Chapter Four. Yay, I finally posted a chapter after like three weeks. Sorry about the delay. I've been lazy... Anyway, I hope this chapter makes you laugh at some point. I tried to make it more humorous than the others while still keeping all the character in character. I hope it all worked out. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The character, places and events in this story are from the Lioness Quartet, Alanna: the First Adventure and belong to Tamora Pierce. Direct quote from the book are in double quotation marks (""Like this"")


The next morning when Francis and Raoul were on their way to breakfast, they caught up with a slow moving Alan and Gary.

"Hey guys!" Raoul called cheerfully.

"Hello," Gary and Alan replied, the first much more enthusiastically then the later. Francis noticed that Alan was looking very stiff.

"Second morning blues Alan?" he asked playfully.

"Second morning black and blues," he replied grimly, "Not too bad though," he added quickly. In the short time that Francis had known Alan, he had quickly discovered that the little lad was tough. Alan seemed to hate giving anyone the impression that he was weak.

"Today will be even better!" Raoul promised, laughing.

"I can't wait," Alan replied sarcastically, only causing Raoul to laugh louder.


After a quick breakfast, the pages hurried on to their morning classes. For Francis, the morning went by fairly quickly. He had made sure that all his class work was prepared and had even finished his essay for reading and writing ahead of time, much to the delight of Master Gadsberth. This year, he had promised himself that he would do his best to make sure that he received as little punishment work was as possible. Francis wanted to be sure that any potential knight master who talked to his teachers would find that he was a hard worker and quick study.

I just hope that who ever considers me for his squire won't talk to Master Hornsworth, he thought during a scolding from that very teacher. It would be a shame to get stuck with a desk knight just because his math teacher hated him

Poor Alan, on the other hand, seemed to be getting off on the wrong foot. It seemed that every teacher, except Sir Myles, who hardly gave any assignments, found his work incompetent. The new boy's face grew redder and redder as the morning went on. Francis sent him a silent plea not to talk back to any of the teachers. That would only make things worse.

"Relax Alan," he had whispered to the fuming boy in Deportment, "Don't let them get to you. That's what they want." Alan nodded in response, but looked no less red. Francis shook his head. Someday that boy's temper would get the better of him.

By the time the pages got outside for their afternoon lessons, it had begun to rain. The boys would have grumbled if they hadn't known their training masters would give them extra work. Nobody liked to train in mud.

After an hour of warm-ups, which a nervous Francis led himself, the boys trudged over to the now mud-filled yard where they practiced hand fighting with Master Shortfoot.

"Afternoon lads!" the commoner called cheerfully. The rough man seemed to be basking in the miserable afternoon.

"What's this? You fellas look like a bunch of sick dogs. A little water gettin' the better of you?" he asked them, his loud voice carrying across the practice yard.

The boys, even the first years, were smart enough not to reply to the taunts of their training master. All except one.

"At least sick dogs get to sleep by the fireplace," Ralon of Malven muttered. If he had thought that their teacher wouldn't hear him, he was dead wrong.

"What's that Malven?" he barked, striding over to stand in front of the page. It was just Francis's luck that he was standing next to him.

"Do you want to go inside and rest Malven?" Shortfoot asked sweetly. The man had a habit of spitting when he spoke and Francis winced slightly as drops of saliva splattered onto his face.

"No sir, I just meant..." Ralon stuttered.

"And what about you, Nond, you want to rest too?" Master Shortfoot asked, turning to Francis.

Francis froze, unsure of what to say. He cleared his throat, buying time. The hand-fighting master was an excellent teacher and deserved respected, even if he did make Francis nervous.

Finally Francis decided on, "No, sir, I want to train." It was the only answer he could give.

Shortfoot nodded, "That's a lad! All right fellas, Malven wants to go inside, but we all got to train, Duke Gareth's orders, yeh know. Why don't we help him get acquainted with the great outdoors and mother nature by taking a group run, ey? Off we go!" he shouted roughly.

The boys began to run, following their training master. Soon it was clear that the run was going to be a long one. They were going to go all the way around the inside of the palace walls. Francis fell into stride next to Raoul.

"Great, add this to the list of Ralon induced punishment work," Raoul growled, out of breath from the run.

"It's getting to be an awfully long list Raoul," Francis replied quietly.

"He needs a lesson on how to keep his mouth shut," Raoul said pointing to Ralon's back, a few feet in front of them, "Care to help me teach him?"

Francis grinned, knowing exactly what his best friend was thinking. He quickly checked to make sure that Master Shortfoot was occupied up front, then nodded. He was up for any way to get one up on Ralon.

They split up and picked up their pace until they were just behind Ralon, one on either side of him. When Raoul gave the signal, they both reached down and each grabbed one of the unsuspecting Ralon's legs.

With a grunt, Ralon fell face first into a conveniently large pile of mud. Francis and Raoul laughed as they ran by, other boys joining in their laughter as they turned back to see what had happened.

That's for the time you put horse dung in my saddle, Francis thought happily as he and Roaul raced on, leaving the swearing and muttering Ralon behind.

Soon, they caught up with Gray, Alan, Alex, and Jon. All four were sporting grins.

"Nice one guys," Alex said in greeting.

"Thank you, thank you," Raoul said, bowing awkwardly as he ran, not daring to stop.

"I was hoping someone would get him back for this run." Jon laughed.

"It sure made my day," Alan said, grinning widely.

"What made your day Trebond?" asked Master Shortfoot from behind them.

Even while running, Alan jumped a foot into the air, startled by the stealth of their teacher. The older boys were used to the former rogue's stealthy comings and goings, but Alan was not.

"This- this run, sir." Alan covered quickly.

Master Shortfoot looked him over, trying to determine whether Alan was being prude.

"Well, your running sure ain't making mine! You run like some noble lady in skirts Trebond! Less talking, more running." The hand-fighting master yelled as he passed them.

Alan turned bright red and focused on the ground as the others laughed.

"I don't run like a girl," Alan muttered defensively.

"Of course you don't, and I don't run like a one footed crow," Alex said, "But that's what he called me on my first run."

Alan visibly relaxed. "It's just Shortfoot's way of making a good impression on new pages," Jon explained as they slowed to a stop back at the practice yards.

"Alright lads!" Master Shortfoot called, looking quite refreshed rather than tired from the run, "Pair up!" After the mad dash of people around him trying to get their partner of choice subsided, Francis was relieved to find himself paired with Alan.

"Boys, today we're gonna practice blocking kicks. Now in a fight, an enemy's legs are just as dangerous as his hands, if he knows how to use em'. The target of choice for any kick is, of course, the groin. Now lads, I don't have to tell yeh this, but you do not want to get kicked there." He told them.

The boys chuckled as he continued, demonstrating a block, "One way to block an attack on your family jewels is to lift your knee up like this and turn to the side. This should deflect most attacks. Practice this back and forth with your partner."

Francis turned to Alan, "You ready?" he asked.

Alan nodded and got into a fighting position. They worked well together, each blocking the other's kicks with ease.

Towards the end of the practice set, Francis heard someone walk behind him, but he was too busy blocking Alan's kick to pay any attention to whoever it was.

As he prepared to aim his own attack at Alan, the person leaned over his shoulder and whispered, "No one gets the better of Ralon of Malven."

Ralon shoved him roughly forwards, causing him to kick at Alan before the other boy was ready. Francis's foot hit Alan squarely between him legs, smacking into his practice padding with a thud.

Ralon laughed as Alan doubled over with the impact, then quickly found his way back to his partner as Master Shortfoot hurried over to see what happened.

"Alan, are you alright?" Francis asked worriedly. He knew how much his kick must have hurt.

Alan straightened, blinked twice, and then nodded. "I'm fine Francis, I was just caught off guard."

"You're tougher than I thought Trebond," Master Shortfoot said, "That was a good kick. I know grown men who would have cried getting' a kick like that." He clapped Alan on the shoulder. "Continue if you're sure you're fine, but you can sit out for a moment if you want."

"I'm fine," Alan assured him, rubbing his shoulder where Master Shortfoot had hit him.

Francis set himself back up for the drill. Alan had to be the toughest page among them, for all that he was the littlest. For a moment, he hesitated, remembering the force of his kick. A little too tough, perhaps.


When Francis finally made it back to his room that night, he was exhausted. The afternoon classes had left him wet, sore and miserable. Serving Duke Gareth at dinner and finishing his assignments had done nothing to help his weariness.

He fell into bed without even changing into his nightdress and blew out the light, prepared to go to sleep.

""Pack your things, we're going home.""

Francis sat up with a start. Who's in my room? He wondered sleepily. And why are they telling me to pack?

""We are?"" Another voice asked. Francis reached for a match to see who was in his room.

""I can't do this, the pace will kill me. No one can live this way all the time. I won't-""

By the time the candle again illuminated the room, Francis was awake enough to recognize one of the voices as that of Alan and to realize that the voices were coming from the next room, not his. The walls of the pages' rooms were thick enough, but Alan was shouting and Francis's bed was right up against the wall they shared.

""I never figured ye for a quitter,"" came the other voice. Francis realized that this must be Alan's manservant.

""I'm not quitting! I'm-I'm protesting! I'm protesting unfair treatment-and-and being worked till I drop. I want to have time to myself. I want to learn to fight with a sword now, not when they decide. I want-""Alan ranted.

""Ye want. Ye want. 'Tis something different ye're learning here. It's called 'discipline'. The world won't always order itself the way ye want. Ye have to learn discipline."" The manservant said.

Francis realized that this was obviously a private conversation and that he was eavesdropping. He quickly blew out the candle and laid himself back down, trying to fall asleep.

""This isn't discipline! It's inhuman! I can't live with it, and I won't! Coram, I gave you an order! Pack your things!"" Alan cried hysterically.

Francis was surprised. He knew that Alan was having a rough time, but he also knew that the little lad had what it took to be a page, squire, and eventually a knight. He hoped that Coram the manservant could talk him out of leaving.

""As ye say, but I thought I'd raised ye with somethin' to ye. I didn't think I was bringing up another soft noble lady-""

""I'm not a soft noble lady! But I'm not crazy, either!"" Alan replied.

Francis was glad that Coram was doing his best to convince Alan to stay, but calling his master a girl was a little over the top.

Realizing that he was eavesdropping again, Francis turned away from the wall, pulling a pillow over his head.

He would wait until tomorrow to see whether Alan was really leaving or not. This was a personal conversation and he had no right to listen.

I hope you stay Alan, Francis thought as he finally drifted to sleep, you're turning out to be a good friend.

The next morning, Francis was relieved to find Alan at breakfast. That night, he hung a decorative rug from Nond on the wall he shared with Alan. This muffled out any other conversations from Alan's room that he was not meant to hear.


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