Alanna of Trebond (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_lioness) wrote2004-09-13 08:55 pm
the_lioness) wrote2004-09-13 08:55 pm
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Alanna stands outside her chamber, one hand poised to turn the brass key in the lock. Her eyes study the rough wood of the door, the tiny lines and knots adding character to each plank. The key feels heavy in her hand, and it takes more strength than usual to turn it this evening. Sighing, she opens the door and steps inside, her eyes scanning the interior. Automatically accounting for her meager belongings, she walks over to the fireplace and pokes the ever present logs. Muttering a quick spell, she holds her hands over the wood. The fire bursts to life. She rubs her heated palms against her dress and glances woefully at the small bed. Lately, returning to her room at the end of the night has felt increasingly like returning to a jail cell.
Smiling wryly, she begins to untie her dress. Most ladies required help to divest themselves of such elaborate gowns, but years of training had left Alanna unusually limber. Wiggling her way free of the constricting bodice, she yanks the dress over her head and lovingly lays it over the high-backed chair near the fireplace. May the Goddess bless Meg, she thinks. Frowning at the cold, she grabs her pack and sits down by the fire. She stares at the flames for a moment, contemplating another attempt at reaching her king. Shivers suddenly rack her body, and she digs inside her pack looking for her favorite shirt. Not able to find it, she upends the pack, dumping its contents all over the hearth rug. The shirt is the last item to fall out. It's an old shirt, complete with stains and a rip above the right elbow that suspiciously resembles the shape of a dagger's blade. She smirks, forgetting whether she stole this particular shirt from Jon or George. Alanna's hands caress the worn fabric and she wonders, not for the first time, if anyone misses her.
Alanna pulls the large shirt on, letting the soft white linen pool around her hips. Crossing her legs, she scoots closer to the displaced items on the rug. She spreads them out and takes inventory: a dagger, a small box of vervain, several rolled up shirts, two pairs of breeches, her scarlet and gold tunic, a heavy Bazhir blanket, her burnoose, a few scrolls bearing a message to the Bazhir from King Jonathan and two books on sorcery retrieved from Thom's chambers after his death. Smiling wistfully, she opens the larger of the two volumes and runs her index finger over the carefully carved inscription: "Lord Thom of Trebond, Master of the Mithran Light." She sets the books aside, wondering if she should give them back to her twin or keep them as a memory for when she could no longer see his face.
She picks up her pack intending to toss it aside, but checks herself as she feels an unfamiliar weight. Furrowing her brow, she shakes it and waits impatiently for something else to drop to the floor. She hears something clang, but nothing lands on the rug beside her. This is ridiculous, she thinks. It's not usually this heavy. Sticking her hand inside the canvas bag, she pats down the interior. Along the left fabric panel near the bottom is a large bulge. Frowning, she turns her pack inside out and pokes at the foreign object crudely sewn into the strong lining. Lifting her head, she scans the room for something sharp before rolling her eyes and grabbing the dagger lying near her foot. She uses the dagger to rip the coarse fabric. Filled with apprehension, she peels the layers back and discovers a small silk purse fat with coin. Alanna gasps, pouring the golden nobles on the ground. The coins make a satisfying clink as they hit each other. "Mithros", she whispers with awe. "This will go a long way toward settling my formidable tab!" Giggling, she throws herself down beside the pile of coins, her fiery red hair a glowing nimbus around her head.
Still clutching the silk purse, she notices a small piece of paper buried under several coins. She hastily retrieves it and unrolls the delicate parchment. Her hands shake as she recognizes George's rudimentary scrawl.
Lioness –
It seems respectability comes with full coffers. As a noble yourself, I know that you have no need of more gold, but I worried that you would leave without seeing to such matters. Do not get that mutinous expression on yer face, lass. (Alanna's eyes twinkle at this, and she relaxes the tight line of her mouth.) King Jon admits that more rebels are probably roamin' the countryside, looking for trouble. I've no problem imagining that you will take care of yourself, but the nobles might help you out of a tight spot or at least grant you a good night's rest in an inn. I ask that you forgive my protective nature, but I'm of a mind to keep you healthy. (Alanna wrinkles her nose and grins at the fire.) Enjoy your adventuring, lass. I hope that someday soon your travels lead you to Pirate's Swoop.
All my love,
George Cooper, Baron of Pirate's Swoop
(That sounds all fancy and respectable, doesn't it? Although I'm not sure I like being demoted from "King" to "Baron.")
P.S. Remember the sign of the Rogue. It and my name will still grant you safe passage. Take care of yourself.
Blowing out a breath she had been unaware of holding, Alanna closes her eyes and tightly clasps George's note in her hands. She feels lost and more than a little afraid that she will never see him again.
Smiling wryly, she begins to untie her dress. Most ladies required help to divest themselves of such elaborate gowns, but years of training had left Alanna unusually limber. Wiggling her way free of the constricting bodice, she yanks the dress over her head and lovingly lays it over the high-backed chair near the fireplace. May the Goddess bless Meg, she thinks. Frowning at the cold, she grabs her pack and sits down by the fire. She stares at the flames for a moment, contemplating another attempt at reaching her king. Shivers suddenly rack her body, and she digs inside her pack looking for her favorite shirt. Not able to find it, she upends the pack, dumping its contents all over the hearth rug. The shirt is the last item to fall out. It's an old shirt, complete with stains and a rip above the right elbow that suspiciously resembles the shape of a dagger's blade. She smirks, forgetting whether she stole this particular shirt from Jon or George. Alanna's hands caress the worn fabric and she wonders, not for the first time, if anyone misses her.
Alanna pulls the large shirt on, letting the soft white linen pool around her hips. Crossing her legs, she scoots closer to the displaced items on the rug. She spreads them out and takes inventory: a dagger, a small box of vervain, several rolled up shirts, two pairs of breeches, her scarlet and gold tunic, a heavy Bazhir blanket, her burnoose, a few scrolls bearing a message to the Bazhir from King Jonathan and two books on sorcery retrieved from Thom's chambers after his death. Smiling wistfully, she opens the larger of the two volumes and runs her index finger over the carefully carved inscription: "Lord Thom of Trebond, Master of the Mithran Light." She sets the books aside, wondering if she should give them back to her twin or keep them as a memory for when she could no longer see his face.
She picks up her pack intending to toss it aside, but checks herself as she feels an unfamiliar weight. Furrowing her brow, she shakes it and waits impatiently for something else to drop to the floor. She hears something clang, but nothing lands on the rug beside her. This is ridiculous, she thinks. It's not usually this heavy. Sticking her hand inside the canvas bag, she pats down the interior. Along the left fabric panel near the bottom is a large bulge. Frowning, she turns her pack inside out and pokes at the foreign object crudely sewn into the strong lining. Lifting her head, she scans the room for something sharp before rolling her eyes and grabbing the dagger lying near her foot. She uses the dagger to rip the coarse fabric. Filled with apprehension, she peels the layers back and discovers a small silk purse fat with coin. Alanna gasps, pouring the golden nobles on the ground. The coins make a satisfying clink as they hit each other. "Mithros", she whispers with awe. "This will go a long way toward settling my formidable tab!" Giggling, she throws herself down beside the pile of coins, her fiery red hair a glowing nimbus around her head.
Still clutching the silk purse, she notices a small piece of paper buried under several coins. She hastily retrieves it and unrolls the delicate parchment. Her hands shake as she recognizes George's rudimentary scrawl.
Lioness –
It seems respectability comes with full coffers. As a noble yourself, I know that you have no need of more gold, but I worried that you would leave without seeing to such matters. Do not get that mutinous expression on yer face, lass. (Alanna's eyes twinkle at this, and she relaxes the tight line of her mouth.) King Jon admits that more rebels are probably roamin' the countryside, looking for trouble. I've no problem imagining that you will take care of yourself, but the nobles might help you out of a tight spot or at least grant you a good night's rest in an inn. I ask that you forgive my protective nature, but I'm of a mind to keep you healthy. (Alanna wrinkles her nose and grins at the fire.) Enjoy your adventuring, lass. I hope that someday soon your travels lead you to Pirate's Swoop.
All my love,
George Cooper, Baron of Pirate's Swoop
(That sounds all fancy and respectable, doesn't it? Although I'm not sure I like being demoted from "King" to "Baron.")
P.S. Remember the sign of the Rogue. It and my name will still grant you safe passage. Take care of yourself.
Blowing out a breath she had been unaware of holding, Alanna closes her eyes and tightly clasps George's note in her hands. She feels lost and more than a little afraid that she will never see him again.