Author's Note: Hey, it's me, your magical little buddy Rolo who never manages to get anything done. But I am taking up a new post now. I am participating in NaNoWriMo. Firstly, if you don't know what that is- you're an idiot. Second, look it up and join yourself. Third, it's a worldwide contest with no big prize except for the satisfaction of completing a project. The goal is to write a 50,000 (or more) word novel by the end of November, starting on November 1st. This is the novel I chose to complete. I hope all goes well and wish me luck. Or not. . Either way.

This is basically my "What if?" project. It answers the question "What if Awran had won during the course of The Black Cauldron and not Taran?" This, I must stress, is NOT fan fiction. It is an imagining of a classic, as people re-create the Wizard of Oz, Frankenstein and Romeo and Juliet, I decided to re-create The Black Cauldron. Keep in mind that it will be more fluffy and child-oriented, just like the Book of Three and The Black Cauldron themselves while still striving for terror when needed. I think I'll add that this is most definitely not my best writing. The goal of NaNoWriMo is quantity, not quality, and I will save editing and re-evaluating for the months that follow.

Summary:

"By order of the Empire of Awraen I command you to release me! You know nothing of the power you are dealing with!" Ria had never felt so wretched and pathetic in her life. Thwarted by a frail magician and made a fool of by a goat and a goat boy…it made her wonder whether or not all her years of training had been worth it.

The goat boy shoved the wad of cloth back in her mouth.

"First off," he hissed in his cocky dain, "you're a knight of King Awraen. Obviously, I can't let you go because if I do you'd probably kill me." Lucy snorted and turned her rear end towards both of them, nuzzling the hay on the ground. "Second? You're pretty. And the barn does need a bit of spicing up…"

Riarith

K.E. Wesch

The fall of Taran met Prydain with sunset

Blood colors on mystic floor

And a prayer of listless color

Vengeful hope

Pitiful Sorrow

Awraen met song with sword

and fallen heroes.

-Throne of Awraen

A Word Too Far

Winter had arrived. It came in the form of miniscule white flakes falling from a cotton-grey sky, landing on the cobblestone streets only to fade away into nothingness. It came in the form of soft, yet freezing breezes and tightly-shut doors. That day, in the city of Henwen, nobly named after the piglet responsible for Awraen's ascendance, all three of those winter elements would come together and surely become Jed's downfall.

He raced through the streets with blind courage, not knowing why he was even trying. The tiny spark of hope in his heart, though glimmering as brightly as the morning sun, continued to grow ever-smaller.

"Stop in the name of Awraen and you will not be harmed!"

What a lie. In the name of Awraen. How long ago had he taken up that, ever nobler, name? Awran was no fit name for a ruler, after all.

Jed calculated the harsh feminine voice and the grunting of her steed to be no less than ten feet behind—in about half a minute, she would overtake him.

"You'll have to make me!" He himself knew the pitiful nature of what he was doing, and the redundancy of the words he cried, yet it made it no less important of an act. Fail, and he was as good as dead. Instantly, Jed jumped off sides of the horse's path and ran the other way.

-******-

"Idiot," Riarith hissed, tucking a misplaced clump of brunette hair back behind her ear where it belonged. The air in the bar was overwhelmingly stale, wrought with the stench of tenants both past and present. She was no better herself. She had been in lack of a bath for over a week, and lord knows women smell much worse than men when they don't take care of themselves. Leaning back in the stool as far as it would go, she ran her hand slowly over the glass of ale. "I chased that buffoon all the way across Henwen, and for what? A few pieces of silver and an eviction notice? I miss the drama, the excitement! I want a Hunt, the kind they had many years before our time. Blood strewn across the ashes of burnt towns? Glorious howls of Cauldron-Born filling the air?"

A woman, quite plump, her blonde hair in disarray and enormous bosom quite ready to fall right out of her white top, leaned over the bar counter. "Keep dreaming, scruff. If Awraen keeps being this docile, you'll be out of a job and out on the street." She smirked. "And, boy, would I love to see you in a dancer's uniform. Shaking for bacon, yes?"

Riarith spit her swig of ale back into the glass and her five comrades burst into side-splitting laughter.

Smoke swirled in the air from an unholy amount of cigars and cigarettes, and the voices from so many people congregated into one long drawl of background noise. Every now and then, the door would swing open, the tiny bell announcing the arrival of another customer.

"Well, don't count your chickens before they hatch, Lista." They all turned towards the young male's voice. Riarith smiled jokingly at Canjin, who was feebly trying to salvage her situation. "Ria here is Awraen's Priority." He flicked his steel-blue eyes towards all of them for impact, and, for a second, the bar fell silent at his words. Yet, no sooner had anyone noticed the calm than everything went back to normal.

"Priority, huh?" Lista asked after gathering her bearings. "And I think the whole world knows just how well all these 'prophecies' tend to go down. The Tale of Fallen Taran is still taught in schools, if I am correct."

"Lista, you're not looking at it the right way. There is no prophecy about her. Her being Awraen's Priority just means what it says it means. He cares about her most of all; she's the one who gets all the attention and training, not to mention she's the one who gets all the major responsibility."

"Still don't get it." Lista took one of the comrade's glasses and proceeded to wipe it clean. That comrade proceeded to lay her weary head down on the bar, her auburn hair falling in tangles over the edge.

Canjin sighed. "Ria, back yourself up."

She hesitated at first. "…It's like…being Head Knight."

"Head Knight?"

"…The King's right-hand woman?" Riarith motioned with her hands, trying to lead Lista into giving up and not asking any more questions. Barely audible screaming in the far corner announced the start of another drunken fight. Everyone swiveled instinctively to watch the carrying-out, but it stopped just as soon as it had begun, dejected heads bowed low in embarrassment as the instigators returned to their chairs.

"Well, I for one have no idea why a King with an army of Cauldron-Born even needs a right-hand man in the first place, not to mention a right-hand man barely out of school, but if you say so."

"Hey," said Ria, "Just because I'm young you say I'm not up to it? How rude."

"I'm saying you're too young period, that's what I'm saying." Lista had her back turned to them, and, as she scrubbed the kitchen sink, the white bow of her apron bounced back and forth, back and forth. "You're fourteen, girl. Already you are drinking, fighting, killing. I just see no reason. No reason at all. There's especially no reason a child like you deserves to be that horrible creature's Priority."

"You watch your mouth."

This time around, the entire bar sustained its surprised silence.

"Nobody can talk about my master like that, not in front of me at least," Riarith hissed. She jumped down from the barstool and marched for the door. "I'll leave you be this time, but just so you know? I didn't ask to be his Priority. That doesn't mean I don't love him and honor him. This job is the best thing that's ever happened to me." Her hand faltered as it alighted upon the brass doorknob. She pushed it open, to meet a rush of icy air. "It'll be a dry winter before I ever set foot in this bar again, you can guarantee that."

An air of shock and awe settled and it took more than awhile for things to get back to normal. Lista shook her head, muttering, and Canjin got in his word like he always managed to.

"Looks like somebody's devoted to their master." He ran a hand over his face before returning to the sweet, affectionate fancy that was his mug of ale.

***

Plip…plip…plip…

Shy light cast the Waiting Room in a dim glow. Drops of water fell from a towering roof and splashed onto the stone floor and musty smells radiated from the ancient walls. But that was the way it always was in Awraen's castle. Riarith fidgeted nervously with her black fishnet armlets, biting her lower lip so hard that it hurt. He couldn't possibly be upset with her, could he? She was a perfect knight. Well, at least, she tried to be. She was as rough-and-tumble as the men in her squad, and surely it accounted for something that she was his Priority. That word had so many meanings, and none of them were bad. Were they?

Thoughts raced in her mind, fearful and quick. She tried to suffocate them with courage, only to fail miserably. Ria started to smooth and straighten her black uniform, the black tights, black one-piece and silver belt as a mark of knight-rank. Even the leather vest, boots and gloves were special-made to be black. A silver necklace dangled from her neck, on the end a trinket in the shape of a feathered wing. This indicated that she was the Priority, and everyone had to do what she ordered or else face inevitable punishment. The only things not black or silver were the belt and the sheath that held her sword, which were made from tanned deer-hide. Her heart beat faster, almost to the point she felt like crying…, but that would make her a coward. Even worse, that would make her look her age, and it was beneath Ria to behave like a child.

"You are the Priority?"

Ria jumped at a voice that sounded like gravel crunching gravel.

Jonnason, the goblin pet. He lingered in the half-open door to Awraen's chambers timidly, bulgy eyes darting this way and that, quickly trying to take in the sight of the female knight. A blue cloak and tattered brown pants were the only things he wore over his olive skin that glistened with sweat.

"Yes, I am," she answered.

"Aye, a young girl," said the pet. His mouth was agape with wonderment. He asked to see the wing trinket as proof and she showed it to him. Then, with an eager nod: "Come in, come in," he's been waiting!"