A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I promise that this chapter is (probably) not filler. Training has started up again! New pages have arrived! Will more people find out Francesca's secret? (Seriously, will they? My plot gremlins won't tell me:( ) Will Fianola and Alan pass the big exams? Why am I asking that question right now? I don't think this chapter will cover an entire year. I'm gonna stop rambling now. Hope you enjoy! 3
Francesca finished unpacking, and looked around her room, feeling happy. Training would pick up again in a few days, and she would see her friends again. Deciding to see if her friends were back yet, she headed towards the door. The second her had touched the door, she was thrown into a vision.
Several boys crouched outside the door – her door – rigging up traps. A bucket above the door, oil a few steps down the hall, and a few other nasty tricks.
Francesca blinked and scowled. This wasn't the first time her visions had saved her from nasty tricks. She opened the door suddenly surprising the three boys outside; the bucket fell on one of their heads. She stared at them, a scowl on her face; they fled when they heard people coming down the hall. Francesca shook her head, disgusted. Skirting the oil she went to find Salma, not wanting anyone to fall and hurt themselves because of a trick meant for her. She remained silent when it came time to choose first-years to sponsor. The entire time, the three pages that she'd caught trying to trap her shot her dirty looks, she ignored them.
Over dinner, she asked about her friend's summer, and found out from Alan, that his mom was in the capital, briefly. Francesca half wanted to ask to meet the Lioness, but the thought of actually meeting the famous lady knight terrified her. Fianola while openly in awe of the knight being in the palace did not have the same hero-worship for the Lioness as she did for Keladry of Mindelan. Traver asked all of them if they wanted to help show the first-year he'd chosen to sponsor around – Francesca declined, she wanted to pick up some practice weapons' she'd had weighted, which had been Fianola's suggestion.
She was walking back to her room, when she heard someone behind her. Pausing, she glanced behind her; two boys, one first-year and one of the boys from earlier were behind her. She shook her head and turned back around – nothing was odd about a senior page showing around the first –year he'd sponsored. She took two steps forward and froze; the other two boys from earlier were in front of her, another glance behind her showed that the two pages were closing in, eyes focused on her.
Francesca scowled at them, and turned so that she could watch all four. They closed in so that they formed a half-circle, blocking any escape.
"You shouldn't have done that," the tallest of the group told her. He was a tall, blocky page – his pock-marked face ugly and square.
"Done what," Francesca asked quietly. They thought that just because someone was quiet, they were scared or stupid; she would use that to her advantage.
"You should know better than to make fools out of people who are your betters," another page hissed. This one was a fourth-year page who had actually asked her 'price' last year. She'd responded that not even a prostitute would have him, and if he wanted to ever have children he'd leave her alone – he hadn't liked her since.
"Since all of you are beneath me, that's not a problem." Francesca replied, knowing that it would result in them attacking her. She kept her back to the wall, cursing to herself. She kicked the first-year in the stomach and shoved him into the opposite wall – getting him out of the fight. She ducked as many of the punches as she could, but she was out match. The three pages that closed in on her were all fourth-years, the shortest was her height, and out-weighed her by quite a bit.
She maintained herself alright, until one of the boys got behind her. He grabbed her arm and twisted until she heard a snap. The pain made Francesca's vision go black, then white, before returning to normal. She wasn't sure how much longer the three boys pounded her, she they fled. At first she was confused, then she heard the footsteps – they'd left so that they weren't caught.
Stumbling to her feet, Francesca gentle held her broken hand to her chest, and began to walk down the hall towards her room. She had to lean against the wall for support.
"Page Francesca," Francesca closed her eyes and made a face. It was just her luck that the training master would be the one that the other pages had fled. Turning around she bowed, and saw that the two Shang masters were with Lord Padraig. The training master took in her appearance in less than a second. "My office," he rapped out. Once more Francesca bowed, and followed the training master to his office.
As she expected she was asked what happened, who she fought with, and other such questions. She responded – as custom dictated – that she'd fallen down.
"If that is so, then how did you break your arm," the training master demanded, face hard.
"I tried to catch myself when I fell," Francesca told him, her face in a wide-eyed innocent look that she'd mastered in the convent. "It did not work out the way I planned." It took almost half a bell for the training master to determine that she was sticking with her story; he gave her punishment work in the palace stores and ordered her to get her arm seen to. She bowed and left. She headed to the page's wing first, hoping Alan or one of the others could direct her to the healers, as she'd never been before.
Alan was in his room – with Liam, Fianola, Traver and the first-year, Lokak of Trebond. It was Lokak who saw her first, he gaped, Francesca grimaced and leaned against the door, waiting for her friends to freak-out, she didn't have to wait long. They all stared at her, she knew that she looked bad; the broken arm aside, she had spilt above and below one eye, it was swollen so badly that she couldn't see out of it. She felt like her ribs were bruised, at least, from kicks. When her friends had been frozen in shock for long enough to make her worry, she spoke.
"I guess I look worse than I thought, should have cleaned up first, I guess." It came out a bit muffled; as she'd taken….she wasn't sure how many blows to the jaw, and it throbbed fiercely. "Alan, could you tell me how to get to the healers?"
"Your arm's broken," Fianola exclaimed, aghast.
Francesca nodded, tiredly.
"What happened to you," Liam asked, he look worried.
Francesca raised her eyebrows, silently asking if he really needed her to answer that question.
"Come on, I'll show you," Alan told her . "And on the way you can fill us in."
"What do you think," she grumbled. "I fell down."
The other snorted and gave her an I'm-not-buying-what-your-selling look. Francesca followed Alan, feeling more tired than ever before. As they reached the infirmary, Francesca looked up, and froze just inside the door, her one good eye widening in horror and surprise.
Besides Duke Baird, who'd returned from the front lines of the war, the infirmary also hosted the Lioness and the King. Francesca stared, and thought a bit hysterically, At least the cuts on my face probably stopped bleeding, after all, there's no more blood there anymore.
"Ma," Alan stated surprised, Francesca wanted to ask him, why Shakith's name did he draw attention to them. Lady Alanna, King Jonathan and Duke Baird turned towards them. All of the pages bowed to the king, Francesca thought she might faint, and not because of the pain from her arm, ribs and jaw – or, not just that.
Francesca gave Alan a pleading look, he took pity on her.
"Your grace," Alan said, addressing the healer. "Lord Padraig sent Francesca due to…falling down." Francesca glared at the floor for the way he paused, wanting to kick him. "She broke her arm." The healer ushered her in and helped her onto the examining table.
"You fell," was the disbelieving question, from the Lioness, as she studied the girl.
Francesca hunched her shoulders, and mumbled. "Yes, my lady."
"It's not so far-fetched," the king told his champion. "Didn't you once 'fall' and break your arm?"
Francesca gave both Liam and Alan twin looks, begging them to help her – to get their parent's attention somewhere else. They met her gaze squarely, telling her silently that this was what she got for not telling them the truth. Never before had she regretted the decision to keep things she viewed as her business alone, to herself.
"Your name is Francesca," Lady Alanna queried, smiling at the girl. "Alan's mentioned you once or twice in letters, but never your fief."
"It's Nond, my lady," Francesca mumbled, looking at her knees.
"It will be best to put a slow healing on your arm," Duke Baird interrupted. "Are you left-handed?" He nodded when Francesca shook her head. "You're lucky then, that you broke the left." He frowned, "You've bruised ribs as well, from your fall, as well?"
Francesca blushed a bit, but mumbled something that sounded like agreement. When the healer finally stepped back, and nodded at his work, Francesca no longer felt tired. She always felt full of energy after a healing. As usual, she avoided everyone's gaze, trying not to notice the looks that the king and the Lioness had been giving her since she'd told them that she was a Nond.
"You seem better," Fianola told her, still studying her with a worried look.
"I always feel hyper after a healing," Francesca admitted with a grimace. "I don't know why. And of course I'm better, I can see from both eyes!"
"You never fight," Liam said shaking his head in confusion. "Why start now?"
Francesca sighed, "It wasn't planned, you know. Truthfully, it's an experience that I could have gone without." She brightened a tiny bit. "On the bright side, I don't have to re-learn anything with my left-hand… though it may be a good idea for the future." She mused.
Alan snorted, "You weren't kidding about being hyper. I don't think I've ever seen you this animated."
Francesca blushed and looked away. Then berated herself, she was a knight-in-training, not some blushing lady trying to catch a husband. Luckily for her, none of her friends seemed to think her behavior any odder than normal, though they were still demanding answers. Finally when they reached the page's wing she stopped and stared at her friends.
"Alright, enough," she told them firmly. "Let's assume, that I did say that I'd been in a fight. So what? You'd want to know who, if it was a fair fight or not, a fact that you've all already drawn your own conclusions to." She met each of their eyes, and saw that they all agree, even if they didn't like it, with her statements. "Then you'll want to know who I fought with. What would be the point? You lot would do something stupid, and I'd feel responsible; now will you please stop asking?"
After a moment of silence Traver spoke. "Um, two questions." Francesca pursed her lips and nodded. "One; does that mean that you are admitting that you fought? And two; what makes you think that we'd do something stupid?"
Francesca grinned at them. "Because," she said, ignoring the first question. "There are too few people in this group that think carefully before they act, and I wouldn't be involved with it, leaving just one." She walked away, grinning as her friends protested that they thought, and would not do something stupid.
When training started up in truth a few days later, Francesca found herself cursing her broken arm repeatedly. It was a lot more work than she'd first thought it would be, doing things one-handed, even when the one hand was her dominant hand. By lunch she was almost as exhausted as she'd been the night before. Her friends talked about the war, Alan had received stories and rumors from the front lines from his mother, and various adopted aunts and uncles. One thing that Alan and the other spoke about caught her attention more than the rest of the conversation.
"When the killing machines just stopped," Alan was saying. "Everyone was so confused, and then the seers starting talking about someone, they called the 'Protector of the Small'."
Francesca shivered. She remembered exactly when the killing machines stopped two years ago. The vision she'd had had been unlike any other; a shadow-y figure that was the 'Protector of the Small', standing tall, a strand weapon in hand, and an assortment of companions ranging from children to old men and women. The worst part was the soft alien voice, so cold and detached, talking about the Protector, and the men and women that fought with the mysterious warrior.
That vision had frightened her more than anything else in her life, and she was pretty sure that she never wanted to meet the Protector of the Small.
"Francesca," Fianola asked, from her tone it was not the first time.
"Sorry, what?" Francesca asked blinking, Fianola rolled her eyes.
"I said, if you could have any knight for your knight master, who would it be?"
"Um," Francesca bit her lip. "Probably, Lady Keladry." She responded as they all headed to turn in their tray to the washers.
A/N: Wow, well first off, thanks to NinjaGirl012, TheRealProtector, oz1dke, and Leppara, for reviewing, this also the most reviews I've gotten for one chapter, yay! Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed, but for whatever reason didn't review. I'm glad you liked the other chapters and I hope you like this one. :) 3