(no subject)

[the_lioness]

(Sleep.

Sleep.


Sleep, Thor.




It's not me you want. It's Thor.

You want Big Thor.)


Light.

There shouldn't be any sun, not this late. Alanna struggles to blink away the brightness, to adjust her vision so she can see who is standing above her, shining his light in her face. Someone must be above her and, unless he is a complete nitwit who is unaware that his light is blinding her, must be seeking to do her harm.

"No," she croaks, lifting her left arm in a token protest while searching for her sword with her right. Except her arm is weak and the sharp, agonizing pull of muscles causes her to gasp in pain. Only then does she process the rough wool blanket covering her lower body, the soft feathers beneath her and the light that is, in fact, the sun streaming between tent flaps.

How?

What had happened?

Scowling, Alanna inches her fingers along her sore left arm and encounters a long bandage.

"I fixed it myself," a familiar voice said. Alanna's eyes flick sideways, finding Jon on a stool next to her cot, a map dangling from slack fingers. The look on his face is more serious than usual. "I didn't think you'd want Duke Baird to get that close to you, not while you were unconscious. One of the big muscles in your arm was cut, by the way. It'll take a while to heal, even with the Gift. You're having a bad year with muscles and bones."

She sucks in a breath, still pulling herself out of sleep and into reality. A reality that involves torn muscles and the prince of the realm stationed beside her sickbed, apparently.

It is somewhat surreal to contemplate, even for Alanna.

She does remember. It all comes rushing back now that she's alert enough to recall details. But where to begin the process of making sense of it? Goddess, how does one take it in? How will she make it a part of herself without letting it rip her apart?

Who is she now?

Alanna mutters a dark oath under her breath, glancing up at Jon after with a faint smile. "Thanks. Were you the one who found me?" The other questions jam in her throat, struggling to escape all at once.

"Actually, Faithful did. You know, that cat's more intelligent than most people." He tilts his head in a knowing look.

Faithful lands beside Alanna's hip, settling next to her in a way that lets her know he had been worried, naturally, but thinks she has long since escaped danger and should now cease being lazy. Of course I am. You've been asleep three days, he informs her.

"Three days! That's not possible!"

Though it does explain the sunlight.

"How-" Jonathan looks astonished. "The cat told you? Never mind. I don't want to know. Yes, it's been three days. Why did you use your Gift? You were still glowing when we found you."

(Sleep.

Thor.

You want Thor.)

Alanna shudders, reaching down to brush her fingers through Faithful's fur, perhaps seeking a connection to the divine through her gift from the Goddess, reminding herself it's all real. She isn't sure. All she knows is that Jon's face disappears in a memory of darkness. Cold, sinuous shadows wrapping around her mind, filling her with a bone-deep exhaustion that blots out everything: her world, her fears, her very being.

It had all started with the spear. A simple enough spear that had belonged to a man in the healers' tent who had no further need of it. Big Thor had splintered his the day before, and Alanna thought he'd like this one; it was overly large, like him. She had taken a short cut through the woods to the spot where Thor and Jem Tanner were on guard duty below the camp, trying not to drag the spear through the dirt, enjoying even the heavy summer air after an afternoon spent with the injured and dying.

Faithful noticed something was wrong first, darting into the trees still blocking the guard post from Alanna's sight. Those trees should have been felled, per Jon's suggestion, but it was one Roger had waved away with little thought: why wear out the men when there was little chance of losing the sentries before they could shout a warning?

And yet.

Faithful's insistent yowl kept Alanna from barreling through the underbrush and right into the enemy. Thor and Jem weren't at their post, but three men in dark cloaks were, lighting a torch and readying their bows. Violet eyes flashing, Faithful continued snarling and hissing, fur puffed out, until one of the men fired an arrow. "Cursed beast!" he'd snarled. The arrow hit a nearby tree with a dull thunk and Alanna drew back further.

"Stop it! Don't make so much noise," said another, waving a torch.

It was then that Alanna had heard oars in the water below. Dropping the spear, she ran as quietly as she could, picking up speed once she was clear of the woods. "Sound your horn! The enemy's crossing!"

That was the report she'd given Jonathan before... before everything. He looks at her now, blue eyes concerned, and she has to look away, look at Faithful, look at anything that isn't the man she swore to protect, the man she followed into battle.

"The attack," she mumbles, flexing the fingers of her left hand, testing her grip on the rough blanket.

A moment of weighted silence passes. "Yes?"

Goddess, she thinks, struggling. Then, a wry smile curving her lips, "Well, I didn't bring the cat."

Jonathan chokes out a surprised laugh. "You promised you wouldn't."

I was on sentry duty, the cat reminds Alanna, twitching his tail, in case you forgot.

Alanna's smile fades. "You sent information to Roger through the fire. Imrah had lost two guards, the Tusaine looked to be splitting us down the middle..."

She senses Jon's nod without having to look at him.

"I had hoped to order you away from the fighting the way you did Faithful," he says, "but you might have heard -- you are notoriously stubborn."

Alanna blinks hard, not even bothering to frown at the teasing jab. That day, Jon had mounted Darkness, his armor gleaming in the moonlight. "The biggest attack this summer, and I'm supposed to hide in my tent? And me your squire? Are you out of your mind?" she'd practically shouted up at him.

Jon had touched her shoulder, giving her a searching look, and made some noise about worrying over her fate against an army. The trumpets blared loudly in her memory. What she remembers best is his face, the look in his eyes. She hadn't seen it since the Black City.

"I have my duty, Highness. And this is my home, too. I'm trained to defend it, and defend it I will."

The sincerity behind those words hasn't changed, Alanna thinks. Wouldn't ever change. However, the idealism might have been dented a bit. It had been foolish to think it was as uncomplicated as that.

To me, men of Fort Drell! To me! Trebond for Tortall!

"Jonathan," Alanna whispers, "I killed my first man."

Again his hand finds her shoulder, comforting rather than protective, his fingertips grazing her neck so softly she shivers. He whispers back, "You saved my life."

Like any profound, life-changing event, most of that afternoon is a blur now, but certain moments shine through with disturbing clarity. The rush to prepare first Jonathan than herself, and the soothing words she whispered to Moonlight before riding into battle are mostly lost. The gallop back to the point is nothing but the jangle of her tack, the pounding of hooves, the distant cries of men and clashing of swords. It had been far too easy to find Jonathan and spot the danger he was in; while he seemed well protected by Myles and their friends, battlefields can change in the blink of an eye. The Tusaine had come within striking distance of her prince's back within minutes of her arrival. At that point she'd ceased to think.

At that point, all that mattered was keeping him safe.

She'd yelled to the men of the camp, making them listen, thrusting Lightning into the air like the standard bearer was waving the Tortallan flag. To me! They followed. All the foot soldiers she'd eaten and laughed with, swapped childhood stories with, all the men she'd gotten to know, they followed her into the heart of the battle. It had been a defining moment in her life.

So had the next.

"Alan!" someone called. "The knight!"

Up came her shield with not a moment to spare, habit and muscle memory taking over. The Tusaine knight nearly broke it in half with his mace, numbing her arm but giving her time to turn and face him, Moonlight responding as well as any battle-hardened horse. Thank the Goddess for that; Alanna had to bite the reins in her teeth to ward off the enemy's attack. Letting out a yell, Alanna took advantage of his greater size and the height to which he raised his sword to strike, and thrust Lightning into the unprotected space between his chest and arm plates. Lightning sunk deep, sticking, forcing her to push against his leg with her foot to pull it out. The man looked shocked as he fell from his horse, dead before he hit the ground.

(thud)

At the time, Alanna hadn't thought about what she'd just done, the line she had crossed. Jonathan was still in danger and her training, her oaths, her determination to protect him took over. There were no shadows, no quiet, cool fingers brushing her brow yet. It was all noise (screams)and color (red) and smells(metallic). She wheeled Moonlight around and continued her charge. Her shield, now useless, made for a good projectile weapon, but after throwing it in the face of another knight she was left with nothing but Lightning and her axe to defend herself from the next threat galloping her way, a huge man wielding two swords. She threw the axe on a whim, catching him in the shoulder, dimly noting that Jon was battling his way toward her.

Tortall for Trebond!

When they met on the battlefield, Alanna gave him a long look and immediately planted herself at his side, Myles on his other. Scanning, she took note of all their friends and the pockets of the most intense fighting, focusing on their left flank. She frowned and spun to their right, feeling an itch on the back of her neck. Off in the distance, she saw something reflecting light in the trees. An archer.

Alanna let out a yell that would make Coram proud and threw herself sideways, knocking Jonathan most of the way off his saddle. It took a minute to right themselves and at first she felt silly, as if she'd overreacted like a fool in his first battle, until she registered the enemy arrow on the ground and the archer falling from the trees, shot down by Tortallan archers. "Glanced off his shield," Myles reported, breathing heavily.

"Thanks," Jon had said. "You-"

The high, clear call of horns cut him off. Their reinforcements had arrived, the handsome Duke of Conte proudly leading the way.

At the time, she'd known her shoulder and arm hurt, but the deep gash hadn't been as important as finding Big Thor. Once the enemy took to their boats and Jon rode off to converse with Roger, she slipped away. The watch captain shared her worry and told her Jem Tanner had accused Big Thor of bashing him over the head just before the enemy arrived. Alanna couldn't believe it. Spending so much time with the men, she'd discovered just how patriotic they were, and none more so than Thor. He had far too much at stake in this fight to go over to the Tusaine. When the captain agreed, she ordered him to find and hold Jem Tanner.

It didn't take her long to locate her friend after that. Using Jem's story, she returned to the crossing site and began to search the woods, clutching her arm to keep the bleeding down, stopping to wrap it when that failed to help. Moonlight danced away from a different dark stain on the ground and Alanna noticed signs of a struggle. Something heavy had been dragged into the shrubs... She made a light with her Gift and followed.

Big Thor looked like a huge oak tree cut down in its prime.

Reaching for her last bit of strength, Alanna ignored the dizziness that threatened to knock her over and crouched down beside the body stretched out in the dirt. "Thor?"

"Aye. He blinded me. Have you some brandy?"

Alanna exhaled a shuddering breath and helped him take a drink from her flask. After, she took one of her own, making a face at the taste. It didn't help clear her head.

He told her what Jem had done, though he didn't know much of why or how. Alanna nodded encouragingly and used her Gift to determine the extent of his injuries. What she discovered made her want to cry. He'd lost so much blood and his wounds were so deep; there was no hope. He'd asked her to help him sleep. He wanted to go, he'd said, just wanted to sleep. Noticing her own injury, the blood dripping down her arm, he'd changed his mind, instead asking for company while he awaited the Dark God. A little longer wouldn't matter.

She had helped him anyway, smiling down at her friend as his eyes rolled back in his head, as he slipped away into the shadow creeping over them.

The Dark God had arrived.

The shadow bent over her, cool and calm and infinite, touching her eyes until Alanna could no longer keep them open.

Thor.

You want Thor.

Thor had died; Alanna had not.

Alanna pulls herself back to the present and manages a small, sad smile. "I had to find Thor, and there wasn't any light. And then-" She swallows and fights back tears. "I helped him sleep. The Dark God came. Have they found Jem Tanner?"

Jon shakes his head no. "He's vanished. Thor was innocent?"

The rest of the story spills out, as accurate as she can possibly remember. She delivers it like a report, but the sadness remains, on her face and on Jon's, until it is replaced by fury. "Treachery!" Jon exclaims, pacing back and forth by her cot. "Merciful Mother, we should have guessed. And we can't do anything about it. My father's instructions remain the same. He's even thinking about giving the right bank to Tusaine."

Alanna sips her water, watching him. "If they're given the right bank, they won't stop till they have the entire valley."

"But no one can convince my father of that. He takes being called 'The Peacemaker' very seriously."

"He did establish peace after the Old King's conquests." Alanna stares at Jon, only half aware of what she's saying. Her palms itch. She wants out from under this blanket, away from this tent, and yet at the same time doesn't want to be anywhere he is not. Moving carefully, she shoves blankets and cat aside until she can swing both legs over and stand shakily on her own feet.

"Yes, but this time he's wrong!" Jon snaps. Another few lengths of the tent and he notices she is standing. Suddenly he's right in front of her, eyes locked on her face. "Look at me. You're not awake five minutes and I'm burdening you with my problems. Mithros, I'm glad you're all right!"

Had it only been five minutes?

Alanna nods, trying another smile on for size, and reaches out to squeeze his hand. How her fingers end up laced though his is a mystery, but there they are, holding hands, and she looks down in amazement. Jon tenses and relaxes by turns, she can feel it in his palm, is aware of how close they are standing, and when he brushes a strand of copper hair away from her face she almost doesn't look up for fear of what will be in his eyes.

He smells good.

He's so warm.

They had almost died. It wasn't the first time they had almost died together, but it's different. Somehow.

"Remember the Black City...?" she starts, only to trail off. Jon is touching her face and she simply forgets what she had meant to say.

He's so close.

Before she has time to register just how close, Jon's full, warm lips are on hers, gentle and cautious at first, then not. Her eyes slip closed.

Goddess.

Alanna overcomes her shock and leans into the kiss, pressing her lips to his, finding the right angle and letting her hand come up to ride on his hip. She makes a small sound deep in her throat and shifts again, ever closer. Warmer.

Someone's coming, Faithful warns.

Alanna falls backwards to sit on the cot again, stunned. Jon leaps sideways in search of his map, fumbling his first grab. She suspects her face is red; she knows his is. Clearing her throat, she finds her water again and takes refuge in hydration.

Myles walks in, looking from Jon to Alanna and back again. "It's time you came to," he says at last, no trace of suspicion in his voice or smile. "Do you realize you've been asleep for three days?"







(OOC: Scenes and most dialogue taken from In the Hand of the Goddess, by Tamora Pierce.)