the_lioness | (no subject)

The sun has not yet risen when Alanna finishes her morning training and strides purposefully into the stables, a small bag of apples tucked under her arm. Humming softly, she grins in the dim light, the familiar sounds of horses sighing and sleepily investigating their empty feed buckets lifting her spirits. Sparing an apple for Rachât (for they are friends now, and thus he must share in Mithros’ spoils), Alanna finds grooming supplies and sets to work on her horse’s coat until it shines. She smiles wryly, thinking that as much as she initially disapproved of his name, Mithros is rather fitting, not that she would ever admit as much to Jon.

Grooming complete, she scolds Mithros with quiet amusement when he puffs out his sides in an attempt to keep his girth loose. “I know all equine tricks, my lad, so don’t think you’ll get away with them. Besides, what fun would it be for you if your saddle slipped sideways and deposited me on the hard ground?” Smiling, she leads him out of his stall and into the fresh air, watching silently for a moment as the sun makes its bold appearance on the horizon.

Mithros snorts, stomping his feet impatiently. Laughing, Alanna swings easily into the saddle and gathers the reins, as eager as he to be flying beside the lake with the wind whipping about them. Tapping her heels against his quivering sides, she grins. This is what she has been missing in her days here: the simple freedom of a horse with a spirit as restless as her own.

Still, she is not irresponsible, so the pace is sedate until the blood begins to pump quickly through both their veins. It amuses her that Mithros should feel so familiar, like an extension of herself, after only a few days. He’s taller than Moonlight, but Alanna is not at all daunted by the increased distance to the ground. Instead, she revels in it, almost giddy with excitement and a heightened sense of awareness. Before long, they are galloping, Mithros’ ears twitching forward as she gives him his head. It is a morning for speed.

Yet even at this pace, concerns have a way of catching up with you.

Slowing to a canter, Alanna lets her mind turn to thoughts of Val for the first time since her conversation with Kitty. Grief swamps her, but alongside the grief is guilt, and anger. A great deal of anger, actually, and she’s not entirely sure why - anger at fate, anger at Val for not listening to anyone, anger at herself for not knowing that there was something seriously wrong. Perhaps it’s that she has yet to tell Peter, and she knows this will hurt him in ways he may not even admit to himself. Maybe it’s the certainty that she would rather die before doing anything less than loving and protecting her own child, even an unborn one, with all her heart.

However, Alanna is realistic. She knows herself well enough to realize that nine months of inactivity and coddling would drive her insane, and Val would react much the same way. Torn, Alanna watches the first rays of sunlight illuminate the lake and puzzles over how she feels about this entire situation. Val is family, and she loves her, but she isn’t sure that Val fully understands. She will blame herself for this, that much is certain. But will she blame herself for the right reasons, and will she learn anything from her experience? There is a distinct difference between self-pity and accepting responsibility for one’s actions.

Swallowing, Alanna ponders the direction her thoughts are taking with no small amount of worry. She had promised Kitty that she would see to Val when she returns, and she will keep that promise. Flushing guiltily, she wonders if she’ll be able to rise to the occasion and be what Val needs, or whether these feelings, this anger, will come pouring out of her mouth with her usual frankness.

At that, she wonders what Val does need now. As a knight, Alanna swore to be honest, and to help those that can not help themselves. She remains unconvinced that Val would be able to handle honesty in her current frame of mind, but it would ultimately be a disservice to her to avoid the truth, and to pamper in the name of protection. Alanna resolves to try and make it clear that all other issues aside, she does love her.

Perhaps this would all be easier to contemplate rationally if her thoughts on Val weren’t constantly invaded by her own fear of childbirth and memories of a very different sort of blame. Mithros picks his way through the edge of the forest slowly, cheerfully stopping for a mouthful of grass when he realizes his new mistress isn’t particularly concerned with their trajectory. Alanna stares between Mithros’ alert ears, but she doesn’t see the forest, or the sun rising in the sky. Instead she sees a room lit only by firelight through a small crack in the door, as the burly form of her sword master stands uneasily beside her father.

“It’s their ninth birthday, Lord Alan. Perhaps ye should spend time with them now, while ye still can. They’ll be gone soon enough.” Coram straightens his shoulders, his expression dissatisfied.

Father lifts a bottle of wine to his cracked lips. “Do not presume to tell me what to do with those two. I gave you permission to train the girl alongside her brother. Now she’s… abnormal, and he can barely lift a sword.”

Coram stiffens even further. “He’s as fond of books and learning as you are yourself, my liege. And Alanna may be a bit different, but she’s talented, Goddess knows.”

“It makes no difference. They took away the one person I’ve ever loved.” Lord Alan sighs, staring at the flames sadly. “It’s not just their birthday, Coram. It’s the anniversary of Thea’s death. Why should I celebrate this with them?”

Alanna hadn’t waited around for a reply. Instead, she had raced up the stairs, searching for the one person she was certain still loved her, and would always love her. It was only later, after she had given up the search, and after Thom had crawled into bed beside her, that she recalled seeing the draperies shift as their Father spoke. Without saying a word, the twins had pushed their backs up against each other, taking comfort in shared heat, and Alanna had tried to forget the small feet she was now almost certain she had seen by the window.

Taking a deep breath, Alanna focuses on Mithros’ mane and wonders if Thom ever thinks about that day. How could he not? It weighs heavily on her own mind.

When Alanna leads Mithros back into the stables, she is no closer to making sense of her feelings than she had been earlier, but is relaxed nonetheless. Sighing, she grooms him and listens to the sound of one or two other early risers speaking to their mounts in hushed tones. She would do what has to be done, no questions asked, and just pray that she doesn’t get it dreadfully wrong. The Goddess has yet to steer her wrong, and all things would resolve themselves in time.