Title: Lady In Waiting
Summary: Episode addition to "Wizard." Monica, Zedd/Salindra, Richard/Kahlan.
Rating: T
A/N: Partly inspired by "Autumn" and "Homecoming Queen" by Alyse, which made me think more about Salindra. Which then made me realize I wanted to know more about Monica…
Monica shifted closer to the man in front of her, giving him her full attention. As he wound a lock of her hair around his fingers, she leaned in towards him slowly, seductively.
"Rawr," she growled playfully.
Above the background noise of clanking tankards and high-pitched tittering, she faintly registered the sound of the front door slowly creaking closed. New customers, no doubt.
"I could use another drink," the man slurred, releasing her hair and belching loudly.
"Of course," she said smoothly, gracefully sliding off the table she was sitting on. "The same? Or something different?"
"The same," he replied, draining the last few drops left in his goblet.
She nodded. "I'll be right back."
As she sashayed off towards the bar, trying to maintain an air of mystery about her, she could feel his eyes still on her. She could tell he was nearly ready to seal the deal, but she couldn't appear too eager. Men lived for the thrill of the chase, so she had to provide the illusion of courtship.
Dawdling also gave her a chance to circulate and scan the room for better prospects. This one wouldn't last too long, by the looks of him.
While she waited for a servant to fetch another bottle from the wine cellar, Monica lingered by the kitchen entrance, casually surveying the crowd. Most of the men there were already sitting with other ladies, though.
The only man available was still negotiating at the bar. He didn't look too appealing, with his long, white, scraggly hair and tattered, dust-covered robes. Still, a customer was a customer.
"I'm afraid you'll need ten of those," her skinflint employer was saying to him, sounding thoroughly disgruntled. "The price has gone up, now that half of every farthing I earn goes to Drago,"
"I wish I had ten," the man said wistfully.
Obviously not a high-paying customer, then.
Disappointed, she was just about to turn away when a familiar clattering sound seized her attention.
Her eyes widened in surprise. Did he just…?
"Do that again," she breathed, fascinated.
"I'll try," the old man replied, sounding a little surprised himself.
Brow knitted in deep concentration, he pressed his palms together and muttered under his breath some words she couldn't quite make out.
She watched, astounded and delighted, as he opened his hands again and the generous clinking of coins resounded through the air, even more loudly than before.
This time, everyone else noticed too.
"Girls, take this gentleman upstairs and see that he has the best night of his life," her employer directed them jovially.
Thrilled by the prospect of a high-paying customer at last, she took him by the hand and started to lead him up the stairs.
Unfortunately, they'd only made it up a few steps when he pulled his arm out of her grasp.
"What about her?" he asked, gesturing to Salindra.
Her employer frowned. "Well, that would be up to Salindra, and Salindra's very choosy. But if you ask her nicely, she might go upstairs with you."
Monica stepped back down the staircase and put her hands on her hips, barely able to refrain from tapping her foot impatiently. She already knew how this was going to end, and it wasn't good.
The old man walked over to where Salindra was sitting.
"Salindra? Would you come upstairs with me?" he asked hopefully.
Salindra merely looked at him, then smirked. "Sorry, you remind me too much of my grandfather."
Crestfallen, he bent his head down in shame.
"Come along, handsome," Monica cajoled, grabbing his wrinkled arm.
She slid her fingers under his chin so she could look him straight in the eyes.
"Who needs her when you've got us?" she wheedled, pitching her voice lower and giving him a sultry smile.
In all honesty, he reminded her of her grandfather too, but she couldn't afford to be selective. She didn't have delicate features or a dainty waist like Salindra did. No one ever composed odes to her beauty. Nor did she have Salindra's confidence and spellbinding charm.
But before she could take him upstairs and make him forget all about Salindra, the outer door suddenly blew open with a loud bang. Framed in the entryway stood a young woman clad all in red leather.
A Mord'Sith! Monica realized, recoiling in horror. It had taken her a moment to recognize her as such since the woman had shoulder-length blond hair rather than the customary long braid down her back, and the neckline of her uniform was open. But there was no mistaking the pair of deadly Agiels holstered at her hip.
Monica hastily retreated with the other ladies to the stairwell. The crowd shrank back in fear and dread as the Mord'Sith coolly eyed the old man.
"Why is it when I'm hunting down a man, I never have to look further than the first brothel past the city gates?" she drawled sardonically.
"Keep away from me!" the old man shouted.
"Sorry. Your little adventure is over," she said, sauntering in unhurriedly and making her way over to him. "I'm taking you back to Richard and Kahlan."
"I'm not going anywhere with you!"
The Mord'Sith grasped her Agiel, thrusting it towards him menacingly.
"I think you'll reconsider…"
But just as the Agiel was about to make contact with his torso, he vanished before their very eyes.
Swearing, the Mord'Sith looked around in vain, then turned on her heel and stormed out. The door slammed closed behind her.
Even then, the crowd rustled uneasily, still on heightened alert. Some of the patrons looked ready to bolt, while others seemed more indecisive.
After a brief period of uncertainty, Salindra's tinkling laugh finally set them all at ease, and they settled down almost immediately.
Taking in a deep, calming breath, Monica discreetly tugged her bodice back into place and smoothed out the front of her skirt. She had no choice but to return to the man she'd been cultivating before. He leered at her, then slapped her lightly on the rump. Suppressing a frown, she gave him a flirtatious wink.
As she slipped back into the seat across from him, Monica thought longingly of the pile of gold that had fallen on the cracked wooden surface of the bar, now locked securely away. She sighed deeply, mourning the lost opportunity.
A short while later, the excitement had died down, and it was back to business as usual.
Monica artfully tossed her long, dark, curly hair over her shoulder and pasted an adoring smile on her face. Lowering her lashes coyly, she tried not to show her boredom.
The man on her left made what he obviously thought was a witty remark, and she nodded and laughed merrily, not really listening.
Thankfully, the men never seemed to catch on to how she really felt. They only ever saw what they wanted to, anyway.
As the evening wore on, she felt more and more drained. She'd lost count of how many men she'd entertained already. It was never enough.
She was so tired of it all. Of performing nonstop, of stroking their fragile egos, of feigning interest in all their mundane, trivial little problems, needs and fantasies.
They were all the same, so self-absorbed and greedy for the slightest crumb of affection and company that they were willing to fork over fistfuls of their hard-earned money for it. Most of which ended up right back in Lord Drago's pockets instead of going to the ladies who deserved it.
Though it was her job to bring pleasure and distraction to others, however momentary that might be, she had very little pleasure in her own life.
She felt so weary. Some days she didn't know how she was going to make it through the drudgery and monotony of each night.
Most of all, she hated feeling like a commodity rather than a person.
For the millionth time, she regretted having to resort to bartering her body in order to earn a living. Sheer desperation had driven her to it. The D'Haran War had decimated the population of young men in the Midlands, and the men who remained were reluctant to settle down, lacking sufficient resources to support a wife and children.
There had to be some decent men left out there in the world, but she hadn't met any. And she wouldn't be likely to as long as she kept working here.
She also knew she couldn't do this forever. She'd seen what happened to the older women in her profession when their youth and beauty faded.
Inevitably, they were cast out onto the street, reduced to begging for food and charity.
She was just calculating the years she had left when a sudden, unexpected swirl of flashing light shook her out of her reverie.
Looking up in surprise, she noticed that Salindra was now dressed in a flowing blue and white gown, complete with lavish adornments fit for a princess.
"And what self-respecting princess goes around without a footman… and ladies-in-waiting?" the man in front of Salindra proclaimed.
With an ostentatious wave of his hand, he transformed their employer, and Lucy and Belinda as well, before their very eyes. The crowd rumbled in amazement.
Monica deduced it was the same man who'd been in earlier – he was wearing the same robes – only now he looked young and vigorous.
Salindra was beaming, carefully examining the extravagant jeweled ring now decorating her left hand.
"Well, the real question is, what kind of princess goes around without a prince?" she asked, grabbing him and kissing him soundly.
The line formed out the door. Before them, Salindra and the Wizard sat side by side in matching thrones, holding hands. Nearby, Lucy and Belinda sat on the floor, stroking enormous white purebred lapdogs.
The Wizard hadn't transformed her into a lady-in-waiting, but Monica didn't feel slighted. She had more important matters on her mind.
Though she was happy for Salindra that she'd found a new protector who was so powerful, she knew it wouldn't last. It never did.
And what did a palace and a prince matter when the Keeper of the Underworld was dead set on obliterating the land of the living and all who inhabited it?
After several more supplicants had their wishes granted, she finally found herself at the front of the line. Now that it was her turn to speak to the Wizard, she felt jittery. She inhaled deeply, steeling herself and summoning her courage. She only hoped he would take her words seriously.
The Wizard smiled broadly when he saw her.
"Ah, Monica."
A giant, sparkling ruby appeared between his fingers, and he held it out to her. "Will you accept this trifle in thanks for befriending me when I was a ragged old man with no castle to my name?"
It was tempting to pluck it out of his hand, but she forced herself to focus. She couldn't afford to be deterred from her purpose.
"It's very beautiful, Great Wizard, but there is trouble in Winterhaven that all the jewels of Athanasia can't fix. The dead coming back to life, murdering people in their homes… The Keeper's work, people say. Same for the cracks in the ground opening up all over."
"A tear in the Veil between the Underworld and the land of the living," he mused.
"There's a rift just outside the walls of the city," Monica apprised him.
"A monster crawled out of it last week, slaughtered two of my best customers on their way back to their village," the "footman" added.
"You have to help us."
Luckily, her impassioned plea had the desired effect on him.
Monica bravely led the way down the hill to the rift. The swirling green vapor and occasional sparks rising up from the chasm gave it an eerie appearance.
"So this is a rift between the Underworld and the land of the living?" he inquired.
"Yes, Wizard," she replied. "One of many all over the countryside."
With every day that passed, the fissures ripping through the earth seemed to be widening and deepening, the flames flickering brighter and hotter.
The people who'd followed them were looking around nervously, as though a creature from the Underworld might slither out of the abyss and attack them all at any moment.
Monica knew that creatures like that didn't usually didn't come out during the day, though. She was more worried about the banelings.
"Do you hear me, Keeper?" The Wizard's voice rang out clearly as he called out into the void.
"Your plans will come to nothing, for I, Zeddicus, greatest of all the Wizards, High Lord and Master of Winterhaven, Seeker of the Truth and Sealer of the Rift, will lock you in your prison for all eternity!"
Back up on the hill, pandemonium had broken out. She turned around, only to see Salindra fall into the dirt, yelping in pain.
They all ran to her, horrified by the sight of the heavy arrow protruding from her stomach.
Kneeling by her side, the Wizard pulled it out, but it was too late.
"She's dead," their employer quietly pronounced.
"My love, I will bring you back," the Wizard promised. He began chanting loudly and waving his arms and hands over her inert body.
Nothing happened.
Monica took Salindra's hand in her own. It already felt icy.
"She's getting cold. She's not coming back," she told him.
"There are some things nobody can do, even you, Great Wizard."
The Wizard refused to believe that. "No! There's nothing I can't do."
He began chanting again in earnest.
When she continued to be unresponsive, he let out a deafening howl of grief and frustration.
Suddenly, Salindra's eyes opened. She sat up abruptly and looked around in confusion.
"My beauty. I've brought you back," the Wizard lauded himself.
Salindra pursed her lips, all innocence and guilelessness. "Zeddicus. What am I doing here? I said no."
"What do you mean?"
"Darken Rahl told me I could come back to life if I turned against you, but I refused. He was about to throw me in the pit. You can't imagine how horrible it was… and then suddenly I was looking up at you. You brought me back."
She gave him a big smile.
"Yes. And I'll never let you go again," he vowed.
Relieved, Monica hugged Salindra warmly, then clasped Lucy's hand briefly for support.
The Wizard, looking greatly pleased with himself, began yet another pompous speech.
"Behold! I am Zeddicus, greatest of all Wizards, High Lord and Master of Winterhaven, Sealer of the Rift, Seeker of Truth, Defeater of Death and Restorer of Life!"
The people clapped and cheered as Salindra gazed adoringly up at him.
Monica sighed. She was starting to think she'd liked him better when he was an old man.
Soon afterwards, the crowd began rumbling again, and Monica looked up to see what the commotion was about.
"It's the Seeker!" someone divulged in a hushed whisper.
Craning her neck, she caught a glimpse of him as he walked by. He looked every bit as noble, valiant and handsome as the stories said.
If the Mord'Sith ever had to look for him, it certainly wouldn't be in a brothel. A man like him would never have to pay good coin for female companionship.
The Seeker was reputed to be a man of great honor, so he probably wasn't distracted by the usual vices that ordinary men were susceptible to, anyway. He had to stay focused on his quest, after all.
Besides, everyone knew he was passionately in love with his Confessor. Their love was legendary.
Monica didn't see her anywhere, but she had to be nearby. Especially if he was unarmed. She'd sworn to protect him with her life, always.
The Wizard didn't seem to clearly remember the Seeker or his Confessor, though.
"You and your friends tried to attack me when I was still an old man," he accused.
"We weren't trying to attack you; we were worried about you," the Seeker insisted. "Do you remember anything before yesterday?"
"No." The Wizard smiled, then looked back at Salindra. "But why would I need to? Nothing of any importance happened to me before yesterday."
"Something terrible did happen," the Seeker told him gravely. "While you and I were walking through the forest, you ate a persimmon that was spelled by a Witch, and you suddenly lost your memory. You were scared and confused. We tried to calm you down, but you ran away."
"Who are you, exactly?" the Wizard demanded suspiciously.
The Seeker took a step closer to him. "I'm your grandson."
"Grandson?"
"Yes. And a man never had a better grandfather. You risked your life for me hundreds of times."
The Wizard nodded his head, looking proud.
"Without you," the Seeker continued, "the most evil despot who ever lived would still be on his throne."
The Wizard's smug smile widened further. "Would he?"
"Yes. You saved the world. Many times."
Monica was moved by the Seeker's words but the Wizard was not.
"Well, grandson, I look forward to knowing you better, but right now I have a pressing engagement with the Keeper," the Wizard declared, drawing out the Sword of Truth from its scabbard.
Salindra stood up. "Zeddicus, no."
"Yes, Salindra. I'm marching into the rift alone to do battle with the Keeper," the Wizard informed her proudly.
"You can't go into the rift," the Seeker argued, looking worried.
"Ah, but I can," the Wizard maintained, turning away from him.
"Zedd, no!" the Seeker shouted, running after him.
"Don't worry, you won't lose your grandfather," the Wizard called out over his shoulder. "I'll come back, with the blood of Death himself on my sword."
The Seeker rushed in front of him, putting his hand on his chest to stop him. "No one goes into the Underworld and comes out alive."
The Wizard brushed him aside. "No one except me."
"You'll be killed!" the Seeker exclaimed. "And the Keeper will have the Sword of Truth and the compass."
"The Keeper fears me," the Wizard boasted.
The Seeker blinked in astonishment. "What makes you think that?"
"I was told by somebody who heard it with her own ears."
The Seeker turned to look at Salindra, who was standing behind him. He sighed.
"She's lying to you," he said urgently, trying to reason with him.
Angered, the Wizard aimed his sword at the Seeker.
"She's trying to lead you into some kind of trap."
He shook his head obstinately. "She wouldn't trick me. She wouldn't lie to me. She loves me. Stay back!" he roared.
Monica gaped at them.
Is he delusional?!
It was one thing to pretend a whore was the princess you'd been looking for… Quite another to believe she actually loved you and had your best interests in mind.
Salindra had mastered the art of pretending better than anyone, but it was difficult for Monica to believe that a man as worldly and powerful as the Wizard could be so blind.
His "princess" didn't love anyone but herself, and she was certainly capable of treachery if it suited her purposes.
Maybe the spell had addled more than just his memory.
As the Wizard turned and headed for the rift again, the Seeker raced after him.
"Zedd, no!"
But it was no use. The Wizard threw out his arm behind him, conjuring a magical barrier that obstructed his path. The Seeker grunted out in pain at the impact as he collided with it.
"Richard!" a female voice cried out.
"Look out, the Confessor's coming!" someone in the crowd hollered.
"Get her!" the soldiers thundered.
Everyone else scattered, frantically trying to get out of the crossfire. Monica fled with the rest of them up the hill.
From a safe distance, she watched in awe as the Confessor drew her daggers and began determinedly fighting her way through the soldiers like an avenging goddess. With her lightning-quick reflexes, she defeated them all easily within minutes.
The Mord'Sith who'd been in the tavern trailed behind her, dragging another woman by her long, auburn hair.
As they reached the Seeker, the woman stumbled to an inelegant stop.
"Get him out," the Mord'Sith ordered her through gritted teeth.
That must be the Witch, Monica realized as the woman cast a counterspell to free the Seeker.
Once she did, he dropped like a rock.
"He went into the rift!" the Seeker yelled, scrambling to get up.
"I'm going after him!" she overheard him say.
"Richard, no!"
"I can't abandon Zedd!"
The Confessor chased after him. "Then I'm coming with you!"
He shook his head. "If Zedd and I don't come back, someone needs to stay alive to find the Stone."
She started to protest, but he stopped her.
"Kahlan, the quest is bigger than any of us. Don't follow me."
After a long moment, the Confessor finally nodded reluctantly.
Monica couldn't believe her ears. The Seeker would go into the rift to save the Wizard – his grandfather? And the Confessor was willing to follow him?
It went beyond mere duty. She'd sacrifice everything for him, simply because she loved him.
Monica couldn't imagine loving any man so much she'd be willing to brave the fieriest pits of the Underworld for him.
While the crowd looked on apprehensively, the Seeker swiftly descended into the breach, trying to catch up with the Wizard before it was too late.
The Confessor proceeded more cautiously, getting as close as she possibly could without going in, then knelt down to wait for him.
Nearby, Monica caught sight of Salindra watching dispassionately.
She shot a puzzled glance at her friend. Why would she want the Wizard to enter the rift? The Seeker was right; no mortal could survive in the realm of the Keeper.
And then it hit her. Not even a Wizard of the First Order could bring people back from the dead. Only the Mord'Sith could do that with the Breath of Life.
But if the Wizard hadn't actually brought her back to life, then…
Salindra's a baneling.
As the minutes dragged by, the mounting tension became nearly unbearable. She didn't know how long it had been, but it felt like an eternity. The window of opportunity was closing fast, and they all knew it.
The Confessor perched anxiously by the rift, peering over the edge.
Monica studied her surreptitiously, thoroughly intrigued. There was nothing pretentious about her, and she had little need for enhancements to her natural beauty. Garbed in a simple sage green traveling dress, she looked far more regal and beautiful than any princess.
But no one wanted to touch a Confessor, no matter how beautiful she was.
Except the Seeker, it seemed.
To Monica, it was unfathomable.
In the brothel, the men who came in evaluated her solely based on physical appearance and paid money for her favors by the hour. None of them had ever been interested in anything but the use of her body. It made what should have been the most intimate of acts just one impersonal transaction after the next.
She'd grown cynical, thought the worst of men.
But the Seeker and his Confessor truly loved each other. That much was clear. She'd seen the way they'd gazed soulfully into each other's eyes.
All that she could offer him was her love and companionship, but that seemed to be enough for him.
What would it be like to be loved simply for who you were and not what you looked like or the physical gratification you could provide? Monica couldn't help but wonder.
Even Salindra, who received declarations of eternal devotion 10 times a day, had never experienced love like that.
The Seeker and Confessor had a relationship of equals, bound together by love and mutual trust.
It made Salindra and the Wizard's relationship seem like even more of a mockery by comparison.
Warily, Monica stole a glance at her friend, who was now pacing restlessly.
What if she'd doomed them all? If the Seeker and the Wizard perished and the Keeper succeeded in eradicating all life in the world…
Just then, the ground quaked beneath them, and the fiery green inferno swirled higher, spewing toxic fumes into the atmosphere.
She lost her balance and nearly tumbled over when the earth started shaking again even harder.
The crowd gasped, and she picked herself up to see what was happening. To her horror, she saw that the rift was rapidly narrowing.
"Richard!" the Confessor cried out.
Monica couldn't help but wince at the heartbreaking anguish in her voice.
Confessors were renowned for their self-control and emotional restraint, but all Monica could see was a woman in love desperately waiting for her beloved to return.
All too soon, the gap had closed completely. Even so, billowing smoke and a strong sulfuric odor continued to fill the air.
They all held their breath, fearing the worst.
But seconds later, the Wizard and the Seeker miraculously re-emerged over the hill together.
They were walking very sluggishly, no longer full of vitality. Everyone murmured in dismay upon seeing that they were both white-haired old men now. Weak and infirm, they crashed to the ground just before they reached the top of the hill.
The Confessor ran over to help them.
"Richard! Zedd!" she called out.
"I failed," the Wizard croaked.
Suddenly, Salindra collapsed, screaming in pain and clutching her stomach. Blood was pouring out of the wound where the arrow had struck her earlier.
The Wizard pushed himself up and staggered to her side. "Don't worry, my beauty. Whatever's wrong, I'll heal you."
"You can't," Salindra whispered, struggling to breathe. "I didn't deliver my side of the bargain. The Keeper's calling in the debt."
"Debt?"
"I tricked you."
The Wizard looked devastated. "Why?"
"I – I – I'm a practical girl," Salindra wheezed. They were her last words before she stopped breathing and died again, this time for good.
As her head fell limply back down on his gnarled arm and her eyes fluttered closed, he began weeping inconsolably, throwing himself prostrate over her dead body.
The Mord'Sith had reached the end of her patience. "Break the spell," she commanded the Witch, tightening her grip on her arm and raising her Agiel up near her neck. "Now!"
Grimacing disdainfully, the Witch closed her eyes and grudgingly began chanting an incantation.
Instantly, the Wizard lifted his head from Salindra's chest in bewilderment, then stood up as the Seeker and the Confessor hobbled their way over to him. The Seeker was leaning heavily against her as she helped him walk, supporting most of his weight.
"Richard! Kahlan! What in the name of Creation have I done?" the Wizard wailed, hugging them tightly.
"Whatever you did, it wasn't your fault," the Confessor asserted tersely. "It was Shota's."
Monica reeled back in shock, the words hitting her like a blow. Surely the Wizard bore some responsibility for his actions.
Salindra had preyed on his vanity, had known just what to say to manipulate him into doing what she'd wanted… But he should have known better.
Memory spell or not, his egotism was partly to blame for her death.
She felt her throat close up and the heat of indignation rising on her cheeks.
To his credit, the Wizard didn't appear comforted.
"No," the Witch sniffed haughtily. "I was trying to save everyone, and I might have succeeded if I hadn't underestimated your pride and arrogance."
"Which are exceeded only by your own!" the Wizard bellowed.
"She's of no use to us now. Should I kill her?" the Mord'Sith asked silkily, looking as if she'd like nothing more than to torture her to death slowly and painfully to pay her back for all the trouble she'd caused.
"No," the Seeker said firmly. "We may need her someday."
Rolling her eyes, the Mord'Sith released her arm, and the Witch quickly stepped out of reach. She straightened her shoulders and tossed her head back, attempting to regain her dignity.
"Apparently you've gained wisdom in your old age," she sneered.
Turning to address the Wizard once again, she smiled cruelly. "When you're ready to name a new Seeker, call on me. Meanwhile, enjoy the one you've got."
Then, in a wisp of magic, she disappeared.
When she was gone, the Seeker sagged against his Confessor, looking exhausted. Through it all, she hadn't left his side. She was still holding him up, with her right arm around his back and her left hand on his chest.
"Zedd," the Confessor entreated. "Can you do anything?"
They all stared in wonder as the Wizard raised his hands and began chanting.
"Oh!" several people gasped as the Seeker was magically restored to his youthful self.
The Seeker breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled.
"Farewell, Salindra. May the Spirits light your way through the Land of Shadow to the Halls of Eternal Peace."
After lighting the funeral pyre, Monica stepped back sadly.
Looking around, she couldn't help but notice that very few people in attendance seemed to be genuinely mourning her death.
Their lives weren't worth much. Even though Salindra had always been the most sought after of them all, she was still only a whore.
She caught sight of the Wizard standing silently a slight distance away with none of the grief he'd exhibited previously, only regret etched on his face.
Monica wrapped her arms around herself, blinking at the sting of angry tears prickling behind her eyelids. No, he hadn't cared about Salindra, hadn't known anything about her besides that she was beautiful. He hadn't even been aware of anything else she might have had to offer.
And now Salindra was dead because of him. It was all so senseless.
That was always the danger in accompanying a powerful man, especially these days. It made you a target.
At least the Confessor had her combat skills and her powers to protect her. And her Seeker.
Monica bit back a sob. Despite it all, Salindra had been her friend. She'd been vain and selfish, but she hadn't deserved to die.
She couldn't blame Salindra for getting carried away. They all dreamed of escape, of being rescued by a wealthy, gallant prince who'd whisk them away to a life of luxury and pampering in an elegant palace with servants to wait upon them.
Salindra had gambled one time too many, and she'd ended up losing everything.
All too soon, the fire burned itself out, leaving behind nothing more than a smoking pile of ash. People began milling around aimlessly, too restless to stand still.
Numbly, she bowed her head, wishing desperately for the crowd to disperse so she could be alone. Instead, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the soft grass.
Looking up, she saw the Confessor approaching her.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," she said gently.
Monica nearly broke down crying again. She hadn't expected her to express compassion for a common harlot. Usually women of good virtue were quick to judge them and shun them.
But there was no mistaking the sincerity in the Confessor's voice.
"Thank you," she managed, trying her best to maintain her composure.
When it was over, they all gathered around solemnly. The Seeker reassured them that now that he had the Sword of Truth and the compass back, he would resume his quest and wouldn't stop until he'd succeeded in finding the Stone of Tears.
At first, the crowd looked a little uncertain. After all, the Wizard had denounced him in front of everyone as "the false Seeker" and had claimed he was prophesied to fail.
Though the Seeker had shown great courage by going into the rift after the Wizard, they weren't sure that would be enough.
Years of constant hardship had taken their toll on everyone. The chaos, the neverending fear and uncertainty…
The world was a dangerous place, and they all longed for safety and stability. They wanted immediate solutions to their problems, and the Wizard had provided that by conjuring fistfuls of gold coins out of thin air and striking down enemies in a scorching blaze of Wizard's Fire.
The common people were easily impressed by such displays, and the fact remained that the Seeker didn't have any magic and hadn't performed any remarkable feats.
But as he continued to speak, Monica felt a small, faint ray of hope.
Unlike the Wizard's bombastic speeches, the Seeker's words were straightforward and heartfelt. He wasn't as charismatic and eloquent as his grandfather, but he was still compelling in his own way. There was something about him that made people believe in him and want to follow him.
It soon became clear that whereas the Wizard had only wanted power and glory for himself, the Seeker was full of humility and genuinely believed that everyone was deserving of his help.
He also understood that the best way to help people was to free them from oppression and let them make their own choices rather than making them dependent on someone powerful.
She took comfort in the knowledge that someone was sympathetic to their plight and actually had the capability to do something about it.
In any case, they'd freed Winterhaven from the tyranny of Lord Drago, and the rift nearby was now sealed since the Keeper and his minions had tried to trap them in it. Life in their little village would surely improve just from that.
Monica was far more practical than Salindra had ever been. She didn't covet jewels or gowns and riches. She'd settle for any decent man who cared for her and showed her kindness. A home of her own, honest work, a chance to know the joys of motherhood. A simple life.
The meager existence she had was still preferable to death, and she was grateful she still had it.
She had to believe that they could have a better future. That once the tear in the Veil was repaired, peace and prosperity would return to all the lands.
In the meantime, all she could do was keep waiting.
The End!
Author's Endnote: Here are the links to "Autumn" and "Homecoming Queen" by Alyse:
alyse –dot – livejournal –dot– com/714576 –dot– html#cutid4
alyse –dot – livejournal –dot– com/779353 –dot– html#cutid4