Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. All Tammy's.

Oh, and iron hurts fairies, silver hurts were-creatures, if I know my mythology right - but who the hell has silver latches on their shutters?

Spellbound

But a tyrant spell has bound me

Alex wandered through the streets of Corus, plainly lost. He was looking for the Palace, he had to get back to the Palace, he was late for staff practice.

What was he doing out here in Corus, anyway? He wasn't allowed in the city yet. Everyone was pushing around him, crowding him in, he couldn't breathe. He needed to get out.

He could hear yelling in the distance. Angry shouting, mob shouting. Many lights bobbing behind him. Alex broke into a run, pushing through the crowd that was suffocating him, wrapping him in molasses so he couldn't move.

He was running full out now, not looking where he was going and ran smack into someone - sorry - he looked up into the face of a suave, richly clad man with a goatee. "I'm sorry, your lordship…"

"Don't apologize, young man, you're just the one I was looking for." The man put his hand on Alex's shoulder. "Now, about this…"

Alex looked over his shoulder nervously. The lights were coming closer, he had to move, but this man kept a firm grip on his shoulder. Alex wriggled uncomfortably, but he would not be so impolite as to wrench himself from the grasp of a man so obviously important.

The bobbing lights were nearly upon him now, and he could hear the shouting, calling his name. He tried to run, but the man's grasp on his shoulder became tight, painfully so, digging into his collarbone.

Just as the lights came upon him, everything around him disappeared. He had his back against a wall, and he could see something coming for his face, fast. His sword was on the floor, the breath knocked out of him. Just before the fist connected with his nose, driving bone splinters into his brain, he thought he saw the face of a woman, surrounded by a bright red haze.

~*~

Alex sat up stalk straight in bed, sweating. He didn't scream. All he could remember of his dream was a woman's face and a painful orange glow.

~*~

"Wake up, Alex." It was midmorning, during Myles' history class.

Alex shook his head, dragging his palms across his eyes. Something had happened that night. A strange dream, he supposed. Dreams did that, sometimes. Yes, that was probably why he was so tired. Tossing and turning all night will do that. "I'm fine, Gary."

Gary rolled his eyes. "No, you're not, or you'd be arguing with Myles by now. I'm sure he thinks you're ill or something. Late night studying?" he sympathized. "Listen, Alex, you'll never finish it all, I've tried. Don't stay up past midnight or you'll be dead the next morning, everyone knows that."

Alex had heard the lecture before, and ignored it again. They give us all this work, why can't we finish it? It's stupid. By the time I become a squire I'll be so far behind I'll have had more work undone than finished. It's pointless and silly.

Somehow Alex dragged himself through the rest of the day.

~*~

Alex returned to his rooms and frowned when he saw the pages of his undone homework scattered across his desk. Why were they not cleaned up? Oh... I remember Rodric went down to the city today on an errand - he wouldn't have cleaned up. I must have fallen asleep at my desk.

Alex's brow wrinkled. Then why did I wake up in bed? Sleepwalking, maybe. Maybe I woke up late at night and moved. It doesn't matter. He was about to sit down to said homework and finish it when he noticed that the window shutters were open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

Why are they open? He shook his head. Maybe I was warm and wanted a breeze. Concentrate on your work, Alex. Well, it was chilly in here now, so Alex walked over to the shutters and reached for the latch to close them - and quickly drew his hand back. The latch was cold, and it felt strange against his fingers. It sort of itched, burned cold. Not quite pain… but close.

He closed his eyes for a second, and the memories flooded back etched on the insides of his eyelids. The cold burning of iron on his hands…

Alex looked at his palms. There were faint red welts on each palm, looking like he'd been burned perhaps a week ago, and had healed since.

He realized what this all meant, and leaned his forehead against the shutters. No... stupid. Stupid. Foolish idiot. Why didn't you think, you fool...

~*~

The weeks, months passed. Alex's training as a page continued - he was summoned to Duke Gareth's office a couple times, asking how he was doing. Letters were sent home to his father, saying that Alex was doing well in his studies. A market day or two came and went.

The most markable day that year was definitely the day Alex began to learn the sword. Duke Gareth had decided that the pages of his year - Jonathan, Gary, Raoul, Francis, and Alex himself - were ready to learn fencing.

Aram Sklaw, head of the Palace Guard, was to be their coach - not that he seemed to have any faith in his student's abilities.

"The Prince, huh? Bet you never did a hard day's work in your life, sitting around in court with the ladies."

"Gareth of Naxen - I suppose your father got you into this class out of pity. Practical jokester, I've heard of you. Never take swordwork seriously, you would."

"Raoul of Goldenlake - more brawn than brains, I see. Probably think that's going to get you your shield."

"Francis of Nond! You look like you'd run away from a sword first chance you could - wouldn't want to callous your lily-white skin!"

"Alexander of Tirragen... hmph." Sklaw only snorted. He turned to the Duke in disgust. "Your grace, I'd like to be excused."

The Duke only looked amused. "You say that every year, Sklaw, and you haven't walked out yet. Go on."

The first thing the boys began was to learn how to forge their own swords - they were taught by a member of the guard named Isaac Doan. Alex's forging wasn't all that great, and neither were his classmates, for that matter. The end result was a practice sword for each of them - not something that one would take into a serious battle, but good enough for their purposes.

Some of the others struggled with the sword, but Alex had been learning how to fight since he could walk – granted, that was with a rapier, but many of the principles are the same. The strikes and blocks came naturally to him, almost as if he wasn't learning it - but like he was remembering something long forgotten.

Since there was an odd number of boys, Alex often found himself matched against the guard Isaac, or Sklaw himself, who would repeatedly hammer him into the ground.

"Move, boy!" Sklaw yelled at him during one match. Alex was puffing, arms aching, and the captain wasn't even breaking a sweat. "Don't just stand in one place, or run back and forth on a line! This isn't a rapier match between a couple of soft-handed nobles – this is real fighting. No salute, no code of conduct, no rules. Scanran raiders don't have rules, boy, and they don't deserve 'em. Never stay in one place, and never trust your opponent. This means no rules." Sklaw lunged and whapped Alex's sword out of his hands, stinging the back of his hand as well.

It wasn't that that got to him - Sklaw was an experienced fighter, who had beaten Alex countless times. It was the humiliation. Sklaw was laughing. This uncouth common-blooded wretch was laughing at him. But Alex said nothing, knowing that it would only get him more chores.

"No rules, boy. It's not who wins, it's who stays alive. Remember that."