(no subject)

[the_lioness]

The Milliways library is a treasure trove.

Alanna of Trebond intends to be the first Tortallan warrior maiden, the first woman knight, in over one hundred years. It is everything she has worked so hard for since the idea of switching places with Thom first popped into her ten year-old head. Once she wins her shield and reveals her true identity to the Court, she will ride off on grand adventures and never look back.

That had always been the plan, anyway.

The trouble is she never expected to make such wonderful friends or to form relationships that mean as much to her as family -- more so, if she's honest. Their opinions matter to her in ways her own father's hadn't, and she has been lying to most of them for years. Thom wouldn't understand why she cares so long as she got what she wanted, and doesn't that further prove her point?

Thoughts like these are what drive Alanna to the library at the end of the universe over and over this long, cold winter. No matter how often Jon tells her to trust her friends, she can't shake the feeling she is destined to let everyone down. Here, at least, she can explore places and learn about people she never even knew existed, worlds far beyond the borders of Tortall and the Eastern Lands; it's a head start on her adventuring, even if she never leaves the heavy library chair she has staked out as her own.

Today a map of Alera is spread out on the table, highlighting the Calderon Valley. After Tavi's tale, Alanna had been curious to fill in as much geographical detail as possible. She closes her eyes from time to time, remembering his words -- steadholt, Princeps, cursor -- and considering the insidious nature of treason.

The muffled sound of a book hitting the stone floor pulls her out of her musings. Blinking, Alanna peers into the dim light. Hadn't the lamp burned brighter before? Odd, but hardly reason enough for the chill working its way down her spine. Footsteps draw closer, accompanied by the swish of robes, and a tall, slim figure makes its way into the light.

"There you are. I've been waiting," Lord Alan says, curt and dismissive like he already wishes this conversation was long over.

Alanna gapes at her father, dead these last three years. How is this possible? Of all the people she expected to eventually wander into Milliways, he is the very last.

"Close your mouth. You resemble a fish, and that's not a look becoming a noble." Lord Alan drops several scrolls on the table and taps one with an ink-stained fingernail. "I think I've found the link I need to locate the Rylkal Document, so I'll make this brief."

Of course. Ironically, he is here for precisely the same reason she is, if driven by vastly different motivations. In life Lord Alan had buried himself in books and scrolls. Why should his death be any different?

"Yes, sir," Alanna answers far more meekly than she would like.

Lord Alan notices it too, and frowns. "His Grace, Duke Gareth of Naxen, wrote to me of your progress."

"Yes," Alanna repeats, swallowing hard around the lump of panic in her throat. She'd pondered meeting her father once more in the realms beyond and having to explain herself, but not this soon and never without the Dark God beside her. What does that say, that she'd rather do this with Death himself along? Is she that much of a coward? Feeling her spine straighten out of sheer stubbornness, Alanna catches her father's eye and nods. "I hope that I've made you proud."

"Mmmmm," Lord Alan replies, dropping his gaze to the scroll and unrolling it slightly to read a bit of writing on the side. "It seems you've made decent strides toward your shield. I'm frankly surprised at how glowing his reports have always been."

She bites her lip. Hard.

Lord Alan continues, "Of course, I expected you to do well at your studies, but this business with the sword is a welcome surprise. I was, shall we say, less successful in that area. No matter. I knew what was important."

Alanna doesn't know how to reply to that without uttering something disrespectful, so she settles for another nod.

"Coram Smythesson manages our lands while you remain in Corus?" he asks, though it isn't really a question.

"Yes, sir. I... We thought it best. He sends me regular reports, and Sir Myles assists me with any crop questions I have."

"Good, good. I'm glad you didn't quit and return home."

Alanna's eyes snap up to his face, breath caught as hope takes flight. "Are you?" Her voice is hoarse in her own ears.

Lord Alan gives her a funny look, pushing his dark copper hair back off his sloping forehead. "What an odd question. Yes, Thom. I expect you to finish what you started and bring honor to the Trebond name. Now, I know it's early days yet, but have you considered any of the ladies at court for marriage?"

Just like that, hope is extinguished and Alanna feels as if lead weights are tied to her limbs, pulling her down into a puddle of shameful anger and disappointment. "No" is all she can mange.

He thinks she is Thom.

It shouldn't hurt.

It does anyway.

"Alan, don't be ridiculous," says a light, amused feminine voice. "The twins are far too young for such cares. Let the boy win his shield before you marry them off."

Alanna keeps her eyes on Lord Alan, watching with a sick sort off fascination as his face changes. Years and worry lines disappear as he gazes in adoration at the owner of the voice, a woman Alanna can now feel standing directly behind her chair. She can't turn around; her brain has apparently lost the ability to communicate the desire to do so, and the woman's hands now resting on her shoulders keep her staring straight ahead. Beautiful hands they are too, small and delicate, perfectly maintained. A noblewoman's hands. They look nothing like her own.

"I know, my love," says the man who failed to muster more than a handful of smiles for the twins in all their years with him. "Only remember our coffers are not as full as they once were, though I could never regret the reason. Thom here would do well to select someone with gold to her name. I would fail in my duty as a father were I not to remind him."

Alanna can't help it. She sputters out a laugh that quickly turns into a sneer. Lord Alan and Marinie of Tasride had married for love, severing Marinie's connection to her kin's ample supply of precious metals. In that moment, Alanna wants nothing so much as to leap across the table and rip her father's precious scrolls until it rains parchment paper around them. As if sensing this, the hands on her shoulders give a gentle but firm squeeze.

The woman says, "Alan."

Lord Alan says, "Marinie," and his expression softens further.

"It's time to go," Marinie says in her soft, lilting tone, a sound Alanna has longed for her entire life and isn't ready to give up yet.

"No!" she exclaims, reaching up to grab one of her mother's hands, scrambling to keep her here, to keep her memory, to keep her. "Don't go."

"We must," her father says, but she doesn't bother looking at him anymore. All she wants is a glance at her mother's face, something to hold on to that isn't the one portrait at Trebond Maude said made her mother look so much older than she'd actually been -- older than she ever lived to be. "I trust you'll continue on your current path. Farewell, my son." He steps away from the table with the scrolls tucked under one arm and the other offered to his wife.

Alanna isn't able to hold Marinie and now she is almost gone, pulled inexorably into the shadows by the broken and bitter man who was the only parent the twins had known. "Mother," she cries out, all her pain and frustration finally finding a voice.

Marinie glides to a halt and pats Lord Alan's arm. "Go on, my love. I'll be two steps behind you."

Urgently, Alanna pushes at the table but finds herself pinned by the chair. "Mother," she repeats, unable to say anything else.

Only a sliver of Marinie's pale face is visible, barely more than a hint of upturned nose and generous mouth. Alanna squints, searching out some similarity of features or attitude, anything to tie her to this woman beyond her erratically pounding heart and innate recognition.

"I would have you know," Marinie says, "that I am proud of both my children. You're so different, but each rather magnificent in unexpected ways. Headstrong, yes, but also touched by greatness. Thom will do amazing things."

There! A flash of purple, and the curve of a smirk. Alanna sucks in a breath so she doesn't start to sob.

Marinie nods once, meaningfully. "And Alanna, well, what mother wouldn't want such a daughter?"

She smiles and starts to move on, her voice floating back to Alanna and unraveling the tension that had taken up residence in her gut at the sight of Lord Alan.

"Remember, my child, what Maude told you when you started on this path your father can't quite see. Remember to heal. Remember to love. Remember the Goddess is first and foremost the Great Mother, and she looks after those of us who lost time. Some men are blinded by their own pride to what is in front of them, but she makes sure others are not so afflicted. Go with my blessing, though you've never truly needed it. Remember that when you give in to doubt."

They are gone.

Alanna is alone, unsure if it had happened at all, hands gripping the table's edge so tightly she knows she'll have trouble rubbing the feeling back into her fingers.

Mother.

She collapses into her chair, puts her head back, and closes her eyes.

Remember.

As if there is any doubt she would.