Post by Seek on May 13, 2013 7:38:14 GMT 10
Title: Fugitives
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 578 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 2A
Summary: AU, set in the same universe as The Dead Land and Black Stones. Alanna escapes. But what about Jon?
Warnings: Very, very dark.
-
Alanna stops, hitches Moonlight to a tree and makes camp only after she’s gotten far enough into the Royal Forest that Roger’s searchers can’t follow. At least no immediately. They’ll be busy regouping their losses, and Roger need to consolidate his power and take contro… “I’m sorry, girl,” she whispers, as she wipes down her horse. Moonlight’s withers is lathered; she whickers reproachfully. Alanna has ridden Moonlight hard in the escape from the castle, and she finds a thin line of blood where a Tirragen sword has cut in the melee.
There’s nothing she can do about that now. She tries anyway, and her Gift is pale, faded mauve, even by the moonlight. She doesn’t think she can even light a fire now, she is so tired. Her magelight wavers and flickers and threatens to go out completely. Still, she tries, laying her hand to Moonlight’s cuts and dredging up what she can of her Gift.
Pale fire wavers, surrounds the cuts and tries to bleed into them. There’s something else in Moonlight, a pool of copper fire that resists her, rejects her magic. Alanna grinds her teeth together and tries to will her Gift to thread itself into the copper.
She knows so little about horse physiology, and what she knows about healing humans comes from the intuitive healer’s sense that her Gift lends her. And she’s so tired. Purple and copper separate and her Gift bleeds back into her. Alanna breathes her frustration out. “Alright,” she says aloud to Moonlight. “There’s nothing I can do about that, then.”
Care for mount first, and then yourself. She should be making camp now, but there’s someone else more important. Jon. They fought, she remembered, back-to-back in the press as they escaped from the chapel, and out into the courtyard, making their way for the stables. The earth as it shook itself to pieces. The Dominion Jewel burning indigo in Jon’s grasp, blue-purple like their combined magics. He drained her Gift, and drained it further still and she gave it all gladly.
They were forced apart at the stables; in a fury, Alanna struck at their attackers, but a single horseman against a line of pikemen was always chancy, and she’d wheeled Moonlight about and fled the other way, hunching down in the saddle so as to make herself as small a target for their arrows instead. No sign of Jon on Darkness.
A single, slender strand of bright blue threads itself through her magelight, but she can’t tell what happened to Jon, or where he might be. She only has the bone-deep conviction that he is still alive.
If he’s dead, all they’ve fought for comes to nothing. She won’t allow that to happen.
Alanna casts about for a bright surface, something reflective. That, Roger has taught them: you need something that can reflect for scrying, because reflections reveal truth and on some esoteric level, the sort Thom’s always gulped down like water, the association between scrying and reflections and truth holds. She draws her sword, and stares down at the blade. Lightning is mirror-bright, and that gives her exactly what she needs.
-
In the eldritch Gift-light, a faintly blue ghost speaks, reflected in the steel of a sword.
Across the distance, a pale mauve ghost answers him, in the blue-washed depths of a small campfire.
Sapphire ghost to violet ghost, they appraise each other of the depths of Roger’s treachery—
—and vow to take it back.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 578 words.
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 2A
Summary: AU, set in the same universe as The Dead Land and Black Stones. Alanna escapes. But what about Jon?
Warnings: Very, very dark.
-
Alanna stops, hitches Moonlight to a tree and makes camp only after she’s gotten far enough into the Royal Forest that Roger’s searchers can’t follow. At least no immediately. They’ll be busy regouping their losses, and Roger need to consolidate his power and take contro… “I’m sorry, girl,” she whispers, as she wipes down her horse. Moonlight’s withers is lathered; she whickers reproachfully. Alanna has ridden Moonlight hard in the escape from the castle, and she finds a thin line of blood where a Tirragen sword has cut in the melee.
There’s nothing she can do about that now. She tries anyway, and her Gift is pale, faded mauve, even by the moonlight. She doesn’t think she can even light a fire now, she is so tired. Her magelight wavers and flickers and threatens to go out completely. Still, she tries, laying her hand to Moonlight’s cuts and dredging up what she can of her Gift.
Pale fire wavers, surrounds the cuts and tries to bleed into them. There’s something else in Moonlight, a pool of copper fire that resists her, rejects her magic. Alanna grinds her teeth together and tries to will her Gift to thread itself into the copper.
She knows so little about horse physiology, and what she knows about healing humans comes from the intuitive healer’s sense that her Gift lends her. And she’s so tired. Purple and copper separate and her Gift bleeds back into her. Alanna breathes her frustration out. “Alright,” she says aloud to Moonlight. “There’s nothing I can do about that, then.”
Care for mount first, and then yourself. She should be making camp now, but there’s someone else more important. Jon. They fought, she remembered, back-to-back in the press as they escaped from the chapel, and out into the courtyard, making their way for the stables. The earth as it shook itself to pieces. The Dominion Jewel burning indigo in Jon’s grasp, blue-purple like their combined magics. He drained her Gift, and drained it further still and she gave it all gladly.
They were forced apart at the stables; in a fury, Alanna struck at their attackers, but a single horseman against a line of pikemen was always chancy, and she’d wheeled Moonlight about and fled the other way, hunching down in the saddle so as to make herself as small a target for their arrows instead. No sign of Jon on Darkness.
A single, slender strand of bright blue threads itself through her magelight, but she can’t tell what happened to Jon, or where he might be. She only has the bone-deep conviction that he is still alive.
If he’s dead, all they’ve fought for comes to nothing. She won’t allow that to happen.
Alanna casts about for a bright surface, something reflective. That, Roger has taught them: you need something that can reflect for scrying, because reflections reveal truth and on some esoteric level, the sort Thom’s always gulped down like water, the association between scrying and reflections and truth holds. She draws her sword, and stares down at the blade. Lightning is mirror-bright, and that gives her exactly what she needs.
-
In the eldritch Gift-light, a faintly blue ghost speaks, reflected in the steel of a sword.
Across the distance, a pale mauve ghost answers him, in the blue-washed depths of a small campfire.
Sapphire ghost to violet ghost, they appraise each other of the depths of Roger’s treachery—
—and vow to take it back.