(no subject)

[the_lioness]

Alanna broods.

She broods less since arriving at the bar, but on occasion, old habits take precedence over new ones. When she broods, she does so intensely and with complete concentration. Why do something at all if you aren’t going to do it well?

Many of her dark, uncomfortable musings revolve around Thom. That at least has not changed.

Tonight she broods on the floor of Thom’s room, surrounded by his books in various states of disarray. Stiff, ancient scrolls crinkle whenever she shifts her weight or stretches her legs out to prevent her feet falling asleep. The fire provides her sole reading light, and the sound of Thom’s deep, even breathing is broken only by a log giving up and falling further into the flames.

Alanna still hasn’t worked out how it’s possible for the dead to breathe. Even in Milliways.

The twins hadn’t seen much of each other recently. Thom had sequestered himself here, in his room, doing Goddess knows what, and Alanna had been wrapped up in security matters. Her eye twitches at that thought. To be honest, she had also been troubled by things she does not feel comfortable discussing with her brother just yet. There would be more questions she doesn't know how to answer. Oddly enough, she fears lying to him more than she already has simply by omitting the truth.

Tonight, however, Alanna had felt a pressing need to follow up on her offer to stay with him. After her shift, she had trudged up the stairs and knocked on his door, smiling as he grumbled and groused on his way to answer it. The door opened, and Alanna blinked at him, suddenly at a loss for words. Frowning, he had pulled her into the room, and Alanna, in turn, pulled him into a hug. Neither had said more than a few perfunctory words, just sat together on the bed in comfortable silence and watched the fire, backs against the wall.

Comforted, they had drifted off to sleep in record time, unconsciously rotating so they were back to back, Thom’s legs curled up protectively. He knows all too well that Alanna still kicks. Several hours later, her eyes had snapped open, and she bit her tongue to stifle a scream. The nightmare had been particularly vivid tonight, perhaps enhanced rather than muted by the feel of Thom beside her. Roger’s dying cackles echoed in her ears, and she slid off the bed to go sit on the floor and distract herself with her brother’s books on magic.

He still doesn't know. No one does, except perhaps Adam. She has been busy in her limited free time, studying, practicing and learning. Complex spells that had once been difficult are less so now, although they will never come as naturally to her as they do to Thom.

She pictures Maude so easily still, cutting her hair and cautioning her not to laugh at the Gods. "You’ve a gift for healing. It’s greater than mine, greater than any I have ever known. And you’ve other magic, power you’ll learn to use. But the healing – that’s the important thing…. Use it all you can, or you won’t cleanse your soul of death for centuries. It’s harder to heal than it is to kill. The Mother knows why, but you’ve a gift for both."* Maude probably never realized just how seriously Alanna had taken those words. On nights like this, she wishes there was some way to let her know.

This newfound dedication to her Gift arose not long after the confrontation with Lucifer. One afternoon, Alanna had picked a path into the forest and sat quietly on a boulder, forcing herself to face her deep rooted fears. Losing control, harming others, failing: all eventualities played themselves out in her head. But in the end, she accepted that if she plans to act as security at the end of the universe, she needs to make use of the gifts the Gods gave her. All of them. To do any less would be negligent and would lead to a very different sort of failure. She has a job to do, and she wants to do it well.

Decision made, Alanna had determinedly attacked her brother’s books, taken both from Trebond and her hidden stash of Thom’s belongings at the palace. Finding still more in Thom’s room had been an added boon, really. So here she sits, months later, secure in her ability to do several things she once thought impossible. A momentary wave of excessive pride washes over her, and Alanna can see how Thom might get lost in such a sensation. Power is a heady thing, even to those who swear not to abuse it.

Goddess, I wonder how much I would truly be capable of if I put my mind to it. What if I had trained alongside him? Would my power rival Thom’s? Could I ever do what he did?

The thought hits her so quickly that Alanna almost chokes. Do what Thom did... cheat death. The Black God does not suffer lightly the whims of the living wishing to traverse his realm or meddle in his affairs. Yet Thom was able to steal Roger directly from his cold grasp.

Could I not, with enough dedication, do the same for Thom?

Mumbling, Thom rolls over, his long lashes fanning his cheeks. It is always easier to see how truly long they are in partial light; they look more brown than red. Alanna studies his almost painfully familiar face with something akin to awed horror. Slowly and carefully, she crawls over the books and across the cool floor toward the bed. She reaches out with a trembling hand and tucks an errant strand of red hair behind his ear.

If there is one thing Milliways has taught her, it’s that nothing is impossible. However, she also knows very well that just because a thing is possible, it isn’t necessarily right.

Thom’s hand clenches in the pillowcase as he scowls at nothing in particular. He looks pale, his cheeks sunken in a bit. Despite his pallor, Thom appears alive, his skin warm to the touch. It’s cooler than it was in the months before his death, but still warm, like clean clothes that have been left drying by the fire. Alanna swallows, her brain fighting to reconcile this Thom with the Thom rotting beneath a headstone bearing his name at Trebond.

She would need help, months of preparation - additional training from someone with knowledge of the old ways. Knowledge that isn’t trusted to books.

Am I insane? Alanna laughs a bit helplessly, the sound trailing off as Thom murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. A curse or Lucifer’s name, and really, aren’t they one and the same?

Her expression softens as she watches her brother. My twin. Mine. She knows that if she does this, it is very likely that something could go horribly wrong. Thom’s limbs could rearrange themselves. He could return without a shred of his former personality. Alanna has no illusions about just how badly she has mucked up spells in the past. In addition, their Gifts might flow together. She tilts her head and ponders why that thought doesn’t disturb her as it should. At least the color would remain pure, undiluted. Not like it had when Roger polluted Thom’s Gift, his gaudy orange ruining the purple, muddying it into brown.

Roger tainted everything he touched. Including me.

In the end, it is not doubt in her own ability that persuades Alanna to reject the notion. It’s this: the crackle of the fire, the chill of the floor, and Thom sleeping soundly while she watches over him despite knowing that he does not need her to protect him anymore. Maybe he never did, and instead it was just something she felt she had to do. Needed to do.

If she tried to rescue Thom from the Black God, would she really be rescuing him? To do so might rip this Thom away from here. More importantly, would she be doing it for him or for herself?

The answer is clear. She would be doing it because she doesn’t like leaving here knowing that in Tortall, Thom is dead. She knows she won’t see him at Court, rolling his eyes at the ladies even as he admires their colorful gowns. They won’t argue over chivalry, pride or how often Thom scowls. None of this will happen because Thom is dead. The Gods willed it so.

("It don’t do to laugh at the Gods," Maude had said.)

So much has happened since Alanna walked through the front door and found her brother again, mere weeks after his death. Things had been said, both painful and healing, and explanations had been given. They had spent more time together here in this magical place than they had in the last several years of Thom’s life. Her stomach drops as guilt assails her. Whose fault was that, Lady Knight?

Squaring her shoulders, Alanna nods once and climbs back on the bed, her arms circling Thom much as a small child hugs a favored toy. When all is said and done, she wouldn’t trade this time with him for anything. She wouldn’t risk any such time in the future just to make her trips to Tortall less painful.

It is time she never expected to have anyway, and she would learn to appreciate it. Alanna kisses the top of Thom’s head and shivers slightly, snuggling closer. It is enough.

Still, the shadows deepen, and Alanna broods.

*(Maude's speech is taken from Alanna: The First Adventure, by Tamora Pierce.)