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Tammy Fanfic: The old and the new, PG

Title: The old and the new
Rating: PG
Fanfic for: Tamora Pierce - Tortall
Series: A Rogue by any other name ...  [1]
Prompt: #1 (Pink ribbon scars that never forget) from 31_days 
Summary: George gets a new scar to match an old one. 
A/N: Let's just pretend I posted this yesterday??? [i]*shifty eyes*[/i]


George fingered the scars on his arm as he carefully cleaned his knives.  Two jagged ribbons ran up his left forearm and around his triceps.   They were barely a month old, still pink and puckered.  The last time he’d been in Corus, he’d taken a walk down to the Dancing Dove for old times’ sake.  On the way back to the palace he ran into an aspiring young pickpocket, who fancied making a name for himself.  He’d taken exception to the fact that George had turned his back on the Rogue and become a noble.  By all accounts, the boy was a second rate thief.  But it turned out he was not too shabby with the knife.

The former Rogue put down to his knives and lifted up his shirt.  He carefully touched the pale white scar snaking up his left side.  It was old and faded – a slight raised ridge of scar tissue that, to the discerning eye, indicated a once serious wound.  He’d gotten that one when he became the Rogue, all those years ago, but he could still remember it like it was yesterday.  The fear, the exhilaration, the flash of pain when he realised he overextended himself leaping for the killing blow.  He could taste the blood and sweat, feel the pounding of his heart as he realised he’d done really it.  He’d become the Rogue.  He remembered hearing a deafening roar in his ears as he raised his knives in triumph.  Then he fainted. 

If he held his left arm down against his side, the new scar on his arm and the old scar on his side looked like mirror images.  He’d almost lost his life in that fight for the Rogue, but strangely enough he still remembered it with fondness.  It was meant to be.  It was in his blood, in his heart.  Seeing this new scar on his arm brought all the memories back, memories he tried to put aside, but couldn’t for the life of him forget. 

He picked up his knives again and tested the edge with a thumb.  Satisfied with the sharp nick he received, he once again thought about that young pickpocket who attacked him.  George hadn’t killed him.  He told himself that it was because there was no need to kill the boy – no need to prove that the former Rogue still had it in him.  But a nagging little voice in the back of his head, wondered if it was really because he’d agreed with the boy – that he’d betrayed the Rogue in becoming a noble.