Post by aurorax on Jun 24, 2009 17:58:34 GMT 10
Title: Never Forgotten-Scenes from the Scanran War
Rating: PG-13
Series: PotS circa LK
Summary: This is a series of one-shots of varying length describing missing moments from the Scanran War, following the timeline of Lady Knight. I'm basically going chronologically through LK and adding short scenes from the viewpoint of someone other than Kel where I think it would be most interesting to see a little more development.
AN: I hope to do 50 scenes, but I am only posting the first 4 here, because it would be insanely long. The rest up to 13 can be found here Story on fanfiction.net. I don't know what the overlap in readership is between these two sites, so if this is repetitive let me know. And I'm sorry about the massive chunks of text, this was my first story and I didn't have spacing down yet. Enjoy!
1. Chill
His breath swirled heavy in the chill dawn air, adding another layer of fog to the delicate frost adorning the window. It distorted the view, allowing the mass of soldiers, knights, and horses milling about the Great Road North to fade into a tapestry of color and light. For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to continue gazing down on the meaningless blur of shapes.
It was so much easier this way, the individual flowing and fading into the larger whole. In that fleeting instant, King Jonathan saw an army, strong and proud on the field below, and for the first time in weeks he was at peace. This was his kingdom, everything he had worked for, the glory of the past and the hope of the future.
He closed his eyes with a sigh, breaking the spell. To be able to look at them, the men and women whom he had ordered into the unknown- he owed them that at least. Forcing himself to focus, he picked out individuals from among the crowd.
There was Alanna, helm in hand as the first rays of sun valiantly broke through the clouds to set her hair alight in flame; there was Raoul, visible above the heads of his men, effortlessly commanding the attention of the group; there was his eldest son, a conflict between seizing the freedom to fight alongside his people and his duty to the country and the fiancé he was leaving raging beneath his steady gaze.
Upon Raoul’s signal, the soldiers began to move as one body, their sights set towards the north, towards war. They would not all return; that much was clear. It was not the first time that Jon had sent men to their deaths, nor would it be the last. It was a responsibility that he had accepted with his crown.
Soon the first reports would come, his commanders detailing in steady hands the number of arrow wounds, lost limbs, casualties, and enemy troops, finding shelter in the certainty of numbers and facts. Maybe it kept the faces of the dead men from their dreams; he wasn’t sure.
And so Jon remained at the window, vowing instead to remember, to see the life behind each name on a list. Someone had to. They could not be forgotten.
As the creaking of leather and hollow clap of hooves on the frozen expanse of ground faded into a mere echo on the wind, the King kept his eyes stubbornly focused straight ahead, watching his army move determinedly towards their destiny one step at a time. He had meant to watch them until they had disappeared completely beyond the bluffs, but a sudden flash of sun obscured his vision.
Everywhere rays of light exploded into prismatic rainbows of color, dancing across the images before him until he felt as if he no longer looked upon the Mortal Realms. There was a beauty to the scene, but it was a cold beauty, the beams doing nothing to remove the chill from the air. It seemed to have seeped into his very bones, this frigid March dawn, and he felt himself shudder involuntarily.
Turning away at last, Jon draped a heavy cloak over his shoulders before setting off in search of his advisors and a mug of something warm.
Over the palace, the Stormwings circled, their hundreds of eyes fixed northward. The war had begun.
2. Kraken
Raoul lowered his gloved hand, listening as the sound of hooves suddenly fell away behind him. It was quickly replaced by the sighs and curses of the men as they wearily dismounted and promptly sank to their knees in the thick mud. The group around him dispersed quickly, the promise of dry clothes and a warm meal driving the soldiers to trudge through the churned mess of slush and muck to the nearest wayhouse.
It was only their third day on the road, and already spirits were dragging. Life seemed to have lost all purpose, running on an endless loop of riding and eating and sleeping and waking to ride once more. And the damn weather wasn’t helping things; even he was not impractical enough to pray for sun, but a morning cold enough to freeze the soggy ground would have been a welcome blessing.
He shook his head, laughing at his foolishness. As much as he tried to deny it to Buri, he was an idealist, not afraid to try to change something just because others said it was impossible. But he wasn’t stupid either, and he knew that there were some things that you just had to accept. The weather was certainly one of them.
Dismounting with a squelch, he grabbed Drum’s reins and started towards shelter. He hadn’t gotten very far when a loud voice made him turn instinctively. He knew that voice, and he knew that tone. Alanna was on the warpath, and while it was probably best to duck and cover, he had changed course to meet her without a second thought.
If the last few days had been wearing on his good humor, he could only imagine that Alanna’s short temper was at the breaking point. Come to think of it, he was actually impressed she had held out this long, even with her friends obeying Jon’s strict orders to ride between her and the conservative knights at all times.
Upon reaching his friend, he found her deep in a philosophical dispute with a Stormwing who was hovering, amused, just out of the range of her bow. The Stormwing swooped down quickly, her sing-song voice grating on the ears as she mocked Alanna for fearing the mud.
He then realized why his friend was still on her horse, and not hurrying towards her bath like the others. Raoul didn’t blame her- with legs that short, the mud was likely to reach almost to her waist, an unpleasant enough sensation to merit consideration even from one as brave as the King’s Champion.
From the look on her face, she was ready to throw herself defiantly into the mess. Alanna had always been so stubborn; it was one of the things that had first caught his attention when they were pages and that he still loved about her a few decades later. Catching Darkmoon’s reins, he swept his fiery companion up into his arms and set off for the wayhouse once more.
He’d be hearing about this later, but since he was an old friend, he doubted that Alanna would actually kill him. Hopefully. She stubbornly continued with her protests until he shifted his hand to cover her mouth, effectively muffling her complaints, as the Stormwing flew off overhead raining curses on them for ruining the fun.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, watching two young knights ahead of them in the distance. One tripped, earning himself a faceful of mud, and the soft, restrained laughter of his companion floated back to them on the wind. Raoul would have recognized that laugh even if he hadn’t been able to pick out the roan gelding she led from a mile off, and the muddy young man who emerged spluttering and waving his arms about could only be Alanna’s ex-squire.
A tickling at his chest indicated that Alanna was trying to say something; thinking it was a renewal of her earlier protests, Raoul held her away from his body, threatening to drop her in a stagnant puddle of muck. As he looked into her eyes with a laugh, however, he was puzzled by the expression there. She looked…older, contemplative, more thoughtful than he had seen her in a long while.
He knew that they had both changed over the years; they had seen enough to last a lifetime and no one, not even the sharp-tongued, headstrong, impulsive woman in his arms could make it through unscathed. Still, it was rare to see her this troubled, and he wondered what was on her mind.
There was no use asking; if she wanted to tell him, she would, on her own time. He appreciated that; it was one of the reasons that they had stayed close over the years, even as other old friends had begun to drift away. Gary, with his papers and plans and ideas; Jon, trying to walk the delicate balance between doing what he knew was right and what would gain the popular support; sometimes he just couldn’t understand them like he had when they were pages and squires together.
But he and Alanna were both warriors; they had been through it all and came out understanding one another in ways that the others could never share.
“I’d forgotten how attached you get.” The words were no longer muffled in his chest, and he realized she had turned her head to gaze ahead as he had been. He wasn’t sure what she was referring to until she added, “They seem so young. When did we get so old?”
It had been so long since either of them had taken a squire. Alanna, in fact, never had before. Now, watching Kel ride off to war, he wasn’t sure how to feel. She was ready, he couldn’t deny that; she had proved time and again over the last four years that she could take care of herself, and even now she still managed to surprise him. It was for himself that he was worried.
When he had first considered Kel as his squire, he had been caught up in the logistics of making everything work, how to keep a young girl safe among a hundred men, the best way to protect her reputation and his own, what gear she would need for the hard road ahead. There had never been time to consider the impact she might have on his life. Looking back, he felt as if he had gained a daughter over the last few years; nothing made him more proud then seeing the confident, independent woman she had become, and he was glad to have had the chance to play a part, however small, in helping her grow to fulfill her promise.
Now that the time had come to let her go, it was much harder than he had expected, but he wouldn’t hold her back for anything. She had a lot to prove to the world, and Raoul couldn’t wait to watch her do it. And as much as she complained about her insubordinate, insufferable squire, he knew Alanna felt the same way towards Neal. Somewhere among the sarcasm and flarng tempers, they had found the same bond.
Alanna was right, he had never felt as old as he did at that moment, as their ex-squires slowly faded from view. They might never be that carefree again; there was no denying that the war would change them. There was so much that needed to be said, and so few words to express it.
“We survived. So will they. They’re strong, and they have each other, like we did. They’ll make it.” Not nearly enough, and he knew it. Looking at the violet eyes before him, he knew that he had done so much more than just survive over the years- he had killed and healed and loved and lost, fought men and immortals, served in wars and prayed for peace.
But through it all she had been there, to remind him what he was fighting for, to rescue him when he tried to drink away the pain and keep him sane when everything around him seemed to have dissolved into madness. And he would do the same for her. Their friendship was what had kept him fighting all these years. As he set her on her feet at the threshold of the inn, he caught her small nod of agreement and knew she understood what he meant. It hadn’t been enough, but it was all that needed to be said.
Together the old friends walked inside, trying to hide the sadness in their eyes as they passed the table of first-year knights. Today, they laughed and called out to one another, glad to be off the road for the night and savoring their warm meals. Today, they were innocent. They had seen battles, seen men die- certainly Kel had experienced her fair share of fighting with the Own- but they had never been to war.
Tomorrow, the next day, in a month if they were lucky, that innocence would be taken from them. It was the way of the world, as fixed and unchangeable as the weather. No matter how much they would have liked to protect the next generation from seeing the horrors they had seen, Alanna and Raoul knew it was impossible.
So they simply prayed that the kids would survive. As he watched Neal slide into the seat next to Kel, draping his arm around her shoulder, he knew that they would make it. The war would be hard, but like him, the two young knights would never be truly alone. And that was all you could ask for.
3. Addiction
The soapy plate slipped out of his small hand, falling to the floor with a clatter loud enough to wake the gods and breaking into a million tiny shards. He ducked instinctively, knowing what was coming, but only succeeded in making the hard slap connect with the back of his head rather than its intended target between his shoulders. The room swam before his eyes from the force of the blow, almost making him drop another plate.
He recovered quickly and tried to focus all his attention on the task at hand. The Jug and Fire was busy as he had ever seen it, full of knights heading northward towards the war. Tobe had hoped that the roaring trade would ease the innkeeper’s sour temper, but the stress of providing for so many seemed to quicken it all the more.
Feeling the man’s fierce gaze on his back, Tobe continued to wash the endless stack of plates before him. It was hopeless to begin with, and as dishes were being added faster than he could clean them, he worked for hours only to watch the pile continue to grow.
Eventually his attention began to drift again, despite his best efforts. So many horses…he had never seen the stables so full. And these were different from any he had ever heard before, smart and confident and loyal.
Queensgrace had never attracted many knights in the past; this was the first time that Tobe had ever seen a true warhorse. Now the stalls were full of them, and he couldn’t think of anything else. He had to see them; he might never have such an opportunity again. He didn’t know what it was about the powerful mounts that drew him in, but he couldn’t even begin to contemplate how much they would be able to teach him.
Most of what Tobe knew of the world had been taught to him by the town’s horses, but he had reached the end of their stores of knowledge and was desperate for more. A chorus of voices seemed to dance in his head, and as he reached for another tankard it was no longer the kitchen that appeared before his eyes. Instead, he saw a palace surrounded by a bustling city, viewed from above as if halted upon a bluff. Tobe wondered if it was Corus. He had heard stories about the capitol from old Auld Eulama, and had once dreamed of going there. Not anymore- he was too old to dwell on empty fantasies, not when there was work to be done.
Still, he found himself focusing more and more attention of the feisty roan with whom he had shared the scene, impressed by the knowledge and independence he found. The gelding had a stubborn streak all right, and wouldn’t share any more with the strange two-legger who was not his master, her squeaky friend, or any of the others he recognized until he had come to visit. Preferably with an apple.
Tobe didn’t have to consider it long. There was little chance he would get much more done tonight, not with his head full of horses; it was truly an addiction, one he couldn’t have done anything about, even had he wished to. If he was going to be beaten anyway, he might as well be beaten in the stables. There at least he might have a few minutes to meet the knight’s mounts before Alvik found him.
Waiting until his master’s back was turned, Tobe slipped off to his favorite haunt. Taking a seat in an empty stall, he basked in the warm scent of horseflesh and leather. It made him feel safe, like nothing could touch him. It also reminded him of home, though he knew that was silly- of course he couldn’t remember home.
Even the heavy sound of Alvik’s footsteps could not shake the sense of peace that came over him in the stables, and though he cried out as the leather strap cut through his thin shirt to ravage his flesh, he did not regret his choice. For a boy who had only known pain, this day was already considered one of the happiest in his short life. He had no idea what the world had in store for him.
4. Strays
He couldn’t help it; his heart skipped a beat as he saw the ragged dog marching purposely across the room towards him. Kel could have sent Jump to get him for any number of reasons, none of which necessarily involved mortal peril. Or angry immortals. Or duels to the death with conservatives, though that would be interesting to watch and he could use a little excitement after ten long days on the road. Or…but no, his imagination was getting away from him again, and they hadn’t even reached the border yet.
If he got this worked up now, how was he going to be able to watch her ride out into the real fighting? He had no doubt that Kel would be in the middle of the battle if left to her own devices, fighting for everyone else with little regard for her own safety.
As much as Neal hated to admit it, he almost hoped that the Stump would continue to underestimate her as he always had and give her a safe assignment. She would hate it, he knew, but she would still accept her duty without complaint; it was one of the things that had always amazed him about her, her ability to take on the worst task without complaint, then complete it like it was what she had always dreamed of doing.
He knew he was being selfish, wanting to keep her out of the fighting when she was so desperate to prove herself. She was his best friend, the only reason he had made it through his training, the one who would help him make it through the war. He couldn’t survive without her.
So even before he felt Jump’s jaw close lightly on his leg, seeking his attention in the most expedient manner he could think of, Neal was already making his excuses and taking his leave. Sure, he would complain about having to leave the card game when he saw her; he had a reputation to maintain. But it was all talk. And Kel knew it of course; she could always see through his cynical façade.
He hurried after Jump without a second glance, wondering what stupid, selfless act had gotten his best friend into trouble this time around.
Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t a boy. He was used to Kel and her strays; a new kitten wouldn’t have surprised him, or an injured bird. Even a baby hurrok wouldn’t have been all that surprising; she had raised the griffin after all, and what an ungrateful little beast it had been.
But this was different- this was a human child. Kel clearly had no notion of how to raise a young boy, that much was clear from the fact that she was speaking calmly to him as he sat between Peachblossom’s legs.
If there was one place in the world Neal would have not wanted to find himself, it would be where the boy was now sitting. Come to think of it, he wondered why the Chamber had not seized on that one; maybe it was not as all-powerful as everyone supposed.
And now Kel expected him to heal the boy- he was happy to do it, the kid looked like he needed it, but he refused to get any closer to the temperamental gelding. Neal didn’t like the look in Peachblossom’s eye; he looked rather like Kel when she fought to protect one of her friends or charges, the same look of determined concern mixed with protective wrath. It was clear he was outnumbered here.
Neal sighed in exasperation- it was just what she needed, another stray to look after. They were on the way to war, and he doubted that wherever she was assigned she would even have the time to look after herself. Sometimes he wished she could just let these things pass like everyone else.
No, that wasn’t true; he knew it was only fear and exhaustion that made him think that way. This was pure, classic Kel, standing up for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. It was one of the many things that made her extraordinary, and he wouldn’t change it for all the world.
He would, however, like to get the boy away from Peachblossom. He was a good healer, but he wasn’t a miracle worker, and crushed skulls required more concentration than he could summon at the present juncture.
Rating: PG-13
Series: PotS circa LK
Summary: This is a series of one-shots of varying length describing missing moments from the Scanran War, following the timeline of Lady Knight. I'm basically going chronologically through LK and adding short scenes from the viewpoint of someone other than Kel where I think it would be most interesting to see a little more development.
AN: I hope to do 50 scenes, but I am only posting the first 4 here, because it would be insanely long. The rest up to 13 can be found here Story on fanfiction.net. I don't know what the overlap in readership is between these two sites, so if this is repetitive let me know. And I'm sorry about the massive chunks of text, this was my first story and I didn't have spacing down yet. Enjoy!
1. Chill
His breath swirled heavy in the chill dawn air, adding another layer of fog to the delicate frost adorning the window. It distorted the view, allowing the mass of soldiers, knights, and horses milling about the Great Road North to fade into a tapestry of color and light. For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to continue gazing down on the meaningless blur of shapes.
It was so much easier this way, the individual flowing and fading into the larger whole. In that fleeting instant, King Jonathan saw an army, strong and proud on the field below, and for the first time in weeks he was at peace. This was his kingdom, everything he had worked for, the glory of the past and the hope of the future.
He closed his eyes with a sigh, breaking the spell. To be able to look at them, the men and women whom he had ordered into the unknown- he owed them that at least. Forcing himself to focus, he picked out individuals from among the crowd.
There was Alanna, helm in hand as the first rays of sun valiantly broke through the clouds to set her hair alight in flame; there was Raoul, visible above the heads of his men, effortlessly commanding the attention of the group; there was his eldest son, a conflict between seizing the freedom to fight alongside his people and his duty to the country and the fiancé he was leaving raging beneath his steady gaze.
Upon Raoul’s signal, the soldiers began to move as one body, their sights set towards the north, towards war. They would not all return; that much was clear. It was not the first time that Jon had sent men to their deaths, nor would it be the last. It was a responsibility that he had accepted with his crown.
Soon the first reports would come, his commanders detailing in steady hands the number of arrow wounds, lost limbs, casualties, and enemy troops, finding shelter in the certainty of numbers and facts. Maybe it kept the faces of the dead men from their dreams; he wasn’t sure.
And so Jon remained at the window, vowing instead to remember, to see the life behind each name on a list. Someone had to. They could not be forgotten.
As the creaking of leather and hollow clap of hooves on the frozen expanse of ground faded into a mere echo on the wind, the King kept his eyes stubbornly focused straight ahead, watching his army move determinedly towards their destiny one step at a time. He had meant to watch them until they had disappeared completely beyond the bluffs, but a sudden flash of sun obscured his vision.
Everywhere rays of light exploded into prismatic rainbows of color, dancing across the images before him until he felt as if he no longer looked upon the Mortal Realms. There was a beauty to the scene, but it was a cold beauty, the beams doing nothing to remove the chill from the air. It seemed to have seeped into his very bones, this frigid March dawn, and he felt himself shudder involuntarily.
Turning away at last, Jon draped a heavy cloak over his shoulders before setting off in search of his advisors and a mug of something warm.
Over the palace, the Stormwings circled, their hundreds of eyes fixed northward. The war had begun.
2. Kraken
Raoul lowered his gloved hand, listening as the sound of hooves suddenly fell away behind him. It was quickly replaced by the sighs and curses of the men as they wearily dismounted and promptly sank to their knees in the thick mud. The group around him dispersed quickly, the promise of dry clothes and a warm meal driving the soldiers to trudge through the churned mess of slush and muck to the nearest wayhouse.
It was only their third day on the road, and already spirits were dragging. Life seemed to have lost all purpose, running on an endless loop of riding and eating and sleeping and waking to ride once more. And the damn weather wasn’t helping things; even he was not impractical enough to pray for sun, but a morning cold enough to freeze the soggy ground would have been a welcome blessing.
He shook his head, laughing at his foolishness. As much as he tried to deny it to Buri, he was an idealist, not afraid to try to change something just because others said it was impossible. But he wasn’t stupid either, and he knew that there were some things that you just had to accept. The weather was certainly one of them.
Dismounting with a squelch, he grabbed Drum’s reins and started towards shelter. He hadn’t gotten very far when a loud voice made him turn instinctively. He knew that voice, and he knew that tone. Alanna was on the warpath, and while it was probably best to duck and cover, he had changed course to meet her without a second thought.
If the last few days had been wearing on his good humor, he could only imagine that Alanna’s short temper was at the breaking point. Come to think of it, he was actually impressed she had held out this long, even with her friends obeying Jon’s strict orders to ride between her and the conservative knights at all times.
Upon reaching his friend, he found her deep in a philosophical dispute with a Stormwing who was hovering, amused, just out of the range of her bow. The Stormwing swooped down quickly, her sing-song voice grating on the ears as she mocked Alanna for fearing the mud.
He then realized why his friend was still on her horse, and not hurrying towards her bath like the others. Raoul didn’t blame her- with legs that short, the mud was likely to reach almost to her waist, an unpleasant enough sensation to merit consideration even from one as brave as the King’s Champion.
From the look on her face, she was ready to throw herself defiantly into the mess. Alanna had always been so stubborn; it was one of the things that had first caught his attention when they were pages and that he still loved about her a few decades later. Catching Darkmoon’s reins, he swept his fiery companion up into his arms and set off for the wayhouse once more.
He’d be hearing about this later, but since he was an old friend, he doubted that Alanna would actually kill him. Hopefully. She stubbornly continued with her protests until he shifted his hand to cover her mouth, effectively muffling her complaints, as the Stormwing flew off overhead raining curses on them for ruining the fun.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, watching two young knights ahead of them in the distance. One tripped, earning himself a faceful of mud, and the soft, restrained laughter of his companion floated back to them on the wind. Raoul would have recognized that laugh even if he hadn’t been able to pick out the roan gelding she led from a mile off, and the muddy young man who emerged spluttering and waving his arms about could only be Alanna’s ex-squire.
A tickling at his chest indicated that Alanna was trying to say something; thinking it was a renewal of her earlier protests, Raoul held her away from his body, threatening to drop her in a stagnant puddle of muck. As he looked into her eyes with a laugh, however, he was puzzled by the expression there. She looked…older, contemplative, more thoughtful than he had seen her in a long while.
He knew that they had both changed over the years; they had seen enough to last a lifetime and no one, not even the sharp-tongued, headstrong, impulsive woman in his arms could make it through unscathed. Still, it was rare to see her this troubled, and he wondered what was on her mind.
There was no use asking; if she wanted to tell him, she would, on her own time. He appreciated that; it was one of the reasons that they had stayed close over the years, even as other old friends had begun to drift away. Gary, with his papers and plans and ideas; Jon, trying to walk the delicate balance between doing what he knew was right and what would gain the popular support; sometimes he just couldn’t understand them like he had when they were pages and squires together.
But he and Alanna were both warriors; they had been through it all and came out understanding one another in ways that the others could never share.
“I’d forgotten how attached you get.” The words were no longer muffled in his chest, and he realized she had turned her head to gaze ahead as he had been. He wasn’t sure what she was referring to until she added, “They seem so young. When did we get so old?”
It had been so long since either of them had taken a squire. Alanna, in fact, never had before. Now, watching Kel ride off to war, he wasn’t sure how to feel. She was ready, he couldn’t deny that; she had proved time and again over the last four years that she could take care of herself, and even now she still managed to surprise him. It was for himself that he was worried.
When he had first considered Kel as his squire, he had been caught up in the logistics of making everything work, how to keep a young girl safe among a hundred men, the best way to protect her reputation and his own, what gear she would need for the hard road ahead. There had never been time to consider the impact she might have on his life. Looking back, he felt as if he had gained a daughter over the last few years; nothing made him more proud then seeing the confident, independent woman she had become, and he was glad to have had the chance to play a part, however small, in helping her grow to fulfill her promise.
Now that the time had come to let her go, it was much harder than he had expected, but he wouldn’t hold her back for anything. She had a lot to prove to the world, and Raoul couldn’t wait to watch her do it. And as much as she complained about her insubordinate, insufferable squire, he knew Alanna felt the same way towards Neal. Somewhere among the sarcasm and flarng tempers, they had found the same bond.
Alanna was right, he had never felt as old as he did at that moment, as their ex-squires slowly faded from view. They might never be that carefree again; there was no denying that the war would change them. There was so much that needed to be said, and so few words to express it.
“We survived. So will they. They’re strong, and they have each other, like we did. They’ll make it.” Not nearly enough, and he knew it. Looking at the violet eyes before him, he knew that he had done so much more than just survive over the years- he had killed and healed and loved and lost, fought men and immortals, served in wars and prayed for peace.
But through it all she had been there, to remind him what he was fighting for, to rescue him when he tried to drink away the pain and keep him sane when everything around him seemed to have dissolved into madness. And he would do the same for her. Their friendship was what had kept him fighting all these years. As he set her on her feet at the threshold of the inn, he caught her small nod of agreement and knew she understood what he meant. It hadn’t been enough, but it was all that needed to be said.
Together the old friends walked inside, trying to hide the sadness in their eyes as they passed the table of first-year knights. Today, they laughed and called out to one another, glad to be off the road for the night and savoring their warm meals. Today, they were innocent. They had seen battles, seen men die- certainly Kel had experienced her fair share of fighting with the Own- but they had never been to war.
Tomorrow, the next day, in a month if they were lucky, that innocence would be taken from them. It was the way of the world, as fixed and unchangeable as the weather. No matter how much they would have liked to protect the next generation from seeing the horrors they had seen, Alanna and Raoul knew it was impossible.
So they simply prayed that the kids would survive. As he watched Neal slide into the seat next to Kel, draping his arm around her shoulder, he knew that they would make it. The war would be hard, but like him, the two young knights would never be truly alone. And that was all you could ask for.
3. Addiction
The soapy plate slipped out of his small hand, falling to the floor with a clatter loud enough to wake the gods and breaking into a million tiny shards. He ducked instinctively, knowing what was coming, but only succeeded in making the hard slap connect with the back of his head rather than its intended target between his shoulders. The room swam before his eyes from the force of the blow, almost making him drop another plate.
He recovered quickly and tried to focus all his attention on the task at hand. The Jug and Fire was busy as he had ever seen it, full of knights heading northward towards the war. Tobe had hoped that the roaring trade would ease the innkeeper’s sour temper, but the stress of providing for so many seemed to quicken it all the more.
Feeling the man’s fierce gaze on his back, Tobe continued to wash the endless stack of plates before him. It was hopeless to begin with, and as dishes were being added faster than he could clean them, he worked for hours only to watch the pile continue to grow.
Eventually his attention began to drift again, despite his best efforts. So many horses…he had never seen the stables so full. And these were different from any he had ever heard before, smart and confident and loyal.
Queensgrace had never attracted many knights in the past; this was the first time that Tobe had ever seen a true warhorse. Now the stalls were full of them, and he couldn’t think of anything else. He had to see them; he might never have such an opportunity again. He didn’t know what it was about the powerful mounts that drew him in, but he couldn’t even begin to contemplate how much they would be able to teach him.
Most of what Tobe knew of the world had been taught to him by the town’s horses, but he had reached the end of their stores of knowledge and was desperate for more. A chorus of voices seemed to dance in his head, and as he reached for another tankard it was no longer the kitchen that appeared before his eyes. Instead, he saw a palace surrounded by a bustling city, viewed from above as if halted upon a bluff. Tobe wondered if it was Corus. He had heard stories about the capitol from old Auld Eulama, and had once dreamed of going there. Not anymore- he was too old to dwell on empty fantasies, not when there was work to be done.
Still, he found himself focusing more and more attention of the feisty roan with whom he had shared the scene, impressed by the knowledge and independence he found. The gelding had a stubborn streak all right, and wouldn’t share any more with the strange two-legger who was not his master, her squeaky friend, or any of the others he recognized until he had come to visit. Preferably with an apple.
Tobe didn’t have to consider it long. There was little chance he would get much more done tonight, not with his head full of horses; it was truly an addiction, one he couldn’t have done anything about, even had he wished to. If he was going to be beaten anyway, he might as well be beaten in the stables. There at least he might have a few minutes to meet the knight’s mounts before Alvik found him.
Waiting until his master’s back was turned, Tobe slipped off to his favorite haunt. Taking a seat in an empty stall, he basked in the warm scent of horseflesh and leather. It made him feel safe, like nothing could touch him. It also reminded him of home, though he knew that was silly- of course he couldn’t remember home.
Even the heavy sound of Alvik’s footsteps could not shake the sense of peace that came over him in the stables, and though he cried out as the leather strap cut through his thin shirt to ravage his flesh, he did not regret his choice. For a boy who had only known pain, this day was already considered one of the happiest in his short life. He had no idea what the world had in store for him.
4. Strays
He couldn’t help it; his heart skipped a beat as he saw the ragged dog marching purposely across the room towards him. Kel could have sent Jump to get him for any number of reasons, none of which necessarily involved mortal peril. Or angry immortals. Or duels to the death with conservatives, though that would be interesting to watch and he could use a little excitement after ten long days on the road. Or…but no, his imagination was getting away from him again, and they hadn’t even reached the border yet.
If he got this worked up now, how was he going to be able to watch her ride out into the real fighting? He had no doubt that Kel would be in the middle of the battle if left to her own devices, fighting for everyone else with little regard for her own safety.
As much as Neal hated to admit it, he almost hoped that the Stump would continue to underestimate her as he always had and give her a safe assignment. She would hate it, he knew, but she would still accept her duty without complaint; it was one of the things that had always amazed him about her, her ability to take on the worst task without complaint, then complete it like it was what she had always dreamed of doing.
He knew he was being selfish, wanting to keep her out of the fighting when she was so desperate to prove herself. She was his best friend, the only reason he had made it through his training, the one who would help him make it through the war. He couldn’t survive without her.
So even before he felt Jump’s jaw close lightly on his leg, seeking his attention in the most expedient manner he could think of, Neal was already making his excuses and taking his leave. Sure, he would complain about having to leave the card game when he saw her; he had a reputation to maintain. But it was all talk. And Kel knew it of course; she could always see through his cynical façade.
He hurried after Jump without a second glance, wondering what stupid, selfless act had gotten his best friend into trouble this time around.
Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t a boy. He was used to Kel and her strays; a new kitten wouldn’t have surprised him, or an injured bird. Even a baby hurrok wouldn’t have been all that surprising; she had raised the griffin after all, and what an ungrateful little beast it had been.
But this was different- this was a human child. Kel clearly had no notion of how to raise a young boy, that much was clear from the fact that she was speaking calmly to him as he sat between Peachblossom’s legs.
If there was one place in the world Neal would have not wanted to find himself, it would be where the boy was now sitting. Come to think of it, he wondered why the Chamber had not seized on that one; maybe it was not as all-powerful as everyone supposed.
And now Kel expected him to heal the boy- he was happy to do it, the kid looked like he needed it, but he refused to get any closer to the temperamental gelding. Neal didn’t like the look in Peachblossom’s eye; he looked rather like Kel when she fought to protect one of her friends or charges, the same look of determined concern mixed with protective wrath. It was clear he was outnumbered here.
Neal sighed in exasperation- it was just what she needed, another stray to look after. They were on the way to war, and he doubted that wherever she was assigned she would even have the time to look after herself. Sometimes he wished she could just let these things pass like everyone else.
No, that wasn’t true; he knew it was only fear and exhaustion that made him think that way. This was pure, classic Kel, standing up for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. It was one of the many things that made her extraordinary, and he wouldn’t change it for all the world.
He would, however, like to get the boy away from Peachblossom. He was a good healer, but he wasn’t a miracle worker, and crushed skulls required more concentration than he could summon at the present juncture.