Of what I really am
"More rubicon, my Lord
Baron?" The servant held out a crystal pitcher containing a deep red liquid.
"No thank you. That's all
I'll be needin'." George replied, grinning. "I'll get drunk if ye keep on
givin' me the stuff, Alec."
Alec smiled and vanished
into the halls.
Alanna sipped her goblet of
rubicon, her amethyst eyes on the large plate in front of her. George lowered
his glass, and their gazes met. Alanna grinned.
"Thinking again?" George
wanted to know, raising his glass for a toast.
Alanna raised hers, her
expression slightly distant. "Yes. But not about court this time. I don't want
to go back to that hell for a while."
George's hazel eyes
twinkled thoughtfully. "And what were you thinkin' about, then?" he inquired,
though he already knew.
Alanna rose, and he stood,
closing the distance between them. She placed her hands on his neck, her gaze
warm and trusting. "It's been two years, George," she said softly, her eyes
filled with a degree of love he'd been rewarded with in the three years they'd
been serious about marriage…and had become husband and wife.
George looked at her
cautiously. "Indeed, it has, lass. But are ye sure? Once it's done, it's done."
Alanna removed her
anti-pregnancy charm, her eyes gleaming. "I'm sure about this, George," she
said firmly. "You'll be with me, and I know I can do this." She took hold of
his hand. "I'm ready."
George grinned and drew her
close, kissing her softly. He pulled away, smiling at her look of content. This
time, the kiss was longer, fiery, and far more passionate. She melted against
him, and by the two came up for air, gasping, their faces were shining with a
lust like no other. The servant who had entered the room curtseyed.
"And I take it ye won't
want t' be disturbed tonight, my Lord Baron?" she teased softly, winking. "I'll
see t' it."
"Thank you, Marielle,"
Alanna smiled at the servant before she disappeared, but barely had time to
breathe before she was pulled into another kiss. Allowing herself to be swept
into George's brawny arms, they disappeared down the long flights of stairs
into his chambers.
It's not like you to say
sorry
I was waiting on a
different story
This time I'm mistaken
For handing you a heart
worth breaking
And I've been wrong
I've been down
To the bottom of every
bottle
It's the words in my
head
Scream "are we having
fun yet?"
Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no
Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no
Alanna had been riding home
from battle in the dark of the night, triumphant, when she suddenly stopped her
horse, clutching her stomach, her face pale.
"Alanna!" gasped Raoul,
coming to a stop beside his friend. "Alanna, are you---"
"Ride on," Alanna said
through gritted teeth. "Tell the troops we're riding on. I won't let this baby
be born trampled under the horses."
"But—"
"Raoul, please," whispered
Alanna, her expression as terrified as his own. He softened. She'd never been
through this before; she was as scared as he was. "I want him….or her…to be
born at Pirate's Swoop. It's what George would have wanted." George was
currently on a mission for the King.
Raoul sighed. He knew how
stubborn Alanna could be at times. And if he delayed her long enough, both she and
the baby would perish. He nodded and spurred his horse close to
Darkmoon, in case she would lose control in her pain spasms.
They had just rounded the
corner, Pirate's Swoop in the distance, when Alanna started to sweat.
"Almost there," she
whispered hoarsely. "Almost there…."
When they were near by
about three yards, Alanna began to cry out in pain. Raoul yelled for the troops
to halt and spurred his horse to a gallop to match Alanna's.
Suddenly, she went limp and
collapsed, sliding off Darkmoon's neck. Desperately, Raoul threw himself
forward in his saddle, seizing Darkmoon's reins and hauling him to a stop.
Dismounting, he caught his friend and sprinted towards Pirate's Swoop with her
in his arms, running for all he was worth.
It's not like you didn't
know that
I said I love you and I
swear I still do
And it must have been so
bad
Cause living with me
must have damn near killed you
And this is how you
remind me
Of what I really am
This is how you remind
me
Of what I really am
"Ma!" gurgled Thom, running
towards his mother, his silk-smooth baby fat folding into little dimples as he
smiled at her, holding a lilac rose in his chubby fist proudly. "Fower!" Alanna
took it quickly before Thom could prick himself with the thorns, and admired it
while the child climbed into his father's lap.
"It's beautiful, Thom," she
smiled at her son, kissing his forehead amid his tumbling copper curls. "There
aren't many of these."
"Fower," he said, pointing.
Then he waved a tiny finger in her face. "Prty fowers!"
Alanna looked confused, but
George chuckled, jiggling his son on one knee.
"He means ye have purple
eyes, like the flower, lass," he grinned. Alanna laughed and watched as George
tossed Thom into the air, the child giggling crazily.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Thom gurgled happily as he clutched at his father's white, cotton shirt. The
garment was light and simple, thin enough for George's skin to breathe on the
hot summer day, and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing his tanned, muscular
arms. Laughing, Thom climbed onto George's shoulders, and George grinned,
kneeling in the grass and walking around on all fours while his son shrieked for
joy.
Alanna, disregarding her
clothes as well, joined them, relieving George of his burden and lying on her
back, lifting Thom into the air. He wriggled, the smile never leaving his face.
Lowering the baby, Alanna kissed her son on the nose and held him to her.
"Leave your da in peace, Thom," she scolded him lovingly. "He's worked hard
today."
Thom said, "Fower," and
blew a wet bubble.
Placing him gently in the
grass, Alanna smiled up at the sky, the warm sun glowing on their limbs. Thom
crawled over to a wet puddle, cooing in fascination. She turned to George, and
their eyes met. He reached for her hand, and grasped it.
Splort.
Husband and wife recoiled
as mud splattered their faces. They looked at each other, then at their son,
who looked extremely amused.
"Gaaaa," he gurgled,
laughing. Alanna and George stared, then shook their heads, laughing too.
George took Alanna into his arms and kissed her proudly, mud and all.
It's not like you to say
sorry
I was waiting on a
different story
This time I'm mistaken
For handing you a heart
worth breaking
And I've been wrong
I've been down
To the bottom of every
bottle
It's the words in my
head
Scream "are we having
fun yet?"
Yeah, yeah, yeah, no,
non
Are we having fun yet?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no
Are we having fun yet?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no
Are we having fun yet?
George frowned in his
sleep. He was confused. He was not in his bed, but in a valley of some sort.
And standing in front of him….was Alanna. She looked to be about 20 years old,
her copper hair shining so brightly it would shame the sun itself…if it were
there. Raindrops trickled down their faces, kisses of the heavens.
"Alanna?" he whispered.
"George?" she stepped
towards him, and placed a hand on his cheek. It was warm and felt like the
morning dew. He blinked, startled. She seemed so empty….almost like she was not
there….and yet, she seemed so real.
"George, you're hurting."
She murmured, her expression filled with pain as she withdrew her hand.
"Aye. I'm no longer young,
lass," he replied sorrowfully.
"Damn," Alanna hissed as
she saw him crumple with pain.
He looked up at her, his
hazel eyes pleading. "Please…help me."
Alanna came to his side,
watching as he clutched at his failing chest in desperation. She looked to the
sky, her arms spread in anxiety.
"Please, Goddess," she
whispered. "Let me take him back. Let me end the pain."
Abruptly, the thunder
stopped, and the rain slowed to a trickle as ray of light broke through the
darkness.
Never made it as a wise
man
I couldn't cut it as a poor
man stealing
And this is how you
remind me
This is how you remind
me
This is how you remind
me
Of what I really am
This is how you remind
me
Of what I really am
It's not like you to say
sorry
I was waiting on a
different story
This time I'm mistaken
For handing you a heart
worth breaking
And I've been wrong
I've been down
To the bottom of every
bottle
It's the words in my
head
Scream "are we having
fun yet?"
Yeah, yeah
Are we having fun yet
Yeah, yeah
Are we having fun yet
Yeah, yeah
Are we having fun yet?
Yeah, yeah
When the sun rose in
Tortall the next morning, George still lay abed, a contented smile on his face,
turned toward the window. When the king's men would arrive later that day, they
would find the Baron dead; he'd had finally gotten his well-deserved rest. They
wouldn't notice the happy young couple watching them from the Realms of the
Dead, together at last, of course. No one ever would.
But they would find a
rather peculiar thing. In the Baron's open palm lay a flower of some sort…..
…..it seemed to be a lilac
rose.
No, no…
~*0*~
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