Warning: Alanna swears like a sailor in paragraph immediately following title. Sorry chaps, but this is how she's feeling now. Couldn't get her to shut up.

Forgotten Dream
by Senbazuru

«

And all this just to go to the damned Convent. Fuck the fucking gods. Plans for me? Plans for giving me a more excruciating death than is given to most mortals? Hey, I admit it; I killed one or two of those mages in the initial attack. But were they tortured like this? No. They were shot cleanly by arrows. Instantaneous death. I don't want people to suffer. Not even if they are my enemies. Well, with the exception of that evil Tirragen. Traitors deserve to die twice. But why me? Why did the fucking Goddess choose me?

«

Jonathan of Conté, the Crown Prince of Tortall, was captivating.

He was the picture of knightliness: tall, devastatingly handsome, courteous, and skilled with weaponry. Long hours of exercises had molded his once boyishly slender frame to a well-muscled, yet still quite lithe, body of a man. A man who would one day be king. A man who spent his days of knighthood earning the fearsome reputation of a seasoned warrior; with a romantic flair for rescuing any fair maiden in distress.

Or, as was in this case, any grubby wretch covered in mud and dripping all over his father's best Yamani rug.

It was a small gathering in the King's council chamber, only consisting of the two young knights, the King and Queen, the King's spymaster, and the chief healer: Lord Queenscove. The Prince stood tall beside the couch of the filthy creature he had carried into the chamber, dark head bowed pensively. The King was frowning, rubbing his aching head as he struggled to find the correct words to say. He knew what he wanted to say: Get that girl to the infirmary. And make sure she gets a bath. But that wasn't diplomatic. And King Roald was the diplomatic King. The Peacemaker.

His queen, on the other hand, was quite open about her thoughts. "Oh gods," she whispered, horrified. "The poor child…" Her blue eyes narrowed as she leaned forward to peer closer at the limp form on the couch. "Um. This is…the daughter of Trebond, am I correct?"

"Yes," Jonathan looked down at the girl's body and tried to smile. "We found her on the outskirts of Scanra's western border, just about to cross the river." His eyes flashed with a strange combination of annoyance and triumph. "Scanra and Tusaine are allies."

"Do you know their reason for the attack?"

Sir Myles leaned forward in his chair to gaze happily at the near-unconscious young woman, completely ignoring the prince's discomfort. Instead, his eyes flicked to the still form of the other knight in the chamber: Alexander of Tirragen. Alex's eyes flashed briefly with secret amusement as he watched the prince. Then he noticed Myles, and his expression quickly turned blandly impassive.

This only made Myles more curious. The rivalry that existed between the two young knights always was a good source of entertainment. He swirled the wine in his goblet and lifted it to his lips to gulp down a warming mouthful, fighting back the urge to smile.

"Sir Myles," the King's voice cut through his cheery thoughts, "what do you have to say?"

Myles heaved himself to his feet. "Well, it has been obvious for some time that Tusaine and Scanra have formed an alliance with one another. This attack on the coach, however, is unusual. I would say that it was more accidental than anything else. I would say that they were trying to avoid notice when she stumbled upon them."

"So they were trying to cover their tracks? Or hide something? But why were they in Tortall territory? And what were they trying to hide?"

Myles drained his goblet. He set it down on the side table and turned to face the King, suddenly serious. "That, I do not know."

His words hung in the air. The King's head ached miserably. "Damned wine," he muttered under his breath. He turned to eye the silent Alex, who was casually leaning against the far wall, half hidden by the shadows. "Sir Tirragen. You were on a mission, I presume, when you met up with the abductors. Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Other than the fact that they were energetically trying to kill some defenseless lord's brat? No."

Jonathan's famous blue eyes narrowed. "How can we trust you? You're nothing but a spy." He spat out the last word venomously.

"I object to that," Myles slurred cheerfully.

Alex gave another one of his wry half smiles. "I'm sure you would have done much better, your Highness."

Jonathan glared sharply at the slender knight. "I think I did, in fact. We executed the entire company…without your help, I noticed."

"Foolish," stated Alex calmly. "You might have been able to use some of the soldiers as informants. And I noticed that you forgot to search the perimeter before attacking. Any stray scouts might have gotten away."

"I placed a barrier around the edges of the camp before hand. No one could have escaped."

"I disagree. There is always the chance that someone might have slipped through."

The Prince's hand fell on the hilt of his sword, his blue eyes dark and flashing hotly. "You dare challenge my authority?"

Alex smiled dryly. "Are you feeling challenged, Conté?"

The King raised his eyebrows. Queen Leanne saved him from speaking. She stood, her white face tired. "The girl is the first thing to be attended to," she reminded her son. She walked over to lay a hand against the girl's burning forehead and jerked her hand back with a cry.

Lord Queenscove, who had been silently attending the unconscious Alanna, rose quickly and placed a steadying hand on the Queen's elbow, warm green magic tingling across his fingers. The King strode to his wife's side.

"What was that?" he demanded sharply.

The lord frowned and withdrew his hand from the Queen's arm. "A surge of power, your Majesty. Strange, foreign power. It could possibly have been quite deadly, had our Queen not been warded beforehand. As it is, Her Majesty's protective shield has weakened considerably in deflecting the power surge. She needs rest."

"I'm alright, really," Queen Leanne whispered, straitening. "It just surprised me, that's all."

"With all due respect, your Majesty, your health has always been fragile. I would recommend that you rest for the remainder of the day." He glanced at the King. "If I may, I would like to remove the girl to the infirmary for intensive healing. I do not want any other accidental bursts of power to target anyone else."

The King nodded shortly and The Queen – whose health was always a bit fragile – was escorted gently from the chamber, accompanied by her husband.

"Will she live?" the Prince wanted to know.

"Maybe. Yes. No. I don't know. Just get out of the way, your Highness. If you want to be of use, help me lift her onto this stretcher."

«

Alanna awakened to the feeling of perfect warmth. She stretched comfortably and rolled over –

"Ouch!"

She breathed in sharply and rolled onto her back, gasping slightly. Pain crashed through her left side. It soon fell away as she lay still, gathering in her surroundings. Her eyes widened. Discomfort was forgotten.

She was in a canopied bed, several goose down quilts covering her. The room she was in was a grand suite; colorful tapestries gracing the cold stone walls and helping to keep the room relatively snug. The wide, curving window displayed the spectacular view of a huge city; and beyond the far reaches of the city's limits, the ocean spread out like a mantle of shimmering blue.

Alanna forced herself to sit up – and found it easier than expected. All her injuries had been healed. What pain she had experienced was fading into the dim past, leaving only faint bruises as reminders. She lifted a hand to her forehead groggily, and stopped. Her arm dropped back to her side and she struggled to her feet, forgetting all leaden weariness as she stared at the full-length mirror hanging on the eastern wall.

She was now wearing a simple, blue gown with a dark brown bodice laced up the front. The full sleeves flowed around her arms, shielding them from the light morning breeze that swept through the window. Her hair was a bright waterfall that fell loosely down her back.

Though it was nice being clean – not to mention clothed with fresh garments – Alanna glared dangerously at her reflection. Someone had dressed her.

Even worse, someone had bathed her.

"Good morning. Or afternoon."

She spun around. The tall young man leaning in the doorway was almost unrecognizable at first…and then she saw his eyes.

"Thom!"

Her brother grinned. "You're looking…better."

Alanna opened her mouth to retort, then closed it as Thom stepped forward and hugged her gently. "I'm glad you are finally awake."

"Finally awake?" Alanna repeated slowly, stepping back. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Oh," Thom crossed the room to close the window, "about three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Her eyes narrowed. "I was unconscious for three weeks? What did they do, drug me? Or did someone use their marvelous Gift to—"

"You had the Sweating Sickness," Thom interrupted flatly. He turned and gazed at his sister levelly. "Couldn't you read the symptoms? You were damn lucky to survive. Up until three days ago, you were – they were sure you were dying. Something was strange about the sickness…as if…" He stopped abruptly.

A long silence fell between them. Thom cleared his throat. "Why didn't you tell me you had the Gift?"

"I didn't even know. I'm still not sure if I really do have the Gift." She sighed and rubbed her head. "It's so unpredictable, whatever it is. It comes and goes…nothing all that useful."

A look of envy crossed her brother's face. "I'd give anything to have the Gift. Anything. To be a sorcerer would be far greater than to be a knight. For me, anyway." His gaze was piercing as he stared at her. "When did you discover your Gift?"

Alanna shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, if what you say is true – about me being sick for three weeks, I mean – then I guess I discovered it about three and a half weeks ago."

Thom was silent, his eyes shadowed as he looked away.

"It wasn't expected, you know," Alanna blurted. "You could have it, too. I mean, it could come any day now. I'm sure you'll have it. We're twins, after all. We share everything."

"I –"

A sudden knock at the door interrupted Thom's reply. He straitened and strode to the door, opening it to admit a man no taller than Alanna. The man had a scholarly, kindly look about him. He nodded at Thom and bowed to Alanna, wheezing slightly as he straitened.

"Sir Myles of Olau, at your service," he said. His shrewd eyes quickly took in her various bruises and minor cuts that were still healing. He tugged his beard thoughtfully. "Squire Trebond, if you would be so kind…"

A displeased look flashed across Thom's face, and was just as quickly gone. He bowed stiffly and left the room, his eyes promising her another visit.

Alanna surveyed the newcomer suspiciously. "What do you want?" she demanded.

The aging, rumpled knight gave an amused shrug. "That would be based entirely upon your own comfort, my lady," he replied simply. He walked past her to seat himself comfortably in one of the chairs on either side of the fireplace. Shifting restlessly, Sir Myles glanced around her room. His gaze settled favourably on a small platter of cheese.

"No chance of brandy, eh?" he queried, popping a small piece of cheese into his mouth. "No matter. I shouldn't drink so much, anyway. It ages me – or so I've been told."

Alanna stared at him frankly. "Why are you here?"

"Good question." Myles swallowed. "Then again, most questions are usually good; 'tis simply the questioner who is, er, questionable." He smiled wryly and shook his shaggy head. "Too much time decoding riddles. That's what that does to you. But I imagine you are not much of a riddler, are you? No. You seem to prefer action to deskwork."

At her silence, he continued, speaking slower as if to make sure each word was clear. "You have heard, I'm sure, about the various advantages of your situation. No? Then I shall inform you. You, I know, have always dreamed of becoming a knight." At her furious glare, he held up a hand to hold off her tirade. "No need to know why I know this. You have never made your desire a secret, so it is only natural that I know. Knighthood, however, shall remain unattainable to you. The King, Mithros bless him, is quite stubborn on that subject."

"Why?" Alanna burst out.

"Do I look like His Majesty?" asked Sir Myles sharply. "No. I don't. Sad, but true. So I cannot answer for him." He leaned back and gazed intently at Alanna's face. "But I can offer you an alternative. Something other than returning to the life you formerly held, a life where your particular talents were going to waste. If you take up this position, you must know that there is no turning back. As far as your father and fief know, you are dead. Your former captors are also dead, and you are believed to have died with them."

He paused to take a deep breath. "Alanna of Trebond, I'm asking you to consider becoming a spy for the kingdom of Tortall."

Alanna felt as if all the air in lungs suddenly left. "A spy?" she croaked.

He looked at her, his expression grave. "Take some time to consider it, my lady. If you desire to return to the comfort of your fief, I understand. You have been through a lot, more than is normal for a young lady like yourself. But if you have any questions, please come to me." He brushed his lap free of crumbs and stood. "Be well." He strode to the door.

"Wait."

Alanna's flat voice stopped him in his tracks. She was still standing, slightly swaying, her face emotionless.

"What makes you think I'd be a good spy?"

He ran a hand through his shaggy grey hair. "You're not too bad of a fighter, from what I've heard. You've got a lot of potential." He frowned suddenly. "It's up to you, though, whether or not you'll succeed. You've got to have the willpower to press onward, even if the mission becomes dangerous. Even if someone dies.

"Spies often lose their lives," he said abruptly. "They do what they must to survive and complete the mission, but things can happen – unexpected things – and those occurrences often result in death."

Alanna was silent, but the fierce light in her purple eyes spoke volumes.

The knight studied her intently. "I suppose you'll need a sword, then."

"It'd certainly be helpful."

His solemn face broke into a grin. "Welcome to our ranks, Alanna of Trebond."

As she shook hands with Sir Myles, Alanna felt more than heard the breath-like whisper that brushed against her ear,

Well chosen, Daughter. Now the fun begins…

Alanna swore.

So, a new chapter, eh? A little on the short side, but it'll suffice, I think. Anyway, sorry once again about the swearing in Alanna's monologue. She got a little testy with being bashed around for the past five chapters. Feverish delirium will do that do a girl. 'Specially, I think, spicy-tempered redheads. ;;

Hey, what does everyone think of Trickster's Choice books? I think they've got to be the most bloody fantastic things TP's written yet. So elaborate. But almost too many characters to keep track of in Trickster's Queen. Still, it's a very good book.

Soundtrack (music!)

· Perfect – Simple Plan

· Innocence Again – Switchfoot

· Healed – Nicole Nordeman

· Move Forward – Bethany Dillon