Mental Chaos

By Winged Archer Hermia

AN: Well, great. I achieved my review-goal. And yet I don't feel happy: four of them were corrections and one was almost a flame. Oh well. Writing isn't always rewarded; especially with me… I just write for fun, because my stories would never get any recognition. I have yet to be on a "Favorite Author" list that I know of. J

Chapter 3…

Alanna spun to face Numair. "What?" she said, her heart pounding. "What do you—"she found herself staring at the face of a monkey. The mage laughed heartily and pulled the mask off, and she could see it was tied on with a string.

"That's… funny," she said quietly, and tried to laugh a little. But she didn't feel happy; she felt odd, like she had been stabbed through the heart. She backed away from him, paused for a moment, then just said, "Oh."

She had seen the court books, and laughed at their stupidity much, but never understood why the ladies were so fickle. And picky. The men, too, she thought grimly, and then, suddenly she felt brave. She smacked Numair hard on his right cheek.

"Alanna?" he said, obviously confused, clutching the spot where she had hit him. "I said it was a… joke."

She couldn't hear him anymore. What she could hear was a thick pounding in her ears. Without another word, she ran out of the gardens. Now the flowers didn't smell so sweet. Now they made her sick.

She found Darkmoon and quickly slung her foot over his back. She rode quietly, spreading out until she got to a nearby village called Sterthin. Hoping for a little privacy, she decided to eat some lunch at a little tavern, and get some oats for her horse. She tied him up again on a stake, and walked into the place called Griffon's Glade.

            An uproar met her. A barmaid came to serve her fresh ale before she had even got to sit, and all the guests stood up to squint at her. "Please, stop a minute," she said, but it was no good. They couldn't hear her.

            She settled down at last, and cursed herself for being stupid. Did she really think she could get away from fame? Of course not. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she was just a common-born girl from this village. And then she remembered—I wouldn't get to be a knight! And I'd probably have a set-up marriage. She smiled grimly. There were pros and cons to everything.

            She ordered a sandwich, aware that the entire tavern stared at her and took note of what she ordered, how she ate it, how fast she drank her ale. Eventually she had had enough. She quickly stuffed the rest of her meal in her carry-bag and paid the man at the counter for it.

            On the way to the palace, she thought over her situation. It had only been for a few seconds, a few moments of odd fluttering that she thought she was in love with her old friend. And now, thankfully, it had vanished, leaving her with nothing for anyone but her own husband George. Yes, she thought blissfully. I miss him. Maybe I'll abandon this whole Fief Ratha thing. Daine can go with Numair. They'll be happy.

***

"Ugh," Numair complained to the healer at the infirmary. "Don't touch my cheek. It hurts."

            He had decided to get healed: his face hurt like hell. And of course, he was too soft to bear it. Mages seemed to always end up that way. Physical things put him in too much pain. Daine stood by him, in a chair, and she held his hand while he moaned.

            The healer smiled at him, and retrieved an ointment.

"Been brawling, Master Numair?" Daine joked.

            "Of course," the mage remarked dryly. "That's what I do, you know, I'm the master of physical stre-OW!" The ointment had begun to sting.

Those warrior maids, he thought, glancing at the Wildmage. Too stubborn, too strong to mess around with. Daine—I was wrong about her. Young, yes. But still—he couldn't think of a word to describe her, and instead glanced at the girl.

She smiled. "Numair, you're such a baby," she whispered.

"Of course I am," Numair replied softly, grinning back. "Would you want me otherwise?"

Daine pretended to ponder. "Hmm…no. What was it that hit you, anyway?"

"Alanna." He grimaced. "There's no practical joking with her, you know."

But it hadn't been a prank… it had been a cover-up. He knew this, of course, but now, not risking to be slapped a second time, also knew that he wasn't in love with her. Not anymore.

The healer wiped his hands and helped Numair up. "There y'are, Master Numair, sir," he said. "Be nice to young Daine there."
            Daine smiled at him: she often helped with the hurt dogs and horses of his patients.

"Hmm… I don't know… she seems to be mean enough to me…" A playful shove from Daine made him bid the healer farewell.
            "Now, I'm going to get some rest, Daine."

"What about Fief Ratha?" she inquired. "I thought—"

"I'll worry about it in the morning."

After they had parted, he opened the door with a key and also a touch of magic; his rooms were private. As he walked to his bed, he saw a note in the front entrance that had been slipped under the door.

Take Daine to Ratha with you—she can handle it.

-Alanna

He sat on his bed and sighed. Before he knew it he was asleep.

AN: This chapter was weird. It only took me like five minutes to write. Ah well. Pleeeeeeeease review and I will (sort of) love you forever!!! Even if it's a flame!!! (not really)

Take care,

-Hermia