Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of the Song of the Lioness Quartet. It all belongs to Tamora Pierce. (Except the idea.)
Italics: used as they are in "Lioness Rampant"
Prologue: The Dream
George Cooper had always been good at hiding his feelings. Growing up in the low-city in Corus, Tortall, it was a useful skill. He had grown up in the maze of pubs, jewelry shops, smiths' works, black markets, taylor shops, cobbleries, sweet shops, stock markets, and small healers' infirmaries. His mother's small home was one such as this. His mother was a healer, and though George had inherited very little of the Gift, he had the Sight. It had helped him more than once in his life-long journey to the throne.
Of course, he had no interest in the throne of Tortall. He had wanted all his life to be King of the Thieves in Tortall. Coming to his late teens, he achieved his goal. He ruled the Court of the Rogue, and his subjects would as soon obey another king as they would spit on his boot.
He even had an archenemy! The Lord Provost was a formidable opponent. He was enforced the law in Corus, the capital city of Tortall. He was feared by most Tortallan rogues as "The Old Demon." Foreign rogues made the Sign against Evil when his name was mentioned. They would learn, as George had, that the Provost was still only a man. George had been on the Top Ten Most Wanted list for years.
As the Rogue, George got a decent salary, collectingtenpercentof all transactions in Tortall. Enough to live on and more. However, he hardly ever used the excessmoney.
Though his face was known by now, George prowled the streets of Low City Corus daily, scoping out his kingdom and the treasures it held. Though he had to admit the best treasure was all the contacts he gained. True, he had a small group he kept by his side as the most trusted, but he had contacts all over Tortall and a good bit in its neighbors, the Copper Isles, the Yamani Islands, Tusaine, Tyra, Maren, Sarain, Galla, and Scanra. Scanra, to the north, and Tusaine, to the east, were the most rebellious and the most danger to his throne and Tortall, so he kept a good eye on them.
Entering his mid-twenties, he thought he had eveything he wanted, save a good woman. However, he had always pushed away falling in love, procrastinating. He knew it would come, and he welcomed it, but he had no plans for it now. (Noble ladies were to prissy and flirty for him, and nearly all female rogues were related to him or too close not to be considered a cousin.)
In truth, he loved the life of the King of Thieves. He loved the excitement of looking over his shoulder in case of an assasin; he loved his cousin, Rispah, by his side to govern the ladies; he loved knowing everything was under control, but at the same time, he loved knowing everything could go to chaos when he least expected it; he loved having to train himself to expect nothing and take precautions for the worst; he loved letting his guard down just a little, feeling his heart beat fast in his chest, waiting to see if anyone would take advantage of this opportunity; then he loved laughing, realizing he'd never let his guard down if he was waiting for an attack.
However, just as he thought nothing could possibly be any better, his life changed completely.
Walking through the city on a casual day, his Sight kicked in at the sight of a lad on a small pony. The boy glowed a soft violet, a beautiful feeling he could not explain radiating from it. He followed carefully, noting the horseman ahead of the boy was suspicious of him. He crept through the crowd easily, drawn to that beautiful feeling.
As he tailed them, he surveyed the boy. He was wearing a red velvet tunic over a silver silk shirt; red velvet breeches tucked into tough black boots. It had to be the uniform of a feif. The red of the north, and the silver of the west. There weren't many places the lad could come from. The boy had flaming red hair, cropped to his ear lobes. He had the fairest skin George had ever seen on a lad. He had a strong longing to see his eyes for some reason he expected to be magic.
The man-at-arms growled something and whipped around to face George. The thief smiled, innocently raising his hands in a sign of innocence. He looked at the lad again, who was turning. George was stunned, though he didn't show it, to lock his own hazel eyes on the small boy's violet ones. His eyes were the same color as the Gift that surrounded him. For a moment, George thought he saw ghostly-white, silvery hand suspended in mid air, framing the boy's face.
Great Merciful Goddess, he thought. His stomach was in knots as he took in the rest of the boys face: eyes framed by long lashes and topped with modestly arched red eyebrows, a straight, strong nose that was oddly delicate as it ran between his eyes, reddish graceful lips, a strong, stubborn jawline and chin, and skin even fairer in the face. He smiled, giving George a fluttering feeling that was hard to hide. His smile was a beautiful curve in modest lips, not making a single imperfection as it formed.
All his analyzing having occured in seconds, George's Sight hit him with the fact that the boy had a secret. He looked up into the boy's soft eyes again, ignoring the feeling in his stomach. He tapped lightly on the wall of magic the boy used to shield his secret. George barely kept from raising eyebrows. The boy was strong in the sense of his Gift. Very strong, indeed.
"Who? Me?" George asked in response to the man-at-arms' accusation. He was stunned, but not enough to not hear himself called a thief. He grinned wildly, showing a recklessness most people bought. The man still looked suspicious, but the boy laughed, a sweet noise that made George's eyes swivel back to the small lad. Mercy, he prayed. Whatever this feeling was in his stomachwas growing. He smiled at the lad in response and allowed himself to fade back into the crowd.
He would watch for the boy. However, he liked this new excitement. He decided not to call for the boy to be followed. He was in the palace, and George knew he would see him again. He would learn of the lad himself, catching him the next time he came to the city.
Once in the safety of his quarters at the Dancing Dove, the Court of the Rogue, he drew a ragged breath, closing his eyes and smiling to himself as he allowed the feeling that consumed him around the boy to resurface along with the boy's image. Biting his lower lip as he braced himself against the wall, he felt his fingers slip slyly beneath his breeches. Unable to stop, he allowed himself to bring his own pleasure, the boy's lavender eyes, red lips, and fair skin never leaving his mind's eye.
Hope you liked! Of course, this is only the prologue, and George doesn't know that this mysterious lad is not only a girl, but Alanna of Trebond. (Later to be known as Alanna Cooper of Trebond and Olau and Pirate's Swoop, the Lioness, King Jonathon's Champion. But we'll keep that to ourselves.) Anyway, the next chapter will be George's version of "Lioness Rampant," chapter one ("Lioness of Tortall"). I'm going to continue to rewrite the "Lioness Rampant" book in George's point of view. Why? I think we underestimate George's love. Anyway, please review! Tell me if I should continue!
Next Chapter: George has gotten used to a broken heart, and his talent for hiding his feelings has withered to almost nothing.