Disclaimer: I am only going to say…or, more so, type this once. So listen (or read, I guess) up…?  All of the characters (except for the ones you say "Who?" about) and settings and blah, blah, blah…belong to the great and wonderful goddess: Tamora Pierce (…lucky). 'Goes into a corner and pouts'

AN-Y'all should be nice, this is my first time posting a fanfic, so don't throw vegetables at me…unless they're potatoes (yum!). If you see any major mistakes, the format's screwed up, or it just flat-out sucks…tell me, but be gentle about it. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy what my twisted little mind has to offer. Oh yeah, and I'll TRY not to use the word y'all too much…keyword: try. Okay, I'll shut-up now…y'all enjoy. Oops… =o)

ALSO- for those that have already read and reviewed this chapter (thanks a bunch!), I did change a few mistakes that y'all were helpful enough to point out. As for the pairing, I'm not quite sure of that, but I'll figure it out for y'all later. On with the sorta-story…

You're Not a Little Girl Anymore

Kel woke up with a start.  Even after all those years, Joren still haunted her dreams.  They always terrified her.  Whether dream-Joren was threatening her life or showing special interest in her, she feared him.  But of course, she was just being daft.  Joren was dead, and he wasn't even that great of a fighter when he was alive- so why did his image give her chills? 

She pushed the thought aside, telling herself it was just her imagination, and started to get ready for her morning glaive sequences.  She tied her hair back with a strip of leather and rolled up the sleeves of her nightshirt, thinking of how odd she would seem to a passerby who didn't know her.  Holding her glaive, a staff of five feet topped by a curved metal blade, she was nothing like people's usual ideas of a Tortall maiden.  With light brown hair and a dreamer's hazel eyes, Keladry of Mindelan's face looked as a girl was expected to look: serene and content.  But look past her face and she was anything but… her height of five foot nine, her muscular build, and her callused hands suggested that she was a fighter and worked as hard as a knight, which of course she did.  This was because she was a knight, a female knight actually.

 She'd spent four years as a page, four as a squire, and had passed her Ordeal of Knighthood to earn her shield.  She was proud of being a knight, not to mention her title: Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan.  She shook her head, and thought of a calm lake to clear her thoughts, her expression became what others called her Yamani face.  After living in the Yamani Islands, she could stay expressionless for hours.  This led to a common nickname around the palace for her unreadable appearance- the Yamani Lump (not such a great nickname, actually). 

She began the swift movements of her glaive dance, the metal such a blur that it seemed as if weapon and girl moved as one.  She completed her pattern with no mistakes, and with sweat soaking through her shirt.  Kel laid down her glaive and stripped of her clothes, eager for the bath that awaited her.  She sank in, fully aware of how rare it was for her to get a long soak like she desired.

 The morning bell sounded, waking up anyone who slept as late as possible, Which, Kel thought, most normal people do. 

She got out of the bathtub and took a simple dress out of the wardrobe.  After so many days of acting the roll of a man, she felt as though she needed a reminder of her feminine side.  Of course, Kel would never dare admit that to herself or anyone else.  But, her sub-conscience new better as she reached for the lightweight, tan cloth.  Kel slipped her dress over a white shift.  Before leaving her room, Keladry looked in the mirror, and did a double take.

"What do you know…" she mumbled, eyeing her hair which was now down to her shoulders.  "I didn't even notice." 

She hadn't had time to notice during the war with Scanra. Her hair had been braided almost the whole time. She had been busy building up New Hope and running things there.

"I wonder if anyone will notice," she thought aloud. "We're about to find out." 

It had been just over a month since the end of the war.  The knights had been arriving for about a week, but most had come in the previous night.  Kel wondered about the faces she'd be seeing, and worried about the faces that she wouldn't.  She didn't know of any of her friend's deaths, but she didn't know for sure what losses the war had caused.  She'd find out soon enough, a small feast was to be held to celebrate the victory of the war.  All knights and members of the King's Own and Queen's Riders would be attending. 

Kel placed seeds in her sparrows dish by the window and food and water for Jump, her loyal dog that'd proved his worth in numerous fights, before leaving her room.  She set off towards the mess hall, her stomach urging her along.  About to open the doors, someone running into her bumped her onto the floor.  As he leaned down to help her up she saw his green eyes and arched nose and she recognized him as her best friend Sir Nealan of Queenscove.  Although five years older, he was Kel's year mate. Neal had been camp healer at New Hope as well as at the first refugee camp, which had been destroyed, Haven. His gaze barely shifted to her, he was looking around as if he'd lost something.

"What's the big hurry?" Kel asked the tall, lanky man.

"I'm extremely sorry, m' lady, I'm just in a rush to find my friends." Neal responded.  The Goddess! He doesn't recognize me. He's seen me in a dress before.  I don't look THAT different!, She thought.

Okay y'all, now for my extremely overused word: Review!! Review!! Review!!

And for those that speak pig latin: Eviewray!! Eviewray!! Eviewray!! = )

May the rumors spread quickly through the hallways of your lives. ; )