(no subject)
George paces his rooms in the dancing dove - back and forth, back and forth in front of the fire. Lately he’s been spending more and more hours doing just that; he’s surprised that he hasn’t worn clear through the floor, into the tavern below. He knows very soon he must return to Pirate’s Swoop, and his new duties as Baron, but for now the very familiarness of the Dove is comforting. Not for the first time, he’s grateful he kept his rooms here, when he passed along his rule over the thieves.
A crash comes from downstairs, followed by a slight increase of noise - talking and laughing from the gathered regulars - thieves and common folk alike. He doesn’t concern himself with it, he knows that if things get out of control down there, one of his trusted followers will come and get him. Otherwise, they have standing orders not disturb him.
He feels restless, like a caged animal. As is often the case, the cause is Alanna.
At present, it stems from her continued absence. That, and especially the fact that he has no idea where she is. He suspects that Jon knows exactly where Alanna disappears to, and this knowledge angers him toward his monarch-friend. He wonders - not for the first time - if it is Alanna herself who has told Jon not to tell George where she is going. It would be like her to do so. Although he won’t admit it, he is worried about her. His gift has never been particularly strong, but usually he’s able to at least get a sense of Alanna, even when she is far away. She's vanished before, but this time it’s different, this time she has gone somewhere he cannot follow. Somewhere he cannot even sense. He knows she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but still he worries.
If it weren’t for her sporatic correspondences, he might fear she walks in the Dark God’s realm.
He rubs his temples; none of these thoughts are new ones. They are the same that have plagued him since she won her shield and began to go off into battle. This worrying and pacing, accomplishes nothing - changes nothing.
With a sigh of vexation, he ceases his pacing and walks to his “desk”. He pours himself a drink, but once poured, doesn’t feel like drinking it, and instead stares deep into its amber surface. The alcohol makes him think of Myles, and he wonders if the older knight knows where the daughter of his heart has gone, and even if he does will he tell him?
He sits behind the desk, grabs a quill and piece of parchment, and after a moment's uncertainty; begins writing a letter.
A crash comes from downstairs, followed by a slight increase of noise - talking and laughing from the gathered regulars - thieves and common folk alike. He doesn’t concern himself with it, he knows that if things get out of control down there, one of his trusted followers will come and get him. Otherwise, they have standing orders not disturb him.
He feels restless, like a caged animal. As is often the case, the cause is Alanna.
At present, it stems from her continued absence. That, and especially the fact that he has no idea where she is. He suspects that Jon knows exactly where Alanna disappears to, and this knowledge angers him toward his monarch-friend. He wonders - not for the first time - if it is Alanna herself who has told Jon not to tell George where she is going. It would be like her to do so. Although he won’t admit it, he is worried about her. His gift has never been particularly strong, but usually he’s able to at least get a sense of Alanna, even when she is far away. She's vanished before, but this time it’s different, this time she has gone somewhere he cannot follow. Somewhere he cannot even sense. He knows she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but still he worries.
If it weren’t for her sporatic correspondences, he might fear she walks in the Dark God’s realm.
He rubs his temples; none of these thoughts are new ones. They are the same that have plagued him since she won her shield and began to go off into battle. This worrying and pacing, accomplishes nothing - changes nothing.
With a sigh of vexation, he ceases his pacing and walks to his “desk”. He pours himself a drink, but once poured, doesn’t feel like drinking it, and instead stares deep into its amber surface. The alcohol makes him think of Myles, and he wonders if the older knight knows where the daughter of his heart has gone, and even if he does will he tell him?
He sits behind the desk, grabs a quill and piece of parchment, and after a moment's uncertainty; begins writing a letter.