I KNOW MY PLACE ; GWEN

[Alegra Silvertongue]

A dragon in Camelot? When word had reached the Silvertongue escape, Alegra initially hadn't believed it. The very notion was preposterous, what with Uther having had them hunted to nearly extinction, save the rumor of the one that was forever locked in the caverns below the castle. But when the details came pouring out of the young messenger's mouth, pleading for Sir Drake to come and assist, all doubt had fled her mind; the man's desperation was crystal clear. In the few minutes he'd been able to spare before setting off, her brother had scolded, ranted, ordered, begged for her to stay put and not get involved, and she'd promised him she wouldn't - for the sole purpose of keeping his mind at ease so that he wouldn't constantly be worrying about her while he was out there. But in reality, it didn't even come down to a choice. Female or not, secret identity or not, she was a knight, too - and she belonged out there.

Child-sized as she was, Alegra had always been one of the best. She was quick, she had stunning reflexes, and though she tried to avoid it when she could, if matters became dire she always had the ability to blink if she need it and reappear a few feet away from whatever it was that had been attacking her. And due to all of this, she'd developed a bit of an invincibility complex. While others were fleeing and trying to stay out of the way, she was putting herself in the heart of the chaos, trying to evacuate people and do whatever she could to help the cause. Her sense of self-preservation was minimal, and as such she wasn't even scared of the fire-breathing beast, not truly.

Therefore, it had caught her completely and totally off-guard when she'd moved out of the way much too slowly and had caught a stream of fire at her shoulder. At first, she'd been relieved, thinking that her chain-mail had protected her - and seconds later, she'd realized the dreadful truth; the fire had made the metal white-hot, and it quickly burned through all of the layers underneath it and directly into her skin - her entire left shoulder to halfway down her back.

Her options were limited. She had refused to look at the burn, but the searing pain there had her eyes constantly refilling with tears that she wiped away before they could fall. She knew that there was a make-shift sort of hospital for the wounded not too far from where she was, but that ran a huge risk in and of itself; she couldn't afford for anyone to find out she was a woman. And, even more so, she couldn't afford for them to recognize her, which would be almost impossible to achieve - she was a high-ranking noblewoman with a father who was once a renowned knight, a brother who was one even now, and a mother who made sure that she showed her daughter off to anyone and everyone at social functions. But there was no way she could get home in this condition, and she didn't know the severity of the burn... which left her with only one option.

She made the painstaking journey, moving slowly and directing other people along the way as best as she could, but there was little she could do in this condition. The desire to take off the bloody helmet so that she could breathe easier was overpowering, but she couldn't risk it. As she went along, she mentally formed a plan that she knew probably wouldn't work, anyway; perhaps she could somehow keep the front part of her armor on, and leave her helmet on, and hope they didn't notice the distinctively feminine frame. Fat chance of that, she thought ruefully, but by the time she'd made it to her destination, she was exhausted and beyond caring. She stepped hesitantly into the building, trying to ignore the moans of pain and the sight of blood everywhere for the sake of her own squeamish stomach, and just waited; she wasn't entirely sure how this worked.