In Dreams: Red

Calm Before The Storm

"No, you wouldn't." Corwin's voice breaks into my thoughts.

"I beg your pardon?" I say absently, still staring at the wolf on the cover of the book.

"You wouldn't refuse the offer in Septimio's position." Corwin explains. I look up to see mischief dancing in his eyes again.

“Oh? And just what would I do?" I question him, waiting for a punchline.

"Lead the charge yourself of course." Tyrus answers for him

"And fight all the more fiercely for it. They'd have to tie you up to keep you from trying to fight the invading army single-handedly to protect your family." Cowin follows up smugly, while Tyrus grins.

"Well then, I guess we should thank the gods that I don't have children, eh?" I say pertly.

"Aye." Tyrus replies and laughs. I choose to ignore them as Reginald passes the blade back to me. I offer it to lves, who refuses, so I tuck it back into place in its hidden pocket.

"Alright then, our party is set. Reginald, I know you could go on all night plotting routes and attack methods, but I do believe if there's nothing further or utmost importance for us to discuss it's time for us all to get some rest. Everyone is going to need it." I remark, to a grumble of agreement from Corwin. With a great rustling and much talk among them, the men rise and start heading towards the library's exit. Reginald hesitates for a few moments while gathering up as many maps and books as he can carry to take with him. I wait until everyone else has gone before heaving a large sigh, leaning forward with my hands on the table, head hanging.

“What now Kennice?" Peter asks cheerfully. I can tell he's very excited to have been a part of such goings on.

"I guess we better get some rest too. You have a choice. You can run along home and sleep there and I can send for you when I next need you. Or you and I can fight over who gets the bed and who gets the settee. What do you say?" I respond looking over at Peter.

“Well.... I'm afraid if I go home, mother will expect me to stay home, and how do I know you'll actually call for me when you wake up?" Peter stops here with a horrified expression, as if remembering he's not supposed to say such things. "I mean, you might forget me, My Lady" or get too busy or..." He shuts his mouth quickly, tucks his hands behind his back and looks at the ground. “If it's alright with you, My Lady, may I please stay with you tonight? I'll even sleep on the floor if I have to!" He says towards the floor, his voice turning to a pleading tone by the end.

"I hardly think that'll be necessary!" I respond, to which Peter looks up, heartbroken. "sleeping on the floor, I mean!" I say hastily to reassure him. He grins.

"So I can come with you?" Peter asks.

“Yes..." I answer, but my voice is lost in his whoop of joy. I shake my head, smiling. "Well, come on then!" And we head for the door.

The castle is pretty deserted around the library at this time, and it's immediately obvious that few of the torches or lamps have been lit, or replaced if they've burned out. It is quite dark in the hall, with only an occasional servant or soldier racing by at sporadic intervals. The overall feeling is one of hushed anticipation, and it makes me nervous just waiting for something to happen. I have to stop myself from jumping each time someone rounds a corner or races too quickly by. Peter must have caught the mood as well, because his mood seems somewhat dimmed, and he is silent. I'll be grateful to get out of these halls and into my room. The air feels heavy, full of fearful anxiety, and I find my pace quickening just a little as I realize how badly I want out of the halls. I'm trying to be mindful of little Peter's shorter stride, but I still see him skip every third or fourth step to keep up. I notice that his face is pulled into a worried expression, and he keeps tossing glances at me, as if for reassurance. I stop, pulling Peter to a halt beside me by the hand.

"How would you feel about a race, hmm? I'll race you to my room, how does that sound? Winner gets to choose where they sleep?" I ask him. He nods almost too eagerly. "On my mark?" Another nod. "Ok, get ready! On the count of three-one..two...three... GO!" I cry. Peter has already started running before I reach 'go', and I take off after him down the hall. There is much to be said about a fear-fueled flight, even if you're not really sure what you're running from. Although my logical brain insists I am being childish, I can't help the frightened gasp and laughter that escape me as I race behind Peter. I hear Peter give a squeal as well, and start giggling, throwing a quick look over his shoulder to see how close I am. I reach out for him like I'm going to grab him, and he squeals again and speeds up.

"Not...going...to...catch me!" He shrieks.

"Oh yeah?" I call, laughing, I push myself to go a little faster. Although I had most definitely underestimated Peter's speed. I intended for him to win our little competition-he still easily out distances me in mere seconds. Peter cheers in celebration as he rounds the last bend before my room. I practically slide around the corner, clinging to the wall for traction and to sling-shot myself in the right direction. Peter is laughing hysterically now as he draws near the doorway. I run as fast as I can, but of course he's inside, cheering happily by the time I reach the doorway. A soft glow illuminates the room from a candlelit lamp beside the bed. Dana's work again, most likely.

"Boy you're slow!" Peter cries happily as he bounces around the room. The young boy's enthusiasm is suddenly curbed as he looks stricken again. "I mean...I'm sorry my Lady!" His expression starts my laughter again, and I find I can't breathe, laughing between my gasps. For a brief moment he looks unsure of what to think of this, but is soon grinning himself.

"Dear Peter," I pant “Save the formalities for the public. I'm Kennice, you're Peter, and if you do ever offend me, I shall let you know." He looks at me dubiously.

“How?" He asks.

"I shall have you publicly tickled." I answer seriously.

"No you won't." He says slyly, dragging out the 'won't'

“Yes I will." I respond, sticking my nose in the air.

“No you won't!" His expression is doubtful now.

"What makes you think that?" I ask. '

“Because you can't order people to tickle me!" He asserts vigorously.

“Yes I can!" I answer.

"Nuh-uh, no way. You can't have me tickled!" This ends in a squeal as I reach for him to tickle him, he jumps up on the bed and races around the room away from me. “l win, I win, I win!" He calls in a sing-song voice. “You can't tickle me!" I collapse backwards on the bed, arms extended.

"No you're right, I'm too slow, and tired, and possibly too old, I don't know, something like that anyway." I groan exaggeratedly, throwing one arm over my face. The mattress dips on one side and my arm is lifted from my face.

"You're not too old, and you're not slow either, I kinda cheated, I started before you said 'go'." Peter tells me earnestly. He's kneeling on the bed behind my head, looking down at me. I look at him solemnly, stifling a giggle myself.

“Are you really sure about that? I mean, I think I'm old. I'm older than you, anyway." I respond.

"No you're not old!" Peter responds urgently. "Now the king and queen, they're old." He says with a nod, looking seriously into space. I can't help but laugh.

“You know those are my parents, Peter?" I ask him.

"So? You can think your parents are old if you want to!" He informs me seriously. I laugh again.

"All right, I think it's time for bed!" I stand up and sweep a bow at Peter. "Good sir, I believe you have won the competition, which furniture do you desire to sleep on?" Peter bounces on his hindquarters off my bed, then races to the settee. Here he plops down too and bounces around a bit, then races back to the bed, repeating the pattern.

"Hmmm." He says contemplatively. "Couch is poofier, but needs more blankets!" He pulls some off the bed and races to the couch, building himself a nest which he digs into happily. I laugh under my breath, shaking my head again. I go to the wardrobe at the foot of the bed and dig out another comforter to toss on my bed. I offer more blankets and pillows to Peter as well, but he refuses. By the time I have the comforter spread out on the bed, Peter is breathing deeply and I collapse onto the bed wearily. I groan as I realize I have to blow out the candle in the lamp, wondering if it's really worth it. Rolling over, I allow myself to fall out of bed and make my way to the lamp. I open the glass pane door and quickly blow the candle flame out. Everything is immediately darker, and then I notice there is a very slight lightening at the window. It's almost imperceptible, but it means that in a few hours it will be daybreak already. I sigh wearily, and stumble back towards the bed, where I allow myself to collapse helter-skelter on the bed.

Distantly, I hear the deep rumbling sound of thunder, and an unexpected large clap of it jerks me fully awake. I had expected to have trouble sleeping, but it's apparent that I fell almost immediately asleep. Groaning, I crack open one eye to glare in the direction of the window. I can hear the rain smacking against the pane, and turn to check on Peter, thinking he might be awake, and hope he's not been frightened by the storm. Peter sleeps soundly, on his stomach with his mouth open one arm dangling from the settee. Well, at least he isn't bothered by the storm. I can see that it is sometime in the morning, the storm makes it hard to judge the hour, but based on the fact that no one had come to fetch me, I could say that I knew the battle hadn't started yet. I decide to give myself a little extra time to sleep and close my eyes. If I am needed, everyone knows where to find me I assure myself. I try to relax and fall back to sleep. It occurs to me that I'm tapping my fingers in frustration, trying to force myself to sleep is not going to work. Angrily, I roll over, blowing out a quick breath of annoyance, but my mind is busily conjuring battle tactics, worries and fears. I curl up into a ball and cover my head with a blanket, trying to get my mind to shut off. Within seconds, my mind is buzzing again, and I feel like I'm suffocating. Panicked, I burst out of the blanket, tossing it aside and throwing myself onto my back at the same time. I stare upwards, listening to the rain, trying to steady my breathing and ignore my mind. My heartbeat refuses to slow, and I can't maintain a slow, steady rhythm of breathing either. Irritably, I sit up, huffing out another furious breath and cross my arms. Amazingly, Peter is still sleeping soundly through all of this. I watch him breath slowly for a few moments, and then realize I'm getting resentful that he's able to sleep the sleep of innocents while my mind refuses to shut up.

"Time to get up then and do something else." I say to myself firmly, standing up and brushing my clothing down. I had fallen asleep in the gown I dressed in yesterday evening, and it is wrinkled and mussed. At this point, I don't care, so I simply toss my red cloak around my shoulders to hide the mess of a gown and sweep out of the room. I have no plan or route mapped out, I just start roaming the castle, allowing my mind to think all the furious thoughts that wouldn't let me sleep. I start deciding on weapons and which ambush tactics would be best. I think about Silas, and the prisoner. I consider death and try to decide if I am indeed ready to die during this attack. I know I would much rather die than be taken as some warlord's prize for what unimaginable purposes he might have planned. I think of my family, of Silas' family, and poor Peter dreaming his child-like dreams, and wonder how many of us come out alive, and how many may be taken as slaves if we lose. I wonder if there's any chance of winning at all, and shake my head, trying to clear the thought. Rain begins to run into my eyes and I realize I've wandered outside. Distractedly, I pull up my cape's hood and continue to wander. The waiting for the battle to begin is bothering me more than the battle itself. I know if I could just start fighting, I could stop worrying.

But I may never have the opportunity to worry again. I can't stop myself from once again doubting that we win this battle, that we come out alive, or come out in a situation that can remotely be positive. I find myself waving off a couple of 'My Lady's murmured politely by soldiers, and the sound of the rain suddenly changes and I hear a slight rattle of chains. I jerk my attention to my surroundings, and realize I have wandered into the prisoner's area of confinement.