Alanna of Trebond (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_lioness) wrote2006-03-22 09:32 am
the_lioness) wrote2006-03-22 09:32 am
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Twilight. Shadows deepen across the city as the sun sinks below the coastal hills. Eyes closed, Alanna listens to the subtle shift in palace sounds signaling the transition from day to night, fervently wishing she could be in the practice yards. As if on cue, she turns her head and watches the temple fires burn. She shivers reflexively, wondering why she let Thayet talk her into wearing this nightshirt. It's absurdly feminine, and as far as Alanna is concerned, one only wears something like this when one has seduction on the brain. Muttering under her breath, Alanna pulls her chunky shawl closer about her shoulders and wiggles her toes in her thick boots, thanking the Goddess that Thayet had left her shoe collection alone.
Twilight is quickly becoming Alanna's favorite time of day. It seems to be the point at which everyone forgets about her for a while, leaving her free to ignore their good advice and drag herself out of bed. Leaning against the casement, she allows herself a smug smile that quickly fades as she shivers again. Standing here reminds her of Adam and the night of the MidWinter ball. Granted, most things make her think of Adam as of late. Buri is often quick to point this out, her mouth twisting into a grimace of distaste. Alanna would laugh if Buri's attitude towards love didn't remind her so much of her own not so many years ago.
Swallowing, Alanna recalls the expression on Adam's face as he left and wonders if it will be the same when he returns. She wishes she could send him a message, but she's been too proud to ask Jon. Too proud, and too annoyed at herself for the bout of self-pity she indulged in after Adam's departure. Despite the fact that he had left at her request, she had begun to think he would be better off without her, wouldn't want to come back, or would find somebody better. Things were thrown, curses invented and tears shed. Once her temper ran its course, she smiled sweetly at the palace healers and blamed her high color on one of her sudden fevers.
The problem is that she hadn't expected Adam to be gone so long. Knowing how upset he was with her had left Alanna with a dull ache in her gut for days, and those earlier insidious fears began to creep back. However, she certainly can't blame him for being frustrated. He doesn't understand. How could he when she doesn't understand herself?
She has so much she wants to tell him, and so much she wants to ask. There are the obvious concerns such as friends and family, the bar and Tortall. Thom is constantly in her thoughts, and not a day goes by that she doesn't wonder how she can possibly make this up to Bernard and Liam. Jon has kept her involved in state business to some extent, but she suspects that the frequency with which he solicits her opinion has more to do with assuaging her pride than anything else. After all, what sort of King's Champion can barely hold a sword?
It's not self-pity, she decides. It's pragmatism.
Perhaps by the time Adam returns, she will have a better explanation. Maybe once they discuss all the immediate problems, she can tell him the other things she thinks about in the middle of the night, when most of the palace is asleep and her head clears.
Blinking back hot tears, Alanna slowly returns to bed. She takes off her boots with a grimace and settles back against the pillows. Within minutes, she resumes staring broodingly at the fire, a favorite pastime as of late. It's there that Duke Baird finds her hours later, her eyes glazed over, one hand balled into a fist. Her lips move, but no sound escapes until she sucks in a breath and bites the inside of her cheek until it bleeds. Baffled, Duke Baird rubs his shaky hand over his face and mumbles something to his assistant about Sir Alanna's inexplicable fevers.
Simultaneously, Sir Alanna mutters words of forgiveness, anger and retribution. Just before he leaves, she clutches the healer's sleeve and smiles slowly, eyes bright with grim determination. She tells him magic isn't necessarily the answer and pats his hand affectionately. As the door shuts behind him, she reminds the empty room that the punishment is theirs to suffer, not to fix. Alone, she feels a cool hand on her forehead and sighs softly, finding herself lost in visions of Olau orchards in springtime, Adam's laughter in her ears.
Twilight is quickly becoming Alanna's favorite time of day. It seems to be the point at which everyone forgets about her for a while, leaving her free to ignore their good advice and drag herself out of bed. Leaning against the casement, she allows herself a smug smile that quickly fades as she shivers again. Standing here reminds her of Adam and the night of the MidWinter ball. Granted, most things make her think of Adam as of late. Buri is often quick to point this out, her mouth twisting into a grimace of distaste. Alanna would laugh if Buri's attitude towards love didn't remind her so much of her own not so many years ago.
Swallowing, Alanna recalls the expression on Adam's face as he left and wonders if it will be the same when he returns. She wishes she could send him a message, but she's been too proud to ask Jon. Too proud, and too annoyed at herself for the bout of self-pity she indulged in after Adam's departure. Despite the fact that he had left at her request, she had begun to think he would be better off without her, wouldn't want to come back, or would find somebody better. Things were thrown, curses invented and tears shed. Once her temper ran its course, she smiled sweetly at the palace healers and blamed her high color on one of her sudden fevers.
The problem is that she hadn't expected Adam to be gone so long. Knowing how upset he was with her had left Alanna with a dull ache in her gut for days, and those earlier insidious fears began to creep back. However, she certainly can't blame him for being frustrated. He doesn't understand. How could he when she doesn't understand herself?
She has so much she wants to tell him, and so much she wants to ask. There are the obvious concerns such as friends and family, the bar and Tortall. Thom is constantly in her thoughts, and not a day goes by that she doesn't wonder how she can possibly make this up to Bernard and Liam. Jon has kept her involved in state business to some extent, but she suspects that the frequency with which he solicits her opinion has more to do with assuaging her pride than anything else. After all, what sort of King's Champion can barely hold a sword?
It's not self-pity, she decides. It's pragmatism.
Perhaps by the time Adam returns, she will have a better explanation. Maybe once they discuss all the immediate problems, she can tell him the other things she thinks about in the middle of the night, when most of the palace is asleep and her head clears.
Blinking back hot tears, Alanna slowly returns to bed. She takes off her boots with a grimace and settles back against the pillows. Within minutes, she resumes staring broodingly at the fire, a favorite pastime as of late. It's there that Duke Baird finds her hours later, her eyes glazed over, one hand balled into a fist. Her lips move, but no sound escapes until she sucks in a breath and bites the inside of her cheek until it bleeds. Baffled, Duke Baird rubs his shaky hand over his face and mumbles something to his assistant about Sir Alanna's inexplicable fevers.
Simultaneously, Sir Alanna mutters words of forgiveness, anger and retribution. Just before he leaves, she clutches the healer's sleeve and smiles slowly, eyes bright with grim determination. She tells him magic isn't necessarily the answer and pats his hand affectionately. As the door shuts behind him, she reminds the empty room that the punishment is theirs to suffer, not to fix. Alone, she feels a cool hand on her forehead and sighs softly, finding herself lost in visions of Olau orchards in springtime, Adam's laughter in her ears.