Disclaimer: Ok...plot and a few characters are mine. But the overall universe is unfortunately not mine, but Tamora Pierce's.
Title: Ghost of the Past
Author: winky-wink
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama
Rating: T (Just to be safe)
Pairing: A/J...it fits with the time setting.
Musical Affection: 'I'm a Let Down' by Bif Naked.
Author's Note: Now I don't need to write thank-you's here. I can just review reply. Wow, really, how high-tech is that. How high-tech? Really high-tech. My god-just wow, I am impressed and astounded and sorry if I sound stupid and am just mumbling. Ok, back to the story. Wait, no. I just wanted to reply here to anonymous reviewers who don't have accounts. Here it is:
Sgoswami: I agree with everything you say! The plots are always Alanna-goes-to-convent, especially in the cases of A/J. And thanks for the great compliments. It means a lot to hear something so thoughtful. I like it too! But it seems everyone does hate Jonathan. Especially the A/G shippers. I mean, I don't hate George just because I like A/J. Anywho, thanks once again. Happy Belated Thanksgiving to you too!
epobbp: LOL, I am so glad someone actually found it funny!
Lady Knight: I know. It was totally embarrassing. And now that Alanna is sort of revealed, events will unfold in a quick succession. And thanks for the compliments!
Oh and any reviewers I didn't put up here or neither did I message to, I just didn't really have much to say except thank you!
Now, back to the story. Ok, it should be about five more chapters at the most, I suspect. It's a guess but I'm pretty sure I'm right. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it all the way to the end 'cause I enjoyed writing it thus far.
'Hope if the dream of a soul awake'-French Proverb
"And he took his lady by the hand
Claimed he ought to be her man
Rose in one palm, a beer in the other
Watch what you do with that'un
Oh, watch what you do!
Or soon you'll find yourself a futher!"
It was barely sunset and already most of the men of the Dancing Dove were dumb drunk. Most except for Prince Jonathan and the King of Thieves, George Cooper, who sat in a darkened corner, looking at one of their more boisterous friends dance on the tabletop with amusement. Both the Prince and the Rogue took carefully measured sips of their drinks, not wanting to embarrass themselves so early in the evening.
"Oy! Oy, boys! What're we all doin' standin' 'bout an' singin'?" Tanner, probably the drunkest man at the Dove, shouted, "We should all be outside, meetin' the women! To the brothel I say! To the brrrothel!"
"Brrrothel?" one of George's closest adviors slurred his words, "What brrrothel? Y'mean, the beewty parlour?"
"Brothel, beauty parlor, it's the same damn thin'!" Tanner exclaimed, "What d'yeh say, men? Are we off?"
"We're off! We're off!" the others yelled in return, rushing out the door.
"Shouldn't we stop them?" Jonathan asked, quirking up an eyebrow.
"What for? Rispah an' the ladies at the parlor can 'andle 'emselves fine," George waved a hand, grinning, "They'll be returnin' awfully sore in an hour."
Jon smiled, glad he'd come to the Dancing Dove today. The trip had been spurr of the moment, really. After chatting with Helena for a bit, she'd talked of going into Corus and the allure was too strong for him to let go. It had been his first visit in two months and it was a long time coming. The best part about coming into the pub was feeling exactly the same as everyone else. No one here knew that he would soon be King of Tortall and those who knew didn't act on it.
Yer Majesty, there's a bird 'ere with a letter fer you," Solom, the owner of the pub, called from the bar, "Looks t'be Stefan's bird."
The King of Thieves straightened, looking perturbed. There was no reason for a letter to be coming from Stefan today. Not unless there was an emergency. After all, George had told his closest Palace spy to watch over Alanna of Conte and Alan of Trebond like a hawk.
"Bring it 'ere," George ordered, trying not to look too concerned yest it fire up the Prince.
Solom, who was an aged but cheery man, brought it to him, giving Jon a toothy grin as he did so. The Rogue took the letter from his sausage fingers that were only nimble when holding money, and began to read. His eyes darted across the messy parchment and his mind didn't register the message. He glanced up at the line, 'The Prince has gone missing' and studied the man sitting across the table from him. He looked like Jonathan. He smelled like Jonathan (all royalty smelled the same). He talked like Jonathan. But then why did Stefan say the Prince had been kidnapped?
"What does it say?" the heir the throne inquired, his eyes a deep blue with curiousity.
"Tell me, when was the firs' time we met?" George answered a question with a question.
For a second, Jonathan blanched, confused. However, he regained his composure and replied, slowly, "Well, we first met when Alan-here he glanced at Solom because the elder man had no clue about Alanna's real sex-came to buy a horse from you. And, may I ask, why am I answering this quest-"
"An' what would be th'name of th'horse?" George quizzed, wanting to be sure he had the real thing in front of him.
"Moonlight," the Prince responded, furrowing his eyebrows, "Now may I know why you asked such questions?"
The Rogue's face was set in a grim line. He slid the Stefan's letter under Jon's vision and grunted, "Read this. It's in Rogue code. Vowels in dots. All other letters in dashes. And those lines decifer which one exactly."
Jon squinted his eys, as if that would help him decifer it better. However, it still took him a good ten minutes to read a letter that would normally have taken two.
Your Majesty,
Trouble at House on the Hill. The Prince has gone missing. King and Queen distressed. Knights being sent out in search party. Conte niece has rode off into forest on her own to find Prince. Eldorne girl pretty much talked her into going. Seems to be planning something. Galla visitors seem to be involved.
In Your Service,
Servant S
"Missing? I have not gone missing!" Jonathan huffed, indignant, "Mithros! I'm gone for a few hours and they think I'm missing!"
"It don't matter whether y'have or not. All th'crazies up at th'Palace believe y'have. And 'Lanna 'as gone after you. Alone," George tutted, shaking his head, "She's foolish t'run off without anyone t'cover 'er back. That'll be the downfall of that'un. Thinks she needs nobody."
"What do you suggest we do?" Jon demanded, wondering what type of trouble was exactly brewing at the Palace.
"Only one thin' t'do. Off to th'forest we go," George smiled, sourly.
He stood, grabbing a cloak off one of the hooks near the door. The Crown Prince glimpsed the innards of the cloak for a brief second and saw that it was loaded with about eight daggars in strategically placed positions. Whatever trouble there was in the forest, he didn't envy it.
"So," Roger scowled, getting off his pale white stallion, "If this girl isn't your daughter, who is she?"
"Why, Alanna of Bablia of course!" Lord Cobalt replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Bablia?" Lady Catherine shrieked, falling into outbreaks of laughter with Helena.
"My dear Lady, I beg your pardon, but what is so funny?" the Scanran Warlord demanded, nose upturned, as he gracefully jumped off his ash brown stead.
"What's funny is that there is no fief by the bame of Bablia," the Duke of Conte finished, his eyebrows raised high.
Alanna could tell that his brain was working a mile a minute. Never had he been has dumbfounded as he was now. In fact, the Conte Duke was the one who hoodwinked, not the one who was hoodwinked. But this...was entirely different. His niece-his fiance-the woman he had even endured a punch to obtain was not the person he thought she was. Or so her supposed father said. But then why were his Aunt Winfred and cousin Lincoln claiming her as their own? Could it really be that the real royal Niece was Abigail the servingmaid?
In the freezing cold, the Trebond still managed to save herself from being numb so she was able to feel fingers treading up her back under her gown, trying to untie the strings on her corset. A purple rage seethed through her body. They could keep her captive but they most certainly couldn't touch any part of her body!
Straightening, she kicked her leg backwards, knocking the butterfingered bandit onto his rear end. The other bandits roared when she did this and the Lioness promptly had a swift punch to her chin. Alanna gasped, not expecting it. Truthfully, she hadn't been hit once since her page years. Then again, she had never been bound down by the strength of five bandits either.
After she was hit, Roger barked at the men, "Don't touch her you brutes!"
For a brief moment, Alanna thought that perhaps he had some good in him.
"If she is really a socceress in disguise, I want to be the one to inflict pain upon her," the Duke added, his eyes piercing right through her.
Then again, it was silly to think Roger could be anything but malevolent.
"Listen, nephew, I don't know what you've been told but this girl is most certainly not my daughter. You even heard her claim she's been presuming a fake identity up at the Palace. Who knows who she really is," Cobalt snarled, glaring at Alanna as if the very thought of her pretending to be his child was preposterous, even insulting.
"We know who she really is, mother and I," Helena stated, relishing in her newfound attention as everyone's gaze fell upon her.
Would she really give it all away? All these precious years Alanna had been working to become a Knight all for naught? A fruitless battle, that's what it would be. Alanna could not stand seeing her life's work thrown down the drain.
"She is-," Helena paused, glancing at Alanna, who shook her head, furiously, pleading with her eyes, "She is Alanna of Trebond."
Somewhere in the distance, the Lioness heard an owl hooting. Perhaps it was the same one that had screeched when she had entered the forest. Maybe it had been warning her then. Maybe it was warning her now. Disaster was in the works.
"Trebond?" Roger breathed and Alanna swore that there was steam coming out of his ears, "Trebond?"
"My niece," Catherine smirked, "That's what I wanted to tell you at the Rose Walk the other day, Your Grace."
"Then why have Aunt Winfred and cousins Lincoln and...Abigail aided her to disguise her charade?" the Conte Duke asked, clenching and unclenching his hands into tight, strained, fists.
Before either Helena or Lady Catherine could reply, Alanna interjected, "I bewitched them."
The other four glanced at her. Helena looked furious at her for speaking, "Your Grace, that's not-"
"Silence," Roger ordered, his sapphire eyes sinking in on the Lady Squire, "You bewitched them, little one?"
"I am a socceress," the Trebond went on, hoping her babbling was buying her time.
Immediately, Alanna felt Roger using his Gift to probe her for the magnitude of her own. He wanted to know if her Gift would suffice for a spell so complex. The Lioness despaired; her magic was weak in comparision to Thom's.
"Your Gift is strong," the Duke of Conte declared, surprising her. He looked worried, "What did you want out of this?"
"I...," her mind was blank yet she needed to think up something fast, "I...wanted to be royalty. To be...close...to the-um-the Pr-Prince."
"She lies!" Catherine spat, her eyes flaring.
"I did not ask you to speak, Lady Catherine!" Roger whirled on them, anger at its peak, "I advise you to keep quiet lest I say otherwise!"
Both women was instantly reprimanded. They seemed to almost curl into one another like a dry leaf furls in the autumn. Roger glared at them both, face losing its red lustre and his fuming calming down. Breathing in deeply, trying to rearrange his composure, he faced Alanna.
"You've been using beautifying potion to alter your appearance," the Conte Duke noted, just from looking at her, "That is why you knew how to convict Alexander of Tirragen. It all becomes clear. However, your true glamour is not. Let me look upon your real face, shall I?"
A violent gust of orange magic swept through the Lioness, shattering what effect Eleni's potion had on her. She felt her hair go short, barely brushing chin, and her eyes probe as they became a bright, intensifying violet. Within a minute, she was her actual self. Roger looked her over, his expression unreadable. As far as he was concerned, he was looking at Alan of Trebond in a gown with breasts.
"What is Alan of Trebond to you? Brother? Cousin?" Roger inquired, arching a smooth, dark, eyebrow.
For a second, the young squire blanched. It took about another two minutes to register in her head that the mage before her hadn't comprehended that she and Alan of Trebond were one in the same. Perhaps-perhaps if she played things right, she could get out of this situation alive and with her reputation?
"He is my brother," the Lady Squire tried to look guilty, as if she were admitting her worst secret, "He did not recognize me because I magicked him also."
"He was not your accomplice?" the Duke of Conte wanted to know, hoping to have some reason to throw his mortal enemy in the dungeons again.
"No," the Trebond shook her head, looking convincingly even though she was lying between her teeth.
"Did you honesty believe you could escape from such a trecherous masquerade unscathed?" the Conte Duke demanded, shaking his head in dismay, "Even with your own Aunt and cousin at the Palace?"
"Fool, she's a fool," Cobalt snorted, his creamy white face showing the slight pink tinge of rage, "But what shall we do with her?"
"We will do the only thing we can do. We shall return her to the Palace and place her in a premier suite in the Tortallan dungeons. We can only hope to see her moved to Traitor's Hill soon," Roger replied, not even flinching as he said this. Alanna, on the other hand, felt as if she had just been slapped. Dungeons? Traitor's Hill?
"What's 'bout us?" a bandit demanded, "Th'purdy brunette told us we'd get paid!"
"Did she now?" the Conte socceror asked, shooting a brief glance in Helena's direction, "Well, then, what would you like to be paid in? Sword wounds or magical burns?"
"Sword wounds!" one of the grisly men cried, outraged.
"Magic it is then. I prefer it, myself," The Duke of Conte grinned, sternly, shooting out bolts of his Gift. One of the orange shots ripped through one of the bandits, killing him instantly. The others began to run for fear of their lives. Alanna fell to the ground as they trampled over her in their wild attempts to escape. Unfortunately, within a few brief moments, every single one of them was dead by Roger's own means. The Lady Squire cried out as a body keeled over and fell on top of her. She struggled to move out from under it, this particular bandit had been heavy. Breaking away, she gasped for fresh air. However, the smell of rotting flesh was everywhere. The Conte Duke's bolts left the bandit's bodies to steam from the impact of the heat. Other than that (and their horror-stricked expressions) there was nothing to signify how they had died.
"I hate to kill," Roger sighed, as if it were a neccessary evil, "Rather messy, isn't it?"
Alanna balanced herself on her hands and knees. Now that Roger's back was turned, perhaps she could escape. If she could just make it out of the clearing, she would know her way back to the Palace. And, maybe, if she pleaded her story to King Roald and Queen Lianne before Duke Roger, Lord Cobalt, Lady Catherine and Helena did, they would give her some leeway.
"At least this way you won't have to make sure everyone has their mouths shut," the Lord of Eastern Scanra and Rigton syllabelled, "And it saves you a few nobles, doesn't it?"
Roger gave a charming laugh and the Lioness shivered. Her hands were freezing as they brushed through the snow, as were her knees. For the millionth time she wished she had grabbed her cloak. However, she urged herself to keep going and slowly too. Too much movement from her general direction would cause her to fall under the attention of the others. She wouldn't let herself be caught she was one third of the way to edge of the clearing.
She jumped about two feet in the air, even on her hands and knees, as Roger clapped his hands together. Immediately, the corpses of the bandits began melting into the earth. It was like the ground was a sponge and the bodies were merely water to be absorbed. Alanna tried her very best not to let it bother her much.
"As for you two," the Duke of Conte regarded Helena and Catherine, "What shall we do with you two?"
"Us? Must you do anything with us?" Helena implored, her bottom lip trembling. Anyone would be nervous if they'd just witnessed the death of twelve men far more physical than themselves.
"My Lady Catherine, you fear the Gift do you not?" Roger questioned, smiling to himself.
"Your Grace, please," Alanna's Aunt pleaded, her eyes going wide with a crazy terror.
In a quick succession, the Duke of Conte used his Gift to light Catherine's dress cloak on fire. Both she and her beaute of a daughter screamed, mercilessly. Helena flapped about her mother, trying to blow out the ever-growing flame. Alanna swallowed a snicker and rapidly made to the welcoming forest. Only two yards left to go! She was going to make it!
Roger put out the fire that was harrassing Lady Catherine and smirked, "I believe that is punishment enough for withholding this important information from me. Now, as for our captive-Curse the Gods! She's getting away!"
The Duke of Conte ran forward just as closed in on her pathway to escape. He raced over and kicked her roughly on the back of the head. Alanna crumpled onto the snowy ground, not expecting a move so low even from Roger. The sorcceror pulled her head up by the hair and whispered, harshly, "Try that again and I'll not even take you to the Palace by straight to the gallows where you belong."
He stood, bringing her with her. Alanna's eyes watering as she felt him tugging, violently, at her hair. With a swift shove, he pushed her into Cobalt.
"Make sure she doesn't try anything again," the Conte Duke ordered, "Now, let's return home. Oh, Mithros. Visitors."
By visitors, Roger meant Jonathan and a few cloaked companions who were really George and his men. Most of the men were swaying, melodramatically, on their steads. The alcohol from before hadn't quite sunk in. The Crown Prince rode ahead, his face etched with worry. Upon seeing Alanna, completely without disguise, bound down by Lord Cobalt's pale and rather muscular arms, his worry only grew. Something grand had unravelled in the past three hours, he just knew it.
Riding ahead of his troop, he stopped Darkness just in front of Roger and jumped down, elegantly. He noticed Lady Helena and her mother, Lady Catherine, huddled together, the latter holding a tattered cloak that looked burned. He held his black stallion's reins in his hands, hoping his quick tongue and even quicker charm could save him from his situation. It always did in all others.
"Cousin Jonathan, welcome," Roger greeted, warmly, "What brings you and your-here he stared, pointedly, at the hooded and darkening figures of George's men-friends here this time of day?"
"The sky is blackening and I was about to ask you the same," Jon returned fake smile for fake smile.
"Morbid affairs, greatly morbid affairs, Jon," the Duke of Conte shook his head, giving a remorseful smile, "There's a fake persona in our midst. This Lady here, sadly, is not our dearest Scanran cousin."
"Says who?" Alanna's Knightmaster demanded, glancing at Alanna in what he prayed was a platonic fashion.
"Why she said so herself. Admitted to Lady Helena. Why, the rest of us were witness," Roger breathed out, "So we're taking her back to the Palace for a full trial."
"On what charges?" Jonathan asked, his face getting slightly heated. He felt George's men circle around them and he gestured for them to stay back. It would be pointless for them to kidnap Roger, Catherine, Helena and Cobalt. Where would they keep them? And Jon was sure as day that he didn't want to kill any of them. A King never commited homicide lest it be in war.
"Impersonating and bewitching Royalty, of course," Roger clarified, his eyebrows heightened, "As far as I can remember, those are both very horrible crimes. The penalty to both is, hmm, let me think-oh yes, death."
"I see," Jon nodded, briskly, "Then let's all head back to the Palace together."
Promptly, George's horse whined, furiously, and its hooves pawed the ground. The heir to the Tortallan throne knew that its rider was feeling the same. He stared at George, hoping to convey a mesage to him through their eyes.
'We cannot risk saving Alanna here but there are other methods. They've won this battle. But the war is still up for grabs,' Jon wanted to shout to him.
The Rogue seemed to understand because he did not provoke Roger's attention any further. The group of them rode up to the Palace and most of them could not help but feel defeated. Roger, on the other hand, felt as if he were champion of the world. Alanna of Trebond was his one-way ticket to destroy Alan of Trebond.
Just as the clock truck ten, Alanna was escorted to her chambers in the dungeons of Tortall. A burly guard of the King's Own led her down to one of the filthiest, gloomiest, rooms at the request of Duke Roger of Conte. The Lioness barely flinched as she felt the Knight leading her hit her on the shoulder with the blunt of his sword. Everything was succeeding everything else rapidly.
Upon returning to the Palace, there had been an emergency King's Council with the most important advisors in the kingdom. A few honorary peoples had also been invited. Namely Lady Winfred, Lincoln, Thom a.k.a. Alan of Trebond and the newly reinstated royal Niece, Abigail, who looked miserable as she watched her protege being convicted of things in an injust manner. In fact, the whole time, the Scanran Contes all but blurted out outrages of how unfair it was that Alanna was being imprisoned. However, Jonathan managed to persuade them to keep their mouths shut.
It took a while for Alanna to tell her story and it took a while for her to make it up. However, she had been working on it the whole time she had been riding up to the Palace for her mini-trial. After she was done explaining how she bewitched everyone to believe she was the royal Niece because she wanted to be close to Prince Jonathan (Alanna had tried her very hardest not to look at her Knightmaster as she said this part), the court marshall could do nothing but convict her for her crimes. She was sentenced to death. A sentence that would be carried down at noon in three day's time.
In the mean time, the Lady Squire sat on a stagnantly cold bench in her prison cell, stretching the muscles in her neck. If she had thought she was cold outside in the Palace forest, she had been wrong. In fact, out there was just peachy Carthaki spring compared to the jailer's quarters. The stone bricks around her seemed to radiate a cold, icy, feeling. Or maybe that was just how she was feeling internally right now.
The Trebond crouched on her knees in her chamber, watching a streak of silver-blue moonlight stream in through her barred window. She prayed by it, wishing that her patron Goddess, the Great Mother would answer her prayers.
She was not ashamed to admit she was scared. It felt, as if for the first time, that she was entirely alone with nothing but her own thoughts. And those thoughts told her that she was going to die. Really, truely, going to die in three days' time.
"Great Mother," she whispered, her voice cracking if only a little bit, "Please, I beg you, save me from what can only come my way. Send Faithful to my side, or Thom if you could manage it. Do not let me die alone. But if my I must, give my the courageous to face it with honor. My death was not meant to be on Traitor's Hill but on the battlefield, in the heat of war. You told me last time we met that I had to face all three of my fears. I've conquered none of them yet and you cannot possibly let my life go unfinished. I beg of you, free me from my chains and shackles. Let me live and let me serve you for as long as I live."
She clamped her eyes shut, forcing herself to keep from crying. Her strength won over and she triumphed. Taking a sharp intake of breath, she rose to her feet and began to exercise. She wasn't dead yet and being fit had never done her any wrong.
About seven floors up, though Alanna did not know it, her prayers were being answered.
George sat casually on the table top Jonathan's private study, one leg dangling from the side. Three of his closest friends surrounded him. One of them was picking out random books from Jonathan's shelf and squinting at it even though he couldn't read. The other two were arm wrestling, chuckling like madmen all the while. Thom scrunched up his face as he watched their bad manners in disgust.
Lincoln warmed his hands by the fire, grinning at them over his shoulder. Lady Winfred fanned herself, eyes darting about the room as if she suspected spies to be all around them. Abby twirled her hair which had recently been converted back to its original black, watching her cousin Jonathan nervously. The Prince in question was pacing about the room, hands behind his back.
"By the Black God, how're we going to do this?" Jonathan demanded to no one at all, his stress level rising, "We could break her out, but where would we take her? Or perhaps Thom can magic away everyone's memories of the past few months but is that even possible? Or-"
"Y'need t'calm yerself," George stood, getting off of his bottom and swaggering about the room, keeping his head composed.
Jon breathed in, "You're right."
Truth be told, he was still rather frazzled from Alanna's brief trial earlier this evening. He couldn't stop thinking about her excuse for imposing as the royal Niece. To be closer to the Prince; was there any reality in that? He shook his head, trying to clear it. It was probably all fibs she had made up spurr of the moment.
"So, has any one any idea of what we ought to do for Alanna?" Abigail asked, drumming her nails along the table top she sat at.
"How 'bout we break 'er out an' take 'er to th'Shang?" Tanner, George's friend, suggested, "Them Shang always travel. No'un could find 'er. then."
"Shut up, Tanner, will'ye?" George scolded, however a smile was still intact on his face.
"Actually," Lincoln rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, "That could work. I have a few friends in the Shang that may take her. I know one that'll take her for sure if I ask him too. He gave me this-here the young Conte ran a finger along the long scar that ran along his left cheek-so I can give him Alanna for a bit. The situation will cool off if she's gone for a few years."
"No, no, no," the Crown Prince shook his head, "You're not sending Alanna away from Corus. She's not going off somewhere I'll never see her. That's not supposed to happen for at least another year."
"Your Highness," Thom started, hesistantly, "As much as I hate to see my sister be sent away from her home, I don't see much of another option. And, I believe, if Alanna had to choose an alternative to being a Knight, training along with a Shang would definitely be one of them."
"Shang Dragon," the royal Nephew interrupted, "Liam's a good man-"
"Mithros, you two are serious," Jon fumed, eyes wide. He couldn't imagine his squire up and leaving. He faltered a few steps and sat back in a chair beside Lady Winfred. His Aunt patted his hand, comfortingly.
"You can't hold onto her forever," she soothed, kindly, "All things come to an end."
"George, what do you say?" Jonathan asked, knowing very well that the King of Thieves cared for the young Trebond just as much as he did.
For a second, the Rogue looked rather stern, yet his brown eyes looked fit to burst out in tears. However, he brought himself together, "I see no other option."
"Fine," the heir to the throne of Tortall choked out, "If we're all in on this plan then so am I."
"Aye," the others chorused, softly, everyones vision blurring in the dim candlelight.
"Why're we all sad?" Helios, another one of George's companions, inquired, "We oughts t'be celebratin' th'fact that we c'n free Alanna!"
He pulled out a very expensive looking champagne bottle from under his cloak, including a few very expensive looking glasses, each emblazoned with the royal seal. George laughed, bitterly, upon seeing it, "Did y'steal it?"
"Borrowed," Helios grinned, then added in quieter tones, "C'n y'imagine what these would fetch at market?"
"Drinks anyone?" Tanner offered, grabbing the champagne and crystal glasses away from Helios. He began to pour everyone drinks, joking all the while. The slightly dampened mood, lightened and soon, everyone had their glasses raised adove their heads.
"Shall we toast to?" Jonathan questioned, his voice cakey and dry.
"To Alanna," Thom murmured, silently.
However, George heard and added, with more vigour, "To Alanna!"
"To Alanna!" the others repeated, clinking their glasses together and hoping, against hope, that they could break the precious Lioness out of her cage and let her free into the wild where she belonged.
Their calls almost seemed to echo out on the wind and down in the dungeons, Alanna's ears pitched up, slightly, as she heard the faint call.
"To Alanna!"
Author's Note: Oo, ok, so now things are happening quickly. I can just perfectly imagine this one scene in my mind and I think you guys will love it. Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter and I hope you're noticing things all coming together. So what do YOU think will happen? I'd love to know. But what I'd love more was if you would possibly review, please?
winky-wink