AN: So here we are again! Thanks to everyone who's been bearing with me and my sporadic updating. I promise you all that I'm still working on this fic; school just makes it hard sometimes.
Thanks to: Lady Sabine of Macayhill, animato22
Francesca swiftly led both mounts away to care for, while the two tired knights, no doubt, went it rest. As she approached the tents that she and her knight mistress were staying in, Francesca paused hearing someone speak. She couldn't make out what was said, but could tell it came from her knight mistress's tent. She hesitated, not wanting to interrupt what might be an important or private conversation. Francesca turned around, heading back to the stables.
Keladry of Mindelan had just changed out of the sweat soaked clothes she had jousted in, when a voice called from outside her tent. Curious she stuck her head out, the woman who stood there was old, but was not stooped with age; she had a sharp, direct gaze, though not unfriendly.
"Lady Knight Keladry," the woman questioned, when Kel nodded the woman gave a curtsy. "I am Lady Suzann of Arenaver. May I speak to you?"
"Of course, my lady," Kel replied in mild surprise. "Please, come in."
"Thank you," the older woman followed Kel into the tent, and took the stool Kel offered. "I would like to apologize," she announced calmly.
"Apologize," Kel questioned.
"Yes. As you may or may not know, your squire is my granddaughter; her mother is my daughter and it is for her I must apologize. I heard about the things my daughter has said about you and the Lioness, please accept my sincerest apologizes and my thanks for not holding Francesca's family against her."
Kel was mildly surprised, though Francesca had said her mother's relatives were more pleasant, she had found it hard to believe. The woman smiled knowingly, as though she sensed Kel's surprise and disbelief.
"Something you should understand, Lady Knight, is that Flozile is, and always has been a horribly jealous woman; even as a child she if she felt slighted in the least she would pitch the most horrid fits." Lady Suzann sighed, "And she feels slighted by Francesca, because my granddaughter inherited the Sight from me. Added to that, the fact that Francesca's birth was so very hard on her… the healers told my daughter that she could have no more children. So, instead of accepting it as something the gods had decreed, Flozile decided that it was Francesca's fault and that her choice to win her shield – not to mention the girl's refusal to wed that horrid Stone Mountain boy – is all a childish wish to hurt her mother. Of course, none of that excuses her behavior.
"Now," Lady Suzann stood her voice brisk. "You're likely tired from your joust, I'll leave you to rest, and I hope to see you and Francesca this evening." With a small curtsy the old woman swept out of the tent, leaving a bemused lady knight in her wake.
Francesca knocked lightly on the tent poles of her mistress' tent. "My lady," she queried.
Seeing her, Kel beckoned Francesca in. "You took a bit longer than expected to care for two horses," Kel remarked to her squire.
"Actually, when I finished it I heard you talking with someone and I didn't want to interrupt." Francesca told her.
"It was your grandmother actually," Kel told her. Francesca stared for a moment, and then shook her head.
"I don't why that surprises me. Grandmother…" Francesca hesitated as though searching for what to say.
"She said something that I wanted to ask you about," Kel said, watching Francesca with her Yamani face, making it impossible for the younger woman to guess what she was thinking.
"Of course, my lady," Francesca replied, mind racing through everything that her grandmother may have said.
"She mentioned a betrothal you refused…" Kel trailed off seeing the way her squire's shoulders slumped.
Francesca sighed and rubbed at her face. "Yes, my lady. My father thought it would be a good match – Stone Mountain being a respectable house, Joren being his squire," she glanced at Kel and shrugged. "That's how my parent's marriage happened – my father was my grandfather's squire; all were in favor of the match," she trailed off, frowning at the ground. Francesca waited but her knight mistress said nothing, so Francesca continued. "I told my father to wash his hands of him; that he wanted nothing to do with Joren of Stone Mountain. His fate was shadowed and short." She didn't realize that as she spoke her voice developed a distant quality, as though her mind was elsewhere.
"I see," was all Kel said.
"Was there anything else you needed, my lady?" Francesca asked, still not looking at the knight.
When her knight mistress replied that there was not, Francesca bowed and left to find her friends. She found them in a nearby field that had been converted into a temporary practice yard. She pulled them away with some difficulty, finally having to tell them that she had to talk to them about something they needed to know about. They correctly assumed that she was referring to a vision and followed her to Shakith's temple.
"Why here," Liam asked.
"Because," she told him shortly. The priests and priestess in charge of keeping the temple clean and otherwise cared for bowed when they saw Francesca. It didn't really surprise her that they recognized her after all this time. One silently motioned towards a door in the back. Ah, Francesca thought as she led her friends towards the room. Grandmother must have told them I was coming.
"These rooms," Francesca explained to her friends as she shut the door behind them. "Exist in all of Shakith's temples. Mostly for the uses of seers, so that they can discuss visions, prophecies and such in private: they're spelled against listeners." The room was small, set with a table and chairs as well as a short couch set against one wall. There were just enough seats for everyone. Francesca took a chair, knowing that at some point she might get agitated enough to pace.
"Alright, but what's so secret," Fianola began, when a loud knock interrupted her. Francesca opened the door with a small frown. The sheepish young priest pointed downward, Francesca glanced in time to see Rain slip in the room.
"It was making such a ruckus, my lady." He apologized; Francesca waved the apology off and thanked him. Turning around she found Rain sitting on the table, glaring at her, which made her friends smirk.
"One day," she said to no one in particular, as she resumed her seat, "this dratted creature will realize that he is not my keeper and will stop being offended when I go places without him."
"Are you so sure about that," Traver joked.
"No," Francesca sighed. "But sometimes it's nice to lie to myself."
"What's so important that you're trying to avoid talking about, Francesca." Alan asked which caused Francesca to make a face.
"Okay," she blew out a breath. "You're right, might as well get it over with. First, no talking untill I'm done, got it? It's a long story, and I don't want to have to start and stop." She paused but her friends nodded. "In the second year of page training, I had a prophecy. It was…" she swallowed hard. "Not good." She finished, stroking Rain who had settled in her lap. "In it, a lot of people die – are slaughtered – by…by someone that will be very hard to stop, before that person too is killed. I have to figure out how to stop it, and whatever gave me the prophecy also sent a message that you all might be able to help… Now do you want the bad news, worse news or horrendous news first?"
Francesca didn't look up, so she missed the concerned look her friends exchanged.
"Horrendous," Fianola said firmly.
"The one who starts the slaughter – near as I can tell – is under a spell," Francesca began.
"Then we can talk to Uncle Numair, I bet he could help." Alan cut in. Francesca shook her head, and looked up.
"It is Master Numair that starts the slaughter," she whispered. A stunned silence fell, after a moment Francesca continued. "The worse news is that the first people he… the first to die are the mages powerful enough to stop him, then the knights and squires, then anyone whom might hold the realm together and finally…himself."
No one said a word, to horrified or unable to wrap their minds around what she was saying. After the silence had lasted several minutes, Francesca added. "The bad news is that we still have some time before it all happens."
"How much time," Fianola croaked. Francesca silently calculated; Fianola and Alan would face their Ordeals this Midwinter, which meant that she had two more years of squire training.
"Two years, just before I take my Ordeal," she told them. Slowly Francesca looked at each of her friends. When she met Alan's gaze, she saw that he remembered the evening he had found her walking down from Balor's Needle, and now realized now why she had sought a place where no one would look for her. They all sat there for a time; staring at their feet, the wall or at nothing. Finally Fianola stood up, walking over to Francesca; she hugged the other girl tightly.
Francesca started slightly; she wasn't exactly sure how she had expected her friends to react – horror and crying, sure. Telling her that she had no right to wait this long to say something, or even cursing her for burdening them with this knowledge, yes. Yelling and claims that she was lying, or even losing them as friends; those were the types of reactions Francesca had silently prepared herself for. But Fianola hugging her? That hadn't even crossed her mind.
"Four years," her friends whispered. "How are you even sane after holding that in for so long? If that's the type of things you see on regular biases…" Fianola shuttered and tightened her grip on Francesca. "We'll help, however you need us to. Just say the word." Finally the other girl pulled back, her face was damp with tears, but her eyes held resolve and her chin was set stubbornly. Both girls looked at the boys, Fianola's glare daring them to contradict her. None of them did.
Later that evening Francesca and her knight mistress sat at the large table Francesca's family had set in their dining hall. The hall was full of knights and squires; however the main table was occupied only by Francesca, her family and Lady Keladry. Her family had started the evening by complementing the female knight on her performance in the joust. Francesca did not offer much to the night's conversation, being too distracted by her conversation with her friends earlier. She did not even realize that someone was speaking to her until her grandmother's voice cut though her thoughts.
"There's just two years left, isn't there, darling," Francesca blinked, and glanced around, noticing that her aunt and uncle were looking at her curiously, as well as her grandmother.
"I'm sorry," she told them, "my thoughts were elsewhere."
"Your Ordeal," her aunt prompted gently.
"Oh, yes," Francesca shook herself mentally. "Yes, two year from this Midwinter." She looked to her knight mistress. "Will we be returning to the palace this year?"
"Want to see your friends pass their Ordeals?" Kel asked, with a small smile.
Francesca shrugged, "It would be nice to congratulate them in person," she shot her knight mistress a wry grin. "Plus, it might be nice to not have to fight rain, mud or snow to have a warm, dry place to sleep at night."
Kel laughed, "True, well lucky for you, a knight has already bespoke me for their squire facing the Ordeal this year." Francesca nodded, willing to bet the knight I question was either Fianola's or Alan's knight master.
After the tournament ended, Francesca and her knight mistress rode towards the palace with Sir Nealan and Fianola. Francesca spent the whole trip trying to distract her friend from the acknowledging how close her Ordeal was. Every time they could manage they spoke of the prophecy Francesca had two years to figure out. Though she said nothing, Francesca silently blamed these talks for the increase in the nights she dreamed of the prophecy.
The dream started out like it always did, she was walking through the great hall, as the celebration for the newly knighted Liam, and Francesca was making her way through the crowd, attempting to find her knight mistress. Her own ordeal was the following day, and she wanted to know how long she had to stay at the celebration before she could retire.
Her knight mistress was talking to the wild mage, so Francesca made her way towards the table where Kel, Daine and the mage Numair sat – the wild mage held her son in her lap, while Numair bounced their daughter on his knee. Without knowing why exactly Francesca glanced across the hall, the Scanran ambassadors were almost directly across from the black robe mage. One of them was watching the table with too much interest. She was only a few steps from the table when some force froze her in her steps.
"Watch," a voice whispered. "And stop this."
The slaughter started, and Francesca's mind screamed that she didn't know how to stop this. That she was only one person, and no mage. She fought to jerk out of the paralysis. Even in her frozen state, tears gathered and fell; she made herself watch the slaughter, instead of closing her eyes.
When Francesca woke, her throat was sore and every muscle ached, and tears still streamed down her face. She was quieter in the days that followed, when Fianola and Kel asked if something was wrong, Francesca gave them wan smiles and told them that it was only bad dreams.