the_lioness | (no subject)

Eventually, Alanna had to leave the bar.

She hadn't been hiding out. Not exactly. Taking advantage of the time difference was the only smart move, she told herself. It was the right move when a cunning sorcerer is waiting on the other side of the door to knock you out with a spell. She needed to gather her wits, prepare her Gift, order her thoughts.

When she walked through the door again, she took time to wreathe herself in a powerful protection spell, the air around her pulsing with purple light, every part of her body alert and ready for trouble.

It worked well. Alanna felt a surge of confidence that she had been able to foil Roger's plans, whatever they were.

She remained proud of her counter spell right up until the rock smashed into her head, knocking her unconscious.

~ ~ ~

The people responsible for putting Faithful to sleep and capturing the Prince's squire probably didn't mean to set in motion the chain of events that ended the Tusaine War, but it was a small recompense for the bruises and irritation Alanna was left with days later. The events of her ordeal proved uninteresting in the retelling she discovered, unless Micah and Keel took over the tale with their enthusiasm and wide-eyed exaggerations. She had been over it time and time again, first with Jonathan and Myles, then Gary, then in a particularly tense interview with Duke Roger (in public this time, surrounded by the King's advisers). Alanna had caught Roger's eye and held it for a long, long moment, finding it easier than she might have before. He knew, she knew, they each knew the other knew; there was something freeing in such sharp and dangerous honesty, in making the smiling Duke just a little uncomfortable.

A small victory, amidst a much larger one.

Alanna awakened after the rock rattled her brain to find herself imprisoned with Micah and Keel in a hut, each of them bound in chains. Only hers were spelled to resist her Gift, telling her all she needed to know about her circumstances. It took her an unacceptable amount of time to remember the lock pick she kept in her belt; a gift from George, as was the knowledge how to use it. She freed Micah and Keel, a small act that helped them all in the end. They managed to burst out past the guards and lead the rescue party -- Jonathan, Faithful, and several of their friends -- back to the hut.

In the meantime Alanna was kicked and beaten and generally subjected to the worst kind of hospitality, but that wasn't important. Certainly not as important as the identity of her captors. Duke Hilam had taken a personal interest in Alanna and what she might tell him of Jonathan's plans, thanks to the information gathered from his brother, a spy who had been living with them all in the Tortallan camp: Count Jemis. Jem, the bastard who had killed Big Thor. Her attempts to strangle him after that revelation were quickly thwarted. At least she'd gotten in quite a few insults about their mother's relations with warthogs. Or was it goatherds? In any case, she'd managed to spit in Hilam's face, which had felt surprisingly good. Not as good as seeing Jon's face when he realized he would be able to march Hilam and Jem into Tortall's camp as prisoners, but pretty good nonetheless.

With both of his brothers captured by Tortall's crown prince, King Ain was quick to agree to King Roald's peace treaty. The Drell River Valley was and would remain safe in Tortallan hands.

Alanna and her friends were leaving for home before sunrise tomorrow. Back at the site of her capture, Alanna lowered her weary and bruised body to the ground, Faithful wrapped around her shoulders, and said a long prayer for Big Thor. She remembered the moment of his passing, the way the Dark God had reached out and touched her shoulder. Should it worry her that she was known to him in such a way? Perhaps. Perhaps that's why she followed her prayer for Big Thor with an even longer one to the Goddess.

Thank you, Lady, for keeping Jonathan safe.

Thank you, Great Mother, for protecting my friends.

Thank you for allowing me to see Roger for what he is.

Thank you for trusting me. I hope I do not let you down.

The sun set long before she was done. With the army's campfires lighting the Drell River for the last time, she added one last prayer.

I must heal when I can to make some small payment for the lives I must take. I see that now. There is more than one way to seek glory.

Please, Mother, give me the strength to see all this through, so I might raise my sword in your honor and do what good I can.