the_lioness | (no subject)

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*Early in the morning, Alanna races out the back door to the lake, breathing a bit unsteadily. It takes her a moment to collect herself, but once she straightens and gets her lungs under her control, she smiles.

Someone decided to pick up Brand's sword, Werewindle, after all this time. She hadn't held it for long before the feel of the magic made her skittish.

Everything is silent outside, a fresh layer of white hiding any tracks left the day before. It's still snowing a bit, and Alanna sticks out her tongue to catch a few snowflakes. There's something soothing about being alone in such a setting, even if it is cold.

Alanna is not prepared to admit it, but she's not as bothered by the cold as she once was.

Eyes bright, she clears a spot on a picnic table and takes a seat, watching the snow fall for a bit and thinking. It's easier out here.*

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Someone else is outside, untroubled by the cold, and appears to be picking white flowers from the snow.

A careful eye it would take, to see that they are made of frost and ice.

*It takes a while for Alanna to notice her, and that irritates the knight more than a little. Shaking herself, she plasters a friendly smile on her face and wanders over, wondering about the flowers until she draws near enough to discern their composition. Her mouth opens in a small 'o' of shock, her breath a faint puff in the still air.

softly,*

Those are beautiful.

Blodwen smiles warmly back at her, evidently delighted.

"Are they not? Such pretty things, and so delicate -- here, lovey, would you like one?"

She holds out a frostflower, still smiling.

*Caught a little off guard by the warmth of the woman's smile, Alanna hesitantly reaches out,

(could I?)

but then snaps her hand back with a slow blush. She glances down at her palms, at the silvery scars, and sighs.*

No, thank you. As you say, they are quite delicate.

"Oh, but not that fragile," she assures her. "Why, I could not wear them in my hair, if they were--"

And indeed, there is a shining flower in the brown locks, with threads of vine and leaf spreading out.

"It's all right." She is still holding out the blossom.

Yes, but will it be?

*After further consideration, Alanna smiles and gently plucks the flower from her fingers.*

Thank you.

*She twirls the stem between her fingers, biting her lip and feeling a bit like a child with a new toy.*

My hands are not those of a lady. Sometimes I worry that I'll crush such things.

"Goodness, but who has time to keep a lady's hands?" she asks. "Why, on the farm there is work enough and to do without such worries."

Aye, that's true enough. You have a farm? *Perking up, Alanna eyes her with interest.* I grew up in the country myself, and my adopted father's lands are covered with orchards and vineyards.

*No mention of castles or titles just yet. Sometimes it makes Alanna a little self-conscious.*

I've realized recently how much those apples and grapes mean to me. *She smiles widely.* All the more reason to fight to protect them.

She smiles back, warmly. "Oh, no -- it is only my John, my husband, he is a shepherd on Clwyd Farm, where we live-- but it is not our farm proper, you see."

"And still it is home."

I think I understand. Goddess willing, Olau will not be my home in more than name for many years to come. I'd not lose Myles for anything. Trebond is rightfully mine following my brother's death, but it's...

*She trails off, blinking back tears as she looks toward the lake.*

Cold, and not just in temperature. All that holds me there are graves.

"Oh, cariad..." The light soft voice is unexpectedly gentle, and very kind. "I am sorry -- it is so hard, so hard to lose those you love, I know."

Aye, it is.

*Blinking, Alanna faces her once more and finds it hard to look away. Thom, Mother, Liam, Faithful, Thor, Si-cham, Scholar, Queen Lianne who was always kind... The names march through her mind in no particular order save the first four. Father is left out on purpose. She breathes in slowly and gives the woman a small smile.

Her voice. Her voice reminds her of apple tarts and warm fires, thick blankets and lullabies. Her voice reminds her of things she's always imagined, but never had. Mother.*

You are quite kind.

Her smile is as warm as her voice, as soft as her cheerful round face with its cap of brown hair.

"So kind you are yourself, dear, to say so -- oh, I hope you will not think it rude of me to say it, but you remind me of a young woman I once knew, at home."

"A visitor she was only, but so sweet and well-liked, a dear girl indeed; why, so close she was to my white raven that I thought of her almost as a daughter, you see." Blodwen flushes a little, seeming embarrassed.

"How I do run on."

No! *Alanna holds out her hand, nearly dropping the flower. She flushes, biting her lip for a moment before continuing.* No, please. Don't stop. I'd like to hear more about her, if you've the time. I-

*She swallows, tearing her gaze away to glance down. Pushing the toe of her boot into the snow, she wonders at the faint unease she suddenly feels.*

My own mother died giving birth to my twin.

"Oh, cariad." Very softly indeed, and gentle still.

"Come then, come sit with me -- there, a swing there is--" Snowcovered and still she seems to have no trouble brushing the fallen white away easily. Blodwen turns, holding out a hand to Alanna.

So there is.

*Alanna's voice is a near whisper, almost as if she's afraid to shatter the moment. She smiles cheerfully and takes the woman's hand, moving to sit.*

What does that mean? Cariad?

*Ever since Alanna arrived in Milliways, she's secretly wondered what would happen if her mother appeared. It would be like this, she thinks, blinking as snowflakes land on her eyelashes. Quiet and peaceful, and I'd not feel quite as alone. Well, as alone as she felt before Adam, at any rate.

Mother

Motherly. The woman is motherly. Alanna's brow furrows as she thinks of Tom Riddle and an angry Ingress.*

I'm Alanna. *brief pause* What was her name? The girl you knew.

"Jane, it was," she says, softly. "Jane Drew. Jenny, he called her. Such a dear girl."

Blodwen smiles at Alanna. "And I'm Blodwen, dear, Mrs. Rowlands. And cariad-- why, it is Welsh, and means dear, or darling you might say."

*On some level, she'd known. It was only her own stubbornness that kept her from acknowledging it.

Oh, she is my dear, my darlin' one
My smilin' and beguilin' one
No other, no other
Could match the likes of her.

A song she must have heard in the bar or in some other land echoes through her head, leaving her feeling empty. Hollow.

The quiet is suddenly deafening, and it feels like the last few moments of her Ordeal, her hands bleeding freely as she tore through the veil, the netting, and saw the truth about Roger. About herself. Just as she sees now. It is forbidden to cry out in the Chamber. She won't cry out here, either. Taking a deep and almost wistful breath, she smiles a bit, eyes glazed over. Roger was practice, perhaps.

Her protections are all now firmly in place.

A tiny, traitorous voice sounds in the back of her mind - But she's so kind?*

I've heard about you, a bit, Mrs. Rowlands. Welsh, you say? I've not been to Wales.

*Careful, controlled and seemingly friendly: she has no intention of mentioning Security. Yet.*

The sudden wariness, combined with the words, is enough.

Blodwen hesitates, then pulls her hand back.

"Oh, that is the way of it, then. I see, I do." The light soft voice is sorrowful. "What you have heard I can only imagine -- so many there are here that think ill of me, for their own reasons I suppose."

*The sad, regretful look Alanna gives Blodwen's hand as it's pulled back is not entirely forced.*

I hear many things here, Mrs. Rowlands. I would be a fool to believe all of it. A confused fool, at that, as so many things frequently contradict others. *She shrugs, the corner of her mouth tilting up in a wry smile.* Many people at home think ill of me, so there it is.

*Alanna has no idea why she doesn't come right out and accuse Blodwen. Perhaps it's that she learned a bit of prudence after confronting Roger, or perhaps she feels it necessary to hold most of her cards close to her chest in this situation. Or maybe Tom's warnings made it very clear that Alanna would never be able to take on the White Rider alone and win. Or live.

This isn't the time. Give her enough rope, and she'll hang herself with it.*

I do respect the rules, however. They work well here. Aren't you concerned about Security?

"Why should I be?" she says, and the seeming sorrow is still there -- and not actually insincere. "They have cared nothing for me when I was attacked, you see, or for the one I saw pursued from this place to another and dragged back against his will."

"Or for my husband, who was here with me when another affected his mind so that he hates me now -- oh, so many things, for others' own purposes, and so what can I do but act as I may to protect that which remains to me?"

Security can not keep track of everything, it is true. *Said ruefully and with perfect honesty.* You were attacked? Here?

*Frowning, she lifts the flower and twirls it once more, captivated at the way it catches the light. Blodwen's voice continues to make her long for things she has no right to wish for.

Alanna knows she should probably drop the flower, but doesn't.*

What are your purposes, then?

"Here," she confirms softly. "And my purpose... I only wanted to go home, or to find as much of a home as I could, here."

"And at every step something else has been lost. I would lose nothing else, if only I could prevent it."

*A sharp pang in her chest and the feeling of someone brushing cool fingertips across the back of her neck make Alanna suck in a breath.*

Many have found their homes here, if they follow the rules and can content themselves with a new path.

*Looking toward the lake, Alanna tucks the flower through a loop in her plain black sweater and runs her hands up and down her thighs as if trying to warm them. Black sweater, black breeches, black boots, with no visible weaponry or badge - she says a silent prayer of thanks that she'd left before finishing her morning routine.

Solemnly, she nods.*

I will prevent further loss until I am no longer able. Far too much has been lost already, as you have said.

*Alanna thinks very hard on her home, and not the bar, as she speaks.*

The surface thoughts are very clear, to one who might look.

"And what of those who would try, but are prevented from it by others who are unwilling to admit that there might be a new path?"

Chill in the tone, winter-cold, and bleak as the leafless trees across the water.

*Face impassive, Alanna laughs a little on the inside. Roger, Delia, Alex, Josie - many have accused her of not bending in just such a manner.*

Compromises must be made on all sides in order for peace, perhaps. Neutrality. *She glances at Blodwen, but the memory of Tom's message makes her look away just as quickly. The tone does not go unnoticed, and Alanna starts to shiver as if wishing for the warmth of the bar.*

"Neutrality." The soft musical voice has something else in it now, a malicious hiss. "This place is no more true neutral than was another land, long lost beneath the waves, dear. But you would not know anything of that, I expect."

"A compromise, and more than, I have been willing to make, and even now you pull back from me for what you have heard, the words of others. What good does it do, then? What harm have I offered you, cariad, who are so like that girl I once knew?"

*Speaking softly, Alanna moves closer as if to make a point.* You've offered me no harm, Mrs. Rowlands. No harm to me,

(but harm to others I've sworn to protect)

and I'm not pulling back. I stand on my own two feet and face you now.

*She's upset and angry, but those emotions are directed as much at herself as at the White Rider. Old longings have surfaced, and she knows there's a faint note of pleading in her eyes. Don't be what you are, though I know you will, and I can not change it. Head high, she nods and takes a step back.

And then another.*

Nothing is perfect, but I love this place and the people in it. *There is still no threat, just sheer determination.* I'd stop at nothing to protect it. Good day, Mrs. Rowlands. Thank you ever so for the flower.

*She smiles with a hint of her old recklessness, not unkindly, and turns to leave. If she stayed any longer, she'd put both herself and the bar in danger.

There are other ways to fight this battle, and she intends to find them.*

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