Uh yeah, so it's been a wicked long time since I've updated. I really meant to a long time ago; I had half of this chapter written like a year ago, and I just forgot to finish it. So enough said about that, here's the next chapter. It's a little short I know, but I wanted to get another chapter up to inspire myself to continue. Please read and review: any CC is welcomed and greatly appreciated.

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

The next few days were as hot as the last. No one had enough energy to do much of anything after the day's training was over. Most of Francis' friends set their minds on a cool bath to soak their aching bodies. Alan decided that she would go look after her old pony, Chubby. Francis, unfortunately, found himself with a deportment paper that he had conveniently forgotten about in hope of finishing when the weather cooled down. It hadn't and the paper was now due tomorrow.

The palace libraries were stifling. The air was so heavy and moist that his ink took significantly longer to dry. He had made this discovery after writing several lines of his essay only to find that they had turned up on the sleeve of his brand new shirt.

Francis stood up to stretch and made his way over to a promising breeze near the window. He had always admired the view of Corus that the palace provided. The setting sun was just beginning to fall behind the peaked roof of the Goddess' temple in the Temple District, turning the ground below into a sea of stretching purple shadows. During the quiet summers he spent at Nond, Francis almost missed the hustle and bustle of the city. He grinned at his own joke. Almost, but not quite.

As the wind brushed his sweaty blonde hair back from his forehead, his sharp eyes picked up movement below him. It the dim light of the twilight, Francis noticed a small figure slowly trudging up the path leading from the stables to the palace. Quickly recognizing the Alan by her fiery hair, Francis waved in greeting from his perch two stories above the ground.

Though Francis was sure Alan had seen him, she made no reply and instead focused on the ground as if she hadn't. Something was not right with his friend. Francis took a quick look over at his disappointingly short and smudged essay before jogging out of the library in hopes of intercepting Alan on her way back to her room. He caught up with her just a moment too late. As he turned the corner into the Page's wing, the door to Alan's room was just closing.

"Alan!" he cried out in vain before he heard the door solidly bolted. Francis picked up the hint that his friend wasn't in the mood to talk. He turned away and found himself face to face with Raoul.

"I was just looking for you, my lord," he said, snaking his large heavy arm around Francis' shoulder. Against his will, Francis slumped with the added weight before casually shrugging it off.

"What for?" he asked as he stepped back to keep all of Raoul in view.

"Well, you know that Gary's birthday is coming up…"

Francis nodded. "He hardly lets us forget."

"In keeping with tradition we're going to need to…" Raoul was cutting off as Alan's door opened, revealing Alan's manservant Coram.

"Evening lads," he said shortly before hurrying past them.

"Excuse me sir," Francis called after him. Coram hesitated, and then turned back. "Is something wrong with Alan?"

The older man stroked the stubble on his chin before nodding. "Aye, the lad says teh tell you that he's not feeling very well tonight. I'm off to fetch him some juice and a bite to eat." He nodded politely and continued in the direction of the kitchens.

"That's odd," Raoul noted, following the retreating figure of Coram, "He seemed well enough after lessons. Well, as well as any of us anyway." He turned and knocked on Alan's door.

""Alan? It's Raoul. Coram says you're sick. What's wrong?""

""Nothing,"" was the only angry reply he got.

"Something's up," Raoul said puzzled.

"I noticed he looked a little worn when he was coming back from the stables." Francis read the concern on his friend's face, and continued, "I'll go get the others."

Alan wouldn't open up to any of her fiends and the harder they tried to get her to open her door, the angrier she seemed to get. For a while Francis was worried that her problem might be what his mother was fond of calling, "a womanly matter"; however, he eventually decided that she was a bit too young for that.

Jon was that last to arrive in the small huddle around Alan's door. He quickly took charge of the situation and stepped to the front of the circle.

""Alan. Open the door."" He commanded in the voice he preferred to only use for royal business. It was a command, one that Alan had to comply with.

""I – I'm sorry I yelled. It's just the heat, I guess –"" She said as the door slowly creaked open. Shadows hid her face, but one eye seemed remarkable darker than the other.

""Look at me."" Jon said, helping her comply with his hand.

Francis bit his lip as the others gasped. Alan was a mess, to say the least. Her nose looked mashed and the red trails under both nostrils showed that it had only recently stopped bleeding. Her right eye was in even worse shape. It was a nasty shade of grey and blue that was so swollen Francis could only see a sliver of his friend's trademark amethyst iris. Her good eye traveled to each member of their group, taking in their reactions before she pulled out of Jon's grasp and turned away to busy herself in her room.

""What happened?"" Jon asked, his voice a mixture of pity and rage.

""I fell down, Highness. In the stables,"" Her good eye flashed, daring anyone to say otherwise.

"He fell and Raoul's suddenly taken a liking to balls," muttered Alex quietly enough that Alan couldn't hear.

It's all my fault, Francis realized, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. I stood up to Ralon and he got mad and took it out on Alan. Mithros, she's just a girl!

He repeated it over and over again in his head. I as good as gave her that beating myself. Francis felt himself backing slowly away from the group, running his hands anxiously through his hair. It's all my fault.

Francis didn't realize that Alan had gone back into her room until Raoul put a hand on his shoulder. Francis looked up to find the other boys looking at him.

"Everything alright Francis?" Raoul asked, worry in his eyes.

Francis could do nothing but shake his head. "No," He finally managed to croak. With a look from Raoul, Alex, Jon and Gary left in silence, hurrying off to the kitchens to prepare for the meal. Within moments the hallway was deserted.

"Francis," Raoul started, but Francis wouldn't meet his gaze. "It's not your fault," he went on, giving his shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze.

"Yes." Francis said, "It is." He twisted out of his friend's grasp and turned away. No matter what anyone said, he knew that what happened to Alan was his fault.

"What good is making things better for yourself when you only make things worse for others? Is this the kind of knight I'll be? One who gets his comrades hurt or killed for his own personal victories?"

To his surprise, Raoul laughed. "Francis, you take too much of the world upon your shoulders. This had nothing to do with you. Do you hear me? This is not even close to being your fault. Ralon of Malven is a dog. Don't you dare feel responsible for his actions."

Francis turned slowly back to his friend. "Francis," he continued, "You'll be an amazing knight; you can be sure about that."

Against his will, Francis found himself grinning. "And how do you know that?" he asked as they began to walk together towards the kitchens.

"Well that's obvious, isn't it?" Raoul asked. Francis raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm going to be a great knight and I figure some of my greatness will rub off on you." Francis laughed and playfully shoved his friend, feeling the tension that had built up in his stomach leave him.

Raoul was right: Ralon's actions had been his own and while Francis couldn't help but still feel responsible, he knew that dwelling wouldn't help the situation. As the noise of the kitchen faintly reached their ears, Francis broke their comfortable silence.

"Hey Raoul…" he ventured.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks." Francis finished quietly. Francis wished he could find the words to say more, to tell Raoul what his friendship meant to him, but he knew that Raoul understood. Raoul rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed, and opened the door to the stifling and noisy kitchens.

"Let's get this over with so we can figure out what to do about Ralon the Rat."

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