A/N – Okay, important authors note for the simple reason that I'm very worried about this chapter. I've (obviously!) spent a lot of time on this one, but I'm still not totally happy with the way it's turned out. I've gone over it with a fine toothed comb fairly extensively, but it still doesn't…click…for me. Maybe I'm just insane.
But anyway – I didn't want to keep revising it because, heck, it's been about a month since my last chapter went up, and I did want to keep the thing ticking over, after all. So – what I'm looking for is simple. I want reviews telling me how people think this chapter went. Please don't worry about criticizing me for it – because I've probably thought harsher things myself! ^_^ I – in particular- would like your thoughts on the scene with the Goddess, which is the one which took me the longest time. It's annoying, because it's so pivotal, but it's very very difficult to get it how I want it. *sigh*
This chapter is long, too, like the last one (actually a lot longer. I think that I'm going to have to set a cap on how long the next one can be before I even start the damn thing -_^) – so strap yourself in and (hopefully) you'll enjoy it. Read it, and then please get back to me on how you think it played out. Thanks!
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The Guard. She looked at George again, and met his eyes. "Do we fight, or do we run?" she asked softly.
"We run."
She nodded; yes; it really was the only thing to do. She could tell now that there were a number of guardsmen down below, and while she was fairly certain she could escape relatively unharmed, she wasn't so sure about George. He still looked very ragged from their fight with Pilkar and his cronies, and she knew he couldn't stand against the Guard for as long as they'd need.
But then how long would he last at running from them?
At least, she told herself, he'd be running away from the Guards; if he tired and fell while running away, that was infinitely more preferable to tiring and falling within a melee with Palace Guards. Running was the best option. Well, it seemed that way, anyway. Time would tell, she supposed – though time could also lead to George's apprehension and, presumably, death at…at Jon's hands.
How could he have done that?She didn't know, but she knew she was going to find out. Did she really believe that he'd done it, though? Regardless of what had happened in recent days, weeks; she still felt that she knew him. Well, ok – as George was fond of pointing out, she'd really only known Jon for a day. But – no, she'd known him for longer than that in the dreams, though she still wasn't sure if Jon was her fantasy man, or whether the fantasy man just looked like Jon. She knew one thing, though, and that was that she'd eventually have to face Jon; though not for herself, but for George. Perhaps this was what she had needed all along, a push to get going. The life of a friend, someone closer than a friend, to get her to talk to Jon again. She bit her lip; he'd probably want to talk about what had happened the other night, too – when he had arrived early to the Dove and saw George exiting her chambers. Sighing, she regretted that decision more than anything, she realised that she didn't have time at the moment to be regretting it, or to be thinking of much else. George was already looking around the room for a way out, and she should be helping him. He was standing in front of one of the window's, peering down out of it.
She moved over to him, "Can we-?"
"Get out there?" he finished, and she nodded. "Possibly. I'm not sure. Not straight out, though."
Looking over his shoulder she too peered through the glass, taking in what she could in the dark. She supposed that it had been a long time since they had first arrived, for it was almost the black of night now – whereas it had been just before dusk when George had first picked the lock outside. Still, from what she could see now (which was not much), and from what she could remember of this side of the Magistrates House, it was…possible; possible that one could fall from their current position and not definitely injure one's legs. Of course, she thought as she scrunched up her face, it was also certainly possible that they would anyway. What was the more disturbing, she thought with a grimace, was that she could not see the road from where they stood. It was dark, yes, but they should be able to see it – unless they were higher up than what she had first thought. Maybe the stairs they had climbed had been steeper than she had expected, or something. In fact…yes. She could dimly make out the roof of the next house along, which implied that indeed, they were particularly high up. Which was not good. Not good at all…
If only there was another way down, if only they could bypass th-
"Duke Toromout? Hello? Are you up there?"
No, they couldn't bypass the Guardsmen, especially since they were already coming up the staircase, heavy footfalls causing the old timber to creak and groan. They must be wearing heavy armour, she supposed.
"There!" George whispered from beside her, and she snapped
her attention back to the window. "There!" He repeated, pointing wildly out of
the window, to her left.
"What?" she asked, confused. She was looking left, but she couldn't see
anything.
George let a smile cross his face as he began to pull the window open. "A trellis." He told her quietly, "Just there. We'll be able t' get down easy now."
She wasn't sure about this; she couldn't see a thing out there, let alone much of any apparently-present 'trellis'. Still…what choice did she have? Grabbing the window frame, she helped George lever the window open, almost falling backwards as it swung into the room on rusty hinges. The noise caused the both of them to wince, and in the following silence she could tell that the Guards had also heard; there were shushing sounds and queried 'what was that?' comments – they'd have to hurry.
"C'mon, lass!" her friend whispered, halfway out of the window already, "We 'ave t'get going!" She nodded, and took his offered hands, joining him in being half-in and half-out of the window. "Can y'see it?" he asked her, pointing once more towards the area where the trellis was supposed to be. Strangely enough, however, she now could see something, a faint grey pattern – a cross hatch. It was a trellis, vines growing up the sides of it and up the sides of the house. She just hadn't noticed it in the gloom, but George…George with his thievery-honed eyesight had spotted it easily. How strange to be thankful for that, she mused. Still, if it weren't for George, she'd probably have a broken ankle by now.
Of course, if it wasn't for George, she wouldn't be here in the first place, but it was best not to think about that. One could get into 'What ifs?" for hours, and she most certainly did not have hours right now. More like…seconds. Raised voices were coming from behind the door; the Guards were attempting to gain entry. "Let's go." She told George firmly. It was his turn to nod, his head lolling about for a moment in unrestrained agreement, and she watched as he smoothly swung out onto the trellis, latching on with both hands and feet before beginning his descent. She was surprised, for a moment – maybe George was in better shape than she had thought. Still, it wouldn't have been a good idea to face the Guards, regardless.
She followed, curling a leg around the wooden lattice and finding a foothold quickly and silently. George was making a bit of noise from beneath her, but she supposed that couldn't be helped. She made perfectly sure to remain as silent as possible, however; a Shang's first lesson was to learn how to avoid battle when it was unnecessary, and this involved both alternative means of dispute resolution (or, as Liam had always said, 'to stop being so stubborn and bloody talk!') as well as stealth and hiding. There was no shame in it, only idiots fought when fighting was pointless.
A noise from above stopped her descent, and thankfully George did not call up to her. The muttered curses and sounds of George's climbing had ended a few moments before, and she had assumed that he had reached the ground. And the ground was not too far away from where she was now, if her recollection of the window's height was accurate, but whatever this distraction was, well. It was distracting her.
A cry followed soon afterwards, from the room above. "By the Black God!" Obviously they'd gained entry to the room, and had seen the bodies scattered about.
She risked a glance upwards, tilting her head very slowly until she could see upwards, in the direction of the open window.
"Royle!" came another cry, this one gurgling with either horror or desperation, "Order the men below to be on the watch! And bring up a torch!"
Sighing softly, Alanna began to slowly move downwards again. It didn't seem they'd noticed the open window, and with the Guards being apparently all the more watchful below, they'd have to be on their way as soon as would be possible. She had realised that it would have been better if they had closed the window – having it open strongly implied that someone had left through it, or had entered through it, and with the dead bodies and the dead magistrate, the Guards would find it certainly of interest – but again, that couldn't be helped now. Whatever cannot be changed must be dealt with, and Alanna knew that the best way to deal with that mistake would be to get away from the house as soon as possible. When the Guards decided to check the exterior of the house around the window, she and George had to be away from here. Away from the Guards and what they represented.
In her musings, Alanna had neglected to pay close attention to her feet; more specifically, in ensuring that they were properly positioned on the trellis as she made her way downwards. As she took her leg off a previously occupied portion of the lattice-work, it was not properly placed into the next one down – so distracted were her thoughts. The foot slipped, and she fumbled madly to get it back onto the wood, to get a foothold. Unfortunately, doing so caused a great deal of commotion, her leg flashing and crashing into the wooden trellis as she eventually managed to get her foot into position.
As the sounds died down, different sounds were heard from above her.
"What was that?"
"Something's out there! Maybe it's-"
"Look! The Window's open; obviously whoever did this is still out there!"
She cursed; this was not good. She had to get down now, "George!" she whispered, "Are you down there? Can you hear me?"
"Yeah!" His voice seemed to rise up towards her like a wisp of smoke, floating out of the darkness.
Swallowing, she peered down quickly. She could see him, and it wasn't all that far to the ground. She could do this…"I'm going to drop down." She whispered harshly. "Try and grab me, or something. Just…" she didn't want to say it, because it sounded so raw, but…"cushion my fall somehow."
"Hey!" a voice called out from above her, spinning her head around, she noticed one of the Guards sticking his head out of the window. It was too dark to make out any details, but she could tell he was looking generally around in their direction. Of course, he couldn't see them – but he could probably hear them. "Who's out there? You'll not get away, whoever you are!"
Alanna cursed again. "You ready?" she whispered below again.
She thought she could see George nodding below her. She gulped, and closed her eyes - it was now or never.
Letting go of the lattice, she fell – feet first – towards the ground that lay a good four metres below her. The feeling of weightlessness that she experienced in that short time was horrifying. It's not like she disliked heights, but she disliked falling from heights. She supposed that was probably quite normal.
And with good reason, because it really hurt.
George had attempted to hold his arms out to catch her, assuming that she'd be dropping backwards, or sidewards, or…something. Why she'd have done that was, well – it didn't make much sense to her, but it meant that Alanna fell directly through his open arms, her extended legs slamming feet first into the ground. The shock which traveled through her legs at that moment was absolutely agonising, the bones seeming to contract under the pressure. She fell forward instantly, thudding into the dusty road heavily, lip bleeding both from the impact with the ground and from her biting it in an effort to not scream.
"By the Black God's balls!" George cursed, "Sorry lass! I thought y'd be falling flat."
"Why," she choked – her legs were throbbing. What if she'd broken something? – "Would I have done that?" she replied softly, attempting to push herself back to her feet. George slung an arm under her right shoulder, hoisting her up. As soon as weight was put onto her legs again, she buckled to the ground once more. No, no, no…
"Lass?" George whispered, "What's wrong?"
"My legs," she winced, "They did- I can't stand on them at the moment."
"What?"
She grimaced, "Just – grab my arm." She flung her arm up, and he grabbed it. She hauled herself to her feet again, and while the pain was immense, at least she was able to remain upright this time. Ok, so hopefully not broken, then. But still…"We have to get out of here," she told her companion, "and since I'm not going to be able to go as fast as I should, we'd best be getting gone right now."
Thankfully, George didn't argue. He nodded, and helped her shuffle away, arm around her shoulders.
After a minute or two of this shuffling, they heard voices behind them, and George helped her into a small depression on the side of the road. After she was settled, he crouched in next to her. The Guards had come out of the front door, torches in hand lighting up their small patch of the city with a soft light. "Can anyone see anything?" the heard from one of the Guards, one who would be later confirmed as the Guards Captain.
"Nothing, sir." Came the general reply.
The Captain cursed, and stood still for a moment, glancing up at the open window. He mumbled something to himself – Alanna wasn't near enough to hear what, precisely – before turning back to his cadre of Guardsmen. "We've got to find them, find who did…that. So let's fan out, two to a group, call out if you spot anything."
The Guardsmen broke up after that, each one taking a torch and his sword, pairs roaming the streets of Corus in an attempt to find the killers of Pilkar's gang and this Duke Toromout. Alanna wished they could just realise that the Magistrate had been killed by the other men in the room; and they had been killed in retribution for the act. It was so simple when you knew all the facts, but she supposed that was the point.
"Damn," she mumbled to George, "We've got to get out of here."
George nodded in agreement, "But with y'limping around like that, we'll not be getting anywhere in a 'urry."
She knew that, but he didn't have to make it sound so…raw. "Yes, I know. But I think I might be able to walk a little faster on it, now." She wasn't thinking that at all, but she also knew that she didn't have much choice. It was feel pain in her leg now, or feel pain in her neck later when she was sentenced to death for a murder she hadn't committed.
"Y'sure?"
No, but she couldn't tell him that, "Of course." She replied instead, "Now let's go." She was quite impressed in her ability to keep her face neutral, to keep the grimaces and wincing to a minimum as they moved. It had almost seemed that they'd escaped the Guardsmen, too, though this was not the case.
They'd just rounded the corner of an alley – George was leading them somewhere, she wasn't sure where exactly at the moment – when the light of a torch was seen splashing up against the wall. It appeared that they were just around the next corner, and from the way the voices seemed to be getting louder and louder, they appeared to be coming this way. She glanced up at George, who was wincing slightly. She mouthed the word 'What?" to him, to which he shrugged his shoulders, pointed back the way they came, and shrugged again. She didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but she supposed it was supposed to indicate that going back was a questionable move. But…what else could they do?
Apparently George had decided that he could take both of the Guardsmen out quickly and quietly, as he all but dragged her to the wall with him. He pressed himself flat up against this wall, hoping that when the Guards rounded the next corner, he'd be able to get the jump on them before they had time to react. She frowned; this was not a good idea, but at the moment – she had no alternative. If her leg was up to a run, they could have gone back the way they came, but she supposed that they'd be either caught by this pair coming towards them now regardless, or that their being out once more on the main streets would increase the likelihood of another pairing finding them. At least here they had a chance; the cramped environment probably suited the two of them better. Well, one of them – she was in no shape to fight at the moment. Heck, she wasn't in much shape to be standing properly; this leaning up against a wall shouldn't be feeling as good as it did right at the moment.
She snapped back to the situation at hand as the two Guards popped into view from around the corner. George was in action immediately, slamming the but of a dagger into the head of one. The clang of the metal on metal could probably be heard for miles around, which was not a good sign, but at least the Guard went down hard. The other Guard was grabbing for his sheathed sword while, at the same time, attempting to push his lit torch into George's face. The thief threw his head back, ducking under the mans thrust, but as a consequence lost his balance and fell onto his backside.
Not good. George down on the ground, and a Royal Guard almost about to whip his sword out and call out for help. Not good.
Her legs throbbing in pain, she forced them forward, striding towards the Guard as quickly as they would take her. Thankfully, it was just fast enough, and as she first slammed her left hand down onto the hilt of the sheathed sword, stopping it from being drawn, her right hand formed a fist as it sharply jabbed into the mans face. He too crumpled, and she let him fall next to his partner.
Taking a moment to regain both a breath and to rise above the pain in her legs again, she turned to George, who was just now raising himself off the ground. "What do we do with them?" she asked him. She literally had no idea – her mind was just too numb right now; the pain, the confusion and the tiredness combining to make her head swim.
George rose to his feet, making his way over to her. He sighed heavily, "Leave 'em, I guess. We dun want t' kill 'em, since then we'd really be murderer's."
Alanna resisted the urge to remind him of Pilkar. She knew why he had done it, even if she didn't agree with his reasons. "Right. Yes, let's go." She frowned, "George, where are we going?"
He put an arm around her shoulders, she didn't know whether or not for help in walking or in…'companionship', and helped her move away from the unconscious Guards. He threw a look back to them every once and again, but they soon passed out of sight. A most welcome development, as far as she was concerned, and they eventually reached the end of the warren of alleys. Emerging onto a wide street, she was suddenly worried that they'd be caught – easier as it was in these wide public roads. She voiced her concerns to George, who chuckled. "Lass, dun worry. We're almost on t' other side o' t'city now."
She frowned, "Really?"
George nodded, "Really. That alley there is known as t'
Thieves Road. Well, by us, anyway. It's a quick way o' getting from one place
t' another without taking t' main roads."
"Oh." She thought that was pretty neat, if a little worrying. But anyway – "So
where are we going?"
He grinned, "We're going t' a house around 'ere somewhere that I know of. Someplace safe from t' Guard. Someplace safe from Pilkar's sort."
"Your mothers?" she asked. They weren't really anywhere near Eleni's, not that she could tell anyway, but it made sense to her.
But her friend shook his head, "No, no. Not my mothers."
"Why not?" It was a reasonable question; he'd told her before that he often hid out at his mothers place.
He quirked his lip, "Do y' really want t' know?" she nodded, "Because Jon knows where she lives, and 'e knows that I go there for refuge sometimes. And with what 'appened tonight with that warrant, well – I dun want t' risk it."
Alanna grimaced. "You don't really-"
"What?" George interjected, "That 'e did it? I dun know lass, I didn't think so, but I also didn't think that 'e would do what 'e did t'you either."
She sighed at this; George may well harp on about what Jon had done to her, but she was the one at fault. What about what she and George had done? What she'd instigated, regardless of what George may well say. "George, I don't think that it's the best time to be jumping to conclusions about this."
"Maybe not," he agreed, "But at this time? There's not a lot much else we can do. It's not like we can stroll up t' t'palace and ask t' see t' king, oh and by-t'-by, I'm wanted for a murder I dun commit, though y' think I did."
No need to get sarcastic. "I see your point," she told him "Although I don't think you're looking at this the right way."
"How-?" George stopped suddenly, and gestured to a door to his right. "'Ere we are. We can 'ide out 'ere for a while."
Alanna grimaced, the place looked tiny. This was going to be a most uncomfortable few days, or hours, or whatever. "Ok, great." George helped her lean up against the wall as he fumbled around in his pockets. Smiling, he finally produced a hoop with a large number of antiquated keys on them. Picking one of the keys out from the rest, he jammed it into the lock, turning it. Rusty tumblers seemed to fight the action, but the door eventually unlocked with a clunk. The door didn't open, but George made no move to push it wide. She frowned, "Well? Aren't we going in?"
He shook his head, "Not immediately, lass." He told her, before he brought his hands up to the sides of the door, searching his fingers along the edge of the wooden barrier. Eventually, after what seemed long minutes, he flicked long fingers into depressions and cracks, small clicks being his reward. "There we go," his voice was pleased, "No more nasty traps, or at least I 'ope not."
"That's not particularly comforting." She remarked.
George grinned, "Aye, I suppose it ain't. Still, we're thieves, what'd y' expect?" She just rolled her eyes, before staggering over to the door. He grasped her shoulders, stopping her from going any forward, "No, lass. I think I'll be going first."
"Why?"
He winked, "Just in case." Alanna maintained a stoic look, but inside she winced – George could well be doing this just because of her legs, which would make sense, but she had a feeling that it was more his feelings for her which made him want to go first. She couldn't live with herself if George fell because of her, instead of her. Not that it was really just George; she hated anyone taking a blow for her, she could defend herself thank-you-very-much. Still…
"Ok, but only because of my current lack of mobility." She warned, "If I was fit, I'd leave you thrashed out here if you were still attempting to keep me away from danger."
"Right. Wouldn't 'ave it any other way."
She raised an eyebrow, "You'd better mean that."
"O' course." George smirked at her, before turning back to the door. "O' course I do. I love y' just t' way y' are." Thankfully for his sake, he missed her slight grimace. Though maybe he turned for that very reason; recent conversations had made her believe that he knew that she didn't love him the way he wanted her to, the way he deserved to be loved. She knew she should stop…leading him on, in some sense. Though was she? It seemed obvious that George didn't seem able to move on from her, although it hadn't really been that long since she had made her feelings clear. Maybe she should give him time, give him space? She snorted, what a great time to think of that – just when they're more than likely to be holing up alone together in a very small abode for a few nights.
Panicking suddenly, Alanna ferverantly hoped that George wouldn't be attempting to bed her again. He'd asked her over the past week one or two times, and it was a most horrific experience. For him, in attempting to cover up his hurt when she'd refuse, and for herself when she both had to refuse him, and where she was reminded of her most despicable decision. She still didn't know why she had slept with him, not really – although she had certainly realised that it involved her attempting to…feel something other than pain. To sublimate the feelings of hurt Jon had induced in her into something else, something much more easy to comprehend. Of course, the pain which followed after her actions, from both Jon and George's reactions, was almost worse.
Oh dear. What was she getting herself into?
"Lass?" George's voice brought her back to reality, "Are y' alright? You've been out o' it all night."
"What? Oh yeah, I'm just a little shaken by-" by what, exactly? Pilkar's death was shocking, as were his revelations. They were still…startlingly fresh in her mind, true, but it was that Royal Decree which still blazed away in her mind's eye. She forced a smile, "I'm fine."
He looked at her for a long moment, before nodding. "Come in then." She realised with a start that he'd already opened the door, and was waiting for her to follow him in.
She did so, her limp slightly less pronounced as it was before. Her legs still hurt, but she could force the pain down now; thankfully it appeared that not only was nothing broken, but there didn't appear to be any long term damage at all. Passing George as she moved, she looked around at the place. It really could only be considered…as a hovel. It was small and cramped, damp and – if she sniffed hard – quite an odorous place too. Still, at least George would feel a little safer here, and that's what she cared about. If she had to stay in here for a month just to save her friends life, she would. Well, maybe not a month…
"Not t' nicest o' places," George remarked from besides her, "But it'll do f' now. Until I can…" his small smile turned sour, "well. I dun know what I'm t' do yet, but I'll figure something out."
"George, " she began, turning towards him. "I was going to say this earlier; but I think it might be best if I go talk to Jon about this. Get it all straightened out at the source, y'know?" her eyes widened, "Not that I think Jon actually did this. Just that he's in the best position to fix it."
"What? Are y'- No, no lass, I dun think that's a very good idea at all."
She put her hands on her hips, "And why not?"
Tilting his head to the side, George grimaced. "Y'know why," he said to her, "it's not safe for y' t' be seen at t' palace. Someone might know y', and might associate y' with me. And its' not like y' can present yourself t' t'gates and ask t' see t' king, now, is it?"
She wasn't sure that he was telling her the whole story, but she supposed it would do. However, she'd thought of this herself – this problem. And it was a problem, "I suppose that Jon might want to see me, however." She told George, "So maybe if I ask to see him, he might allow me in."
George shook his head, "No, lass. That's not 'ow it works – especially not when 'e 'as reason t' believe that y' might be in on what 'appened tonight."
"But nothing did happen! Not what they're accusing you of, anyway."
"True," he shrugged, "But we can't prove that."
"So we have to get Jon to revoke it, to show him the edict and ask him to…stop it. Cancel it."
George looked at her levelly for a moment, before he gave a soft laugh – a bitter laugh. "Y' dun think 'e did it, do y'?" he asked her.
"What kind of question is that?" she replied, hotly. "Of course I don't think he did it, not intentionally at least!"
"Oh, what? He just signed t' damn thing without looking at what 'e was doing?"
"No, not that – but what if someone forged it? What if it's not signed by Jon at all?" Things were falling into place; of course!
"What?" George obviously wasn't on the same page as she was, "Who'd risk 'is own death by forging t' Kings' signature just t' get rid o' me?"
"Roger." She stated simply. "Roger would, I know he would."
Her friend simply shook his head, "That 'e might do," he reluctantly agreed, "But I dun see why. Jon 'ad a reason t' do so, but wh-"
"What reason?" She felt she knew what George meant, but she couldn't believe that he'd lost so much faith in his friend – especially over her. She hoped she was wrong, that perhaps he knew something else she didn't.
George took in a breath, his expression uncomfortable. Eventually he spoke, whispering to her across the small room. "Ain't it obvious, lass?" he asked rhetorically, "'E's annoyed that 'e failed t'….y'know."
"To bed me?" She proffered coolly.
"Aye, aye. He ended up pushing y' away; and I mean y' saw 'im that morning, when 'e came round t' t' Dove – 'e looked insane."
"He was angry. Confused." Like I was. "George, I don't know how you can think this. He has been your friend for years. He was telling me about the things you did together, how much he had learnt from you – you should know him well enough by now to know that he'd never do anything like this!"
"What, and y' do?" George spat back, "Lass! You've known 'im for like…a week! Less than that! 'Ow do y' know what 'es capable of?"
She grimaced; that was the truth. She didn't know Jon, not as well as she felt she did – not like how she felt on that first morning with him. But she knew his friends, the company he kept – and she knew that his friends; Raoul, Gary, Alex and even George himself, would not be the type to be friends with someone who acted like what George was implying. "I know he'd not do this." She replied, "I know he wouldn't order his friends death, regardless of circumstance."
"But you're not circumstance!" George said, "You're you."
She all but snapped; "Why does that mean anything?! Why should I matter in this!? By the Goddess…" a sob wracked it's way out of her chest, this was the source of the pain she'd been feeling over the last few days, "I hate this!"
George scooted over to her, putting an arm tentatively around her shoulders. "Hate what, lass?" he asked softly.
"This whole situation!" she choked, "The fact that you and Jon are at each other's throats because of me, when I'm not worth it! I hate that I can't think straight when it comes to the both of you, that there's no answer which doesn't involve at least one of us having their heart broken."
Her friend simply sat with her in silence for a while, making soothing noises and rubbing her shoulders and back. She'd begun to cry on his shoulder after a while – just the last week or more of frustration and anger spilling out here in this dark hovel, the two of them hiding from what appeared to be the dangerously long arm of the other. George eventually brought a hand up to stroke her hair, his motions comforting. The silence was broken soon after by the Rogue; "That's life for y', lass." He told her, "Bad things happen. All we can do-"
"-Is take them in stride." She repeated his words from That Night, the night she had shared his bed. He had told her this then when she was still highly confused and afraid, that things just happened. Whether there was some greater plan or not, he didn't know, but he just took everything in stride. It was good advice, for the most part, though she did hold some hope that some greater plan existed, or that bad things could be changed.
"Aye lass," he smiled at her. "That's right. Who knows if Jon and I would 'ave stayed friends anyway? Maybe y' just…pushed it along. I'll not deny that y' were a major part o' me and Jon's conflicts over t' past months – because that'd be a blatant lie. But it wasn't just one person, one thing. It was lots o' things, lass."
Alanna sniffled, "And the other thing?"
"I can't say one ever recovers from pain," George continued, "Especially that o' t' 'eart. But y' learn t' live with it; co-exist with it. Like with Thom, for instance."
"What about him?"
"You miss 'im, right? Every day?"
She didn't know where he was going with this, but she answered. "Yes, every day."
"But it's not as…intense as when y' first 'eard o' t' news, right?" She frowned, and he seemed to understand that she didn't follow. "What I'm trying t' say is that while t' pain doesn't stop, and y' never forget it, or get over it – y' can learn t' live with it. Acknowledge it, accept it, and move on."
"I don't understand," she said simply; it was the truth, after all. "What does this have to do with…well, us?"
George sighed softly. "I guess, well, I'd hoped this could 'ave been done differently." He shifted so that he was looking straight towards her, taking her hands in his own. "Lass, what I mean is that I've learned t' live with t' pain."
"What pain?" she whispered, getting more confused and more concerned by similar degrees. "Has someone died?"
He chuckled slightly, "No, lass." It had seemed to ease the tension somewhat, as he sighed heavily. He retained the slight smile as he looked into her eyes again, though it was one of self-pity more than anything else. "What I'm trying t' say is that…well…I know y' dun love me. I know this, and I can accept it; I can live with t' pain."
"George-"
"No, lass. Dun argue – I know y' better than y' know yourself, sometimes, and I know that y' dun 'ave feelings for me in that way, or that at least y' dun seem to be 'aving them at t' moment. I know y' 'ave feelings for Jon, whatever they may be."
He paused, and she realised he seemed to be asking her to answer the unspoken question. She wasn't altogether sure herself what her feelings for Jon were, but she owed George an answer – he deserved that at the least. This conversation must be torture for him; she knew his feelings for her, and she had felt how consuming they were. But he was right; she didn't love him, not in the way he wanted and not in the way he deserved. The least he deserved at the moment was an answer, "I don't know what I feel for him." She told him, truthfully, "But I think that it's possible- That is to say, I think I may well love him. Possibly. I do know that I have feelings for him " She did, didn't she? Her heart still ached for Jon, this she knew, but she couldn't truthfully say one way or the other if she was still (or even was for the first time!) in love with the man. The air between them needed to be cleared, and cleared soon.
George closed his eyes softly – she could almost see another wound being scored into his heart. But perhaps this was the right way to go about things; her actions to this point, in pussyfooting about the issue, had only lead to heartache and confusion. Perhaps honesty and being up-front was preferable. "I know y' dun love me," George repeated after he had composed himself, although his eyes remained closed, "but I do want y' t' know that I still love you. That I'm still in love with you-."
"I know, George. I know."
"-So please note that I may we'll not be t' person in t' best position t' say this, but I dun believe Jon is good for you. I dun think 'e deserves you."
"George-"
He held up his hands, "I know. It ain't really my business, I suppose." Alanna thought that wasn't necessarily true, though she didn't feel like correcting him. "But that's not t' point."
She waited, but he didn't reveal anything else. "Which is?"
"That I dun think y' should be going t' talk t' 'im. Not tonight, anyway. Not so soon." He swallowed, "It's too dangerous now, so soon after what 'appened. Best t' wait out 'ere for a while, I reckon."
She nodded, it was probably the sensible thing to do – Guards would be swarming the streets, especially if the Magistrate was a Duke, which was apparently the case. Best to wait out the initial furore, and await a time when she could make the trip in greater safety. Also without her limp, which was both a hamper on her speed and also something which could potentially get her killed. Yes – she should wait until her legs were healed up a little more than they were now.
Not that she was worried about Jon turning on her, having to fight her way out of his clutches, or some other similar scenario. Something which George was probably worried about – that Jon would take her away and lock her in the palace somewhere. She didn't believe Jon would turn on her in such a fashion, if at all, and she certainly didn't believe (or at least didn't want to believe) that Jon had turned on George. But still; there were Guards around who were not privy to the knowledge she had about George and Jon – Guards who would try and stop her if they knew that they were to be looking for her. She supposed the Guards they had knocked out in Thieves Alley would have vague recollections about their attackers, so it was quite possible that the Guards would be on the lookout for a short dark-haired girl.
So; she would wait here with George for a day or two. With the man who had quite astutely just noted that she did not love him, and that in fact it was probable that she had been using him when they slept together scant days beforehand. She would apologise for her actions, of course, but would this ease George's heartache, or would it only make her feel better? By Mithros, this was going to be uncomfortable.
***
"So what are y' going t' do?" Georges voice carried over to her from the other side of the room. "How are y' going t' get in?"
She shrugged her shoulders, "I have one or two ideas."
It was three days after they had arrived in the tiny house near Thieves Alley, three days of sheer torture. Psychologically, Alanna was exhausted – three days of treading lightly over the issue of George's feelings for her and her own feelings for both George and Jon. She'd had to endure another one of George's spiels about how Jon wasn't good enough for her yesterday, which was bad enough in and of itself, but George had also gone into excruciating detail about the girls he had seen Jon with in the past. Those who, as he said, Jon 'used and discarded'. She was quietly furious at the Rogue for doing this, for being so thorny, but she couldn't blame him really – not with what she had done herself and how she had treated George. Telling him to stop seemed beyond her. Physically, she was fine; more than fine. She was full of energy, which was surprising considering how little they had eaten, and her legs felt normal. In fact, she had managed a training session this morning, albeit one that had been performed in the cramped conditions of their little hovel.
So she had decided that today was the day when she would go and speak to Jon. She was fit, she was capable, and more than anything else – she needed to get out of that place.
George shook his head in exasperation. The cabin fever and cramped conditions had soured his mood over the last few days, and he was particularly short tempered. With her own temper on a slow boil, tensions were high. "What are y' going t' do? Stand at t' gates and ask t' see t' King?"
She ignored the tone, keeping her back to him. "That was one possibility, though I doubt it would work."
"Damn right it wouldn't. Y' said it y'self; they could well be looking for y', and presenting y'self at t' gates ain't t' smartest thing t' do."
Sighing, Alanna tried to reign in her temper. What did he think she was, an idiot? She did remember that she'd probably been seen quite clearly the other night with George, and she also could have been seen when she ran from the Palace grounds a week and a half ago, and that showing her face to the Guards wasn't particularly a good idea. "I know that." Her voice was chillingly neutral, "Which is why I've had to think of some other ways in."
"Aye? What – scaling t' bloody wall?"
"No, not scaling the bloody wall." she whispered harshly to herself. Composing herself slightly, she tried to moderate her tone as she replied to his comment properly. "I know of another way in. A way which no-one knows about bar a few here and there."
She heard George moving behind her, and assumed that he was probably standing up. "Where?"
"The side passage. The one behind the rug; one Jon showed me the other day." She turned back to him then, seeing his stormy face looking at her warily. "I can get in there, and find my way to the palace proper."
George just shook his head, "Y' must be daft, lass. Y' can't get in there unless y' gifted; surely Jon told y' that."
"He did." She kept her answers short and to the point; easier that way. As she did so, she was wandering about the small building, collecting small bits and bobs which might be useful to her – a knife, a torch and a piece of flint. She missed her sword, but it was still wrapped up in the Dove, and she couldn't well return there at the moment.
George had been looking at her for a while, confusion drawn all over his features. "But then why would y' think o' going through there? Y' ain't got t' Gift." She gave him a level look, and after a moment a look of comprehension spread over his face. "Oh y' 'ave t' be kidding me. Another thing y' kept from me, aye?"
She groaned, "George, this wasn't important. I haven't used it in years, I don't want to use it."
"Then why are y' doing so? Why go through with this?"
"I have to, George." She told him softly, "I have to see him, and this is the safest way in." It was, that was the truth. She could get into the palace grounds without being seen, and then somehow – she hadn't quite worked this part out yet – make her way to Jon's rooms and talk to him there. What was worrying, however, was the fact that she wasn't exactly sure if she could use her Gift. What if it had atrophied? What if it didn't respond to her calling like it used to? What if she was stuck outside the entrance to the passage with no real way of gaining entrance?
She banished such thoughts to the back of her mind – she had to succeed. George's life, and quite possibly her own, rested upon her doing so. She wanted to tell George this, but she didn't think he'd have appreciated her telling him that his life lay balanced upon Jon's whim. It was harsh – at least to George it would be, but it was the truth. All George could have done would be to run, to hide from the Guards. Jon could at least call them off and stop this madness.
George sighed – shaking his head, "I know, lass. I know y' do. But y' best be careful."
"Of course." She replied, smiling slightly. It seemed that George had risen above the tension, and was at least wishing her the best. "I'll be back soon, don't worry."
"Oh, there's no need t' imagine that I won't be, lass." He replied, "I'll be worrying all right, but I think it'll be baseless."
"Huh?"
He grinned slightly, "I think you'll be fine, but it won't stop me from worrying."
"Thanks. I think." Alanna gave George a small smile, before she ducked out the door and into the streets, heading roughly east.
***
She found it easily enough; it wasn't all that difficult either – especially since she remembered that it was so close to the wall. When she had reached the area in which Jon had taken her, she merely began following the Palace wall, eventually stumbling across the small shack across the way. After a glance at the top of the wall, as well as around at the people in the streets, she discreetly attempted to force the door open.
It didn't budge, and one or two people gave her a curious glance.
Alanna grimaced; she hadn't expected not even being able to get into the shack in the first place! Maybe she would have problems with the ensorcelled doorway, but the front door?! Oh dear…
She took a step back away from it for a moment, looking back at it in scorn – blasted door. Maybe she could kick it down? Grimacing, she realised that doing so would have to be a last resort; not only would it create a lot of noise and draw undue attention to her, it might also cause the injuries to her legs to flare up again. No, best to have a look around first, see if there's another obvious way in. Nodding to herself, she made her way slowly around the edges of the shack, attempting to make it seem that she wasn't particularly interested in what she was looking at. Unfortunately, her search proved fruitless, with no other entryway being obvious to her cursory look around – there wasn't even a window. On the bright side, at least she didn't receive any more confused looks.
Finding herself back at the front doorway, she tried to push it open again, again to no avail. With a sigh of annoyance, she leant up against the door, aggravated both with the doorway for being so stubborn, herself for being so stupid in not even contemplating this as being a problem, and Jon for forcing her hand on the issue. She would have been quite happy to wait another week before going to see him, but no! Now two lives possibly depended on her getting to him.
Maybe George was right, she thought as she closed her eyes, maybe it is best not to see Jon. No – she couldn't believe that, wouldn't. But how else could she get in? Could she risk going to the gates and calling for Jon? Maybe she could call for Raoul or Gary, get them to ta-
"Need any help?"
Alannas' eyes shot open with an almost audible snap at the voice, one which seemed oddly familiar to her. She spun around quickly, instinctively bringing her hands up in a defensive position. When she saw who it was, she quite purposefully kept the hands up, although that might have been more from shock than any potential threat. The woman, the Goddess, was standing in front of her with a far-too-wide smile playing across her face. "What?" she asked, stupidly, after she managed to get her mouth working again (after it had fallen almost to the ground).
"I asked if you needed any help." The woman replied, "You looked like something was bothering you." She shrugged her shoulders, causing her long black hair to float about her face. For the first time, Alanna took a good look at the woman – and noticed that while the face and hair were still the same, the pure white dress which had been a fixture of the woman's attire had been changed to a more common brown, woolen dress. That was…odd.
"What are you wearing?" the words seemed to fly from Alanna's mouth before she realised, and she silently cursed at herself for the slip.
"What, this?" the Goddess replied, fingering the dress. "Oh, just something that I thought was quaint enough to allow me to fit in here a little better. Do you like it?"
Alanna frowned, quaint? But she nodded anyway. "Yes, it's very…nice." The Goddess smiled, "Anyway – why are you here? And why now?"
The woman shrugged again, "As I've said, twice already as a matter of fact, it looked like you needed some help. I thought I could help you."
Snorting, Alanna rolled her eyes. "Not likely, unless you happen to have the key to this door within that quaint dress of yours." The Goddess simply smiled, and lifted a finger, pointing it at the door. Alanna moved away from it quickly, worrying that maybe the door might implode or something, but the sound of locks tumbling open was all that came from it. She stared at the door for a moment, still slightly worried that it would suddenly catch alight, or turn into a hedgehog or something. Hesitantly, she turned the battered handle, and the door swung open quietly. "Oh." She stated simply, slightly amazed by what had just happened. The nervousness eventually gave way to an amazing sense of relief; "Well then, who needs keys? I bet George would like you."
The smile remained affixed on the Goddess' face, "I bet he would too. How does that make you feel?"
Alanna frowned, "What?"
"How does the idea of George liking another woman make you feel?"
Who asks these kinds of questions? Alanna blinked – repeatedly – as she asked herself this very question. Repeatedly. Eventually, she moved into the small shack, hoping that the woman would skip off; she would have other, more important, things to do – wouldn't she? Unfortunately, the Goddess followed her in, closing the door behind her. Alanna groaned slightly, "Let me ask you this again, because I don't think you quite caught the indignation that first time. What?"
The smile disappeared, and the woman sighed heavily as she fell down into a dusty chair that lay about. "Alanna, I'm here to help you – and I do mean in more ways than just opening locked doors. I know that you've got a lot on your mind, and that George is one of those things-"
"At the moment?" Alanna interjected, "George is only a concern because I'm worried he might find himself suddenly headless one of these days."
"How would that make you feel?"
"What kind of a question is that?" she shot back. "What do you think?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."
"Bad, alright? I don't want it to happen because it would make me feel very, very bad."
"So you care for George."
Alanna simply stared at the sitting woman for a while in astonishment. How could this woman be the Goddess when her questions were so inane? "Well, yes – yes I do. Of course, I'd not like anyone to find themselves suddenly headless, but George especially."
The woman made questioning sound, as if she were mulling this answer over. This was getting ridiculous; "And what about King Jonathon?"
"What about him?"
"Do you care for him?"
"Why are you asking me this? I don't want to divulge such things to people I hardly know; heck, I don't want to divulge it to people I know very well, or even-" she licked her lips as the thought came to her, but she dared not finish it.
Unfortunately, the other woman seemed to have suddenly become empathic, perking up in her chair; "Or even to yourself?"
Alanna ground her teeth together. "Why are you asking me this?" She repeated, hotly. Originally, she had hoped that maybe this woman was slightly more warm and approachable than the Goddess had been on previous occasions, but that hope seemed to be evaporating.
The woman stood suddenly, as suddenly as the white dress appeared on her body, a sharp scowl on her face completing the look Alanna had come to know too well. "I am asking you this, Alanna, because I worry for you. I have told you this many times, and it still appears yet to sink in – You were to be my chosen. You still could be, but I believe that you are neither ready nor willing to be such a thing;" she raised a hand to stop Alanna from adding her own thoughts, "Please, let me talk. You are bound to me, regardless. Your success is paramount in my own success; your success is important to the survival of life here as we know it - to prevent Chaos from coming again. Your actions are important, and for you to be slowed down by problems of the mind and the heart is simply not satisfactory when you consider the larger picture."
"Not satisfactory?!" Alanna squealed in outrage, "How dare you! This is important to me! It may not be taking into consideration the larger picture, but-" She stopped suddenly as her anger overwhelmed her and talking became too difficult. Her jaw locked and trembled, and her fists clenched in fury. "If I am so important," she eventually continued, whispering harshly, "Then you can damn well wait for me to deal with my own problems before I deal with anything else. Problems of the mind and heart, as you so eloquently put it, are important to us mere mortals – you may not have to deal with them, but we do. We are guided by the passions of our heart and mind, and if you can't understand that then maybe you should 'choose' some other girl. Someone as heartless as yourself perhaps!"
Only after the words had come from between her lips did Alanna realise what she was saying, and her eyes widened in horror as she heard the vitriolic words issuing forth. The horror quickly subsided, only for the panic to set in – who yells at a God? What was she thinking? Was she going to get a divine smiting? She cringed as the Goddess seemed to be mentally reviewing what Alanna had just said to her; she's probably working out what kind of animal to turn me into. Please, not anything slimy! To her amazement, however, the woman simply shook her head and- wait, was she chuckling? Indeed she was, the woman soon began to laugh in earnest as she sank back down into her chair. Alanna wasn't sure whether to be relieved that she was still Alanna-shaped, or whether to be furious at having such treatment issued to her. In the end, she didn't have to decide, as the woman began speaking to herself. "It's funny how you forget how much fun mortals can be after a long time in the divine realms," she giggled, "I haven't been so chastised for centuries!"
"Uhh…Sorry." Alanna finally squeaked, wondering perhaps if she shouldn't have brought the woman's attention back onto her. At the moment, however, she was slightly more concerned over the Goddess' apparent sanity.
"Hmm? What? No, no – you're quite right. I was not looking at your actions as if you were a mortal, I was holding you up as another immortal, and becoming agitated because you didn't meet such standards." She sighed, "But as I said, you were right. You are a mortal – and it was my mistake to consider you as anything else, even if you do sometimes even amaze me with how far you have come."
Alanna blinked. This was…unexpected. Could it be that the Goddess wasn't quite so unfeeling as she had seemed before?
"So I apologise Alanna; your problems are important, and it is best that you attempt to deal with them in your own time. Feel free to ask for help, however." The woman smiled at Alanna, and she – to her amazement – found herself smiling back. She didn't feel quite as agitated around the woman as she had done in the past; maybe it was the realization that God's could make mistakes as well which made the Goddess easier to deal with. "Nevertheless," The Goddess continued, "They do pale in comparison to the wider picture. I won't make you abandon or ignore your own problems for the sake of the world, but I will ask that you consider other issues as being perhaps as pressing and important as they are."
"I suppose I can go along with that," Alanna remarked, amazed, "And I take it these 'problems' tie in with what you have told me previously?"
"About the Queen of Chaos? Yes, that's indeed what they tie into. Her and her pawn."
Her pawn. A twist of memory stirred with Alanna's mind, "Oh!" she gushed, remembering something of note "You once said that the Chaos Queen's, or whatever, pawn was the one who killed Thom, right?" The woman nodded, "Then I think I might have a name for you."
"Who?"
"Roger of Conte. Jon was telling me that he was almost certain that he was behind Thom's death, and then-"
The Goddess frowned as Alanna suddenly stopped talking. "And then what?"
Alanna sighed; could she tell this woman? She was the Goddess, she had come to accept that over the past few months, but…these were very personal, and she didn't quite understand them herself. Though perhaps the woman would be able to help her in this regard; especially considering her very recent apologies and revelations. It couldn't really hurt to try, could it? "Do you remember the first time you appeared to me?" she asked by way of introduction. The woman nodded, and Alanna continued. "Do you remember how I asked if you had been putting dreams into my head?"
"Yes. Does this – these dreams, have anything to do with this Roger of Conte?"
She grimaced, "Sort of. I started to have these dreams that very same night I met you, dreams about…someone in particular, though not Roger or Thom." She'd be damned if she was going to tell the Goddess about her dreams about Jon, "And these underwent a number of, well, phases I guess you could say."
"What do you mean?"
"Just – At first they were very good dreams, enjoyable. Then they became nightmares, though I knew that they were…corrupted you could say – that they were still the same dreams, but bad where they used to be good. And then a few nights ago, I dreamt again. But this one was very different; vivid as the others, yes, but its subject matter was far different. This one seemed to be a memory of Thom's; I was playing Thom in the dream, from his point of view. It was him and Roger having a confrontation, and it was pretty obvious that they hated each other. Roger basically threatened Thom as well."
"So you believe that this indicates that Roger was behind the killing?"
"Given the impression I got, and from what Jon had told me about Roger beforehand, I'd say that I'm fairly positive."
The woman sat back in her chair, tapping a finger on her perfect lips as she thought. "Was there anything else in this dream?"
Alanna shrugged, "Not really. It ended with me in front of this weird statue, but apart from that." That was strange, but she still had no answers for it; she had planned to ask Jon about it, actually. "What I don't understand, though, is how could have experienced one of Thom's memories; and one from a few months ago at that!"
"It's possible that- No…"
"What?" Alanna asked, confused by the reaction.
Sighing, the Goddess almost shrugged her shoulders. "I don't have an answer for you. I would have said that it's possible that Thom might still be alive, which could account for it, but I would have felt it if he were. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."
No, she really shouldn't have. The very notion that Thom might possibly be alive had sent shivers up her spine. Could it be…? No, the Goddess would have felt it; although she couldn't necessarily count upon the Goddess to know everything – Alanna herself had witnessed that this very hour. Dare she hope that her brother might be alive? She sighed, no – she couldn't, she mustn't. It wasn't worth the pain to hold onto an impossible hope, she had to push the thought away, focus on something else. "So are you going to do anything about Roger?" she asked.
"Hmm? What? Oh right, Roger of Conte." She nodded, as if coming to a decision just then. "At the moment? No, not really. I will need more proof than just a hunch on your part-"
"A hunch? It's not a hunch!"
"Well, yes. That may well be – but I'll need something a little more concrete than dreams and supposition. I'm sorry; you have done a marvelous effort so far, especially in light of any other extenuating circumstances, but I need something to break the veil."
"What?" Alanna frowned, what veil?
"Remember how I told you that I cannot view Her pawn? That it is hidden from me?" Alanna nodded, "That is the Queen of Chaos' doing – her spell blinds the Gods. Once irrefutable proof has been found to link Her to a mortal – which is forbidden under the terms of her imprisonment – her spell will be broken, and all Gods will see the truth. So you see, I need something to break this link, to lift the veil."
Alanna groaned, "Where am I supposed to find such proof?"
The Goddess smiled, "Thank you – I had hoped you'd be willing to continue in this." Alanna wasn't quite sure if she was being sincere or not, "But I really have no idea. I would suggest that such a piece of evidence would be kept close to Roger, so perhaps a little visit to the man himself may be in order. I will tell you that if you find it, I will know, and I will ensure that you will know." She stood, and Alanna followed suit. "Now, I must say that this has been a most enlightening conversation we have had. I should do well to thank you for it, Alanna."
"Uh, that's alright."
"Do you need any help with anything else?"
"No, that's alright," Alanna replied, force of habit more than anything else letting the words trickle out. After they had escaped her, however, she realised that in fact she really could use the help; and putting aside her qualms at asking for said help, decided that the Goddess would be one of the best possible…people?…on the face of the earth to help her. Looking up, she realised the Goddess appeared to be shimmering slightly, as if she was becoming less corporeal. "Wait! No, actually – I do. I actually came here for a reason, this shack I mean."
"I'd hope so," The Goddess murmured, solidifying once more, "Since it's not the kind of place I'd really have enjoyed staying in for any length of time." To punctuate her remark, she ran a finger along the arm of her chair, gray dust coating the tip.
"You should see where me and George are at the moment." Alanna joked, "Uh, but that's not important – There's a passageway here that leads into the castle, an ensorcelled gateway that Jon and I used a few days ago. I had come here to use it, but I-I don't really know…well…how to use it, and I'm not sure if my Gift will even…"
"Work any more?" The Goddess offered, and Alanna nodded. "I see. It will, don't worry about that – one's Gift will not die out with time." That was a relief, "And I must say, it's good to see that you've accepted that part of yourself now, Alanna."
"What? No, I haven't, not really. I don't want to use it, but it looked like I had to." She grinned, "But now that you're here, you can just remove the spell yourself."
The Goddess looked at her for a long while; a distressingly measuring gaze, or so Alanna thought as she shifted uncomfortably under it. Eventually, however, a smile spread across the woman's face. "No."
Alanna frowned "No?"
"I will not do this for you. I'll help you to do it, but I will not open the gateway entirely on my own."
"W-why not?" Alanna licked her lips nervously. Damn! "Please?"
"Alanna, I will not do this for you. I want you to use your Gift, I want you to recognise that it is a Gift. You've been treating it like a curse; a disease which someone gave you before you were able to stop them. You have to accept it as being part of you, and of it being a rare and powerful Gift which has been granted to you."
Alanna grunted sourly. "But it'll take me hours to get it done, then!"
The Goddess scowled at her; "I may have admitted that I have made mistakes in how I deal with you, Alanna, but I will not tolerate such petulance." Alanna gulped, but stopped herself from apologizing. She kept that much dignity, at least. The other woman sighed softly, watching Alanna with sharp eyes. "But do not worry. As I said, I will help you, guide you; I wish for you to reach your full potential, and I will help you directly here. Other times, however…"
Turning away for a moment, Alanna mulled over the Goddess' motivations. Just this once she'd be helping her; that made sense; after all she wouldn't want Alanna to become dependant upon her help. Alanna of course knew that she would never become so dependent anyway, but it would be best to remove the temptation. And she was going to help today…why?
"You'll help me?" The other woman nodded slightly, "Why?"
"I have already said," The Goddess responded, appearing to be somewhat vexed, "I wish for you to reach your potential – to accept your Gift. I recognise that it may be difficult for you to do so with such an untamed Gift, and thus I will help you."
Alanna wasn't overly sure about this, but she supposed that it was something good. After all, she'd planned to use her Gift here anyway, although she had no real knowledge of how to do so – having aid in this could only be good. She nodded, "Right. Well," fumbling for something to say, Alanna nodded in acceptance. "Thanks, I guess."
"Please don't sound too enthused, Alanna."
She blushed, "Sorry. I am thankful, I am, but-"
"But that does not mean you are no longer uncomfortable with it, I understand." The Goddess replied. Alanna was slightly bemused by the fact that this woman was all of a sudden so very accommodating to her feelings, the way she thought of things. It was funny, in a strange sort of way, that the woman who had originally seemed so off putting and perfect now could understand the way Alanna herself felt, in her so very not-at-all-perfect way of living. "Shall we begin?"
"Oh. Uh, sure."
The Goddess rose smoothly off the dusty chair – Alanna noted that it did not appear that a single speck of dust had actually been disturbed by the woman's presence – and all but glided towards the hanging throw rug that Jon had pointed out to Alanna that night a week and a half ago. That was odd; she hadn't pointed it out to her- "It is over here, correct?" the woman asked as she turned back to Alanna.
"How did-" She frowned, "Can you feel it?"
The Goddess nodded. "Oh yes. It's quite well hidden, I'll give the sorcerer who enchanted it that, but it's not perfect; I can sense the residue." She waved a hand around in front of the rug, as if pushing it through water. "You can feel it, see it – come over here and try it."
She wasn't sure; she hadn't used her Gift in almost eight years, how could she be expected to 'sense' with it on her first try? But she walked on over anyway. It would do no good to hinder the process, she had to try with all her strength to get this to work and work quickly. Standing in front of the rug, she paused for a moment. What exactly was she supposed to be doing? Wave her hands around? Maybe she should stick her tongue out…
The Goddess seemed to pick up on her confusion, "Do you remember how to reach for the Gift?"
Alanna did, or at least she thought she did. "Maude used to tell us to reach into ourselves, to find our own center and grab hold of the fire there." She closed her eyes, visualizing what she used to do, reaching for the fire within her.
"That's about it," the Goddess' voice floated into her awareness – she was concentrating hard now, attempting to reach, to stretch and find the amethyst fire that used to be so readily available. "The Gift doesn't really sit anywhere in particular, it permeates your entire being, but finding a 'center' is akin to reaching a heightened state from which you can manipulate and guide it's energies."
Alanna didn't understand that at all, but she was barely registering the Goddess' voice anyway. She was focusing inwards, attempting to find this center again. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, searching incessantly (as she was) to gain hold once more of the power she possessed, or at least used to posses. Such a thought raced through her consciousness, bringing forth images and memories of her childhood with Thom. Creating ethereal tigers with their combined Gifts to scare the cooks, chasing away their aunt with phantom sounds and images. Her power had been strong; with Thom it had been almost boundless – Maude had always refused to teach the two of them together, probably out of a forlorn hope that they would never use their powers together in such a mischievous fashion, but Thom had learnt to link himself with Alanna early on, and the two of them combined often.
The memories caused her to question herself. Why was she so uncomfortable with her Gift? Was it something that had just developed after she had arrived with the Shang, or was it something linked more to how she had used to exercise it? Was it just because she missed Thom, and how she had rarely used it without him being linked to her? Or was it something completely different?
She didn't know, but thoughts of Thom crowded her mind. The images of him riding away with Maude all those years ago, the memory-dream she had been a part of the other night when she had felt the arrogance and determination of her adult brother – and above all, the keepsake she wore that he had given her so many years ago. She grasped it in her hand, and a small tear rolled down her cheek.
"Alanna?" The Goddess' voice rose out of the memories, and brought Alanna back to reality. "Are you alright?"
Blinking rapidly, forcing the tear to remain alone, she shook her head in the negative. "I'm…fine. Fine." Internally, she was worried – how could she concentrate when musing over her Gift simply raised memories of her brother? This would be impossible, she knew that now.
"Did you find the center you talked of?"
Alanna took in a deep breath, composing herself, before replying. "No." She was astounded by the Goddess' transformation to a more…rational…being, but she still did not feel entirely comfortable in revealing her deepest thoughts to her. "I'll try again." She didn't feel particularly confident that such a thing could be achieved, not when memories of Thom swam into her awareness, but she would not give up; she would not allow herself to be defeated by something that she could control – herself.
"Good. Concentrate now."
Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus.
Alanna turned her gaze inwards, furrowing her brow again as she sought to find her Gift. Sounds and images of her brother rose up again, and she attempted to ignore them. She was successful, in part – the memories twisted around the corner's of her subconscious instead of pushing into her awareness, but as soon as she let her focus waver they began to bleed into her minds eye. No! Concentrate! Her hands became fists, nails digging into her palms as her knuckles turned white while she fought a battle with her own mind – why could she not find this place once more? The Goddess had said that finding this center would work, but she didn't realise she have such problems in just finding it! The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth as she bit into her lip; why wasn't it working? How could she have been bested by her own will – why was she unable to find her focus! A slight whimper of frustration left her mouth, and she attempted to concentrate once more, to focus on a single point and move on from there.
A hand suddenly came to rest upon her shoulder, and a blaze of warm white light filled her. In shock, her focus left her completely; she simply stared at the comforting light. It eventually began to fade, slowly becoming gray and blending into her thoughts – yet a strange afterimage remained; it somewhat startled her to see a slightly multihued…blob remain in the center of her minds eye, and she tentatively scratched at it with her mind, examining it. The blob seemed to move within her mind, suddenly snapping into focus. To her amazement, the blob appeared to be Thom. It looked like him, in part; well – it looked like the young Thom she remembered. It was a fleeting image, of course, as most memories are. Almost as soon as she had recognised him, his features shifted slightly her attention slid away from him. .
"Thom."
She hadn't realised she'd spoken out loud, but at least the words seemed to reverberate more within her than outside, anyway. The blob did not appear to change, features shifting again and again. Every now and again, she thought her mind would equate it with Jonathon, or sometimes with George, but no image seemed to be as clear as Thom's had been.
What did this mean? Did it mean anything?
The Goddess seemed to feel her stiffen under her hand – for it had been her hand that had come to rest on Alanna's shoulder. "Touch the image, Alanna. Become it."
Become it? Touch it? Alanna supposed using such highly-strung language could be forgiven, given what she was currently engaging in. Become it, then? What did that mean – become Thom, or the light? She didn't know, but she decided that there was really only one way to find out. After all, as much as the Goddess may know about magic or whatever, it was still her own mind. She skirted her touch around the edge of the blob, pushing into it every now and again. It felt solid, as much as something within one's own mind can feel anything, but she could also feel something else there; a subtle jelly-like quality that seemed to allow for a little give. She pushed into the blob at one point, focusing upon that one location and attempting to force her way into it. Nothing happened, bar sweat rolling down her forehead and another small tang of blood in her mouth as it rolled over her tongue.
"Do not fight it, Alanna. Surrender to it."
Surrender? Now how on earth could she do that? Surrender wasn't a part of who she was, not since…Not since she'd become Shang. Perhaps that was the problem; she had been taught to fight everything – she didn't know how to give in. But how could she override that instinct now?
Just imagine it's Thom – Thom wouldn't hurt you, he couldn't hurt you.
She nodded to herself, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead. The blobs features shifted again, for a moment Thom flickered across its surface, his youthfully smiling face filled her mind, and she let herself go. She…fell…into the blob, passing directly through its walls and into the core, where a radiance seemed to come over her, warming her. Was this within herself, or was this something the Goddess had done? Regardless, she felt perfectly at ease here, wherever here was, and simply relaxed herself.
"Now, search for your Gift, Alanna."
Yes. Yes, she could do that now, she could simply look about – what was the need to focus when she felt so at ease with herself? She knew herself, or felt she did at any rate, and sure enough she found the room Maude had taught her to reach all those long years ago. The dark room which Maude had called 'the center', with the small ball of fire floating within the middle of it; the source of her Gift itself, or at least a representation of it. The fire now was nowhere near as bright as she remembered it to be, but she had been expecting that. What she had not expected was the thin web of orange which now seemed to stretch across the ball, lacing itself around and across it.
"I found it," she whispered to the air, to the Goddess, "But something's wrong. Something's different."
"It's only natural for your Gift to have become depleted or tempered after such a long period of inactivity, Alanna." The Goddess replied solemnly.
"No," she shook her head softly, "No, something else. Some other force is here, I can feel it." And she could, like a blind person being able to see again another sense had awoken within Alanna, the Gift's power becoming attuned to the world around her once more. It was amazing, this feeling of new life pulsing through her, and she would have shouted for joy at finding this once more had it not been for the feeling of unease at the orange web. "I don't- What is it?"
She opened her eyes then, startled to notice that the small windows were showing very little light in to the small hut – it seemed to be late afternoon now. But the Goddess ignored her confusion, instead launching into questions. "What do you mean? Other force? Can you describe it?"
Alanna grimaced; "Not really. I guess it just feels like," she brought her hands up, trying to show the Goddess what she meant, "like a web stretching across my Gift. Something tacked into it, of an orange colour."
The Goddess frowned slightly, "Can you reach your Gift? Ignore this…web for now."
Alanna wasn't sure about that; she'd always found that it was better to meet problems only after having an extensive knowledge of them, but decided that the other woman knew what she was talking about here. She gave a small mental shrug, and concentrated once more. She could find her center easily now, just imagining the 'falling' into the Thom-blob allowed her to – well, not really surrender to her Gift easily, but at least it gave her something to build on. The dark purple ball with the orange web appeared in front of her, and she concentrated on it. Reaching towards it in her mind's eye, she attempted to push into the ball as Maude had taught her to do when she was just a child. Tentatively, she brushed one of the orange strands away from the ball, and thrust herself into the purple interior.
The ball pulsed, and she focused on it, attempted to stoke it to life. The ball began roiling, a brighter amethyst colour swirled within its' depths as her Gift began to flow into her. She reached out once more, attempted to pull some of the power away from the ball, to guide and shape it to her will, when she noticed something else. One of the orange strands, the one she had brushed aside earlier, was pulsing in time with the ball.
"I can reach it," she stated clearly, "But something's happening with the orange strands. They're reacting to it, or something."
Two hands came down on either side of her head, clasping her head between them in a vice grip. "Relax, Alanna, and I will aid you." The white light returned, blinding Alanna with its' intensity, and the ball (with the attached web) disappeared in a blaze of light. A pain filled her, and for a moment she almost shied away from the Goddess' hands in anger and surprise; until she realised that it was not her pain. It was the pain of whoever – or whatever, had surrounded her Gift. The orange strands were melting in the heat of the light, falling away from her Gift as if they had simply lost all tension. By the time Alanna could once more envision the ball of her Gift, not a single Orange strand remained attached to it.
She opened her eyes, wide as they were in astonishment, and turned to the Goddess. "What happened?"
The other woman seemed to be paler than before, drained of strength. "I simply destroyed the spell," she replied weakly, "The spell which had affected your Gift was removed entirely. Eradicated."
Alanna didn't want to seem ungrateful, but she didn't really understand what the woman had done. "Do you know what those orange webs were? Did they need to be so…eradicated?"
Blinking somewhat at the question, the expression on the Goddess' face frightened Alanna – it was one of confusion. "I do not know." She replied honestly after a moment, before waving the question away. "But I cannot think that they were of any benefit to you. A persons Gift is a natural essence, something arising from that single person thanks to the grace of the Gods. No other force should so interfere with such a Gift."
"But you don't know for certain that it was doing anything bad?"
"No." The Goddess seemed unrepentant, which wasn't of any particular surprise. Most of Alanna's good will towards the woman, who she had previously hoped had moved beyond the phase of attempting to manipulate and cajole Alanna into doing things she did not necessarily wish to do, had now disappeared. This was her body they were talking about! What right did the Goddess have to be so reckless!? "But as I said, it could not have been of any benefit to you." Alanna felt a slow boiling of her anger begin – that wasn't the point! But the Goddess either didn't recognise the look on her face, or completely ignored it. "Nevertheless, it is good to know that you can now reach for your Gift. Now you can manipulate it, guide it to your will – and as you so desire, to open this doorway."
Alanna began to feel furious – how dare she?! But she turned to look at the throw rug. To her amazement, she could almost make something out now. It wasn't anything concrete, nothing like an outline or a door or anything so conspicuous, but she could feel that something was behind it – something other than a solid wall.
"Can you feel it?"
Best to keep replies at this point as short as possible, she thought. "Yes." She replied, bitingly.
"Good, good." The Goddess murmured to herself, "Now reach for your Gift." Alanna found it easier this time, closing her eyes as she raced back into the small room within her, reached into the ball and stoked it to life. A flare of amethyst energy flew out from the inside of the ball, and she latched onto it. She opened her eyes with an audible snap, and a slight purple tinge began playing over her hand as she allowed more and more energy to flow within her. "Careful, Alanna." The Goddess warned, but Alanna ignored her. The life that flooded her, the feelings of power - they were incredible! Her rage and frustration were feeding the fire, stoking it to awesome levels as the Gift bubbled from within her. It seemed to have a will of its own, loving the freedom after almost eight years of inactivity. "Be careful! Do not let so much fill you, it can be dangerous!"
Alanna – reluctantly – allowed a little of the power to slip from her grasp. "What now?" She asked quietly. There was no point in shouting; not when this much power lay within her. "How can I get through this doorway?" she could see it clearly now, the outline of it seemed to glow within her mind. She wasn't sure why, exactly, though she assumed it had to do with the levels of energy flowing within her.
The Goddess stood silent for a long time, simply looking at Alanna. Finally, she turned slightly, looking towards the doorway. "Well, the spell was designed so that it would alter its state after another spell was cast, but you don't know what those are-"
"Do you?"
"I do, but I will not be telling you." The Goddess answered, somewhat annoyed by the interruption. "I have a feeling that what I will teach you will come in handy. Soon, as a matter of fact." She moved closer to Alanna, eyes suddenly boring down into Alanna's own. "But first I have to impart another lesson to you. You are high on the feeling of touching your Gift again, I can understand that and excuse you for it. But you must exercise caution! This is not something that you are used to as a warrior – it is something completely apart from your fighting skills, something which can take hold of you! The Gift is just that, a Gift, but it is a dangerous Gift that requires caution to use it. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Alanna waved the question away; of course she was exercising caution! She did so with any activity she set her path upon.
"Listen to me, Alanna! You cannot treat this lightly – it is something which requires skill and concentration to handle, and you must not let it wash over you! It is like a mountain stream, Alanna. It feels wonderful to be immersed in it, and holds within it a feeling of wondrous power, but you can drown in it easily!"
Alanna saw the woman's point, but she was not about to tell her that. She was still somewhat ticked off by the Goddess' actions; her pride would not allow her to be humbled before her now. "I understand perfectly," she replied, keeping her voice level and calm. "I will concentrate and maintain control over it. I swear it."
A skeptical look came over the Goddess' features, but she eventually nodded slightly. "I will hold you to that," she replied, "Best ensure that you do not break it."
"I will not." Alanna retorted, resolute. "Now what do I do now with this door?"
Sighing, the Goddess continued her 'lesson'. "As I was saying, you do not know the 'proper' way to bypass this doorway. Therefore, no matter how much power you have, you will be unable to get into the tunnel from here – unless you happen to stumble upon the correct sequence of words which will open it. But," she raised a finger to emphasise her point, "There is another way to get past the spell. You overload it."
"Pardon?" Alanna interjected. She knew sorcery was complicated, but she wasn't expecting to be lost so early – "I can't get through it using spells, but I can get past it by putting weights on it?"
"Do be sensible, Alanna." The Goddess tsked, "You do not put weights on it. You push your Gift into it."
"Into the door?" That didn't make any sense.
"Into the spell. You can see the outline of the door, correct?" Alanna nodded, "Take a strand of your Gift and run it along one of the lines." She did so, siphoning off a thing strand of amethyst power – reveling in the feeling such an action invoked, and lay it along one of the outlines of the doorway. For a brief moment, it seemed to cause a large…pattern was the only word that came to mind to Alanna. A lattice of other strands all interwoven together – to flash brightly. As soon as it had appeared, it had dissipated once more, fading faster than the eye could trace.
"I couldn't make a single strand out of that mess," Alanna told the other woman softly, her frustration lessening for the moment as the power flooded back into her, "I could tell they were there, but I didn't have time to focus on one."
The Goddess waved the finger, "But you do not need to. You merely need to know where the weaving is, where the spell is being maintained." Alanna nodded, it sort of made sense. She supposed that it was somewhat like her katas, in the way a routine was the same no matter where it was performed. "Now that you know where it is, it is simply a matter of pushing your Gift into it. If you have the strength, you can cause the spell to, essentially, burst."
Nodding, Alanna drew deeply upon her Gift again, tugging the power out of her core. She could feel the life flooding through her again, awesome in its brilliance, and she had difficulty in guiding the power away from herself. Eventually, however, she managed it; a large cord of purple energy flowing suddenly into the area she had seen the spell-weave a few moments beforehand. The moment the purple cord touched the doorway, the pattern again flared into life, this time remaining visible for a far longer time. In that moment, she thought she could notice something changing; the pattern seemed to bulge under the influx of power. The pattern began to fade before her eyes, and in a flurry she allowed more of her Gift to flow through her and into the doorway, into the spell-weave; the power racing through her now becoming almost too great for her to control. Her head spun as she tried to limit its flow, desperately attempting to pull back on the cord that was now racing through her. The strain was simply enormous.
Thankfully, she seemed to have done enough. With a high pitched sucking noise, the spell-weave seemed to fall in on itself as it simply shattered under the strain Alanna was putting it under. With a final desperate attempt at self-control, she managed to slice off the cord of energy, stopping the Gift flowing from within her. "Well," woozily stating after she had composed herself somewhat. "That was easy enough."
The Goddess' droll reply seemed to echo around the room, "Your nose is bleeding, Alanna."
Huh. "Oh. Well, nothing major happened then. Nothing bad." She swiped at her nose; indeed, it was bleeding. Holding her head back, she managed to choke out a question. "Did it work?"
"Yes, yes. The way is open." The Goddess moved over to Alanna, and pressed something into her free hand. Bringing the hand up to look at the item, she found that it was a lacy white handkerchief, one that looked more like something a lady would use than…well, rather than someone like her. Still, it could stop the flow of bleeding, and with a nod of thanks, she pressed the brightly white square of cloth to her nose. A wave of nausea passed over her as her head came down, and she rocked slightly as it finally subsided. Now able to see around the room, she noticed that indeed the passage that she and Jon had traveled down was now visible where the wall had previously been. The throw rug was on the floor, smouldering slightly. "I take it that you will now take my warning about drawing on your Gift too much to heart?"
"What?" Her head was still swimming, "Oh, yes. Certainly."
"Good," The Goddess replied, and she smiled at Alanna warmly. "Then I shall make my exit. Remember, Alanna, find that proof that we need. I will let you know when you find it, as I will know what it is that we're looking for."
We? – hah! Still out of it, Alanna seemed to have had the frustration and anger knocked out of her, and she managed to be almost courteous in her farewells. "Thank you for what you did here." She managed to force out, something which was somewhat ironic. She was thankful for helping her into the passageway, something she would have had great difficulty in accomplishing alone. But she wasn't sure overall about the requirements for this; her Gift being re-awakened, the dissolution of the orange web without her consent – these irritated and, if she was honest, frightened her. Her Gift, especially; she had survived for so long without it, and as soon as she had gotten a taste of it once more she seemed unable to control herself. Hopefully this was merely the reaction like that of a thirsty man with water – she would find it hard to stop the flow at this early stage, but she could eventually gain such control.
Nevertheless, it was something else she would have to work on; she wouldn't have her inexperience with her re-awakened Gift cause her or any of her friends any harm in the future.
With a final smile at her, the Goddess began to shimmer once more, before disappearing completely right in front of her eyes. She cast a quick glance out the window, and noticed that the shadows had lengthened a little since the previous time she had looked outside. The light would remain for a few more hours at least; was that good or bad? It might be best if she waited till dusk to make her way in, she'd find it easier to sneak about when the light was low.
Yes, best to wait. Not the most comfortable of locales to spend a few hours, but it would do.
***
The sun had sunk below the buildings in the area a few moments ago, and Alanna had decided that this would be the best time to make her way through the tunnel and into the castle. She'd spent the past two or so hours musing over recent events, prodding at her Gift once or twice in trepidation. She'd been so caught up in the moment before that she'd just accepted it easily once more – well, not easily, but she'd accepted it. Now that she had had time to think on it, it became slightly disconcerting once again; the ease with which it had almost slipped from her control frightened her.
But she knew now that it was a part of her, and something which could be useful. It had, after all, been the factor that enabled her to gain access to this very tunnel. It was worrying, yes, but it was something she did need to confront; ignoring it again would not be the way to go.
However, addressing the issue would have to wait. At the moment, she had a King to find. With a final quick glance around the small room she was now in, she made her way down the blue-hued tunnel, emerging deep within the palace grounds.
***
Finding her way into the palace itself had been surprisingly easy. The copse of trees' had allowed excellent cover for most of the way, and the low light aided her the rest of the way. Once she'd reached the walls of the palace, she simply followed them around until she could find a way to gain entrance.
She eventually did so, finding a small entry that led to – she assumed, what was an outdoor dining area. She'd found her way from there into some of the major halls, thankful that her rather inconspicuous garb allowed the various passing nobles to dismiss her as a servant. Still, she knew that the hardest part of the operation was still to come – how to find her way to Jon's room.
The problem was, she had realised while waiting for the sun to set, that she could potentially put on two disguises. One as a servant, or one as a noble. Of course, her garb and demeanour pointed the finger directly at her pretending to be a servant, so she had accepted this. She didn't necessarily have to disguise herself, in fact she'd briefly entertained the idea of simply attempting to stealthily invade the palace, finding her way without being seen, but such an idea was fraught with danger and difficulty, and she disposed of it in short order. But the problem with her dressing as a servant was that she simply couldn't ask for the King's rooms. As a servant, she'd be expected to know that already, and she also doubted that any old random servant would be permitted to venture into Jon's chambers anyway. So here she was, stuck with what appeared to be endless miles of hallways, with absolutely no idea of where she was supposed to be going.
She had made the assumption that Jon wouldn't have his chambers in the lower bowels of the palace; that she'd generally have to move upwards. Following this, she chose some nearby stairs, swiftly climbing them as quietly as she could. The less attention the better, after all, was something she was taking to heart at the moment.
It was while climbing these stairs that an idea struck her – if every servant would know the King's chambers, would every servant know where every knight was quartered? Maybe she could ask for directions to one of her knight-friends' place, who could then guide her to Jon's. Yes - yes she knew this would work. It had to work – otherwise she'd simply be bumbling about for hours upon hours.
Unfortunately, it seemed as if servants amongst the upper levels were a bit sparser than they had been below – she passed many noblemen and women, decked out in brightly coloured and well cut clothing, but she doubted that they'd have either the knowledge nor even the inclination to help her. She needed a servant.
Such a servant, thankfully, was not far away – an old woman dressed in fairly tattered brown livery was scrubbing the floor in one corridor. Nervous as she was, Alanna knew that she still held most of the situation under control; if the servant was worried about her actions, she could perhaps placate them with some fast talking, or as a last resort – knock them unconscious. She did not believe that it would come to that, however, since she doubted that any servant would have gotten wind of her description or that the Guard were looking for her. Still, recklessness breeds failure, as Liam had often told her, and so she set about the conversation with nervous energy flooding her body.
In the end this turned out to be unnecessary, with a small grin and a comment about 'the youth of today', the old maid seemed gladly willing to detail the location of Sir Raoul's dwelling. Alanna had chosen Raoul for two reasons; one being that she felt closest to him after their few meetings, and also that she had been to his quarters before – in a pinch, she thought she could (hopefully!) remember the way if she was in the general area. Thanking the woman, who in turn advised her to get a hurry on, she set out for the stairwell that the old woman had pointed her towards.
Eventually, following the path the woman had indicated, she found herself in familiar territory, and after ensuring that no-one about seemed to be about the place, she began hunting for her friends room.
***
Tracing her steps from the previous time she had been here turned out to be a little trickier than she had originally thought, as her memories didn't seem so firm now that the passages were as dark as they were. The light from a few flickering torches wasn't really what she would normally have considered 'light', as the various offsetting shadows and sharp odour made her head ache; it was more a hindrance than any real help.
Still, after a good ten minutes of hunting and a fair bit of pressing her ear up against the door, she thought she'd picked it. It certainly looked familiar – but then again, every door in the area looked the same. However, it was the voice coming from within which swayed her mind; she could tell that Raoul was in there. Well, she thought she could tell – the voices were particularly quiet. With a slight twinge of anticipation, she gave the door a solid knock.
"One moment!" came the cry from within, and Alanna grinned. Yes – this was certainly Raoul's. The voice was more familiar at such a level, and she was now sure of her choice. A moment later, the door swung open, and Raoul's cheery face greeted her. He recognised her straight away, a light entering his eyes as he saw her; "Great Mithros! Alanna; what are you doing here?" She wasn't sure if his almost instantaneous recognition of her was good or bad, but she supposed that it could only be good – given that she'd not been recognised at all during her ascent here. A noise from within Raoul's room caught her attention for a moment, but she would rather be facing one of Raoul's friends within the room than any number of people out here in the hall.
"Can I come in?" she asked softly. She didn't want to sound rude, but it probably wasn't best to discuss her problems out here in the hallway either. "There's something I need to tell you, and ask of you."
Raoul blinked for a moment, before he stepped back and waved her in. "Oh, yes. Please do." She swept past him quickly, pulling up the hood of her cloak slightly as she did, and glanced around the room swiftly. It was pretty much how she had remembered it, although obviously a bit darker. There was one difference in how she had remembered it, however, and that was the presence of the other occupant. Stopping dead, her eyes bulged slightly as she took in the instantly familiar form of Jon standing in front of her. His own look mirrored her own in many ways, although his mouth was hanging open – something she took some small measure of glee from. The mouth in question worked silently for a moment, before a small squeak of surprise emerged from it.
Well then. One problem solved; at least she didn't have to find her way up to his chambers.
"I wasn't-" he began, still seemingly stunned by her sudden appearance, before shaking his head in disbelief. "What are you doing here?" he added a while later, eyes slightly more normal-sized by now.
"Actually, I came to see you," she replied with a careful tone; she didn't want to come across as accusatory, since she didn't believe he had a role in the warrant on George, but she couldn't seem happy to see him, could she? She was of course, well – slightly, anyway. She hadn't seen him for what seemed like weeks, and while this wasn't necessarily all that bad, considering her previous meetings with him, she still did have to work out her feelings for him – and she couldn't much do that with him not around. He looked…good, too; both health wise and in that way. Allowing herself a small look at him once again, she was struck once more by just how attractive the man was – his blue eyes as icy as she had remembered them and his features still as chiseled. Banishing the guilty thoughts from her minds, she tried to get her mind back on track. "I need to discuss something with you." She finished; ready to beat down any excuse he might come up with to fob her off, if he did so.
Jon stared at her for a long moment, a relatively unreadable expression on his face. "Yes, yes. Certainly – I've been wanting to discuss things with you for a while, too." He finally responded, the voice matching his stare in its apparent lack of emotion. Raoul coughed – a particularly unsubtle gesture, and Jon turned to him. "Oh, right. Can we finish-?"
"Don't worry about it, Jon." Raoul replied, smiling. Why was he smiling? "I had some things to do now anyway, so why don't you two just stay here for the moment?" he added in a far too enjoyed tone of voice, before sliding out the door quickly. A last thrown "Good to see you again, Alanna." Came from the closing door, and then she was alone with Jon.
Determined to avoid the inevitable uncomfortable silence, Alanna immediately strode over to him. "I need to talk to you about something both pressing and important. The discussion about us can wait until after we've resolved that, alright?"
Jon was startled for a moment, before he nodded dumbly. "Alright," he told her, before chuckling softly. "Nice to see that you're attitude hasn't changed, then."
Why would she have changed? It'd only been a few days.
Shaking the thought out of her mind, she fetched the warrant that George had rescued from the murdered magistrates mouth, and held it out to Jon. "Firstly, I want to know what the meaning of this is. I believe, or at least I hope, that you have nothing to do with it, but the same can't be said of…certain other parties."
Frowning over the bloodied paper, Jon took it slowly, before he spread it out in his hands. She looked at him as he read, looked at how his blue eyes took in the writing – absorbed the pages' message. Noting with some measure of relief the darkening of said eyes, as well as the slight tremor in the hands and the jaw, Alanna waited until he had finished the entire page. Eventually, he looked up at her, blue eyes wide. "What is-? How did you get this?"
"It was stuffed in the mouth of the murdered Duke Toromount." She answered, simply. "George and I were to late to prevent the murder from occurring, but we managed to exact some form of revenge on his killers."
Jon just shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand. I mean-" he looked up at her then, imploring her to believe him. "I had nothing to do with this, I swear it! I'd never do that to George, not even with what he did wi-…" Jon trailed off, a slight red rising in his cheeks.
Alanna almost sighed with frustration, "As I said, we'll
talk about that later." She sighed, realizing that she was probably pushing too
hard at the moment. "Look, I know that this is very, very strange – I
don't know much about the administration of, well, anything, but I know that
this is not at all right."
"No, not at all right." Jon echoed, confusion playing across his features.
"Mithros; just think of what else could have been done like this, what horrific
crimes could have been carried out in my name. Who would do such a thing?"
"I have an idea," she replied, "And I think, given time, you'd come to the same conclusion."
He frowned, "Who?"
"Roger."
Jon sank back down onto the bed, then, exhaling loudly. She didn't think that he was altogether shocked by this revelation – as she said, she expected that he would have come to the same conclusion eventually, but it was…shocking, if that made any sense; which she wasn't sure it did. It wasn't surprising, if one thought it over, but at this early stage? Such a glaring declaration might be like a punch to the gut.
Still, she knew she was right about this – Roger had much to gain from this venture of his; removing a stalwart ally of Jon's as well as creating a fair amount of dissent towards the King among the Court of the Rogue itself, all the while remaining distant from its operation. She had not thought of a single way in which the page could be traced to its original source; and thus its creator could remain undetermined.
"Yes. Yes, of course." Jon murmured quietly, before his mouth curled into a snarl as he crushed the paper in his hands. "Roger; damn him!"
"Jon, please;" she tried to get his attention, "We'll figure out how to deal with him later. For the moment, can we think about getting rid of it?"
"Revoking it?" he questioned, and she nodded. "Right, yes. That'll be done as soon as is able; thankfully it's not a difficult process."
"It's not? Well, that's a blessing." She sighed, "I was worried that George would have to continue hiding out for another few days. But…we can get rid of this, then?"
Jon nodded, "Yes, don't worry about that. I'll make sure that it's totally stricken from the records. George will be free to walk the streets by nightfall tomorrow, as I'll head down to the Magistrates court as soon as I am able." He paused, "Where did you find this again?"
"The mouth of a murdered magistrate."
"Huh. That's what I thought you said before," he bit his lip, "What were you doing at such a place?"
She shrugged, "I was there with George. We were there to stop the murder from being carried out, but we didn't get there in time. We killed the one behind the murder, and discovered that warrant calling for the arrest of George for the very murder we had gone to prevent."
Jon didn't seem satisfied by the answer for some reason, but she didn't chase up on it. Who knew what he was focusing on? Was it the murder, was it the warrant itself – she didn't know. He didn't appear willing to chase up on it either, as he stood. "Alright then." He said to her, "I'm sorry for the pain that this has caused you, Alanna. The worry and problems that it lay at your feet."
"Jon, don't apologise, please. It wasn't your fault."
"No, it was in part. If I'd have kept a closer eye on the proclamations, or if I actually attempted to do something about Roger rather than simply shot him dirty looks," he sighed heavily. "Damn it. I don't know if this could ever be traced back to him, anyway."
She winced, "I guessed that, too. But," she added, "Perhaps it will have some good, some small scrap of worth. It may well give us the…kick we need to get moving on Roger, to find that proof we need."
He nodded, smiling graciously at her implied inclusion of herself into the situation. "Silver lining and all that, right?"
"Precisely." A silence spread over them then, and Jon busied himself by pacing softly about the room, examining various nick-knacks that Raoul possessed. Alanna watched him steadily, a mixed feeling of relief and nerves bubbling away from within her – on the one hand, she was so glad that things with this warrant and George seemed to have been worked out easily enough (at least, she hoped so. Jon might have problems, she supposed; but he was the King. That had to count for something in this situation, right?), but she also knew that having resolved that issue…well. There was only one left on the table, so to speak.
Seeing as how the forward approach had worked so well the first time, she considered that it may well be best to go for it again; see if she could get her points across first. At the very least, it would break this be-damned silence. Having made up her mind on the matter, she opened her mouth – only to realise that she had not the slightest idea of what she was going to say. Jon had seen her opening her mouth, it seemed, and now that she had closed it again he was looking at her with a quizzical expression. She grimaced; forcing her hand on the issue was not fun! But with a sigh, she decided that it would be now or never. "Look, Jon. I know we have to talk about…things, and so I want to get some things off my chest first. Alright?"
Jon nodded. "Sure. Do you want to go anywhere else for this, or is here…?"
She shook her head, "No, here is fine." He gave her a small encouraging smile, before sitting down on the bed. "Alright. What I want to say first is that the night you told me, uh, about your betrothed," Jon opened his mouth, but she threw up a hand. "Please, let me finish. Anyway, that night was something that I truly regret. Not necessarily the time we spent then, nor even what we revealed to each other, but I do regret other things. I should have stayed and talked with you about it – because I was hurt and confused by what you said, don't get me wrong, but I shouldn't have run." She sighed heavily as she tried to think of the best way to say the next part. "But most of all, I regret what happened after I returned to the Dove. You probably have an…idea of what happened, I assume, so…"
"I have an idea," Jon replied, voice flat. "I'm not sure if this idea is correct, though. But I guess that it is, from what you're saying."
Alanna couldn't read his expression, though his eyes certainly looked somewhat dull. With a small cough, she continued. "Well, yes, it probably was. I mean- I don't exactly want to get into details, it's not a decision that I pride myself on." She looked at her feet; the shame she had felt from her actions that night would still rise up every now and again, although she was getting better at working through it by now. Nothing could entirely remove it, of course, and she supposed that in the end this was good – she would want the reminder of where bad decisions can get you, but she was able to move past it now. "I regret what happened immensely, in how it affected myself, you and George – all of us. I hate how it made me feel about myself, although I'm working through that. But I hate what it did to you and George, in particular."
"What do you think it did?"
She frowned, "I saw the two of you outside my room the next morning, I saw the two of you fight. I also saw George's reaction to finding the warrant."
"What do you mean?" Jon asked.
"Just that he didn't seem willing to give you the benefit of the doubt," she replied. "And it's that kind of thing that I hate – the fact that my actions so ruined the friendship you two had."
Jon shook his head wearily; "It's not your fault, Alanna." She gave him a skeptical look, and he smiled slightly. "Alright, it has to do in part with you – but me and George were heading for some form of confrontation at some point, I believe. True, your presence kind of…set the tensions to boil, but it could have happened without you, and I think it would have happened."
"Why?" she didn't understand; but they'd seemed so at ease with each other before she had come along – how could it not be only her fault? "I remember what you said about him when you took me out for breakfast that day; you had nothing but good words for him."
"True, but things were not entirely right." Jon said simply, "George has always found it difficult to trust nobles, and I was no exception. We got along well, better than well, for most of our friendship – I won't deny that. But…" he grimaced, "he never truly trusted me, I don't think, nor I him. He was a thief, you know? The King of thieves, even – someone who I had to continually cover up my involvement with. It just became too much, I think, and I more than once gave him short shrift in our dealings. Things were strained before you even arrived in Corus, and when we both…y'know….fell for you, it just caused these tensions to spill. I'm sure George would tell you something similar." She wasn't altogether sure of that, but she'd accept it for now – as often as she may think otherwise, Jon knew George better than she did; they had been friends for years, and that had to count for something. "Can I ask a question?" Jon queried after a moment, and she nodded. "Do you love him?"
"George?" It was Jon's turn to nod, "I do, but only as a friend. For a while there, I wasn't sure – I still wasn't sure when I met with you that night. But…at the very least? What happened that night at least allowed me to realise that I didn't love him, not how he wanted me to love him, anyway."
He tired to hide it, but she could see a small smile creep over his face. She gave him a pointed look, and when he saw her, the smile slid away. For a second, anyway, and then it returned. "I can't say that I'm not glad, Alanna, because I am. It doesn't please me, what you did; it would be strange if it did, I imagine – but I still have feelings for you. Strong feelings, one's that didn't go away after that night and the next morning. They've changed, I know that too, but I still do want to give us a chance. I know you may well not feel anything for me, after the way I treated you, but I can't say that I'm not somewhat pleased that I'm still-"
"In with a shot?" She finished, and he bobbed his head up and down slightly. "Well, My Lord of Conte, I wonder whether I should be taking offence at being treated like a prized ham?" He laughed at that, and she joined in softly – Great Goddess but it was good to do so again! The tension that had filled her body for the past few weeks seemed to slowly be lessening – the resolution, of sorts, that was accompanying this discussion was doing wonders to her spirit.
"Not a ham, Alanna." Jon said, slightly more seriously now as he stood up before her, "But may the lucky one gain the beautiful falcon."
She was struck by how close to her he was at that moment, and her breath quickened slightly. Looking up into his eyes, she thought they looked a little deeper then they had the last time she had seen them, she noticed a smile creep over his face. He had declared his, as she saw it, 'intentions' towards her, and the knowledge that he still felt something for her roused similar feelings in her, but was she ready to jump straight back into it here? Jon reached a hand up, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ears, and slowly moved in towards her. Was she ready…? No, she wasn't – not yet. "Jon," she whispered, pulling away slightly. "I-I can't. Not yet, not so soon."
Sighing, Jon sat back down onto the bed. "So you don't feel anything for me?" he asked her.
"I didn't say that," she replied after a pause, "I just- I need some time. I can't rush back into things so soon – plus there's still the matter of your betrothed. I mean, what use is a relationship which would always have to remain a secret?"
"It doesn't."
"Jon, I don't want to be known as your mistress." She said, firmly. It was true – she didn't want to be known as 'that harlot' who the King slept with because he didn't love the Queen. She may not care very much what random people may think about her, but she didn't particularly want to be the 'demoness' of an entire country.
"You won't be," Jon replied, somewhat exasperated. "Because I don't have a betrothed any longer."
Well. That was a surprise to her. "What?" she asked at a whisper. She just….what?
He grinned, "I broke off my engagement to Delia of Eldorne the day after I spoke with you. I knew that I…cared deeply for you, and that I would do anything to be with you. The only feelings I had for her, meanwhile, were revulsion and loathing. It was a fairly easy choice, in the end." His grin warbled slightly as he turned his attention to more confronting aspects of his actions, "Of course, it wasn't taken very well. The rumours about why I did it started almost as soon as the words left my mouth, and Uncle Gary upbraided me for a good long while over my, as he called it, 'rash and utterly thoughtless decision'. But I knew I did the right thing."
She was simply stunned; he risked all of that for…why? "W-Why did you do it?"
"I did it because I knew it wasn't right," he told her, seriously. "At the end of it, I didn't want to be married to a woman I couldn't stand, however well it may have cemented my position as King. I don't think I could have put up with Delia for more than one year, let alone the rest of our lives." Swallowing thickly, he continued. "A good part of it was because of you, too. I knew you wouldn't want to be with me if I was promised to another."
No, she wouldn't have. But- She still couldn't believe it! "Wow."
He grinned. "Yeah."
"Wow." She repeated, "That's….wow. I can't believe you did that, to risk so much for it."
Standing once more, he put his hands on her shoulders, "I still have very strong feelings for you Alanna, and I want to be with you, if you'll have me. I hope that I can gain your trust this time, properly."
She nodded, "Yes, we didn't get exactly the right base for anything, did we?" Looking up at him, thinking about all they had discussed over the last half hour or so, she realised that a decision made now could be as problematic as her other 'rash' decision had been…but she also realised, or maybe she already knew, that she wanted to be with Jon, too. Her feelings for him that had seemingly sprung up the moment she met him were still raging away within her chest – she wasn't quite sure if they were as passionately intense as they had felt before that night, but they were still there. "I'll tell you this, Jon. I do have feelings for you, feelings for you still, but I don't want to rush into anything at the moment. Rushing into things got me to the place I was in recently, the emotional mire that I was trapped within, and I don't want to go through that again."
"So…" Jon offered, seemingly confused slightly. She didn't blame him – though it was somewhat amusing to see his wide grin come over his face after her first few words. "What does that mean? That you can't be with me now?"
She grimaced, "No, well…sort of. I just-" what did she want? At the moment, she would be content to start things over with Jon – have a clean slate. "Maybe- Can we just start again? Pretend like we've just met for the first time? I think I'd like that, if you don't mind."
"I think I'd like that too," he replied. Smiling warmly now, he stretched out his hand towards her. "Nice to meet you. My name is Jonathan of Conte, King of Tortall."
Taking his hand in her own, shaking it strongly, she smiled back. "Pleased to meet you as well, King Jon. I am Alanna."
Jon raised an eyebrow – "Just Alanna?"
"Alright then, if you must. Alanna of Trebond," the eyebrow creeped higher,"…also known as the Shang Falcon." She intoned, the ease with which she had just noted her entire being astounding her. She had, of course, known for many months – years even! – that she could be seen as three separate people; Alanna the woman, Alanna the Shang and Alanna the noble, but just…having stated it herself, accepting the different facets of her in such a way (or so it seemed), was very cathartic.
Not letting go of her hand, Jon sank to a knee and kissed the back of her hand. Blushing furiously, she watched as he raised his head – that insufferable grin remained firmly affixed to his face. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Alanna of Trebond and Shang."
Rolling her eyes, she kicked him lightly, laughing softly. "Oh shut up, and stop playing the fool." She pulled him to his feet then, looking up into his face again as she continued. "I realise we have only just met, but I can imagine us as being quite good friends, King Jon."
"Oh most certainly, Lady Alanna of Shang." He replied, still taunting her. She narrowed her eyes, and readied her fist to strike him. Noticing this, he quickly skirted away from her, muttering curses as he did so. She laughed loudly this time, as a truly brilliant sensation of being happy again filled her. As she subsided, she noticed Jon glaring at her – an expression somewhat ruined by his large smile. "Laugh all you want, I'll get you back for roughhousing me all this time – just you wait!"
She just smiled, the laughter still threatening to bubble over, and took his hand in her own. "I'm glad that we can start off on such a footing, Jon." She told him, heartfelt in her words. They truly were some of the truest words she had ever spoken, she realised, and was immensely glad to note that he seemed taken with them too.
"So do I, Alanna." He replied simply, squeezing her hand. "So do I."
***
Unfortunately, such a reconciliation had to come to an end, as much as she wished that it would not. Jon – wisely, she felt – restrained himself (almost literally; she could see him sometimes sliding his hand across his mouth as if to keep it closed) from asking her to stay with him, something which…well, she wasn't altogether sure how she would react to that. Probably not in a particularly positive sense, she had thought, if that made any sense at all.
Funnily enough, Raoul had been waiting outside the door, which threw her for a moment, before she realised that it was his room they had been in. He grinned when he saw the two of them, "Things all better, then?" he asked. Alanna rolled her eyes, but smiled at him anyway, which caused Raoul to…she wouldn't have called it a shriek, but it wasn't far off either – perhaps 'whoop' with glee. "This is great!"
"Yes, we're all very pleased with the result," Jon remarked with the driest tone Alanna had ever heard, "Congratulations all around."
Keeping a straight face proved difficult, but she managed it – Oh but it was good to smile again! "Anyway, I better be going then." She told the two of them, "I've got to tell George the good news."
Picking up on her train of thought, Jon nodded to her. "And I'll get on that as soon as we're done here. Speaking of which, I'll walk you down to the gates."
So the two of them made their way downwards, after they'd said their goodbyes to Raoul anyway. "It's good to be with someone who knows their way around here." Alanna remarked as they passed through the dark corridors. "It's horrific when you don't."
"How did you get here?" Jon asked, "I'd been meaning to ask you that, actually."
She shrugged, "Not too difficult, actually."
Jon chuckled, "Is that just boasting, or-?"
"I don't boast, Jon." She replied, narrowing her eyes at him. "Well, not this grandly, anyway. No, I came through the passage you showed me; I was worried that perhaps the Guardsmen at the Gates may have been keeping an eye out for me – if not for being friends with George, then for what I did to the Guards when I left the palace grounds that night a week or so ago." She fingered her heavy cloak, as if for emphasis.
Her companion frowned, or at least she thought he did – it was hard to tell in this low light. "What you did to them? What was that?"
Blushing, she thanked this low light. "I, uh, was trying to get out of the gate, and they tried to stop me." Jon chuckled again, "I didn't hurt them too badly, I don't think."
"Perhaps not surprisingly," Jon replied after a moment, "I haven't heard anything about this – I'd imagine the Guards who were bested by a girl, after all they couldn't know you were a Shang, would have tried to keep that particular story under wraps." She hadn't thought of that, but supposed that it made sense. Oh well – too late now to ponder over the why's and the how's. "But – you said you came through the passage I showed you?"
"Yes," she told him.
That seemed to stump him; "How? I mean – you told me that you hadn't used your Gift in years. I didn't think you would have remembered the incantation, anyway."
She shrugged, "I got a little help on the matter – to rediscover my Gift. Then I…" she stopped; would Jon be angry with what she had done? She supposed he would be, but there was no point in covering it up now. "I overloaded the spell."
This time, she could see his eyes opening wide – "Are you-? Really? That's…very strange."
Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction she had been expecting, but…she probably shouldn't question it. "Why is that?" she asked, regardless of her better instinct – her curiosity overcoming her reason.
"Just that I've tried to do that in the past too, but never fully completed it."
"Oh," she replied softly. "Well, I am sorry for having destroyed it – having given you some work to do on it."
He waved the apology away. "Never mind that. At the end of the day, I think the positives of your visit outweigh the negatives." She couldn't really argue with that, could she? Reconciling with Jon, hopefully having this warrant removed from over George's head…what more could she have asked for? "It won't take me too long to re-do the spell, anyway. Not too long, at least."
"Good. Good."
"Heck," he told her, "Gives me something to do, doesn't it?"
She smiled at that, and a thought struck her – what she had just been thinking twisting it into her mind. "But after you've…revoked…this warrant thing, right?"
Jon nodded, "Of course, Alanna. Don't worry about that – I'll sort it out as soon as I possibly can. I'll head to the Chief Magistrates as soon as I've walked you to the Gates."
"Will he be awake at this hour?" she wondered.
"Old Taggart? I don't think he ever sleeps." Jon told her, mirth in his voice. Such lightness was not present in the slightest in his next words, however; "But I will have to start thinking on how to either track the perpetrator of this forgery, or to get Roger to admit to it. I have a feeling that this is the proof – or that this will lead me to the proof that I've been waiting for for so long."
"Well, it's what we've been waiting for, now." She told him softly, clasping his shoulder. "I want to get at him too, Jon. For Thom." And for the Goddess, her mind added – although vengeance for Thom's murder was by far the more important of those for her. She looked up at him, and he down at her, and she knew that they would succeed. They would bring Roger down, and she would be finally at peace with her Brother.
Turning a corner, she immediately raised the hood of her cloak once more, as a man staggered into view. She almost immediately recognised him – the long shadows of the flickering torches obscuring some of his features. But not enough; his dark hair and dark blue eyes, as well as his chiseled face, immediately betrayed him as Roger of Conte. He looked almost exactly the same as he had in her/Thom's dream – and she shirked back instinctively. Beside her, Jon tensed up, and took a small step in front of her; a whispered "Speak of the devil," from him causing her to grimly smile slightly. Addressing the man in front of them now, Jon coolly and clearly spoke, "Roger."
"How nice to see you, dear cousin." The other man replied, a sarcastically savage edge to his words. "As it always is these days and in these nights. Although, in the interests of your standing and your position, I would suggest that you not scuttle about the palace at such an hour and," he peered around Jon's shoulder at her, "perhaps with not such company. Maids rarely make quiet companions, dear cousin."
A maid?! She managed to restrain herself from causing a scene, but she had never wanted to hit a man more than she did at this moment. Jon, however, didn't seem possessed of such restraint. "You would be wise to shut your mouth, cousin."
Roger almost chortled at this reaction, "Important to you then, is she? I wonder what the girls name is; perhaps I will take an interest in her myself." Jon's knuckles whitened as he clenched his hands into fists by his side. She could almost hear his jaw creaking, as well, but she did not blame him. This man was abominable! The older man laughed softly, finally pushing past them and moving slightly down the hall. For the first moment, she could see him clearly – a feature she had not noticed previously now prominently displayed for them to see ran down the side of his face; a thin trickle of blood coming from his nose.
Jon too seemed to notice these, frowning at his cousin. "What happened to you?" he asked, almost sounding sincere.
"Concerned for my safety, cousin?"
The King snorted, "I'd more likely thank the individual and offer them a hefty reward."
Roger gave her companion a disturbing smile, before his eyes flicked to her. He locked his eyes onto her own for a moment, and she shifted uncomfortably under the hood. Jon moved further in front of her, something which both aggravated and relieved her, and Roger moved his attention back to his cousin. "Of course you would. If you must know, ah- it seems that one of my…experiments, has experienced a hiccup, and I was merely going to my chambers to check up on it."
Her companion seemed content with his answer, though he still glared at the other man for good measure. "On your way then." He told him commandingly, moving away from her towards Roger in an attempt to intimidate the man.
The effect seemed lost on Roger, who smirked once more before mockingly bowing. "Yes my liege." As he rose, he shot another glance at her, stalking off into the dark of the hall after he had satisfied whatever perverted urge he had. She released a breath she didn't remember taking, and she made great pains to not follow the departing man with her eyes. If she were ever to face him, to dispense revenge against the man who had murdered her brother, then she needed such focus and courage.
"I'd apologise for his manner," Jon began , "but he seemed to be in his most disgusting mood today."
"Is he always like that?" she asked, genuinely interested. Such a thing didn't seem possible. From what Jon had told her and from what she had gleaned from other random conversations, she had assumed that he generally was well liked amongst both the people and nobles alike. Surely if he was that slimy and odious, then no-one would want to even be associated with him!
Jon put her questions to rest, "No, not at all. Normally he's all charm and flashing teeth. Alone with me he's sometimes like he was then, but I've never seen him do it in front of another person before. I don't know why he was like that just then."
"Probably doesn't think he needs worry about a mere maid." She spat. Odorous man!
Jon seemed to begin…Alanna couldn't really describe it – it sounded most like something growling. "He is poison." He whispered after a moment, "I hate him more than I thought I could hate anyone." He sighed heavily, the tension running from his face, "Something which truly scares me at times. I have never wanted anyone to die purposefully before, not someone I knew well, but I can think of nothing more satisfying to happen to Roger."
She agreed on the matter, but she didn't imagine that Jon would appreciate her saying so. Not at the moment, anyway. An errant thought entered her mind; what had he said about his bleeding? "Jon," she began, memories of this afternoon and previous events coming back to her, "Where is Roger's chambers?"
Her companion frowned, stopping suddenly. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just a query," she replied, flippantly. Suddenly, her eyes widened – he couldn't possibly think that she-! With Roger?! "Oh! Not for- I mean, I just want to know for reference's sake, I don't want anything more to do with the man!" She literally shuddered at the very thought.
"They are deep within the basement of the castle." He replied, cautiously, "Or at least, that's where his laboratories are, anyway."
Why did that feel so important…? She didn't know, but she nodded anyway. "Right then. I think that might be a good place to start a more intensive search," she told her companion, "Obviously when he's not there, anyway."
Jon smiled, "Alanna the Investigator," he murmured. "I've had similar thoughts numerous times over the last few months – to sneak into his chambers. But of course, the only times I know when he isn't present is at the gatherings to which I'm also required to attend. Which is why having you here is so perfect-"
"Because I can go in there while you're keeping Roger busy at a social event," she finished the thought. "When is the next…" she struggled for a word – she supposed that if she were a 'proper' noble that she'd know all such names off by heard and back to front, but she hadn't the slightest idea at the moment. "Uh, Gathering or whatever that you know Roger will be attending?"
Jon thought on it for a moment, "There's the mid-winter ball coming up," he told her. "That's in a week, but I'm not sure if Roger is going to be there. If he's required to attend and stay for the better half of it."
She nodded, and followed Jon as he began walking again. "Can you find out?" she asked him.
"Yes, I'll try and find out if anyone else knows Roger's plans for the event." He replied, "And then once I've got an answer I'll come and tell you, and we'll work out the rest from there."
"Right." She was already thinking of things she would have to do – train up on her spell-blowing and her Gift in general (after all, a sorcerer's laboratory wasn't going to just have physical locks and doorways), test her legs for combat; many things. She smiled, looking back up at Jon – "We can do this."
"I know we will, Lady Shang." He replied, softly. She punched his shoulder lightly – the name was growing on her, as much as she didn't want it to. Maybe it was just because Jon was saying it…though she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing that he could get away with almost anything. She decided that at this early stage in their…friendship…it didn't really matter. He rubbed his shoulder playfully, before taking her hand in his. She didn't object, and the two of them strode down the dark halls in a comfortable silence.
Eventually, they found themselves outside, and Jon steered her towards the Gates. Just before they were to stride out into the open road that led to the large portals, Jon pulled her into the shadow of the palace wall. Here he locked eyes with her for a long moment. "I will thank every deity I can think of for bringing you back into my life, Alanna." He whispered to her, before kissing her forehead softly.
She blushed, and she hoped he didn't see it. He really shouldn't be able to affect her in such a way – it would disturb her, if it didn't feel quite so nice. She simply smiled back at him, not trusting her voice at the moment, and followed as he led her back out towards Corus. Making their way towards the Gates, Jon called out for them to be opened, and she clutched her cloak tighter about her. Thankfully, it did not appear that the men she had encountered that night were on duty tonight, so she really did not need to worry. But it was better to be safe than sorry, after all.
"Don't forget the warrant," she told him as she was beginning to make her way out. "Please do it as soon as you are able."
"I will." Jon replied, simply. "Take care."
With a final tilt of her head in thanks for the sentiment, she began to make her way out into the city proper, heading back towards the small hovel she had shared with George. It was time for them to return to the Dove. So far, every time she had walked under these gates had been the beginning of some of the most important events in her recent memory – marking the first time she had met Jon and the other knights, as well as the slightly less appealing memory. This time? Well – it was somewhat hard to judge from this early stage, but so far it seemed a most pleasant and wonderful venture. Most pleasant…
At the very least - it was certainly easier than she'd expected.
