Disclaimer: For the umpteenth time, it's not mine, I wish it was…

I'm not taking the dialogue and events straight out of ATFA, and I'm not even picking up the book, so it's not perfectly accurate. The sequence of events may be a bit off as well.

NOTE: This chapter was sitting around on my computer for over a year before I realized that I'd never posted it. O.o Here it is in all its belatedness...

I might well continue this fic later, after I've completed my latest project and reread the Alanna Quartet (I barely remember the details).

Spellbound

The giant trees are bending

It was about half an hour before dinner, and Alex had just gotten changed when he heard a commotion down the hall. He stuck his head out the door to see a knot of pages clustered together a little ways down. From the sound of it, it was a fight.

"Is that what you've been doing… kissing pigs?" Alex ran down the hall, peering over heads to see a short redheaded boy (in a page uniform that was much too big) jeering at Ralon of Malven. Alex had never crossed Ralon personally, but had heard stories from those who had. Ralon only picks on those smaller than he is, anyway. If he came near me, I'd swat him with the flat of my blade so hard he'd fly all the way to the desert.

Ralon took a swing and the younger boy, but it hadn't gotten far before Jonathan intervened. There were a few harsh words exchanged before Ralon sulkily left, giving the redheaded boy a dirty look (and probably wishing he had the guts to give the Prince that same look).

"What's your name, fire-hair?" Jonathan asked.

"Alan of Trebond." The boy looked up at Jonathan defiantly.

"That's the prince, lad." Gary whispered.

Jonathan introduced each of his friends in turn. The boy seemed to be all right – certainly he had a bit of an attitude, standing up to Ralon as he had. Alex gave the lad as friendly a smile as he ever gave, but said nothing (as usual).

Alan did prove to be a good friend – he had a fine sense of humor and a strong personality, his size being equally balanced off by his awful temper. Alex sometimes helped her with math homework – the boy tried far too hard, trying to finish everything (everybody knows you can't – it's impossible).

Alan also had many more troubles with Ralon – and though Raoul was more than willing to beat the crap out of him, Alan seemed to want to handle it himself. I can respect that. Alex was still quite startled when Alan beat Ralon within an inch of his life and sent him yipping home to his mother – there was quite a bit of determination in so small a lad.

One of the biggest changes in Alex's life came with the death of his friend Francis.

Francis had always been the soft, quiet one – delicate, even. Raoul had been the one who brought him into the 'group' for some strange reason – they were complete opposites. Alex had been good friends with him, Francis being the only member of the group who would willingly keep his mouth shut for more than fifteen seconds.

Despite Francis being shy and scholarly-looking, he had had a firm determination to become a knight. It was too bad that he would never go beyond a page.

He had died from the Sweating Sickness – a cold followed by a burning fever that left not a single person unscathed. Alex himself had it for almost a week before it faded, but the sickness had not been as kind to others as it had been to him. Francis was delirious in the first night, and died shortly after.

The death was a heavy blow to Alex, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was not Alex's fault, there had been nothing he could do about it. What hurt him most was that Alex, who was barely sick at all, was not told about the event until long after it had happened.

Meanwhile, the Sweating Sickness moved on through the Palace. Both the King and Queen had it… but somehow Prince Jonathan remained unscathed until the very end. It was then that Jonathan succumbed to the sickness – everyone thought he would die.

But he was mysteriously cured by… Alan? Alex hadn't known the boy possessed the Gift at all. He claimed that Sir Myles had talked him through it, but Alex heavily doubted that – it seemed as if there was more to the purple-eyed boy than Alex had first expected.

One thing you could say for Roger, he was incredibly charismatic. One smile, a little flash of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth, one wink, and you trusted him like you had known him all your life.

You couldn't deny he was an incredible man. He was one of the most (if not the most) powerful sorcerers in the Eastern Lands, and brother to the King – and quite handsome, to boot.

Alex immediately succumbed to Roger's charm, as did most everyone else in their group. The only one who seemed not to like Roger was Alan – well, that boy was strange, anyway. Alex quite admired the man, but couldn't help feeling as if he had seen Roger before. There was no way, of course – but Roger seemed startlingly familiar. Alex, not to be bothered by something he couldn't do anything about, soon forgot about the strange feeling he had.

"You claim to have no magical Gift, am I correct?" The Duke's wording seemed to imply that he did not believe Alex, but he gave nothing away in his tone.

"No, your Grace."

"Hmm. Well, it's my job to find out if you do – whether it's hidden away by inner barrier, or more mundane means. Have a seat, Alexander."

Alex obeyed, showing no hint of the nervousness he felt as he took a seat, resting his hands in his lap. The Duke sat across from him, leaning his elbow on the small, round table between them. His other hand snaked towards his belt to pull out his sorcerer's rod, which had been casually tucked there.

The Duke didn't touch Alex at all – physically, at least. He just twirled that rod of his with his fingers, looking as if he was staring blankly into space.

Then Alex felt as if there was something poking his head, probing his brain. It wasn't a pleasant sensation at all. It made him twitch and squirm in his seat, but it was mild compared with what was to come. His head felt like it was being drilled to the center – then, as if the drill had found nothing there, it continued on down his neck, as if he was swallowing a very large and painful pill, down until it reached his heart. Alex gripped the table in a viselike clamp, something building inside of him.

Suddenly his mind lashed out, clawing whatever it was that had drilled his body. Alex opened his eyes with a start (not even realizing he had closed them in the first place) to see Roger nearly knock over his chair standing up.

Suddenly the Duke smiled. "Very interesting. Well, you have no Gift, so I shan't teach you – but I know our paths shall cross at some other point in time. You may go, Alexander."

Alex, severely shaken and desperately trying not to show it, bowed quickly and rushed out of the room before Roger could see the expression on his face.

Just what had all that been about?

Alex was walking to the weapons salle one day to find somebody already occupying it. It was Alan, doing passes and swings at an invisible target with a sword that was nearly bigger than he was. Not wanting to interrupt, Alex stood to the side until Alan finished.

Alan laid his sword down carefully and wiped the sweat of his brow as Alex gave the younger boy a round of applause.

"Not bad, Alan. Almost as good as me." Alex grinned as he walked towards him.

"Ha." Alan snorted. "I've seen you fence. There's no way I'd even touch you."

"You underestimate yourself." Alex said.

"Right."

The older boy raised an eyebrow. "Don't believe me? Would you care to try?" He drew his practice sword, settling into his fighting stance.

"No thanks, Alex." He laughed and picked up his blade again, sheathing it. "I want to make squire all in one piece."

Alex relaxed. "Whatever you say. If you ever want to fight, I'm always open."

"Yeah, thanks." Alan walked out of the salle. "See you, Alex."

Alex shrugged and hefted his sword up for a few warm-up exercises.