Crossing Ways
by Reaya

Chapter Two: Prelusion

Dreams that the soul of youth engage
Ere Fancy has been quelled;
Old legends of the monkish page,
Traditions of the saint and sage,
Tales that have the rime of age,
And chronicles of Eld.

-Prelude by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thom was sulking again.

But since when didn't he sulk? So after the afternoon practices, Thom went to his little crab apple tree in the garden. The one in the very back; the one that the gardeners had wanted to cut down but couldn't. Thom had a hand in that. But that was beside the point now.

For four long years he had been a Page, slaving at the Training masters in the afternoons, soaking in knowledge from the orange-robed Mithran Priests during the morning. Then the pattern had changed upon the so-called 'promotion.' All the other pages had been chosen by friends or better knight masters when they were elevated to the status of Squire. But just as in everything else, no one had chosen him.

Years of always being the worst at this knight business had made him immune to their little tirades and the jeering. He really didn't care that he hadn't been chosen. In fact, he was almost hopeful that no one would choose him and he would be shipped home. But no, they wouldn't even allow him that.

Myles, a desk knight, as he was known as, had taken him under wing. The old drunkard had most likely done so out of pity, and for that Thom reviled him. Not that he didn't revile him before that, but that too branched off quite a ways. So now sitting against the twisting branches in the upper reaches of the tree, he chose a green apple and bit into it.

Sour. He spat that first bite out. It was sour, just like him. Still, he continued eating. The taste was something he had gotten used to after a while. While the biting taste didn't completely grow on you so that you liked it more each time like it was with some things, it did give fruit to a different kind of flavor. He knew because he tasted it every time his pride was so carefully trodden upon and his face smashed into the dirt. But each time it happened, something else grew inside of him. That something he coveted and nursed, letting it grow. He knew that one it could overcome him. And with the help of it on his side, he would no doubted get the revenge he wanted.

For now, though, he savored the apple. After a while his thoughts drifted and he found himself wondering what his sister was up to. He had written to Alanna a few times over the years, but there was not much truth in them. Alanna had written back, and it was easy to tell that her words too, were part lies. She was sixteen now, crossing the age when the nobility were deemed ready to court. Would she be coming soon?

Something stirred in him and throwing the rest of the apple to the ground, Thom began his climb down. He was wasting precious time loitering around old trees when he could have snuck in a bit more of magic practice in the old libraries. Jumping off the last few feet of the climb, he landed on an apple and lost his balance, falling sprawling on the grass. As his luck would have it, a group of young boys came around the bend just then.

He pushed himself to a kneeling position as the first of them spotted him and pointed the squire out to the rest of his friends. Laughter drifted over, touching his ears on a small breeze. Here we go again. He braced himself for another round of embarrassment.

"So if it isn't Lord Trebond dining in the dirt," the largest of them taunted. Malvon. He was one of the older lot, though his own year-mates preferred to disassociate themselves with him, even on his last year under the palace servitude. In some ways, he was a bit like Thom. On the other hand, he was also a bully and ringleader to the want-to-be pages.

They laughed again. "Here, let me help you up," he continued and held out a hand. Thom knew better though. Once upon a time he might have taken that hand, but he was older and wiser now. He knew that if he reached to take it, he would be accepting an invitation for them to push him right back down.

"No thanks," he replied evenly. "I can get up by myself, thank you very much." He hadn't had a run-in with this group for a while; at least not since he'd become Myles' squire. He couldn't help one last jibe. It was no fun with Mylesâ€"such talk didn't make it past his overgrown beard. Thom let out a drawn-out sigh. "But Malvon, why the change of heart? Don't tell me--"

Before he could finish, a punch delivered to his stomach forced all the breath he had out his lungs and sent him flailing into the dirt once more. Thom didn't bother trying to get up right away. Instead, he gave an internal sigh. It seemed that Malvon had grown some more brains over their break and was now wise enough to shut the smart mouthing up before it started. But whatever wisdom the blurry Squire had grown, it was not enough to keep him from his usual round of gloating over the fallen Trebond.

"What's wrong? Did I hit too hard? Oops, I didn't mean to."

Thom rolled his eyes as he flipped himself over onto his stomach. Malvon hadn't grown any wit either. Well, he had gotten some breath back now, so he told the boy as much. It didn't take very long for him to take another visit with the ground. His clothes were ruined, that was for sure.

Then it burst. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he felt the carefully nurtured feelings surface. With cold deliberation, he pushed himself to his feet again, and fixated the taller boy with icy violet eyes.

Malvon readied his fist again and instead found himself taking an untended step back. "Hey Trebond," he muttered in attempted drawl. "What's wrong with your eyes? They look like rabid boar I fought last" his boast was cut short by a sudden force of energy pushing the ground out from under him.

Roger was in a foul temper the morning before the ball. For one thing, it was freezing outside. He was never one to hate the cold, but this morning the most minute thing out of place only served to fuse his already mounting fury. The chess piece cracked from the pressure of his pressing palm. The sound of it jarred him from his far-off thoughts enough to crack a smile on marble lips.

The piece was a queen.

How ironic, especially since Her Majesty herself was not dying as planned. Well, technically she was, but it wasn't fast enough. Not with his current mood, at least. Why was his plan never satisfying anymore? After all, his despicable cousin was long gone and safely out of the way and now with his aunt's quickly deterring health, only Roald would stand in his way.

But the weakling 'Peacemaker' was little worry to him either way it was almost disgusting how...attached...to each other the two Royals were. Roger sighed.

Then he felt it. Someone was using raw power very near here. A powerful Gift it was, with much potential. Unrestrained, it was probably wrecking havoc. His spine tingled in anticipation. Finally! Something to distract him.

He dropped the broken queen to the ground and ground it beneath the heel of his boot. He picked up another piece and smiled. What he needed more of were pawns.

"Its a pity the Prince died so young."

"Indeed." An exaggerated sigh was heard. "So now His Grace gets to inherit. You think he'll taken any notice of me?"

"Notice of you? Don't be absurd. All he'll have eyes for are Cythera. All anyone has eyes for are Cythera. Hmph."

Alanna suppressed a sigh. She was getting a headache from all that banter. Her traveling companions all seemed to have been touched by now and gossiping their heads off. If it wasn't Sir Golden Eyes it was Sir Golden Curls and even Lord Pimple-face-with-bags-of-gold-and-a-title-to-boot.

No, she wasn't bitter at all.

In fact, Alanna was thinking of all the young knights she would meet as well, if not for the same reasons as the other girls. No, she was just silently cursing the luck that had banished her from being one of those young knights. The Gods must hate her or something.

She slouched back against the hard back of the carriage seat. Why didn't they put cushions on the damn things? They might as wellâ€"it wasn't as if the convent had enforced much discipline or pushed for the simple living during all those years. But life being life, they just had to remember their rules about it last minute and torture them all by forgetting to install cushions on the seats. Life reeked.

A loud sigh escaped her lips, causing a pause in her traveling-mate's whispered conversation. As if suddenly remembering Alanna in their midst, all of them turned towards her.

"Alanna!" one of them exclaimed, suddenly remembering a muchly important fact. "You have a brother there, don't you?"

The others quickly caught on. "Yes, yes, I do remember you writing letters to someone at the palace some time ago."

"How old is he? What's his nameâ€"?"

"Is he handsome? Tall? Or...taken?"

Caught off guard as the center of attention, it was all Alanna could do to give a nervous smile. They weren't bad people, really, but when excited about something, these noble women could be pretty persistent.

But Thom? An image of the scrawny red-haired and violet-eyed boy of childhood flashed through her mind. Hair tussled, the knee of his breeches scuffed with dirt, and a scowl on his face, he seemed almost comical. She let out an unwanted giggle. "You want me to tell you if Thom is handsome? Tall?" But that was what she remembered of him at the age of ten. Maybe he had changed by now...

"No," she shook her head. "I haven't seen him for too long to be a judge of any of that."

"Oh." With that unsatisfactory answer, they left the subject and Alanna, once again to return to their own chatter.

But what did Thom look like now? She was sixteen, and he was obviously the same. That would make him a squire, she decided. He was so lucky, to be able to be all that. The nervous feeling she had previously managed to suppress crept back again.

This was, after all, the wake up call. What else did life have in store for her? A twin who was in the position she wanted to be, a small inheritance not near enough to make a glorious dowry, hair and eyes as queer as anything, and a stubborn streak to boot.

Yes, what would become of her now?

Author's Notes: Once again, long time no see, no? Well, I've made so many changes to story and plot that it's not even funny. Not that it was funny to begin with, but that's beside the point. So Jon is dead. Whee!

Before all you A/J supportors start flaming and you A/G fans start cheering, I'll inform you politely that George does not get to partake in the romance in this fic. Just doesn't work out. I mean, how can Alanna even meet George? Yes, yes, I'm being hypocritical now but its the truth. So no A/G pairings (and no dating the dead guy either).

So...who's left? Guess the pairing correctly and get candy and maybe something else. It should be fairly easy, no? Hope you don't all hate me!

Lovingly,
Reaya

PS. I couldn't find a good poem for this chapter, so shrugs. Just make do with one that has the title.

Prossible Excerpt from Chapter 3: Brother Dearest

"Well, well, if it isn't Trebond. Haven't seen you around in quite a bit. What's this you have here? A friend?"

A scowl immediately crossed Thom's face, clearling showing his displeasure.

A smiling face emerged from around the bend. It's owner's face was drawn in a wide grin and his chestnut eyes were sparkling. His eyes scanned Thom first, taking note of the scowling face. Then he moved on to her and let out a small whistle. "I'm taking a shot at the dark here, Trebond, but a twin?"

If anything, the scowl on her brother's face deepend. "What's it to you, Naxen?"

The older boy chuckled. "Tsk, tsk. Don't be such a grump. If you told us you had a sister, we might have been nicer to you. Catch my drift? Now introduce us." It was clearly a command.

Not for the first time, Alanna wondered exactly how her twin got on around here.