alleys and streets she swept, legs beginning to burn as she did so. Eventually, she would reach a familiar road, and began to slow. She came to a stop in front of the doorway to the Dancing Dove, and burst in without a second thought. She knew she would look like a drowned rat; cold, wet and weary, but she only wanted to sleep. To lie on her bed and try and forget everything that had happened today. She was tired, after all, though not really tired enough, in a way.

As the door slammed shut again behind her, she realised that most eyes in the room were now on her. It was so very much not what she needed, and she attempted to sidle away, to get up the stairs and into her room as soon as she could. She heard people whispering to each other now, probably about her, people who she had socialized with over the past few weeks. What they would be saying about her only the Gods knew, but she tried to block them out, tried to make herself believe that they weren't important right now.

A hand fell onto her shoulder, a hand that felt as if it was a hot iron. She suddenly realised that she must be cold as ice; having been wearing fairly loose clothing before the rain began to fall. She turned to whoever it was who had grasped her, hoping that they'd leave her alone once they saw her haggard face.

"'Lanna? You alright?"

***

She shivered. If only George hadn't honoured his word, if only he hadn't been at the Dove that night. Last night. How things could have turned out differently; better perhaps? Time would tell the extent of her mistake.

***

"Lass?" he was looking at her intently, hazel eyes wide as if imploring her to tell him what was going on. "What's the matter?"

She knew that words should be coming from her mouth, she should tell him that nothing was the matter, to get him to leave her alone so she could be, well, alone. But it was hard, looking into his eyes like that. "I'm fine-" she eventually mumbled, shivering with the effort.

"You're obviously not fine, lass." He softly replied, running his hands over her shoulders to warm her. "But come on, come to the fire 'ere." He tried to lead her towards the roaring fire in the corner.

"No!" she exclaimed, pushing his arms away from her. She didn't want to stay down here, not with everyone looking and asking questions of her. She just wanted to go up to her bed. "I'm fine, George. Please."

He looked down at her, seeing something in her eyes. He gave a short nod, and steered her towards the stairs. "I want to know what's wrong, though." He whispered to her. "I'll not let y'go until y'tell me what 'appened."

"George," she softly replied, a tear falling down her cheek. Why now, damnit!? She hated herself for that small slip of concentration. Perhaps if she'd not…

He raised his hand, wiping it away with his thumb. "Come on now, lass. Just let it out."

A small, loving smile stretched across his face, and she just cracked. She threw herself into his arms, and began babbling the painful thoughts that were in the forefront of her mind. She didn't know why she was saying some of the things, she didn't know them for truths yet, but it just felt so safe then; in the Dove, in his arms, that she let her guard down. "You were right, George." She sobbed, "He was using me. He-" The memory of the previous hour or two's events was still painful to her. She scrunched her eyes closed as she recited to George what had occurred. He continued to softly stroke her arms, trying to warm her up, and she was grateful for his support. "He held me, and told me that he loved me, but he- It was all lies. He was just playing with me. Toying with my feelings." Had he? She wasn't thinking straight, what was she say-

George's arms stiffened around her, and she could feel his jaw shifting as it rested on the top of her head. When he eventually spoke, it was in a deadly whisper. "Did 'e? I wish I weren't right, lass. I wish with all my 'eart." He stroked her back, attempting to comfort her. "I dun understand that boy, sometimes. I dun think that I'll be-" he cut off, and Alanna – in her vantage point of being turned into his chest – couldn't really see why. But after a moment, he tilted her face up to look at his own. "'Ere now lass, what say I take you upstairs? Away from this rabble."

Nodding stiffly, she let him lead her upstairs, questioning herself with every step. Did she believe what she'd told George? She must, at least on some level; besides, she reminded herself, she didn't even know Jon. How could she test his sincerity when she didn't even know him? Now George…

"In we go," she snapped back to reality as he opened her door with his free hand. He bumped her forward with his other hand at the small of her back, directing her to her bed. She sank down onto it, and a moment later she felt his weight dropping down beside her. "Now." He softly said to her, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ears, "What 'appened?"

Should she tell him? Wouldn't it be better just to get some rest, clear her thoughts with sleep? Maybe she could take some of Eleni's herbs and numb herself overnight. She'd be thinking more clearly in the morning, wouldn't she? But George was…well; he was just sitting there, watching her. She couldn't push him away again, not now. He wanted to help her, didn't he? She knew he cared for her, couldn't she just let him help her in this?

So, she told him. The dinner they shared, the small copse of trees in the palace grounds, the revelations each had shared with each other – though she left out one or two things in that. She trusted George, she did, but she had already been hurt once tonight after revealing too much; adding to that was not on her agenda. Then the final revelation, and Jon's insistences that what he had shared with her were what he felt. George was silent through the entire thing, simply holding her; being there for her. She had stopped the flow of tears by this point, no more drops were falling onto George's shirt now, and for that she was thankful, if nothing else.

"So, that's what happened." She finished her tale, sadly, hoping George would be able to provide some answers. He did, after all, know more about Jon than she did. They sat in silence for a while, and she got increasingly restless. "I didn't want to believe it at first," she told him, "But maybe-"

"Did y'ask him why 'e didn't tell you earlier?" He asked her, and she shook her head. "Might 'e 'ave just been afraid t'tell you?" He sounded reluctant to be discussing this with her; which was understandable, she realised. Not the best topic to discuss with a man who has professed and – unlike Jon, she thought – at times shown that he was in love with her.

"I don't know." She answered after a beat. He could have, of course. But surely he wouldn't have let things progress as far as they did with something that large hanging between them. Did Jon say anything to George about his feelings for her- if he had any? It might make things a little clearer for her if he had done so. "Did Jon say anything to you?"

"About you?" George replied, to which she nodded softly. Sighing heavily, he added; "'E might 'ave said a word or two."

She waited. "And? What were they?"

"Just that-" he grimaced slightly, "Just that 'e didn't know 'ow 'e felt about you. That's all."

"What do you mean? George, please tell me if-"

"Lass, I dun know any more about what goes on in 'is 'ead." He placed a hand on her thigh, a gesture of support. "I just know that in the time I've known 'im, 'e ain't exactly been, y'know…"

"What?"

"With anyone. Seriously, I mean. Not that 'es lacked companionship at all, just that-" He gave her a tremulous smile, "Well, er, the specifics o' that dun be important. But that's what I was trying to tell you about, earlier. I was worried you might be-"

"Another one of his conquests?" she finished his thought softly, voice cracking as she mulled the idea over in her head. Could he have-?

"Well, yeah."

It was her turn to grimace; it was just all too much. Too much pain, too much confusion. Too much loneliness. She just let herself go, crumpling her face even further, letting tear tracks run down her cheeks – "Why, George?" she croaked. "Why me?"

"Lass," he engulfed her in his arms, and she cried into his shoulder. He sat quietly with her for a moment, before replying seriously; "You could sit 'ere all day wonderin' whether t'Gods 'ave a plan for everything, whether or not they know what's going t'occur every day, without coming up with any real answer. At t'end o' t'day, not one o' us down 'ere knows for sure." He stroked her hair, "T' way I see it? Things just 'appen, 'Lanna."

"Things just happen." She repeated.

"Aye." He tilted her chin up so he could look down on her, staring at her with an impossibly intense gaze; "All we can do down 'ere is live our lives as best we can, and take what's thrown at us in stride."

She nodded, "Thanks." Sniffling slightly, she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Don't mention it." George replied, "I just want what's best for you, Lass."

"I know." She told him seriously, "And I appreciate that."  George had been so supportive tonight, a rock of support for her to grasp hold of in her confusion and turmoil. Without him she might have fallen apart completely – she knew she shouldn't have let Jon get to her so much, if only…No. It was too late to think on 'What ifs?' now. She'd opened her heart to him, and he'd stepped on it – she had to live with her choice. As George had told her, Live her life and take it in stride. "More than I can say."

George gave her a loving look, a small smile on his face. "Anytime, 'Lanna." He rose to his feet. "I s'pose you'll be wanting some sleep tonight, then."

"At some point."

"I'll let you get on with that, then." He told her, starting towards the doorway.

She caught his hand in hers in a reflexive action. She didn't want him to go, not now. "George," she began softly, wondering over the words leaving her mouth. "I don't want to be alone tonight." She didn't, that was for certain. Alone with her thoughts, alone with the questioning of her actions – George's presence had seemed to ease those somewhat. What she had said earlier today – was it only today? It felt a lifetime ago – about knowing his feelings for her rang true, she reminded herself. She knew he loved her, and she cared for him too. Greatly. His actions tonight had created a link between them, she felt; or at least the creation of a debt she owed to him.

George stood still for a moment, before he covered her hand with his. "Lass, I dun think that's such a good idea," He told her, "I dun think you're thinking particularly clearly at t'moment. Dun want you t'do anything you might regret later."

"I won't, don't worry." She responded, "George. Please, just – sit with me."

He gazed at her for a long moment; she could almost see the skeptical look melt from his eyes. Eventually, he nodded slightly, agreeing to her request. "Alright." He sat down again on the bed, sinking the mattress as he did so. She leant into him, resting her head against his shoulder, and he put an arm around her. He'd agreed to sit with her, at least. That was good – she didn't want to be alone. Things felt more…solid here.

"Thanks, George."

He chuckled softly; she could feel the laughter rolling through his body. "That's t' second time you've thanked me tonight. Guess I must be doing something right."

George continued to hold her as she ran the thoughts through her mind; it was a nice feeling. It was nice to know – in the face of what had happened earlier in the night – that George wasn't lying to her when he told her that he loved her. She believed him, believed in him. Something she hadn't really felt before now. His right hand toyed with her hair while his left was settled comfortably at her hip.

What swayed her in the end was remembering George's words – Things just happen. Well, why couldn't this 'just happen'? It felt right, so why shouldn't she do it? She knew George wouldn't object – or at least she thought he wouldn't, so there was really nothing stopping her.

"George?" she whispered, pulling her head away from his shoulder. "Stay with me tonight?"

He frowned slightly. "What d'you mean, lass?"

This was the test, the big question. What did she mean by that? Was she just seeking to pacify her thoughts, or was it…comfort of another sort she was looking for? It was confusing, but she'd already gathered that by now – tonight had been all about confusion, after all. George had been so good about it, too – didn't he…? No, she couldn't do something of this order just to 'repay' him for his actions – but she had gained a new awareness of him tonight, hadn't she? Something she'd not seen before, the belief in him. "I love you, George." Did she? Did belief in someone – appreciation – equate to love? She wasn't sure, but it was something she wanted to see for herself. She'd denied herself love for so long, stretched for the dream – the dream which had tonight be trodden on quite thoroughly. She held his hand in her own, "Please, stay with me."

George's face was impassive, as near as she could tell. He was obviously thinking things over very carefully. That was good, she wouldn't have expected any less from him, but it's not what she needed from him now; something had to sway him, perhaps? Yes…She wet her lips, and quickly pressed them to his. As it had been the first time he kissed her, it wasn't fireworks – but it was loving and warm. She eventually pulled away, and looked up at him. He was breathing a little heavier now, which she took as a good sign, and his eyes were intently focused on her face. Reaching up with one of her hands, she traced the features on his face, his broken nose, his somewhat gaunt cheeks. He was a very handsome man, after all – though not quite as much as Jon was. Just thinking of his name made her stomach clench, but she ignored it, made it go away. That's what George was there for, helping her to get over him. "You say you love me, lass?" George asked softly. He sounded somewhat…hesitant. She didn't understand that; she'd told him she loved him. Was it the truth? Yes, it was. In a fashion, anyway. But that was enough, it was enough for now, enough for her. "Are you sure you're not just acting up from what happened tonight?"

That she could understand, it was true – again, in a fashion. But then again, maybe it wasn't? Maybe tonight had just cleared her mind of Jon, made her see George in a new light – her feelings for him simply became…more defined.

She nodded, flooding her voice with conviction. "I do love you, George. Tonight has something to do with what I'm saying, but..." she sighed, "I think it just cleared what I saw, cleared away the impossible. I'm seeing truthfully now, George, and all I see is you." She had made it sound so convincing too; she believed in it, knew it for truth.

George gave a small smile, "I- You dun know how happy that makes me to 'ear that from you, lass." He replied, before he kissed her thoroughly. She returned it eagerly, loosing herself in the moment – letting things 'just happen'. George brought his hands up to her face, this time, cupping her face in his hands. She ran her hands over his shoulders, dragging hands underneath his shirt, and she gently pushed him back onto the bed, rolling herself on top of him. His hands moved lower, running over her back and tugging at her shirt. This was what she wanted – being free of the questions in her mind. It was wonderful here.

It was what she wanted, wasn't it?

***

No!

She shook her head; utterly dejected. It had been a refuge for the night, yes – a comfort. But it had not been her choice to make to get there; she simply had used George horribly. She was an awful person, more so for the flimsy reasons she had crafted last night. Shaking her head, Alanna let another tear slip down her face. The situation had, of course, escalated dramatically – she could still feel his muscles shifting under his skin as they comforted each other – but it had never been about love, she knew that now. Not from her, anyway. She had played on George's feelings to make herself feel better, something which now meant nothing, as she felt horrible for what she did to him.

The question she now faced was whether or not she could face him again – could she tell George this, or would she continue to lie?  She didn't know; despite the fact that she was thinking more clearly than she had been earlier in the night, she was still very tired.

With a final look outside into the darkness, rain pounding the Dove's tiles, she slipped back into her bed. Carefully laying the sheet back over George, he didn't stir this time, she lay on the other side of the bed from him. That was what they'd be like from now on, she knew – a distance would be created between them because of what she'd done. It killed her to think of it; her mistake ruining her one true friendship she'd gained since coming to the city.

Maybe things just did happen, but even then…! All choices, all things had consequences. She was just going to have to pay the price for her actions. Her eyes closed, tears still pricking at their corners. It had been a long night; hopefully tomorrow would be far brighter.

***

Flash.

Her eyes opened in a vastly different room, stone walls and ceiling in place of the Dove's soft wood. Frowning, she sat up in her bed – not sure whether to be thankful or fearful that George was not next to her. A window to the right of her allowed the harsh light of midmorning to pour into the room, causing her to squint in discomfort.

Where am I? She thought to herself in frustration; it wasn't bad enough that the previous night had been one of the most wretched in her life, now she was deposited in some strange land, too? It seemed somewhat familiar, though – like Raoul's room, the one she had changed in a few days previously. But how had she gotten into the palace? Without her awake- She was asleep, of course. This was a dream, one of those dreams. She had, after all, been a tad too preoccupied to swallow some of Eleni's potion before she had fallen asleep.

This was all she needed. Strangely, however, she could not see her Fantasy Man – No! His name is Jon, and he is just that, a Fantasy. Don't think on it – so how would the dreams proceed as normal? Even the last dream she had had still had Jon in it; though it had also included…Thom.

She shrugged. If the dreams were changing again, it might be for the best. She didn't feel like she could get any lower than hse already felt anyway – perhaps being gruesomely killed again would be somewhat good for her soul. Clambering out of the bed, she found a wardrobe in front of her, and quickly threw on some clothes. Oddly enough, the clothes seemed to be for a man, the cut and style a little different than the more delicate clothing she often wore, but she didn't consider it of any particular note. Seemingly as she popped in the last button, a heavy knock sounded at the door.

Frowning again, she made her way over to it, throwing it open with a wide sweep. Standing in the doorway was someone she had never met before, yet still felt surprisingly familiar – perhaps because he reminded her of Jon so much. The same coal black hair, same eyes and of a similar height, the man in front of her could have been a brother of her Fa- Of Jon. Or perhaps, her mind proffered, a Cousin? Was this Roger?

Strangely enough he seemed to know her, at any rate. "Morning, Trebond." He all but spat, obviously this person – whoever it was, didn't like her all that much.

She opened her mouth, wanting to ask the person who they were and how they knew her, but it was as if something had taken over her voice. "Why are you here?" she replied curtly, the words coming from her throat without prompting.

"So crass, Trebond?" the man replied, pushing his way into her room. "I thought they taught manners at the City of the Gods?"

What? She was entirely confused, but words she had no understanding of rose again. "They do, but we're only supposed to be courteous to humans." She replied, "I think they make an exception for animals that belong in a barn."

The man quirked an eyebrow at that, "Full of ourselves, aren't we?"

"Are we? I thought I was referring to you." 

"Enough, boy." He replied to her. Her brow furrowed – boy? City of the Gods? Things came together in her mind, could it be that she was seeing the world through Thom's eyes? "I didn't come here to trade barbs with you. We do enough of that elsewhere, don't you think?"

She felt herself shrug. "Maybe. But again let me ask; why did you come here, Roger?" So it was him.

Roger smiled. "His Majesty asked me to come visit you, I'm afraid. He wanted us to, what was his term? Ah yes, reconcile our differences."

She – Thom – scoffed. "You really expect me to believe that? Jon would never ask such a thing, and you know it as well as I."

"It was worth a try, was it not?" Roger gave her an oily look. "You do know Our King well, don't you? One would think you were his cousin, not I."

"I know him well enough," she – he - replied, anger boiling in her/his veins. Was it just Thom's hatred, though, or was she angry with this man too for what he had done to Jon? "I know that you'll never get what you want."

A black eyebrow curled up again, "And what, pray tell, do I 'want', young Trebond." She remained silent, glaring at this man; the one Jon had told her had killed his mother, if not his father too. The one who had killed Her? Thom, killed Thom – she frowned slightly, it was getting difficult to distinguish between her own thoughts and what she assumed were Thom's. Insight had begun to trickle into her; information Thom had been working on, finding out. She knew things she shouldn't possibly know about her brother – He had a fondness for Spiced Wine and black haired women, for example. Most pressing at the moment, she could feel, were memories of what he/she had discovered about Roger. Evidence... "Come now, boy. Speak your mind – we're both mature here, let's hear your take."

Thom/Alanna all but growled. "You want the throne." Alanna; or at least the part of Thom that was Alanna here in this dream, felt herself slipping away, becoming separate from Thom. She could almost see Him now, being different from Her. They were still one and the same, however, but it was as if another part of Thom had separated with her.

Roger smirked, before he threw up his arms. Thom took a step back, creating a shield with his Gift quickly. Alanna, the tiny remnant of her consciousness that remained in Thom, almost retched. It had been almost eight years since she'd used her Gift; to feel it being wrenched out of him- Her! –in such a fashion both scared and intrigued her at the same time. But Roger just laughed softly at Thom's response; "Just a barrier against eavesdropping, Boy. Best to reign in that fiery streak of yours, might get you killed one day." His lip twitched at that last part, as if he knew something no-one else did. Thom was curious, Alanna was terrified – she knew what that meant. Roger had all but told Thom that he was planning to kill him!

"What can I say?" Thom replied coolly, "It runs in the family."

"I'll be sure to remember that," Roger noted, just as icy. "But for now – to address your…shall we say concerns?" He moved closer to Thom, pointing at him with a perfectly manicured finger. "You claim I want the Throne. You could not be more wrong. I want power."

"Isn't the throne power?" Thom asked. She knew that this was Thom personified; curious even in the face of great danger.

"It is a possible means to an ends," Roger agreed softly. "But it is not the only way to get what I want. And I have got what I want."

"How so?" Thom asked again.

Roger merely chuckled. "I have said all I will say on the matter, fool boy. You wish to know the answer? Continue with your little investigations." Seeing the startled look on Thom's face, Roger continued. "Oh yes, I know about your little visits to my study. Very lax on the magical defences, young Trebond; I'd be careful of that if I were you."

"Nice of you to point that out to me." What was Thom doing? Alanna didn't know why he was still toying with the other man, a man who had come out and threatened Thom's life at least twice! She could still feel Thom, though. Feel his frustration and loathing of Roger – just as she could feel Thom drawing on his/her Gift. Again the feeling of having her Gift torn from her spread through her, and she could actually see Thom forming a spell. His anger, it seemed, had boiled over. She could feel his desire to show Roger just how strong he was, that he wasn't just 'the boy'. He was a Master, after all – the youngest ever. Their spell blasted Roger, the purple Trebond Gift spiraling towards Roger.

To their astonishment, the energies seemed to veer away, to be sucked into something Roger was carrying. They couldn't see it for the moment, couldn't see what had actually drawn the power, but he knew it was powerful. And that, she realised, meant that Thom would want to know what it was. She could feel Thom's interest being piqued almost immediately; just as she knew that this was the real reason Roger had come up here. Did Thom not see that? No, he did – she knew that – but…he was arrogant. Assured of himself, he knew he could best anything Roger could devise, it was a Challenge. Just as she challenged herself in her training every day, so too was this a challenge for Thom. The end prize, being the downfall of Roger, was merely a wonderful goal at the end of these challenges.

But she knew the outcome. Thom had been bested – but how? And why was she being shown this?

It seemed at that moment that she was not supposed to know, or at least, to not know now. There was a feeling of something snapping, and she was suddenly herself again. She was Alanna entirely, not a part of Thom. It was a feeling she'd missed, to be honest. "Thom," she tried to shout as soon as she realised she could do so. "Thom!" But he did not hear her. How could he? He was just a reflection of the past, or something like that. Her foot caught in the carpet, and she glanced down. No, not the carpet, she was being tugged downwards through the floor – sucked down. She didn't fight it, and eventually she was pulled deeper and deeper through the castle, grey walls flashing past her as she sank through floor after floor.

Then it stopped, and she realised she was in a chamber deep within the palace. Right in front of her, however, stood a large bronze statue. It was of a man, standing over a fallen enemy. She frowned, what was this supposed to be? She tried to move a little closer to it, eyeing it steadily as she did so. It was certainly a statue, no doubt about that existed in her mind, but it still felt…alive…to her. She didn't understand that. Reaching out for the statue, she ran her hand along its cheek.

It was warm. She shuddered slightly; the unnaturalness of this was obvious. As her eyes left the bronzed man, the room began to dim. The torches were still burning, she could tell that, but it was as if the light they were emitting simply wasn't as bright. It was frightening, truth be told – to be in a room with an unnatural statue, a room which was becoming ever darker. She stood silently, what more could she do? Eventually, the darkness overcame her, and for a moment she could not perceive the outside world at all. It seemed even her breath had stopped…

***

She jerked awake, almost seeming to sprain her neck in the process. A quick glance to her right told her that it was still early morning, the crisp light of dawn was still present – her Shang Hours remained in effect it seemed. More importantly for the moment, the glance told her that George was still asleep, arm clasped possessively about her waist. It seemed that he'd moved in his sleep, curling up against her a little more than she had intended. It was disconcerting, especially given what she felt about last night.

The memories of last night began to slink to the front of her mind, then. All the confusion, pain, frustration, loneliness, desperation – all the kinds of emotions that one should be loathe to feel began to crush her. She had to get out, away from this bed. At least she had an excuse; her missed training session the previous morning needed to be made up; and what better time than now? Subtly wriggling about, she managed to squirm out from George's hold, the only response from the Rogue being a small grunt as she left.

Sliding smoothly out of the bed, she quietly dressed. All the while, she kept an eye on George, praying silently that he would not wake until she was at least out of the room.

Alanna made her way down the stairs of the Dove, treading quietly on the floorboards. It was strange, she knew that no-one would have been able to hear if the boards did creak, but she felt it was appropriate to be stealthy. If nothing else, it would hone her skills, something that had been sorely neglected for the past few days.  Not only that, but the events of the previous night as well as the dream she had experienced made her incredibly tense; her nerves were on edge, and she didn't want to be surprised by anything.

She was surprisingly thankful for the dream. Not only had it not been a horrific nightmare as other's had been, though she was disturbed by Thom's actions, but it had given her something else to focus on. She could concentrate on deciphering its meaning rather than concentrate on how she would…fix things. What had the dream meant? She knew now, or at least she thought she knew, that Thom had been directly challenged by this Roger, and she now had an idea of how he died. Roger had possessed something, an object of some kind, which had aroused Thom's attention. Thom must have snuck into Roger's study and stolen the item, which had then killed him. She remembered the words George had sent Liam regarding Thom's death all those months ago – 'Thom of Trebond was found to have died in an accident in his workshop in the Palace of Corus seven weeks ago. No suspicion of foul play…' – it now seemed to make sense. Roger had killed Thom through Thom's own curiosity.

It was, in a way that filled her with even more self-loathing, a plan she could respect. Playing on the weakness of the enemy was the central tenant of combat, after all, and this Roger had played it to perfection – albeit in a way which disgusted her. It was almost too simple; Thom would obviously have recognized it as a trap, but she knew he was always overconfident as a youth, and she had felt it during the dream. He believed himself worthy to whatever challenge Roger could throw at him.

Emerging outside, she made her way around to the side of the building, finding her spot of cleared and tramped earth in the center of the alley to train upon. Warming up quickly, possibly too quickly, she began her first kata. Her mind cleared, focused, and she began to think more rationally for the first time in many an hour. The question of the dreams still nagged at her, however, and as she went through her exercises automatically she went over the issues again.

She had felt Thom last night, just as she had heard him the previous night. How could that be? She still was no closer to figuring out how the dreams had begun in the first place, so going along with that line of thought wasn't likely to lead anywhere. Though…could Thom be causing them? From the Black Lord's Kingdom, or something? No, that didn't make sense – it did explain how she was able to hear and feel Thom, and to live his memories, but what about Jon? Why would Thom have sent her the images with Jon, and why would he have caused them to shift so that she was often brutally killed? She knew Thom would never have done something like that.

Not on purpose, at least. What if Thom had no control over it?

Frowning, she clucked her tongue. No, she was grasping at straws. Thom couldn't have done it, at least not all of it. She felt that he was, however, somehow behind the last two dreams she had. To feel what Thom had felt, to live his memories, that could only have come through Thom. His warning to her the night before against fighting the shadow could also have been Thom's doing, though that was less concrete.

And what of the statue? A strange statue in the bowels of the castle that felt warm and unnatural? She had no answer for that, and no clue on a way to even begin thinking on it. It was, she decided, an important point, however. Something that would require more thought. For the moment, she decided while switching from kicking and punching kata's to strengthening exercises, she would turn her attention to the…other pressing concern.

Her actions had been wrong, painful for all involved, and could lead to her winding up with none of the friends she had made while in Corus. She knew this, she could even begin to accept it. But could she change it – that was the question. She would have to talk to George, she knew, but could she be up front? What if Jon had been using her? She still didn't really believe in his supposed sincerity; she had since realised that she had been blinded yesterday in believing most of what he told her - she had only known him for two days. Could she so completely destroy George's heart when she didn't know more about Jon's actions? She did care for George, after all, and while she loathed herself for the way last night had progressed, it had been…nice, like so much else that George was.

She supposed she was a trollop; thinking over things like this with her emotions detached, the hearts of two men possibly lying on her choices, but she supposed she deserved such treatment. She didn't think she'd ever forgive herself for that choice she had made last night, though perhaps she could learn to live with it. Firstly, however, she would have to talk to Jon. To not say a word about her choice to George until she had clarified Jon's position - Did he love her, or was he just using her?

Slowing the kata to a halt, she squatted down to catch her breath. Questions would also have to be asked of her. For one, she would have to stop with the self-punishment, too. She didn't want to, it felt right to hate herself in that fashion, but it wasn't going to help her in any attempt to move on from this incident. As George himself had said last night, she just had to take things in stride. Wallowing in her pain, while it might feel the right thing to do, was not going to help her in accepting what she had done. Straightening her back, she realised just how important that decision had just been. It was not like her to wallow, it was not who she was. However comforting it had been so far, she would not simply allow things to pass her by; she would attempt to fix what she had done at all costs. That was who she was, she remembered that now – she would not simply lie down and let her misery overwhelm her.

A newfound determination spread through her, and a small smile spread onto her face for the first time in many hours. She would make things right.

***

After she had finished an incredibly vigorous training session, she began to make her way back into the Dove. Wiping her sweaty forehead with her shirt, she stopped suddenly as she heard something. Ears perked for any more noise; she slinked quietly around to the corner of her little alley, peering around for any sign of life. She supposed that she shouldn't be all that surprised; dawn had been a while ago, after all – even if the light was still very dull. Her instincts had just flared up, maybe it would be best for her to just head back into the Dove, get some breakfast. Maybe Riven would be there, he always managed to perk her spirits up, and if she ever needed a spirit-perk, it was now.

But no- something was out there; a large dark shape that was thumping towards the stable door. Obviously a horse, then, she thought to herself, but who tries to stable a horse this early in the morning? It seemed that whoever the rider was had thought of this, opening the stable door himself and leading his horse in. She remained mostly out of sight, waiting till the rider emerged. She didn't have to wait long, and the man – for she could see his broad shoulders by now – hurried towards the main door of the Dove. He threw them open and raced inside without a second thought, or so it seemed. Alanna quietly followed, intrigued despite herself.

The doors were still slightly open, and she peered very slightly about the sides of them. The main room was dark, so she couldn't actually see anything, but it enabled her to hear a little better, at least. At the moment, she could only hear a few distinct voices, one of them being Nelly's, bellowing orders out to those who worked for her. "Trist! Get those plates all washed up, y'hear? I don't want t'see a spot on 'em!", "I can still smell the burnt ones! Toss 'em outside as soon as they start smokin', alright?", "If you're not gonna help, Riven, get out!"

She grinned slightly, trust Riven to be in the way. She didn't hear Riven's reply, but from the stream of curses coming from Nelly, she didn't suppose it was any good. It seemed, however, that she was not the only one to her Riven's name, as someone called out for him. "Riven! Riven!" the voice was familiar, she wondered why she couldn't place it. Or perhaps, she thought as her stomach fell, she recognized it all to well.

"'Ello, Johnny." Riven called out, confirming her suspicions. "What'choo doing 'ere so early?"

She couldn't catch Jon's immediate reply, and she tried to poke a little more of her head around the doorway, catching the last part; "…but that's not important. I came because I want to see Alanna." Alanna paled, "And I know she's here. But I don't know the room, can you-?"

"Oh, yeah!" Riven exclaimed, "that's fine. Just 'ang on fer a moment." She grimaced; Riven obviously didn't know what had happened last night, or she hoped he might have been a little less effusive. She considered going inside, confronting Jon here, but she knew it wouldn't do. She had to talk to him alone, not here. Besides, she didn't exactly have any idea of what she'd say right at this moment. Much to her dismay, it appeared that her newly discovered resolve was leaving her again. It was so much easier when she wasn't actually confronted by the problem. Maybe she should just live in that spot in the alley, she can be as steady as a rock. Well, as long as neither George nor Jon ventured down there. She shook her head, laughing softly at herself; she'd do it, she'd talk to him. Just not now…

She heard Riven calling to Jon now, heard the two of them moving away from her. The stairs creaked as they climbed them, and Alanna guessed that they'd probably be out of sight of the main room by now. Creeping silently forward, she squeezed through the doorway and made her way to the staircase. A few of the serving girls saw her, but they seemed to be the one's who disliked her, mainly, and so ignored her quite emphatically. At the moment, that suited her just fine. The voices at the top of the stairs getting quieter, and decided that she should probably hurry. So she crept up the stairway again, curling up on the top stair and peeking her head around the side of the wall.

She almost had to throw herself backwards as a knee came careening violently towards her face. Pulling back as far as she could while still retaining her balance on the step, she just managed to avoid being kicked in the face. Looking up at the perpetrator, she realised it was Riven. He frowned down at her, his mouth open in shock. Jon's voice carried over from around the corner, "Are you alright, Riven?"

Eyes wide, she quickly placed a finger to her lips – hopefully Riven would recognise her point, and keep his mouth shut. He saw it, gave her a questioning glance, and then turned back around the corner. "What?" he called out, "Oh, no. All fine 'ere, just a girl down there caught m' attention. S'all." That seemed to placate Jon, who didn't reply. Riven nodded once back around the corner, and then made his way down the stair's. Or at least, he made it seem as if that's what he did – in fact he stood near Alanna, looking down on her. He opened his mouth, and she quickly repeated her earlier signal, finger over the mouth. Shaking his head, he mouthed what are you doing?

She shrugged her shoulders, what was she doing? Eavesdropping? Jon wasn't going to find her in the room anyway…Her eyes widened at the thought; of course, he could find someone else in there.

A rapping sound came from around the corner, Jon's voice following soon after. "Alanna? Are you in there?" She saw Riven glancing at her in confusion again, but she ignored him. Should she talk to Jon? She was anxious about talking to him, yes, but she didn't want him to get the wrong idea about anything. Not that it was the wrong idea, she reminded herself. Hearing a heavy sigh, she peered around the corner. Jon was raising his hand to knock again, "Alanna?"

She hoped George was a heavy sleeper.

"Alanna? Please talk to me." Jon kept his voice a little quieter now, but it still carried easily to her. She felt a pang of guilt, for her actions, for believing him, for avoiding him now – she wasn't sure exactly. She squelched it down; wasn't she supposed to have stopped that self-loathing thing by now? Of course, that didn't stop the thoughts from rising, she just had to ignore them, or work through them. As Jon raised his hand again to knock, the door swung open.

From her position, she couldn't see much, but Jon was, to say the least, shocked. "George? What are you doing here?"

"Being woken up looks right." George's voice drawled from the doorway, icy cold. "And what're you doing 'ere?"

Jon frowned, "I came to see Alanna. Riven said this was her room, was he wrong? Maybe I should go down an-"

"Aye," George replied smoothly. "Riven told t'truth. This is 'er room."

"But what are you doing in there, dressed like…" Jon trailed off, and she could see his hands clenching by his sides. "What happened?" He asked firmly.

"What, after you broke 'er 'eart?" George shot back. She should get in there, break this up – this was not going to end well. "She came back 'ere and told me all 'bout it. And I 'elped 'er through it."

Jon seethed with rage; "What, out of the goodness of your heart? She told me how you warned her away from me!" he closed his eyes, probably attempting to gather his thoughts. "And I didn't break her heart. Not on purpose." He added, far more calmly.

"Aye? Why'd you not tell 'er earlier 'bout y'Betrothed?" George stepped out of the doorway now, and she could see why Jon was concerned. He was wrapped only in her bedsheet and pointing a finger at Jon's chest. "You wanted 'er as a plaything!"

"Are you mad? I would never do such a thing to her!" Jon's calmness evaporated as he hotly spat at George, "And what of you! Taking advantage of her – I thought you said you had feelings for her, well it's obvious that those feelings run very deep, isn't it Cooper? Bedding her the first chance you get!" They were yelling now, and she could hear that the main room of the Dove was getting restless as the loud voices drifted down. Thankfully, she thought, they probably couldn't hear what was being said. "What did you tell her George? That you'd help her through it all or something? Hold her in your arms and tell her that you'd always be there for her?" Jon was red faced, standing closer to George than he had been.

George narrowed his eyes. "You dun know t'first thing 'bout what 'appened last night."

"And neither do you! What right do you have to question my motivations?"

"She told me, she told me everything." George quietly replied, "I made m'own mind up 'bout what 'appened based on what she said."

Jon seemed to visibly calm down, controlling his anger once more. "Did you even try and look at it from my perspective, George?" he exclaimed, "We've been friends for years! Surely you know I'd never use her!"

"I only know what I've seen with m'own two eyes. And I 'avent seen you with being serious with many women before."

"So, what? You just assume that every girl I'm with is just a plaything?"

Things getting out of hand, she had to stop this. She had been somewhat reluctant to stop them when Jon was talking about his motivations for his actions; it allowed her to get a grasp on what he had thought without actually confronting him straight away, but now…She didn't want to be the reason the two of them strained their friendship. It was another thing she would have to fix, when she gathered her courage and began to address things. But how to stop it? The easiest way, of course, was the very last thing she wanted to do – but she had been trained to face the odd's as best she could.

Standing smoothly, she stepped into the hallway. "Stop!"

The two of them turned to her, their faces showing their shock. Jon was the first to speak, hurrying towards her. "Alanna! Please, I just want to talk to you. I'm sorry for wh-"

She raised her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "Jon, I'm sorry. Not today, not just yet. We will talk, I promise," as soon as she'd gathered her courage, "But not right now."

"But Alanna-!"

"Jon, please." The man seemed to be astonished by this turn of events, almost looking like he would begin to sulk. But eventually he nodded his head softly, face becoming a dejected mask.

"Might be best if you leave 'ere, Jon." George spoke up, arms crossed across his chest. "Wait till t'lass wants t'see you."

Jon glared at the other man then, a glare that seemed to be made up of a great deal of loathing. "Think on what I said, George." He softly replied, "You don't want to be taking advantage of her, do you?"

"What makes you think I am?" George replied, coolly.

"Stop this!" She cried, "Stop it!" Her frustration at the two of them was now far outweighing her shame and self-loathing, however much she tried to push them away they still remained for the moment, and so she had no qualms about taking control. She grabbed Jon by the arm and looked him straight in the face. "I will talk to you soon. For now, please just go." Not waiting for his response, she made her way over to George, and pushed him back into her room. "You, get dressed." She told him before slamming the door shut. For a moment she leant against the door, eyes closed.

"Alanna, please. I just have to tell you something."

"Not now, Jon. Please. I can't handle things right at the moment – please just go."

He stood there quietly for a moment, weighing something up. Eventually he slowly made his way towards the stairs, turning back to her just as he did so. "Did you-?" he began, before stopping. She saw him give a quick glance at her door; she knew what he was thinking. "I-I don't understand." He added, before looking down at his feet.

"I don't either, Jon." She replied, bone-weary. "But please, just go."

Nodding, he gave her a small smile, and then disappeared from sight. She sighed, this was not what she wanted at this moment; she knew she would have to talk to him, yes, but not so soon!

She made her way back to her room, and pushed the door open slowly. George sat on the bed, dressed in his breeches only. He smiled at her, but she didn't return it. "Are you alright, lass?" He asked.

"Not really." She replied sadly, "I didn't want to see him so soon." Well, it was the truth – if only half the reason why she wasn't feeling particularly alright. George put an arm around her shoulders, and she leant into him. What was this? She remembered the decision she had made earlier; to not talk to George about her feelings until she had clarified how Jon felt about her. How could she do such a thing? It was just cruel, to George and to herself. She had to talk to him about it, about her mistake. "George, I need to talk to you. About us-"

"Aye, lass." George cut in, squeezing her shoulders. "I know." She looked up at him. He was staring straight ahead. "I know."

"Last night was-"

"I said I know, lass." He sounded a little put out, now. "I know what you did, I know what I did. No use churnin' over it any more. We'll get by it."

She frowned, surely he couldn't think that it would be so simple? "But I-"

"You did nothing," George replied. "We did it. Both o' us. Don't blame yourself entirely, we both made…mistakes."

Alanna wasn't sure if she agreed with that, but she didn't have the heart to argue with him now.

***

The following week was a tenuous one for Alanna. She had often felt as if the day's were simply repeating themselves endlessly, although such a thing would be impossible. The conversation she had promised would occur with Jon never seemed to eventuate, with her loosing her nerve at some point before she set out for the palace. Once she actually managed to make the gates, but realised she still didn't know what she was going to say.

Time with George was just as stressful. She had accepted what he had said, in that it was not just her mistake – that the both of them had given in to something they shouldn't have; her to a desire to be comforted in a time of pain regardless of the consequences, and he into his love for her, even if she had made it somewhat clear that she didn't know if they could work together. But she also knew that George was just attempting to make things easier for her. She appreciated the gesture, but it was unfair to the extreme – something that often seemed to characterize George's dealings with her. She'd never really been fair with him; but it was too late to change most of that. To an extent, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to change such a thing. However much she appreciated what George did for her, he still didn't make her feel as Jon did.

George, while recognising that the night they shared was a mistake, did not give up attempting to win her over. He would kiss her as much as she would allow him, to show her that he remained attracted to her. He had even suggested a few times that she could join him in his bed, but she was adamant about not letting that happen again. Not until she had cleared things up entirely, with herself, George and Jon.

Thus the week had existed in a holding pattern; George repeating his love for her, and she being both fearful of this attention and angry at herself for not mustering the courage to talk to Jon. Of course, things had happened during this time; Raoul and Gary had come to visit her on the third day, though they skillfully avoided talking about Jon. She was pleased to note that Raoul had received word back from Lady Yves, and that the two of them were, as he put it, 'tentatively involved'. Riven had pestered her all week with questions, most of which were of a personal nature, but he always seemed to know when to let off. She was thankful for that, if not for his annoying presence. He said he'd stop if she taught him to fight like a Shang, but she doubted that spending more time with him would cut down on his inane questions. Besides, it was fun to be able to hit him, softly of course, without any fear at all of him being able to really defend himself.

On the fourth day, she had become restless, staying in the Dove for most of the day, and had gone out – making a bead for Eleni's house. Thankfully it seemed George had not discussed the night the two of them had shared with his mother (she would have felt somewhat…disturbed…if he had, truthfully), so she was able to steer away from that topic of conversation much of the time. The two of them had continued their discussion in how a woman acted, Alanna most attentive. If nothing else, it allowed her to throw her energies elsewhere for the moment, and she had found herself strangely eager to know as much as she could about being feminine. She had purchased another two dresses, using up most of her Shang-given funds in the process, but she felt it was worth it. They hung in her closet now; besides the other one Eleni had 'given' to her. She wore it the next morning, for a while at least, until the stares she was getting forced her upstairs and out of it. George had seen her in it, and the look he gave her…well. It was somewhat scary, and not at all helpful in her trying to dissuade him from kissing her and asking her to lie with him again.

She was a little wary of doing so, but eventually she began going out with George again, visiting the thieves and making sure that the Court of the Rogue operated smoothly. She'd met a few of them when she had first arrived here, when she had been meeting with some of George's contacts in the early stages of her inquiry. It was a little awkward being around him all the time, but it felt so good to be outside, doing something, that she fought the discomfort down.

And it was on one of these jobs that she found herself on the seventh night. George had received word that some of his thieves were thinking of breaking into a nobleman's house. There was nothing in itself wrong with that, they knew, but it was what they were supposedly planning to do which had George rushing to stop them. The small gang had recently been caught attempting to sneak into the palace. One of their number, who had killed a Guard during a scuffle, was ordered to be hung by one of Corus' Magistrates. The very noble whose house they were entering tonight. The news had trickled back to George through one of the groups' contacts only a few hours beforehand, and George had been forced to act as soon as he could. None of the Rogue's lieutenants had been present tonight, and so he had asked her to accompany him.

"Are you sure this is the place?" She called across the small wall separating the two houses. "I mean, it doesn't look like a manor house." She clambered over the wall, George helping her down. "I mean, could Pol be wrong?" Pol had been the 'contact' who had come to George earlier in the evening. He'd lead the two of them to the house the thieves were supposed to be breaking into, but had scampered off almost as soon as they'd realised that he'd indicated the house in front of them.

George shook his head, "Pol's been a friend for years now. Not saying I trust t' man," A smirk appeared, "But I dun think 'e was wrong on this. This is the 'ouse we're supposed to be at."

"The house the other's are supposed to be at too, then." She finished the thought. Frowning, she glanced around, "So where are they?"

"Lass, they're thieves." George spoke slowly, as if she was a child. "They're not gonna walk down t' middle o' t' road."

"So how are we going to stop them when we can't even see them?"

"We go in." her companion advised, "We go in and 'ave a look around. Maybe even do a bit o' work."

"Work?"

"Stealin', lass."

"Ah." She wasn't sure she wanted to be involved in that, not directly anyway, "Can you hold back on that? Just for tonight?"

Sighing, George nodded. "Alright, lass. For you."

She nodded her thanks, before motioning to the house in front of them. "We going in, then?"

"Aye." He stepped over to the doorway in silence, ducking back into the shadows as he did so. She followed in his steps, stepping just behind him into the shadow. Trying the doorknob, which wouldn't budge, he reached into his breeches, procuring a lock-pick. With seeming ease, he had the door open in moments, slipping through the open door as quickly and quietly as he could after ensuring no-one stood behind it. She followed, and the two of them found themselves in a lavish kitchen; two nicely finished wooden tables dominated the room, but a quick glance showed her that the rest of the room was finished in a similar style. "Looks like the Magistrate likes to put people off." George whispered. She found herself agreeing. Obviously the man had made the exterior of the house a lot more run down than the interior; it was a good tactic to ward off thieves – and showed that the Magistrate was far more pragmatic than most nobles.

"Smart." She verbally agreed with George.

He shrugged in response. "It's only s'posed t' be 'is local 'ouse, anyway. 'E's a very powerful man, 'e's got estates all over t' place."

"Should we really be in here, then?" She had a bad feeling about this.

George grinned at her. "Course we should. We're 'ere to 'elp 'im lass, remember that."

She couldn't disagree with that, at least. They remained in the kitchen for a while, before she spotted a staircase in an adjoining room. She pointed it out to George, and the two of them made their way towards it. Stealth remained the priority, here, so the two moved fairly slowly, eyes darting left and right. They climbed the stairs, thankful that the wood was well maintained – it didn't creak once, and they stepped onto the landing. A trail of a brownish substance led from the middle of the landing to a slightly ajar door to their left. George bent down to quietly examine the brown trail, swiping his finger across it before bringing the finger to his nose and smelling it. He shuddered, and stood up again. She shrugged her shoulders as George glanced at her, mouthing What is it?

He grimaced; Blood.

She was beginning to like this less and less. It seemed that they'd probably been too late. George tilted his head towards the doorway, and she nodded. Making her way over towards it silently, she flexed and tensed her muscles. Something was going to happen, she could just feel it. An itching in the back of her mind…

George, stood in front of the door, pressing his ear against it. After a few moments, he turned back to her and held up three fingers. Three that he could hear, anyway. He drew two of his knives softly, holding them tightly in his grip. He motioned that he'd go in first and she could follow – she wasn't sure she agreed with that; she was a fully trained Shang Warrior! She shook her head, but he ignored her, sidling into the room before she could stop him. Fool man. She quickly followed, not a step behind.

The doorway opened up into a fairly large bedroom, a large canopied bed sitting directly in the center of it. There was little other furniture, which made the room feel cavernous. Well, somewhat cavernous – there were four other people in here besides George and herself. Five, if you included the body on the bed. She wrinkled her nose, it was probably the magistrate, but she couldn't tell. It was wrapped in what were once white sheets, now stained dark with the man's blood.

"'Ello, Pilkar." George's voice was like steel from besides her. She focused her attention back to the four other people. Three of them looked fairly non-descript, a lot like the other Thieves she'd met in the Dove over the past month or so she'd been present there. But the third…he was different. For starters, he was carrying a sword, and her trained eye recognized that he probably knew how to wield it. His clothes were far more costly than those of his companions, and he seemed to be utterly at ease, even when two people – one of whom apparently recognized him – had just burst in on him murdering someone. "Fancy meeting you 'ere."

"George." The man gave him a small nod of recognition. He turned to her, then. "And who's this, George? She's far more appealing than your usual cronies, I'll give you that."

The Rogue's jaw clenched in anger, and she knew she was going to have to direct talk to the matter at hand. "Why did you kill him?" She asked this Pilkar, indicating the dead body.

He lazily swirled his sword around, "Because I wanted to, little girl."

"You dun think you're gonna get away with this, do you?" George retorted, "The Court'll 'ave you out in a flash! We dun condone murders of-" He cut off, blanching slightly, before softly adding "-this sort."

"'This sort'?" Pinkar laughed, "George. Never known you to be so squeamish when a ladies about." She rolled her eyes. If they didn't stop with this ridiculous chatter, she'd make them both sorry. "And what do I care what the Court thinks? I haven't bothered with it in months, why would I start now? The man was in the way, so I removed him. You used to respect that kind of straight thinking, George. You've gone soft."

"I 'aven't," her friend replied, "I 'ave to look at t' bigger picture now."

The other man rolled his eyes. "Regardless, this isn't about you."

One of his companions began to finger his sword. "Uhh, boss. Achtully, ain't it all 'bout t' Rogue?"

"What?" Pilkar scowled at the man's interruption. "Oh, I suppose your right. Still, I did have fun gutting that man. Maybe now they'll think twice about sentencing us thieves to death." He laughed suddenly, and Alanna got the feeling that the man was somewhat insane. "Not that I care a whit for the man who died. I was asked to do a job, and this was an easy cover."

"What do you mean?" She burst out. She was getting tired of this man's posturing; get to the bloody point all ready!

"Pretty thing, it's quite simple." He snapped his fingers, and the other three men drew their swords as if they were well-trained dogs. "I came to kill your Rogue here."

She stared at him, shocked. George too hadn't seemed to expect this, "You can't!" He spluttered, "You 'aven't called for a challenge t' my leadership!"

Pilkar stood silently for a moment, looking at George in disbelief. "So?" he eventually questioned.

"So it's not official!" George roared, "You're insane! Even if you manage t' pull it off, t' Court'll hunt you down and 'ave you gutted!"

"It's not official?!" The man stared at George as if her friend had grown a second head, "George, listen to yourself! You're not a thief, you're a bureaucrat!" He shook his head violently, "And besides, as said, what do I care for the Court? The man who's paying me doesn't care about it, and neither do I. We'll see the Court destroyed entirely, and I'll head up a new thieves guild – one which hasn't become the faithful hound of the King – so what do I care of the current one's inept rules?"

It was too much to take in, really. Someone besides this lunatic wanted, no - had paid for George to be killed? Someone wanted to remove the Court of the Rogue and establish another thieves body? And perhaps most importantly, someone else knew that Jon and George are – perhaps were – friends?

"Might want to say goodbye to your little friend, George." Pilkar gave her a lascivious smile, "But don't worry. We'll keep her alive for a while after you're gone. Might even have a little fun before we get down to business again."

George seemed to come out of his stupor at that, roaring as he launched one of his knives towards an opponent. He missed, but the man fell to the floor in panic anyway. She herself launched herself towards another of the thieves; she'd not brought any weapons for fear of creating too much noise, but she herself was a weapon. Pounding her feet across the floor, she barreled into her opponent before he had managed to bring his sword around towards her. She felt his breath rushing over his shoulder as she winded him, bearing him to the floor with herself on top. His head cracked into the hard wood, and she saw his eyes close with a snap. She wasn't sure if he was dead, or if he were even unconscious, but she didn't think she'd have to deal with him for a while, at least. She pushed herself to her feet once more, and saw that George was fighting off the only other standing man, as well as Pilkar, who seemed to be jabbing indiscriminately into the fight. She gaped, obviously he didn't care if he injured his own fighter in the process! He really was mad.

She heard a sound to her right, and noticed the man who had fallen when George had thrown a knife at him getting to his feet. She slinked over to him, coming up behind him, and crushed her elbow into the back of his head as he was straightening up. She thought about picking up the man's fallen sword, but was distracted as she heard a yelp of pain from the other side of the room. Quickly glancing across, she saw that George had been nicked by Pilkar's sword. She had to get that man away from the other two, and she couldn't be more pleased to be facing him. Not only had he tried to kill one of her best friends, but he had also implied that he would have had no qualms about raping her after George was gone. She was going to enjoy fighting this one, that was for certain. Raising her arm to strike him once she was close enough, she quickly directed a solid punch to the side of his temple. Unluckily for her, he chose that moment to rock to his right, her fist only grazing the side of his head.

With a curse, he spun around to face her, eyes still a little unfocused. "Little bitch!" he roared, before violently ripping his sword towards her. With a grunt of effort, she threw herself backwards, dodging the blade by scant inches. He danced forward again, blade flashing in a pattern she recognized. She skipped to her right, ducking slightly as the sword whistled over her head. As he extended over her, she lashed out with her left fist, punching him solidly in the gut. He grunted, but kept hold of his blade. "You're quick," he told her, "But you're not going to stand up to my sword forever."

"Care to make a wager on that?" She replied, softly.

Pilkar scoffed, "What, you think you can face my sword, when you don't have one yourself, and win?"

"No," she grinned as she darted forward, kicking the man solidly in the knee. She heard a wet crunch, and her other leg flashed out, slamming into Pilkar's wrist and sending his sword flying. "Just that you weren't going to have a sword for too much longer."

He glared at her, breathing heavily. He rose to his feet slowly; at least he was dignified in defeat, she thought to herself. He wouldn't die on his knees – very much like…like a Knight. Good with a sword – using patterns she recognized, she thought with a gasp, from her fights with Alex, gallant in defeat and well spoken. Who was this Pilkar? Once he was fully upright, he spat at her feet. "Little bitch."

"I believe you already covered that." She replied, snidely. She couldn't kill him when he was unarmed, she knew that. She could still see the face of that man she had killed in Isleton, sometimes – she didn't want to take a life when doing so was unnecessary. However much she wanted to grind this worthless worm into dust, and then burn the dust.

Pilkar smirked at her, before he opened his mouth to lash her again with his tongue. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't even drawn breath before a hand gripped his head and a bloody knife drew itself across his throat. Blood bubbled from Pilkar's mouth and neck, and he gurgled as he dropped to the ground. She looked on, horrified, as his falling body revealed a very bloody George, who was breathing heavily and looking down at Pilkar's body. It was now he who spat at the ground, though this time the spittle landed on Pilkar's dying body. "Filth." He spat, before his gaze rose to meet her. "Lass, are you-?"

"I'm fine, George." She replied, automatically. "But why did you do that?"

"What, kill t' bastard?" she nodded, "Why shouldn't I? 'E threatened my life, threatened you, and threatened t' Court. I would 'ave been remiss in not killing 'im."

"But-" she gaped, "Couldn't we have dragged him before a Mag…uh, another Magistrate? Gotten him locked up for killing this one?"

"Not 'ow t' Court operates, lass. You should know that by now." He shrugged, "Besides. Got nothing more than our words that 'e killed this guy. Not gonna 'old up."

She just shuddered, looking down once more at the fallen man's body. Frowning, she noticed that his lips were moving, as if he was trying to speak. She glanced at George quickly, before dropping to her knees and getting her ear as close as she could. She strained to hear what he was saying; it was almost impossibly faint. "His mouth…look in mouth…"

"Lass?"

"Shhh!" she whispered to George, "He's trying to say something!" She heard it again; "His mouth…mouth…" before Pilkar's breath escaped him for the last time. She slowly rose to her feet, now sickened by how close she just was to the man's death.

"Well?" George asked her from his new position over the other side of the room; he was…doing something with the other men who had been knocked out. "Did 'e say anything worthwhile?"

She frowned, wondering what he was doing. "Something about 'his mouth', that's all. George, what are you doing?"

"Whose mouth?" George asked.

"I don't know. Not his own. Maybe the Magistrates?" She moved over to George. "What are you-?"

He rose to his feet quickly, tucking something into his pockets. "Never mind, lass. Rogue business." He turned to her, grinning slightly. "Now let's go see 'bout this mouth, then." He strode over to the Magistrates body quickly, breezing past her and beginning to…unwrap…the Magistrates body. She glanced down at the mans body in front of her – now quite obviously dead. A glistening wet patch seemed to be present on the side of the mans head, though she couldn't quite make out why that should be. Something was…Oh Goddess! His ear!

She turned to George in shock, what he had done-! But she swallowed her anger when she saw the expression on her friends face. He held a page of white paper in his hands, a once crumpled page. Obviously it had been this that was in the man's mouth. George was very pale, and staring down at the page as if something truly awful was on it. "George?" she asked softly. His eyes lifted, and met her own. The look she saw was one of…fear. "What is it?"

With a look of pain toward her, he looked down at the page once more. He sighed heavily, before he began to read. "'Wanted: One George Cooper for the murder of Duke Toromout, Chief Magistrate of Tortall. I, Jonathan of Conte, do hereby authorize the use of all force in apprehending this individual in the pursuit of justice.'"

"What?"

"Look f' yourself, lass." He handed it over to her with trembling hands. "And it's an official copy, it's got t' seal and everything."

She looked at it in disbelief; "But he can't have done this!"

George just shook his head, "'E did. It's done." He glared down at Pilkar's corpse again, "Obviously 'e was trying to set me up, so that if 'e failed t' kill me, well." He gave a choked laugh, "I'd be dead anyway."

"No, George. We can get this revoked, tell them who the real killer is."

"Aye lass? Think they'll believe t' King o' Thieves?"

She saw his point, "But he couldn't of done this! Why would he have?"

He looked at her, seriously. "Maybe 'e's trying t' get me out o' t' way."

Shaking her head in denial, she muttered "No" under her breath over and over again. Maybe if she just closed her eyes, she could reverse time and…do something. She wanted to scream in frustration – she had no idea of how or why this had happened! George was going to be hunted down like an animal with this warrant over his head!

Thankfully for them both, however, she didn't scream. As the two of them stood silently in the room of death, they heard sounds of life from downstairs, the heavy wooden door slamming shut. The two of them glanced towards the door in surprise and fear. Suddenly, a voice echoed up the stairs. "Duke Toromout? We're from the Royal Guard, and we're to escort you to the Palace immediately. Hello?"

The Guard. She looked at George again, and met his eyes. "Do we fight, or do we run?" she asked softly.

"We run."