(no subject)

[the_lioness]

They left in the middle of the night. Alanna, despite only four hours of rest, simply hadn’t been able to wait any longer. Peter sleepily shook his head at her and held their packs while she conferred with Stefan inside the Dancing Dove. The tavern was less crowded than it had been on Peter’s first visit, and he quietly, methodically observed the few patrons still in their cups. It was easier than thinking about the horse waiting outside. Apparently satisfied with Stefan’s news, Alanna (not “Alan,” as Alanna had made no effort to disguise her identity) tapped his shoulder and gestured to the front door with a smile.

The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so, the breeze blowing the worst of the lower city’s stench toward the sea. Concerned, Alanna watched Peter carefully as they exited the Dove, hoping that her surprise would make him more comfortable with the journey ahead. Catching sight of the horses tied to an ancient looking post, he quirked an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you planned on riding Moonlight,” Peter looked questioningly at her.

Alanna beamed. “I don’t. She’s for you. I’m taking the grey.”

“Wha… why?” Peter blinked, torn between petting Moonlight’s neck and calling off the entire trip.

“Why do you think?” Alanna continued to watch him with amusement, certain now that she had made the right decision. “We will lead them out of the city in order to give you time to adjust. I’ll try not to rush you, but once we leave Corus, we need to mount up. Trust me. Trust her.”

Unwilling to admit to his very real doubt that this would work, Peter nodded. After a brief hesitation, he screwed up his nerve and ran his hand along Moonlight’s warm neck, grinning at this small success. “Ok. Just give me a few minutes.

“Horse,” he added as if this single word was the answer to the universe’s ills.

“Horse,” Alanna agreed wryly as she handed him the reins and began leading her own mount toward the city gate. She didn’t look back; if Peter couldn’t swallow his fear enough to lead the mare, he would never mount, and they would never reach Trebond. Gritting her teeth, she fought the urge to turn around. Her instincts insisted that Peter would fight and overcome this perceived weakness. Several minutes later, she heard the muffled sound of Moonlight’s hooves striking the cobblestones behind her and heaved a sigh of relief.

Slowing her pace, she waited for them to catch up and grinned at Peter, her eyes sparkling with approval. He shrugged, glancing sideways at Moonlight with a wary expression, and together they left the city behind.

------

The Great Road North is the main thoroughfare between Corus and the City of the Gods, but surprisingly few villages greet weary travelers bound for one or the other. Alanna was suddenly very appreciative of that fact. Approximately two miles outside of Corus, she had finally coaxed Peter into the saddle. Once the initial fear subsided, he settled into Moonlight’s gait and before long, asked if they could go faster. Intrigued, he craned his neck this way and that, squinting into the distance as he asked questions about Tortall’s society, economy and government. He seemed particularly interested in the Tusaine War and asked questions Alanna felt nervous answering out loud; she answered them anyway.

He reminded her of a young, excited palace page before the endless lessons and training sapped his strength and left no room for such eagerness. She found herself watching him almost giddily, experiencing everything anew through his eyes, and thanked the Goddess that they met few people along the way. Questions would be asked, and news exchanged. Alanna fiercely hoped that at least one day would pass before reality intruded and Peter felt a need to retreat behind that protective wall no one else seemed to realize was there.

When she wasn’t watching Peter, Alanna instinctively scanned the vicinity for anything out of the ordinary. She listened constantly, holding her hand up for quiet whenever something caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand at attention. Not disguising herself might ultimately have been a foolish decision, but she had grown tired of the subterfuge. Alden would find her no matter what; she would rather it be on her own terms. With this in mind, she had donned her scarlet and gold tunic and let her hair down before the last leg of her return trip from Tirragen.

Alden insisted on hiding from Jonathan’s men. Alanna suspected he would rather die than hide from Jonathan’s unnatural female Champion. She would flush him out by boldly riding through Tortall as if she were Queen of all she surveyed. Nothing would irritate him more. She only hoped Peter wouldn’t get caught in the middle, but Alanna was realistic enough to suspect he would, and pressed an extra sword on him. He eyed it, making some joke about the differences between a broomstick handle and a true blade. Alanna insisted, ignoring his protests and reminding him to dodge an attack whenever possible. As long as he stayed alive, she would handle the rest.

By now, Alden was well aware of her movements. She was certain of it, and slightly appalled at the rush of satisfaction and excitement she felt.

They rested sporadically the first two days, stopping only when Alanna was certain Peter would fall off if they took even one more step. He groused, stomping about and walking as if his legs were still wrapped around the mare’s sides. Snickering, she used her Gift liberally, trying to ease the ache that came from long, hard hours in the saddle. Only then would she reward his progress with a kiss.

On the evening of the second day, Alanna left the main road and led the way into a hidden meadow, her gelding gingerly picking his way through overgrown bushes and tangled vines. Few people knew about this spot, and that suited her just fine.

“What would you say to a good night’s sleep?” Alanna dismounted and grinned impishly at Peter.

He snorted. “Have I gone insane or did someone just make you human?” She simply smiled and went about setting up camp, surreptitiously watching Peter cool Moonlight down. He looked almost at ease now, talking to the mare under his breath as he walked her to the stream and patted her neck. Alanna wondered if he had any idea what he was doing.

As fate would have it, Peter didn’t get that good night’s sleep after all. They ate a decent meal in companionable silence and watched the fire until sleep stole over them. Perpetually cold, Alanna wrapped herself around him at some point in the night, one arm thrown carelessly across his chest and her head on his shoulder. Peter was begrudgingly used to this by now, so when his eyes snapped open, he was relatively certain Alanna had not been the one to wake him. The feeling that swept through him was not panic or even uneasiness; he simply felt more alert than usual.

A log popped on the fire, and Peter blinked, trying to focus. One of his arms was trapped under Alanna, and he found himself loathe to move the other. Something advanced on the edge of the clearing, and Peter felt his heart jump. He could just make out a shape glowing in a way that suggested it was not merely the full moon that lent it light. Whatever it was, he didn’t think it was natural.

The shape finally resolved itself into that of a beautiful woman, both compelling and painful to look upon. She stood nearly seven feet tall, or so it seemed to Peter from his spot on the ground. He felt his breath catch as she moved slowly to the stream and bent to take a drink, grace evident in every step. Somehow he was certain the cool water never passed her lips. He exhaled, wondering if he should say hello. The woman’s head jerked up as if she had heard his silent question, and she smiled. Perhaps she had.

“Sleep, Chosen.” Her voice whipped through Peter’s skull like the fearsome sound of wolves howling. Alanna stirred, one leg weaseling its way between his. Peter ripped his eyes away from the woman long enough to ascertain that his future wife, the woman who boasted of her ability to awaken at the slightest noise, slept on.

Peter swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

The woman, eyes alight with humor and ancient in a way he couldn’t even begin to define, lifted her long skirts and stepped over the stream. Peter felt his eyes go wide; it had taken him at least three tries to leap across successfully. While he puzzled over this, she continued forward until she bent over them, her smile both soothing and unnerving. Resting a cool hand on each of their foreheads, she whispered, “heal.”

It remained unclear whether she spoke to Peter, Alanna or both.

One word whispered, carried on the sweet smelling spring breeze, and Peter suddenly wondered whether she had spoken at all or if the word had simply appeared in his mind. She raised a delicately arched eyebrow at him before retreating across the stream, her long black hair swirling about her like a cloak. All of the light in the clearing seemed to leave with her. Peter finally remembered how to breathe and tried to shove Alanna aside in an attempt to follow the stranger, to ask why, when her disconcerting voice reached his ears once more.

“True monsters do not spend years berating themselves as such, youngling. Heed my words.” With that, she was gone. Nothing but the lingering scent of wildflowers suggested that she had ever been there at all.

Stunned, Peter settled back down, one arm stealing around Alanna as he tried to come to grips with what had just happened. He watched her sleep for awhile, her hair now the brightest thing left in the clearing. Alanna spoke of the Goddess often enough for Peter to suspect the identity of their visitor, but every time he recalled the woman’s words, a chill went down his spine. Did she know of him? Did she truly know what he had done?

Had she told him that anyway?

An hour or so before dawn, Peter felt his eyes drift shut and smiled. Sometime in that peculiar silence you only find in the middle of the night, he had decided not to tell Alanna that he had met her Goddess, and he wasn’t sure why.

------

The next morning, they left the Great Road behind and turned onto Trebond Way, riding steadily uphill through forests and rocky terrain. The further they traveled, the straighter Alanna sat in the saddle until her spine looked like it might snap. Her gelding disapproved of her new tension and tried to unseat her several times until she forced herself to relax. She wasn’t sure whether she was simply nervous about showing Peter her home or if she was worried that she would see it through new, jaded eyes.

Any lingering doubts disappeared as soon as they rode through the surrounding village and into the keep’s central courtyard. The hostler and several servants gaped at her in shock until a burly man of advancing years hurried through the main door and beamed at them. Coram half pulled, half caught her as she dismounted, spinning her around and valiantly pretending not to notice as she wiped her face on his shoulder. Bemused, Peter watched from Moonlight’s back until Alanna swallowed the lump in her throat and introduced them, her smile brighter than it had been in quite some time.

In his own gruff manner, Coram accepted Peter. It was clear he wasn’t a trained fighter, but the boy reminded him of Thom more than a little, and thus seemed almost familiar. Eyes drifting back and forth between them, the manservant decided he wouldn’t call attention to that fact as Thom’s death undoubtedly remained an open wound. He pressed Alanna for details of her whereabouts in recent months, but grunted and quickly changed the subject when she started to explain that she had been somewhere full of foreign magic. His mistress quickly hid a smile and suggested she show Peter around while the staff coped with suddenly having Lady Trebond in residence.

She made a point of apologizing profusely for arriving unannounced to any servant in earshot.

Taking Peter’s hand, she dragged him around the keep, lingering in alcoves and rooms that the twins had haunted in their younger, more mischievous years. An hour went by, and Peter wondered why everything Alanna showed him, every story she told, had to do with Thom but never her parents. On the verge of asking her, he inhaled sharply as she led him into a dusty room full of ancient tomes. The desk was stacked high with papers, a quill resting haphazardly near the edge. It was clear that no one had been in here in quite some time. Turning in a slow circle, he whistled softly. “There must be hundreds of books in here.”

“Yes,” Alanna replied simply. She stood before the fireplace, a funny look upon her face. Peter moved closer, his eyes drifting up to a portrait of a young woman. She sat under a tree, her head cocked to one side and a smile on her face. It was more of a smirk, really; in fact, it was Alanna’s smirk. Peter slowly turned his head and looked at Alanna, but she hadn’t moved an inch.

“She was pretty, wasn’t she?” Alanna didn’t wait for an answer. “I wonder sometimes what she would have thought of me. I wonder if she would think I’m… what Alden thinks I am. Father certainly didn’t know what to do with me.”

“Alanna…” Peter didn’t know what to say. “Yes, she was very pretty. And you are not what Alden says you are. You know that.”

“Right.” She made a face. “Anyway, this is Father’s study. Feel free to look around. I need to find his portrait. I’m taking it back to Thom for his birthday present.” Nodding, she moved away, petulantly knocking the quill off the desk as she strode by. If Peter noticed that there were two portrait sized packages in their pile of belongings later, he didn’t mention it.

------

It was Alanna’s turn to have a sleepless night. She tossed and turned for a few hours, laughing into her pillow whenever Peter muttered something nonsensical. Eventually, an overwhelming urge to walk outside and breathe fresh air washed over her, and she found herself exiting the keep and wandering the grounds aimlessly.

She wasn’t terribly surprised when she found herself in the Trebond family graveyard. Ever since she and Jon had looked into the fire, she had been anticipating this moment. Biting her lip, Alanna slowly sank to the ground between her parents’ graves and stared at the headstone marking the newest addition to the family dead. She spoke first to her mother, spared a few brief words for the man who had never been half the father Coram or Myles had been and talked to Thom until she went hoarse. The moon had long since begun its descent when the tears finally came, and there was nothing Alanna could do to stop them. For once, she didn’t try.

“I didn’t realize how hard this would be. Not really. I didn’t really accept that you were gone. You were with me, you see. I knew you were dead, but you were still with me. Then I sat by the lake with you, wished you a happy birthday, and all of a sudden I realized that even though we can technically be together, things can’t ever be the same again. No matter how hard I try to hang on, you will be twenty forever, and I’ll grow old.” She paused to rub furiously at her eyes. “It doesn’t feel like we are twins there anymore. Maybe that’s why I had to come here and say goodbye.”

As dawn approached, Alanna fell silent and soon heard someone walking along the overgrown path. Peter sat down beside her, quietly taking in the tear streaks and the stubborn tilt of her chin. He sighed and examined Thom’s grave, an odd expression on his face. It was one thing to know a man is dead. It is quite another to actually see his grave. Before long, they were leaning against each other and watching the sun rise, neither one of them saying a word. There are times when words just aren’t necessary.