1Creator's note 5---

Here we are at the end. I kind of wish that I wrote a bit more about prince "Four". I shouldn't have made him so repungnant. As is, he's nothing more than a cypher; the Rotten Noble. That's me being a lazy writer.

I also miss Hansa.

I really like the conversations between Lina and Zelgadis. So much instantly quote-able dialogue ("crabcakes, man. . .CRABCAKES!")! She couldn't talk to him without Hansa, a stranger, talking to Zelgadis first. And Hansa, could not talk to him about something so personal. It was the perfect place to insert Lina. She was always a realist. Which is why she was eating in every scene—the gesture firmly grounded her in the material world. In the real and now. Unfortunately, I couldn't add as much of her as I wanted. I had to cut a scene between her and Amelia. It would have broken the narrative and it was too heavy handed. I have to clarify something though: Lina insults Gourry only because she likes him so much.

But honestly, if you're still pissed about all of the liberties I took in the text, it's too late now, so enjoy it for what it is. I had a lot of fun writing this, especially the beginning of this chapter (I "heart" you Steve-o, Lemmy, and anonymous drunk at the bar---you three are truly sages for the new age). Oh, you'll get it after reading further---that and I get to quote a story about Krucheiv and Gorbachov. This chapter is inspired by my experiences in the two professions that taught me the most about life. The first job, where I was server at Denny's (a restaurant for two types of people: the really exhausted and the really wasted), taught me that the Stupid Secrets of the Universe are not answered in College but by the steely-eyed weathered-face regulars who'd never been to the university. Secondly was my experiences as a teacher (or as I call it, "birth-control"). This is for the regulars and for all the students who told me I was weird. And the British, for culturing in me a love of Anglo-slang.

And finally, this is for the readers because it is your story (the ending is intentionally oblique because it is yours to do with it as you will). Thank you for taking the journey with me.

Title, anyone? I might be forced to call this story "Soundtrack by Phil Collins" because "Against All Odds" sounds too corny.

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"So that's it. That's all there is?" The woman called herself Naga. She yawned across the table from him and made a face at the warming dregs at the bottom of her mug.

"Except for the fight, yes. But you can see the results of that battle, and it's not that kind of story," said Zelgadis. It was difficult to hear over the rowdy din of the tavern, but this was exactly the sort of place one would conduct his business. No one would notice his words over the debauched exaggerations of a drunkard's story.

"Oi! Lishun to thish, mate…Onesh upon a time, thar wis this princess, see?"

"The sorceress and her companion did not back your play?"

"She did, but you must understand that I put her in an awkward position. Openly helping me---recently accused of abducting the heir among other acts of terrorism, would. . .compromise. . .her political standing."

"Aw, she wis right fit---(Blurp!) 'scuse me. Like I wis saying, right? This princess, her 'ventures were over and her friends went their separate ways, like ya do. (Snort!). So she told the man she wis in love wiv tha' she fancied 'im, yeah? And 'e promised 'er tha' they'd meet again an' the bird wis aw' happy fey just those words 'cause she no longer expected anyfing to amount to much…"

"I see. Lina is many things, and expediency is no exception. I would have expected her to back up her comrades. Still, this is a. . .different. . .situation. Who'd have thought SHE'D be a diplomat," mused the sorceress, the last part more to herself, than to him. Zelgadis reconsidered the woman he'd just met.

"Smart bird, yeah? Figured when a bloke opens 'is mouth it's lies tha' come out."

"Shaddup, Lemmy! I'm the one telling the facking story---no' you, you stupid kant."

"I'm no' the one too pished to tell it properly, Steve-o. Drunk bastard. . ."

"You know Lina Inverse?" The woman's face twisted itself in an effort to contain the hilarity in which she regarded his question.

"You could say that," she said slyly, "You know how she gets around."

"Then yooooou tell it if you ken so bloody much, then…"

"Awright, maybe I will, maybe I won't. . ."

"Indeed," he conceded, not quite sure if he "got" the joke. He was also unsure of what to think about this strange woman. His dealings with this woman were contingent upon whatever information she had intimated would be of interest to him. Upon their meeting, he had written her off as a boozy, lower-level mage with no exceptional talent, save her grotesquely large bosom, and he highly doubted that the information she claimed to have would be of use to him. But he had a nagging suspicion that there was more to this woman than he first thought, and he would have to be more careful in his dealings with her.

In fact, it had been a long time since he had needed to be so guarded. The diminutive, insular hamlet in the Outer Lands was tangential to any major kingdom he'd have to worry about and knew little of the business of Seyrune, save hearsay. They made even less of Zelgadis's freakish appearance. Apparently, the village had seen its share of transients, outcasts, and oddities---serving as some sort of way-station for the dispossessed. Perhaps that was how the township was founded. It seemed appropriate that he would find this Naga woman here. It had been a little over a year since he fled Seyrune, and a month or so since he had been actively been pursued. Zelgadis could ill afford complacency just yet. He figured it was only a matter of time.

"Right. As I wis sayin'. An' the letters stopped comin' 'cause the man she fancied stopped sendin' 'em…"

"Who'd 'av guessed---(Bwaaarrp!)."

"I am too pished to dignify the remarks of an uncivilized lout. . ."

"Oi---Steve-o. 'E's got you there, mate."

"Mine's a pint!" Naga bellowed to the nearest barkeeper who could complete the task in the least amount of time---it didn't really matter who. She turned to face Zelgadis, "You're buying of course."

"Of course."

"So she didnae 'av time to keep secrets about love or 'ventures an' what-fer. She wis too busy bein' a princess, you know, and makin' 'er kingdom 'appy. Didnae even 'av to fight fer justice no more---insteada usin' a sword, she went to meetin's and signed documents an' insteada usin' magic, she helped the poor, gave 'ugs to the wee bairnes an visited the sick an' the like (though the kingdom was so 'appy she soon could only see the bairnes from far in front o' ay benches at the schools she built for 'em an' send gifts to the 'ospitals she built, too, an' wave to aw the kants she got offay streets to build and run aw tha' fackery). . ."

"(sniff) s'nough to bring pain to this warriors 'art. . ."

"Bugger off, Steve-o!"

"Aw, Lemmy, let it go. E' talks like 'e's a geezer, but 'e's aw soft."

"Oi! You callin' me a fackin' poof? I'll sort your sorry arse out…"

"Don't be so suspicious. I am no bounty hunter---at least not after YOU," she watched him relax a bit then narrowed her eyes, "However, if you did that to MY sister, I probably would have killed you by now---but I'm just that sort of woman. . ." and probably roasted his balls and eaten them with sauce, spending the reward money on booze while dancing a jig over his grave. She seemed like THAT sort of woman. Zelgadis barely suppressed a shudder.

"You have strong opinions, Naga."

"She wis 'appy bein' a good princess---wouldnae' been of use to fink about 'er sadness, right? 'Er dad 'ad forgotten tha' she ever wanted to be a prince, an' even so, could no' 'member why 'e'd wanted to keep 'er from bein' one.

He was incredibly sorry for what he had done. In the long months during which he drifted from town to town, he spent the time he was not evading armed contingencies and bounty hunters thinking about things he'd avoided thinking about for most of his life. Somewhere between Seyrune and this sorry excuse for a dive, he came to the conclusion that he was not running from the armies of King Philionel, he was running from himself while at the same time running towards something entirely unknown to him---and when he got there it would be too late to apologize. But whatever was waiting there, should they be waiting at all, whoever it was, he knew he could do worse. Perhaps he couldn't do any better, and he realized there, in the bar, as he stared at the dust settling in his watery beer, that he didn't want to.

"'E wis cryin' like a bairn when e told er: 'I'm so proud o' my daughter but I will 'av to give 'er away 'cause she's 'aw growed up an' must marry a prince so they can bring justice to the kingdom in my place!' An' 'cause she loved 'er dad, she saw many blokes, aw of which were right kants, 'cause this bird knew tha' the lot of 'em hadnae grown up and were only pretendin' to be princes. . ."

"Ello, wha's this? Is the princess 'sposed to marry another bird?"

"Quiet you! Jis 'cause you cannae understand the bloody language. . ."

". . .Anyways, Aw ay them didnae understand the price ay bein' one an' she wis too busy bein' a princess an' fightin' fer justice in 'er kingdom, which, if it were 'appy or no', the PRINCE-ES ultimately didnae care. Then one day, if you can believe it, the bloke she fancied fulfilled 'is promise an' returned fro' the lands she wis too busy to see an couldnae 'av 'ventures in. When she saw 'im, she couldnae fink if she were 'appy or sad 'cause it wis too late to love 'im as a princess no more an' she never wis a real prince inna first place…"

As for his quest---well, it had been a long time since it was ever about THAT. It had been nothing more than an excuse, really. If he lost his purpose, then he'd lose his sense of self, therefore he'd have no reason to exist. But he did, he didn't, and there was. He still had this sense of urgency that he felt, well, urgent about. Whatever it was appealed to his sense of something, and he'd pretty much figured out what that something was---but there was no point in telling this to the stranger whom he'd just met in this bar in this strange village. The only person it was worth telling wasn't there. He was aware that finding her might prove to be just another existential short-cut, but then again, he wouldn't really know until he did.

Under normal circumstances he would laugh at the ridiculous irony of this. But this wasn't normal circumstances---not with this dodgey Naga woman around.

"Eh. . ." Naga shrugged, devoting all her concentration to the frothy mug she attended, head tipped back while emptying it of all its contents with lusty gulps. She struck him as a rather vulgar woman.

"Wha' 'er mum 'av to say 'bout aw tha'?"

"'Er mam's dead, 'member?"

"No---you dinnae tell tha' part o' ay story."

"It's 'sposed to be metaphorical-like an aw, you tit!"

"So were they or weren't they real princes?"

"Like I said, tha's the mehiphysic bit. Tha's ay problem wiv society, ain't noone finks fey themsel' no-ho. Noone knows ay shite fe ay 'ol inna ground."

"I wonder if ay highborn and peasants fack ay same?"

"Go-on Steve-o! Ye wouldnae know---ye stink too bad they wouldnae get near ye."

"Out-ay order! Out-ay order!"

"They wouldnae fancy ye neiver, Lemmy, wha' wiv your culture an' metaphysics an' aw . . ."

There was a loud crash after much arguing (about what, Zelgadis had little knowledge, not being able to decipher the drunken tones of the thick dialect). But there was no need for alarm. One of the hulking men had merely tripped over his chair while trying to convey his philosophy on culture, bust size, and class disparity when it came to courtship. Somewhere in his periphery, Zelgadis heard the crystalline tones of a young girl's laughter. Naga regarded him from the corners of her eyes, following his to the two girls, probably the innkeeper's daughters, whispering to each other behind the bar.

"Aren't you the ladies man. . ."

"Don't be coy," he replied, evenly, "it doesn't suit you."

"Don't flatter yourself," she retorted while at the same time she motioned to the bar-keep for another drink, "they're silly over the old sword-master's ward. Poor bastard."

"The apprentice?"

"Fuck no, don't be daft. The old man---died recently. Natural causes. Used to teach the children here---mostly just told them stories, being too old and sick and near-sighted and all. His ward—the one they're all silly about---was a healer just wandered into town one day---fancy sword, but no good with it. Old man took him in less as an actual apprentice and more like to ease the pain of his last days in exchange for room and board. Sort of just picked up the teaching when he died. . ."

Zelgadis only half-listened as they both watched the girls skip out of the inn.

"Gah! Saw him once, still useless with a sword---knows some magic though. Too young for my tastes, but you know how girls are at that age---they like the pretty ones."

"Uh-huh. . ."

"I would know---I had a sister once. . ."

"'Had'?"

"Well, HAVE. I left her back home a long time ago. Family problems, you know?"

"I see. . ."

"Left her with two letters, see? Advice in case she ever got in trouble---she'd read the first one which said: 'if you're ever in trouble, blame it all on me,' and if it happened again she'd read the second which said: 'if you're in trouble again, sit down and draft two letters. . .' Pretty clever, no?" She threw back her head and laughed her peculiar laugh. The conversation was beginning to wear on his patience.

"I thought you had information for me," he growled.

"Don't I?" her brows arched over the rim of a fresh mug of the Inn's finest.

"Stupid woman," his bench grated loudly against the floorboards. To hell with Naga, her beer, her information, and everyone else. . . .

"Hot-damn! You are thick! Suit your damned self. As for me--- she winked, "it's probably a good time to go home and smooth things over with dad," she eyed him dangerously, "that should buy you some time."

It did not take half a moment for it all to register before he sprinted out of the inn, hoping the girls that left earlier hadn't gotten too far. . .

Naga smiled. She almost didn't mind paying their tab.

Almost.

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. . .Always upon anytime and ever, there are little girls. It is the secret wish of them all to want to be princesses. As Princesses, everyone will love them because they would bring everyone justice and happiness by being beautiful and good and pretending secretly (even unbeknownst to themselves) to be princes. Because a good princess keeps promises, and not secrets. And a good princess would never need to think of swords because soon she will need a prince, and because she is beautiful and good and makes nice promises without secrets, the prince will fall in love with her always, and for always, and then together they will have adventures where justice is done always, and for always, and no one dies and everyone is happy always, and for always. But little girls forget the price of this. They all go home sleepy-eyed from playing pretend all day instead of learning their home-crafts, history, geography, civics, fencing, and magic lessons. Once home, their fathers, mothers, and sisters, only pretending to scold, will proudly tuck them into bed with good-night yarns, because they love them (and understand that it's far easier to make up stories than it is to read into the truth), where little girls can continue to play princesses in their dreams. . .

He found the place even though it was a bit outside the city proper. It was absurdly small---he wondered what sort of life she had been living there. He could hear her finishing the tale she had begun.

". . .little girls forget the price of this because they are never taught. Tthe love of their fathers, mothers, and sisters forgets to tell them, and sadly often little girls' love for the empty promise of a princess, love too busy to even remember pretend. Instead they think, 'wouldn't it be lucky if I really was a princess!' then, surely, they would get happily ever after. . ."

He smiled. Whatever sort of life it was, there were parts of Amelia that nothing could change. She would always surround herself with those whom she would give of herself, for better or worse, and gladly so.

"Your stories are weird."

"Ta! That wasn't even a real story---what happened to that princess and all of those other people?"

"Well, that's because real stories never truly end. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow if you like. Otherwise, your parents will worry that you're not home."

---or would they? Or do they? Don't they?

She followed the last of the children to the door and met Zelgadis there. She watched as the last child disappeared to the other side of the city wall before turning her attention to him. He found it hard to believe that anyone would mistake her for a boy.

". . .With their own justice, love, and happiness for no one but themselves. . .princesses. Aren't they?

"My apologies, traveler," she said, "You must be tired from your journey". She backed away from the door to make room for his entry. Her eyes directed him to a stool set by a low table. Only after he sat down did she sheath her sworn and prop it against the wall. She did this as if there was no significance to this gesture. He did not watch as she retrieved a kettle and two mismatched stoneware cups. She placed these on the table as he took stock of his surroundings.

. . .So lucky? Isn't it?

The room had the appearance of being accustomed to one before it had been hastily set up for two---except that it had returned to housing one and the space now missed two. The hovel---one would certainly be un-generous to call it that, but it was little more that a shack no matter how clean and ordered---seemed to like Zelgadis's presence, regardless if its occupant did or not. Amelia noticed his preoccupation.

"It suits me," she said, although he would have rather not thought so. She filled a cup with water from the kettle and watched as he drank, not filling her own until he finished. She was wearing his glove, although it had been altered, ill-fitted to her smaller hand unused to a sword's hilt. There was something leaner and harder about her now, as if to become more refined she had to come undone.

. . .Being a princess for no one but themselves. Always? The way it should be, shouldn't it?

"You will have to forgive me," she said rising and moving to a stool beside the hearth, "it is late and I've had a long day."

"If you don't---I mean, I can leave," he said while turning to face her. She had hung her cape and shirt on a small peg protruding from the mud-brick wall. A heavy bandage had been wrapped around her chest.

"There's no need---it is no trouble," She lowered herself onto the bench to remove her boots. He wondered if there was a time before they'd begun having the same conversation before he decided it was, and had always been, a test. She re-situated herself so that her back was facing him. He was charmed by her unnecessary modesty. He smiled and set down his cup before joining her by the fire.

. . .Isn't it?"

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Just as the last time, he chose not to consider the consequences of his actions until the morning. And the morning came, and he decided that they did not matter. Unlike before, he stayed long enough to see if she was awake. He decided he liked the way the blanked draped over her quiet form.

"Are you going to leave?" she asked.

"Not right now," he watched her register the conditional tone of his answer. It was a slight change. Her eyes glazed over for the briefest moment and he would've missed it had he not been watching for it.

"It is dangerous for you to stay in one place for too long," she said. He pushed back the hair that had fallen over her eyes. It was cut unevenly, out of a haste he suspected turned to apathy over the months. He could tell she was self-conscious about it. Perhaps she had abandoned any attempt to mask her vanity, having more pressing matters to dwell upon.

"Your father is not very happy with me,' he said pulling his hand away.

"Yes. He can be quite adamant sometimes." He had no doubt that the King was just as displeased with his daughter as he was with him.

"There are people in Seyruun who love and miss you, Amelia."

"Yes," she said, drawing a vertical line down the middle of his forehead with her finger, "I know."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she said turning away from him. His eyes traced the contours of the blanket folds clinging to her frame.

"Your sister told me she would wait for us in Seyrune. She didn't strike me as the type to take refusal very well." the blankets rustled as if she were going to move, but then lay still again.

"I've been told Gracia could leave that impression," she said flatly.

"Amelia," he said, reaching to touch her back. She did not flinch, but instead turned to face him again.

"What do you suppose will happen?"

"Something. Anything. Everything."

"Hadn't it already?"

"I suppose so."

"And you?"

"I suppose so."

The End.