A/N Ok am I the only one who is really annoyed by all these Alanna goes to the convent stories, where everything is alright. Jon is alive (is me but wasn't it Alanna who saved his life, if she was at the convent Jon would be dead), Roger isn't king, and somehow (don't ask me how she managed it) Alanna is the best swordsman of them all. It doesn't make sense. So this is what I think really would have happened if she had been sent to the convent. If something like this has already been done please tell me. I do not own any of the characters you know. I hope you enjoy it. I'm a pyro so I don't mind flames.
Chapter I: The Nightly Patrol
George stealthily glided in and out of the shadows; he heard the big castle clock boom out nine strokes. He swore under his breath, and hugged the wall, making his lithe twenty-two-year-old body melt into the stones. The soldiers were walking through the winding streets and back alleys of Corus. George stood there not daring to move, his drab grey clothes blended with the drab grey building. He held his breath, the line of mercenaries past by, then he silently let one of his hidden throwing knives fly. He didn't wait to see the man fall, he knew he would, he just ran silently a shadow slightly darker than the rest of the darkness. He heard the confusion behind him, and smiled, at one a night he might kill them all in a hundred years. He laughed silently. The soldiers were organizing a pursuit.
"You can't chase what you can't see," he thought as he climbed onto the rooftops and made his way back to the Dancing Dove. As he reached it he looked sadly at the darkened windows, he remembered a time when there had been carousing well past midnight there, but now, at a time when it should have been full it was empty. The sign swung crookedly in front, and the creaking of its rusty hinges could be heard. He shook his head and leapt onto its roof, his sensitive fingers felt for the chink in his shutters, he pulled them open, and slid silently into the room. He looked down at his bed, how he loved sleeping, it was his escape, his dreams were strange and wonderful.
"My sight is acting up again," he said quietly with a smile. He never revealed to anyone that he had a small gift, it was dangerous to admit to that in these times. He closed his eyes trying to shut out the memory.
Guards, their hands grasping arms and legs. His mother struggling against their grasp screaming, only he had known what her screams had meant and whom they were for. They were telling him not to save her, not to try, to stay hidden and watch men taking his mother to who knows where. He had wanted to attack to rip them all to pieces but he knew that his mother's repeated cry of "NO!" was not directed to the guards, and he had remained where he was, as silent tears rolled down his face. From that day on, he was very careful with his gift, not letting anyone know about it. He saw countless others being dragged away. He had once saved a little girl from the soldiers. There had been less for her, and so there was less risk. He had named her Elafos, and raised her.
He walked out into the hall and knocked quietly on Ela's door.
"Yes," she whispered. George opened the door Ela ran to him and hugged him tightly. George stroked her hair softly. He knelt so he was at the same height as the five-year-old.
"I promised you I wouldn't get caught, my little lass," he said. She nodded her head. "You know I would never break a promise to you." He brushed a tear from Ela's cheek and smiled at her. She kissed him on the forehead, and walked back over to her cot. George opened the door, and silently left her room. Then out in the hall, George, the King of Thieves, and the fearless leader of an underground resistance, wept. Out there in the hall he collapsed to the floor and cried. He stood slowly brushing away tears, and walked back to his room to sleep.
He was in the shadow of a tree near the Temple District. He looked at the flaming red head who he knew so well, and yet had never met. He loved her so much. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a package. It didn't surprise him that he would be giving a gift to the crown prince. He handed it to Alanna.
"This is from me to Jon. Be sure you give it to him in private. You don't want folk askin' questions about the giver." Alanna looked up at George; her violet eyes met his accusingly.
"George did you –" He laughed.
"Oh, you mistrustin' child! No, I did not steal it. I had it made special for Jon. It's quite pretty, even if I did have to pay for it myself." Alanna laughed, George looked down at his dear friend. He looked around him. He only wanted one witness of this. He gently tilted her face up towards his. "Alanna," he whispered breathlessly, "I'm takin' advantage of you now, because I may never catch you with your hands full again." He leaned down and kissed her. He felt her trembling under his hands, and he drew back, holding in tears.
"There," he said, "Think over what I said about love." He saw her in the darkness; she was glaring at him angrily. He smiled, that was his Alanna.
"Pigs might fly," she snapped.
Roger raged in the palace, shouting at the world, every night the guards returned with one fewer in their numbers. The captain of the guards cowered before the furious man; he watched the crackling orange gift shimmer over him. He was frightened by this powerful sorcerer, and king.
"My liege, it is not my fault," he begged. Roger whirled around and glared at the stocky man before him.
"No," he said with a slippery smile. "But wait, you trained your men, and it was their short-comings, and weaknesses, that you created in them that makes them return each night with less and less men." Roger's voice was dangerously calm. His face was calm as he took the captain of the guards by the throat and squeezed, slowly. The poor man's eyes bulged with fear. He knew that this was his last minute.
"Darling," a light and beautiful voice floated from the doorway. Roger's grasp loosened. "I have been waiting." A lovely woman entered, blonde hair loose and flowing down to her calves. Roger turned back to the captain of the guards.
"Take this as a warning. If any more men are lost during the nightly patrol your life will be the price. Now GO!" The captain struggled to his feet, thanking him and ran out of the room. Long pale arms wrapped themselves around Roger's neck. He reached up and stroked the soft skin of his mistress.
"Roger," she pouted, "I had to come. I was waiting for ages in that room, and you didn't come." Roger smiled at his love. She was the one person he trusted completely
"Esanta," he whispered kissing her on her nose, then his mouth traveled down to her lips, where it stayed. She was so incredibly beautiful. She pulled away and looked at him coyly. He took her by the hands and led her back into their room.