A/N: So here we are once more Thanks for the reviews; sarafine-ecleips, NinjaGirl012, tamorapiercefanatic, ann, and missgrant. A few quick notes, NinjaGirl012: I think you mean Alan and Francesca, but I'm glad you liked it regardless. Tamorapiercefanatic: Remember, they may not die, Francesca just has to figure out how to stop it – I know, my plot gremlins are MEAN! Sarafine-ecleips: Here's more for ya!
Francesca sighed and leaned against Snowstorm's warm, solid side, idly wondering if she might get some peaceful sleep out here. It was Sunday, and she'd had next to no sleep since she'd had the vision. On top of that, since their almost fight, Alan had seemed to be always angry about something; even their other friends had noticed.
If I didn't have other things to worry about, Francesca thought tiredly, and a bit guiltily. I'd just ask him flat out what his problem was. Part of her felt like a bad friend for not being more concerned, while another part pointed out that she was trying to find a way to keep a large part of Alan's family – adopted and blood – alive.
"Hello," Francesca jumped a bit and blinked at the wild mage, who was standing outside Snowstorm's stall.
"Hello, my lady," Francesca gave her a small smile. Before either woman could say anything else, Rain jumped up to lay across the door of the stall. "There you are," Francesca told the bobcat. "I wondered of someone saw you and hunted you down. I guess not."
Daine ginned at her. "He says that most twoleggers are too stupid and slow to spot him, let alone catch him."
With a lopsided smile, Francesca agreed.
"He's worried about you," Daine told her after a moment.
"Oh," Francesca asked, waving at Fianola and Alan who'd just walked into the stables.
"Francesca," Daine seemed to hesitate for a second. "Have you ever been into the Chapel of the Ordeal?"
"What," Francesca gave Daine all of her attention. "No, of course not. It's forbidden for pages."
"Not that that's stopped you before," Alan muttered just loud enough for her to hear.
Francesca clenched her jaw; Alan hadn't said anything to their friends about seeing her walk down from Balor's Needle, so why he was bringing it up now left Francesca confused.
"Why do you ask," Francesca said to the wild mage, pointedly ignoring Alan. For now.
"Rain's worried about you," Daine told her bluntly. "Something about 'the staring thing'," Daine shrugged. It took all of Francesca's self-control not to stiffen or start cursing Rain. "He also mentioned something that I'd heard from another animal, who was referring to the Chamber of Ordeal."
Francesca swallowed hard, and went back to brushing her horse. "I don't know what he was referring to, my lady." She told the older woman in her most earnest, almost bored, unconcerned voice.
Diane was silent for a moment. "Are you afraid of Numair," it was worded like a question, but the wild mage said it like a statement. Thankfully, whatever anger Alan felt towards her did not stop him from helping her.
"Auntie Daine," Alan said reasonably. "Half of the Eastern and Southern Lands are afraid of Uncle Numair. Francesca's shy, she was afraid of you when she first met you." Francesca refrain from clarifying that she hadn't been afraid – Alan was trying to help, so she let him. "Heck, she was afraid of me, too."
The wild mage seemed to accept that, or she didn't feel like arguing about it. Either way she bid them all a good day and left. Francesca leaned hard against the side of the stall.
"Anyone want a pesky bobcat, without any manners?" she asked her friends in an attempt to distract them. It didn't work.
"You had a vision," Fianola demanded in a whisper. "When? And why did Rain tell Daine about it?"
Francesca shrugged, not looking at them.
"Did you go into the Chapel of the Ordeal," Alan demanded.
Francesca frowned at him. "Of course not," she told him, feeling offended. "It's off limits to pages, you know that."
"So is Balor's Needle," Alan shot back. At this point they were glaring at each other. Fianola was glancing between them, as if trying to figure out whose side to be on. Francesca turned away, putting up the brushes before leaving Snowstorm's stall.
"Drop it, Alan," she warned him. Honestly, if he wanted to confront her about it in private, she might tell him something. But at the moment, she didn't want all of her friends to know.
"Okay, so I think this has something to do with why Alan has been snapping at everyone all week," Fianola said in a chipper voice, Alan shot her a glare, which she ignored. Francesca ignored them both and was walking steadily towards the palace. She was about halfway there when she heard a familiar voice call her name. Excitement flooded her as she remembered the vision of her brother returning to the palace during Mid-Winter, she turned and sure enough saw Aiden waving at her.
Just like in the vision all those months ago, Francesca yelped and ran to her brother. Throwing her arms around him, Aiden picked her up and spun her around, when he set her down he held her at arm's length. "Let's see," he said teasingly. "Both arms, both legs, your head's still attached. How many times have you gotten bashed on the head?"
"Only a time or two. I duck," she replied flippantly. "I didn't expect you back for midwinter," she told him. Then grinned, "Actually I did, but that's not the point."
"My lord's thinking about taking a squire, also the war's all but over, and we need to refill the ranks." Francesca laughed and shoved him.
"I know. Go bathe," she ordered. Aiden gave an ironic salute and she shoved him again. They hugged again and her brother went to find his bath. Rejoining her friends, Francesca didn't really notice the strange looks they gave her. They were at lunch before Alan or Fianola said anything.
"So," Fianola said, drawling the word. "That was a friendly greeting with…"
Francesca frowned at her friends before she realized what Fianola was getting at.
Francesca snorted, "That was my brother, Aiden." She explained, and saw all of their expressions clear.
"I thought that it was weird when Alan said you threw yourself at some guy," Liam said. Francesca choked on the drink she'd just taken. When she could finally breathe, she gave Alan a sour look.
"So I 'threw myself at some guy', huh?" Alan flushed a bit, and kicked Liam, but didn't answer Francesca's question.
"Didn't you say that your brother was in the King's Own," Traver interrupted, Francesca nodded. "Why are they here, instead of in the North?"
"To restock the ranks," Francesca answered, buttering a roll. "And Lord Raoul is going to take a squire."
"Really…" Fianola narrowed her eyes and leaned towards her. "You know who it is, don't you." She accused, and Francesca couldn't stop a satisfied smile from crossing her face.
"Tell," all of her friends demanded at once, causing her to laugh. She refused to her friends' irritation.
Later in the day, Alan cornered her, standing with his arms crossed and a fierce expression on his face. "We need to talk."
"Okay," Francesca told him, he looked surprised. "Do I have to guess, or will you tell me?"
"Why did you go to Balor's Needle," Francesca sighed and rubbed her head.
"You're like a dog with a bone, you know that. I told you before I went there to think. Honestly, I just kind of ended up there without realizing it."
"Why did you climb it then?"
"Two reasons," Francesca told him tiredly. "First, I'd just like to say that I hate explaining myself, but I digress. I went up, because it was someplace nobody would look for me, and it was peaceful. I could think. I didn't feel…suffocated."
"Why did you feel suffocated," Alan sat across from her, no longer standing over her.
Francesca gave him a look that held much more sadness than she realized. It occurred to Alan, that something when they were all laughing and joking, Francesca would get that ancient, sad look in her eyes. That look that said that she knew things that no one else did; that no one else wanted to know.
"I can't stop the visions," she told him quietly. "When I was a child, I had a vision of people dying in a landslide. There was nothing I, or anyone else, could do. Do you know what it's like? Knowing something terrible is going to happen? And you can't stop it? Or worse, you can, but have no idea how? Sometimes it just gets overwhelming. I look at people my own age and think 'Oh is this person going to actually live to a decent age? Or are they going to die in some stupid, uncontrollable accident?' I ask myself if I can stop most of those accidents. Sometimes…it's just too much."
Alan was silent for a long time, letting her words sink in. "Do you want to talk about the vision you had last week," Alan ask cautiously.
"Not really," Francesca told him dully. "Let's just say; blood, death, horror, and apparently it's up to me to stop it."
"Why do you say that," Alan asked.
"It was a prophecy," she told him. "Just like the Protector of the Small." When Alan made a questioning sound, Francesca explained. "'The Protector of the Small will come; with the knowing animals, the healer and the horse boy, the armed men and the marked men, the trapper and the bitter mother; Blayce the Gallan and the killing machines will fall';" she quoted. "I had that prophecy several years ago, from what I heard; every seer in the Eastern Lands received it as well. There was much debate over who the Protector of the Small is, and the King and Queen chose to keep it quiet, to give them a fighting chance."
"Don't the gods send prophecies," he asked.
"Maybe, I just know that whatever sent the prophecy about the Protector of the Small also sent the other one." Francesca shrugged, staring morosely out the library window. "The only good thing about it is that I have time… a few years, at least. Can we talk about something else, please?"
Alan was quiet, and then grinned at her. "In her last letter, my mom asked if your arm was healed, and wanted me to tell you to 'hit low' next time."
Francesca groaned and slugged his arm. "Oh, thank you," she told him in a scathing tone. "I had temporarily blocked out the fact that your mother and the king say me beaten to a bloody pulp, thank you for reminding me."
"You're welcome," he responded cheerfully. She glowered at him for a moment, before standing and stretching.
"Don't mention this to the others, okay? I don't want too many people knowing."
"That's understandable," he told her. "Not that I could tell them much, since you haven't told me much." He pointed out practically. "In return you can tell me who Lord Raoul will pick as his squire. Or who will win my bet with Fianola."
"I could tell you," she acknowledged. "But I won't. Suffer in ignorance." They parted ways in the page's wing. Francesca did as many of the press-up Fianola had taught her as she could, her left arm tired quickly. With ruthless determination, Francesca forced herself to do several with only her left hand, to help strengthen it.
Francesca did as many exercises as she could think of, despite it being past lights out, until she was so tired she could barely move. Sadly, that did not help her sleep.
Rain slipped in the window, shooting one last glare at the snow outside. He shook the melted snow from his pelt and began to wash, thinking. He didn't mind snow, usually, but hated when it melted on his pelt, and left him soaked. Being wet like that made him remember things he felt were pointless to think about.
He glanced towards the bed, where Francesca tossed and turned. He didn't think about the past before he's met her, never worried about the future either. Neither had his mother or three littermates. He'd met Francesca when his mother had started to teach him to hunt. Those memories were much hazy-er and confusing than the ones after he met Francesca.
Somehow, she'd found him, in that damp forest while he waited for his family to move. The twolegger-who-is-bobcat, had explained to him that his family was killed in a trap. She couldn't explain why the twolegger-friend-Francesca had not just left him or killed him.
The twolegger-who-is-People and the twolegger-who-is-bobcat have both asked him why he stays with twolegger-friend-Francesca; he stayed with her because she never tried to trap him, and because he wanted to know why she'd helped him.
Deciding that he'd have to try something else to help her, since talking to the twolegger-who-is-People didn't do anything; Rain shook himself one final time, and curled up by twolegger-friend-Francesca's head, and slept.
Francesca stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment, contemplating cutting off her hair; Rain had made a game out of attacking the end of the braid. A knock at her door saved her hair, for now. Opening the door reviled Fianola.
"I need help," she declared, walking into the room.
"With what," Francesca began, in answer Fianola threw her tunic at Francesca's head. Examining it, Francesca found a long rip in it. "I can fix this," she told her friend with a nod. Fianola seemed relieved. As Francesca sewed, she asked, "What are the boys doing?"
"Who knows," Fianola shrugged, Francesca chuckled.
"Do you remember last year? Traver looked like he'd let his horse eat his hair, it was so messy. I thought Master Oakbridge was going to kill him."
"Alan wasn't much better," Fianola remembered. "I think he used the shirt to clean up spilled ink or something."
The two laughed over the memories, as Francesca finished mending the tunic. When it was done, she held it up to inspect, before giving it to Fianola.
"Sometimes it still shocks me to see you do things like that," she confessed. "I would have stuck myself a half dozen times, at least."
"If you had the same experiences, you would be just as proficient. Come on, let's go get the boys."
Knocking on Traver and Liam's doors got not answer, nor did Lokak's, when they reached Alan's they didn't knock, they could hear raised voices. Exchanging a glance, Fianola slowly opened the door. The scene inside was chaos; the boys seemed to be trying to get their hair to lie flat by…drowning each other? Traver's cloths appeared inside out, and had sweat stains. Liam was the most neatly dressed, but he seemed to be having trouble with his hair. Alan's hair, shirt, hose and face appeared to be fighting to be the reddest. Lokak seemed so nervous that the girls worried that he might faint. All four boy's hair was soaked.
The two girls didn't watch for more than a few moments before the started to laugh. To Francesca's eyes it seemed the boys were more panicked than any court lady, and with fewer results. As one the boys spun to see Fianola and Francesca laughing so hard they couldn't stand up. When they finally stopped laughing – mostly – Francesca and Fianola walked in to help their friends.
The boys accepted the help gratefully, and in a short time they were all walking to report to the Master of Ceremonies.
"You know that if you needed help, you could have come and asked," Francesca pointed out practically.
"Fianola's not much a help," Traver argued. "She always has tears in her clothes."
"Besides, we know you did like that time you spent at the convent," Liam told her.
"We didn't want to ask, in case you found it rude," Alan explained.
Francesca gave them all a strange look. "I didn't realize I was that sensitive," she remarked dryly. "Next time you need help, just ask."
They arrived a bit early and waited for Master Oakbridge to explain their duties and positions. This year, Francesca actually paid attention, knowing that it would be important. Memorizing her position she realized that she would likely be waiting on people of some importance.
Looking at who she had to wait on for the feast, Francesca cursed. Did Master Oakbridge do this to be cruel? Or did he just not realize that he was probably going to have to find a new place for her tomorrow?
"Do you see your table," Liam asked quietly, from beside her.
"Yes," she growled, unhappily. "Court ladies," she told him, making the words sound like a curse. She didn't say anymore, as they were sent to take the finger bowls to their tables. The closer she got to the table, the more frustrated she became with the assignment. She saw several women at the table that she couldn't stand, and one or two friends. Silently praying that she wouldn't be recognized, Francesca began to offer the finger bowls to the ladies.
By the time the fish course was being served, Francesca's jaw hurt from clenching it. She stood by Alan, waiting for the plates to be handed to her.
"Do you think that I would get away with 'accidentally' dropping the dish in their laps," she asked him in a surprisingly calm voice.
"Doubt it," he told her with a grin.
With a sigh she took the plates and returned to the table. When she got there, one of the ladies who seemed to find joy in being nasty, lean towards her. "Tell me, Francesca dear. Did your parents send you here because it was your only chance to find a husband?"
Francesca, tired of ignoring these barbs, gave the lady a pleasant smile and laughed softly. "Oh no, not at all. After all, I need not employ such trickery should I desire to marry. Why, did your family discuss the option?" the lady's face flushed in fury. "Oh, dear you really shouldn't wear that color, it makes you look," she lowered her voice. "Like a trollop. Just a piece of friendly advice."
Walking away, Francesca felt very satisfied, for the rest of the meal, none of the other attempted to taunt her.
Now, if only I could figure out the prophecy, Francesca thought with a bit a cheer that evening.
A/N: Wow, this is the longest chapter. Wow, is it too long? Anyway, I just wanted to say that I think I should get a Beta reader, because, well I don't read my own writing, so I know I don't always catch mistakes. Let me know if you are interested.