Come on, people, live with me

(Fic) Tortall: To Court a Princess, PG.

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 03:43:14 GMT

Title: To Court a Princess
Rating: PG
Summary: He'd known it was foolish, of course, but he'd hoped that they would be able to just be.
Author's Notes: Young adult angst ahoy. Alan is a sweetheart. And where's Aly when you need her? In the Isles, of course. Also, features omniscient!Thayet.

"Lia, what's wrong?"

Lianne sat on the bench next to him, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was dressed in the height of the fashions set by her mother, and the only indication that there was something wrong was in the sad smile she wore.

Her full mouth wobbled, but her hazel eyes were steady as she looked at him. "Alan, I'm to be married in a year - Father and the Marenite ambassador have signed the contract."

Alan's heart sank. He'd known it would happen. Had known it was foolish for him to court a princess. But, somehow, he'd lived with some ridiculous hope that they would be able to just... be. That Lianne would no longer be obligated to marry by international politics. The marriages of Roald and Kalasin had given him false hopes.

"Lia," he began, reaching to touch her shoulder and take her hand, as he had hundreds of times before, only to have her stop him.

"No. I can't. I'm sorry." She swallowed and blinked. "I'm sorry, Alan. I shouldn't have allowed this to carry on. I knew better than to think... Royalty almost never wed for love - I knew I'd be married off."

"Maybe I could talk to your father?" He said, thinking aloud, and knowing it was ridiculous even as he said it. "I would make an acceptable match - Mother's blood is bluer than almost anyone's and he's my godsfather..."

Lianne shook her head. "Even if you could talk him around, we can't break the contract now. It would be a slight to the Marenites - they've done me an honor by accepting my hand for their Crown Prince, instead of a younger son."

Mithros. How could she talk politics at a time like this? When.... And then he saw her trying - and failing - to blink back tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, blinking rapidly.

"Lia, don't cry. Please?" He offered a handkerchief and put his arm around her, pulling her to close to him, instinctively. "Hush. Don't cry."

After a moment, she quickly wiped her eyes and returned his handkerchief, sniffling. "Now I understand why Roald never courted," she said, quietly. "He knew he'd be married on paper - and he didn't want this to happen."

"I knew it as well as you did," Alan told her, keeping his arm around her shoulders. "It's not your fault, Lia."

Her hands clenched into fists and her knuckles showed white, as she pressed her lips together. When she'd gotten herself under control, she reached over and pushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes, smiling for a moment. That was the skill, smiling at times when you were upset or furious, and Lianne had mastered it.

"I was being foolish," she said, her voice thick with the guilt she felt. "When Kally married, I should have known better. Roald's marriage was arranged for years..."

He couldn't help her. Nothing he could say would make her feel better. Words would be foolish and useless now. Gods, he missed Aly and her charm. His twin would have Lianne laughing in a moment. And Aly would be able to offer advice, which she certainly couldn't do from the Copper Isles.

Instead of saying something ridiculous, he kissed the top of Lianne's head and held her to him.

Lianne drew away, twisting a ring on her finger. Her smile was sad and bittersweet, now. She pulled the ring - a thin silver band, set with a sapphire - off and kissed it. Then she offered it to him - a token of sorts. "Keep it."

It wouldn't fit on his finger, but he'd put it on a chain. For now, he tucked it into his belt-purse and took her hand. "I love you, Lianne."

"When you're hunting bandits and surrounded by eligible ladies, you'll forget about me," she said, the cynical edge to her voice harsh to his ears.

"Never." He promised. "Need I swear it?"

She gazed at him, and then kissed him softly, drawing back once more. "We had best go back inside before someone comes looking for me," she murmured, rising to her feet and shaking out her skirts.

As they re-entered the stuffy ballroom, Lianne gripping his arm tightly, Alan saw Queen Thayet's sympathetic smile. Perhaps the King didn't know, but the Queen did. "Your mother knows," he whispered into Lianne's ear, leaning close to her.

Lianne sighed, impatiently. "Of course she does. It's Mama. She knows everything that goes on."

"Your Highness?" A voice interrupted them. A foreigner, a Marenite by his bright clothes and accent, stood behind them. "And Sir..."

Lianne made some introduction, but the man's name escaped Alan's mind. He didn't matter.

"Princess, if I may," the Marenite said, bowing, "my lady wife would like to make your acquaintance."

Lianne curtsied smoothly, all courtly grace and tact once again. "Certainly, ambassador. Thank you, Sir Alan."

Alan bowed to the princess and the ambassador. "The honor is mine, Your Highness." He kissed Lianne's hand and saw the masked affection in her eyes - and the smile that was just for him.

The man offered his arm and Lia took it - and she only glanced back at him once. She was no longer his - not that she had ever been his to begin with. But she was as good as married now.

(Fic) Tortall: Rooftop Madness, PG.

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 03:36:43 GMT

Title: Rooftop Madness
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,091.
Summary: Her eyes danced and her smile was nothing if not imp-like. In the shadows, it looked as if she was an incarnation of her father’s patron Trickster God.
Notes: Set sometime during Squire - I'm thinking before Shinkokami arrives. Poor, poor Roald. He doesn't know what's hit him. Originally written for the Peculiar Pairings Fic-a-thon at Goldenlake.

“Aly!” Roald hissed under his breath, trying unsuccessfully to free his sleeve from the girl’s grasp. “I can’t.”

“And why not?” She tugged him along, firmly.

Roald sighed. “I have responsibilities, Aly,” he explained for the hundredth time – not just to her, but to his friends among the pages and squires. “I am a prince - I have things to do.”

Aly’s eyebrows rose as she turned to face him, keeping her grip on his sleeve. “And you’re a human too, Roald,” she informed him. “Prince or not. Your father…”

“Was spoiled rotten! Aly, let go.”

“No.” Her mouth set into a firm line and her grip only tightened. “You’re stuffy and you’re boring. We’re going to fix that.”

Roald flinched. “I am not boring,” he muttered, planting his feet on the cobblestones.

Pain shot through his shin. Roald swore and glared at Aly. “You did not just kick me, Alianne.”

“I did, Your Royal Highness. Come on.”

Hoping that Father, Uncle Myles, Cousin Gary, and Uncle Gareth would forget that he was supposed to attend their meeting… or at least forgive him, Roald straightened to his full height.

“Don’t get on your dignity now,” Aly warned. “Are you coming?”

“Jasson would be better company for you,” Roald grumbled, surprised by the strength Aly had to drag him. “And I am not my father.”

“No. Obviously not.” The mocking gleam in her eyes made him furious.

“What in Mithros’ name is that supposed to mean?”

She didn’t answer him, only dragged him through the gardens, across a courtyard and into the block of stables where the nobles kept their horses.

“Evenin’, Miss Aly.” Stefan stepped out of the shadows, hands thrust into his breeches pockets. “And Your Highness.” The hostler bowed, barely keeping the smile off his face. Of course Stefan was involved in whatever it was Aly was plotting.

Roald nodded in greeting.

“Your Da says to tell you that y’ have to bring His Highness back in one piece,” the hostler said, running a hand through his straw-like hair. “I’d be agreeing wit’ him.”

Aly smirked. “Da needn’t worry. I almost didn’t get him out here.”

****

“The roof?” Roald stared at this mad girl in front of him. It didn’t matter that she was nearly family, she was mad. She wanted him to climb on top of a stable roof at this hour of the night, for reasons he didn’t understand.

“Why not?” Aly tucked her skirt into her sash and offered him a hand.

Roald scowled; this broke nearly every rule of propriety he knew of, never mind etiquette. It also defied sense.

Somehow, a few awkward moments later, he found himself sitting next to Aly on the rooftop of the stable, and the madwoman in question was digging in a bag she’d brought along.

The slender shape of the bottle was revealed and Roald sighed. “Do I want to know where you got that?”

Aly elbowed him - hard. “Do you insult the honor of every young lady you meet by accusing her of stealing, Your Highness?”

She looked hurt in the dim light, but he knew that was just for show. Aly was a fine actress. Her father routinely suggested that she should take up with a company of Players – and as far as Roald knew, Uncle George was entirely serious about that.

“Why are we up here?” He asked, turning his attention to her. “You dragged me up here… for what?”

She exhaled impatiently, and then grasped his chin in her hand. “Look, silly. Look around you.” She turned his head, showing him the views of the Royal Forest in the distance, the palace behind them, and the city beyond the walls.

“And…”

“Roald, have you ever done anything just for the sake of doing it?” She interrupted him to demand. “Ever?”

“I don’t have that luxury,” he told her, “I’m the heir. I have responsibilities. I’ve had them since I was born.”

Her face turned sad, for a moment; she pitied him. Roald bit the inside of his cheek, ready to pull away from her. He didn’t deserve her pity.

“Now you have,” Aly told him, brightly. “Now, hush. Uncle Coram says there’s too much inbreeding amongst nobles and that you all lose a bit of sense because of it, see?”

He stared at her as she lay back on the roof, watching the night sky overhead. “And a crossing between commoners and nobles obviously leads to madness,” he told her, thinking she wasn’t listening to him.

“Thom and Alan aren’t mad. Just me,” she retorted, her face alight with mischief.

“Unlike you, I have to worry about what people think, Aly. I have to worry about who I might offend. I can’t flirt among the eligible ladies like you do the men, because I’m as good as married.”

She shrugged, green eyes flickering with some emotion. “But you aren’t yet, are you?”

He opened his mouth and she sat up, holding up her hand. “Stop for a minute. Stop thinking about politics. Think about yourself. You live a boring life, Roald.”

“I don’t have the freedom that you and Alan and Thom do,” he told her. “Even Liam and Jasson have more freedom. They’re unlikely to ever inherit. Since treaties haven’t hinged on their marriages since they were born, they can largely do as they please.”

“We’re away from the palace and all of that – well, as far away as I could get you. Now, hush.”

She offered him the bottle and Roald shook his head, refusing to take it.

Aly rolled her eyes at him. “Go on.” She held the cork in her fingers and he could smell the wine in the open bottle.

To placate her, and wondering when he would have the opportunity to drink wine straight from the bottle again in his life, Roald drank. Her hands cupped his, and when he offered the bottle back to her, she pressed it into his hands.

“Aly.” He smiled, crookedly. “I inherited Father’s Gift. Things could wind up floating in midair, at this rate.”

She corked the vessel, shaking her head. “Sensible, boring Roald. Gods, how dull it must be. And the ladies think you’re shy, you know?”

She patted his shoulder, and for a moment, he swore she was mocking him. Her eyes danced and her smile was nothing if not imp-like. In the shadows, it looked as if she was an incarnation of her father’s patron Trickster God.

“It makes me ill, anyway,” he confided. “And I…”

Aly shut him up by leaning across him to seal her mouth across his.

(Fic) Tortall: Honorable, PG.

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 03:21:49 GMT

Title: Honorable
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, character death.
Summary: "Leave her brother alone," Liam advised. "He feels enough guilt." George doubted that.
Word Count: 250
Notes: Originally a Goldenlake Drabble Tournament entry.

Myles and Coram sat over brandy, in the corner. His mother and Rispah both eyed their men, but they said nothing. Rispah kept a steady hand on her aunt's arm and George was glad for his cousin's presence. He would be of no use to his mother today.

Jon and Thayet were together, the princess looking sad but proud. Jon only looked older still, his bright blue eyes stark in a too-pale face. A sullen Buri stood at Thayet's elbow, her eyes downcast.

The elderly Duke of Naxen wasn't supposed to be out of bed so soon after his heart attack, but he was, accompanied by his wife and son. Raoul was a towering, black-clothed shadow, as he entered. He didn't speak, only bowed to his king and crossed the room to join Coram and Myles.

The Shang Dragon's face was drawn, his skin pale against his mourning. He looked as if he hadn't slept. "Cooper," he said, in a harsh voice. "She died honorably - a warrior's death - particularly for a knight sworn to a crown."

George bit his tongue against an angry reply. "Mayhap," he said. "It doesn't make it any less wrong."

Liam frowned. "No," he said, his voice quiet. "It doesn't."

Not for the first time, George cursed the idiocy of the young Master who stood separate from the gathering, looking out of place at a gathering intended to mourn his twin.

"Leave her brother alone," Liam advised. "He feels enough guilt." George doubted that.

(Fic) Tortall: Marital Duites, PG.

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 03:10:42 GMT

Title: Marital Duties.
Summary: When one marries a future king, one is expected to produce a heir. Lianne has failed at this.
Characters: Roald I, Lianne I.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 514
Genre: Angst.
Author's Notes: This has been sitting around for a long time. It was originally longer, but I didn't like the rest of it at all. I'm still not completely happy with it, but I think I've looked at it too long. I also want to give young!Lianne I a big hug.

Goddess, why? Lianne of Conte cringed, looking at herself in the glass that hung in her dressing room. Had she given some offense to the Great Mother? Was that why she was denied a child? Why her body wouldn't support a life?

If she had given some offense, surely her prayers and offerings had made amends? Surely? The Goddess was described as merciful, after all.

"My lady." One of her mother-in-law's ladies-in-waiting stood at her elbow, her face plainly sympathetic. "His Highness asks if you will receive him."

Lianne shook her head, numb to the lady's sad face and the hand on her shoulder. The expressions of pity were beginning to wear on her. She barely heard the woman leave the room and shut the door behind her, but she did hear the receding footsteps and the murmur of voices outside.

Was there something so wrong with her? How had fate allowed a barren woman to marry the heir of Tortall? She heard the talk of the court - the loss of her unborn child was an ill omen for the country. The realm would be left with no heir. Was the Crown Prince to be left with no wife?

Duty. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind. Duty, Lianne. It was a wife's duty to provide her husband with children, preferably males, so he could secure his lineage. That duty was even more pressing for a royal wife. She had been given the honor of marrying the crown prince, of becoming the future queen - and she was failing in her small duties.

"Lianne?"

Her breath caught in her chest; that was Roald. The man she had so grievously failed. She couldn't face him. What was he doing here, at this time of day? He ought to be riding, attending councils, or seeing to reports, she thought, panicked. He should be anywhere but here.

"Lianne?" There was emotion in his voice, something she couldn't identify. "Mithros, don't hide from me."

She took two steps towards the door and hesitated. She reached for it, then stopped again. How on earth could she be expected to face him?

"Lianne, please?"

A Conte, a prince who would be king by divine right, was begging. Pleading with her.

She stood straight and opened the door. Somehow, she even managed to look at him while keeping her composure. She was a Naxen by birth, even if she was useless as a wife.

He had come from a meeting, she thought and she remembered her own appearance, a mess by comparison.

Her husband of not even a year took her hand, his blue eyes fixed on her, not letting her look down. "I'm sorry, Lia," Roald said, quietly. "It is..." he paused.”It is far from your fault, my dear. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Lianne wept, then, openly, for the first time since the incident early one morning. Roald held her, there in the doorway of her dressing room, as quiet as he always was. Only the tightness of his embrace revealed what he felt - as much as she did, if not more.

(Fic) Tortall: "Unwillingly In Her Snare", PG-13.

Mon, 03 Aug 2009 04:42:46 GMT

Title: Unwillingly In Her Snare
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 656
Fandom: Tortall
Summary: Raoul sees her for what she is. No one else does. But yet he wound up snared by her, too.
Pairing: Raoul/Delia.
Notes: Partially inspired by Myles' line in ItHotG: "I'm staying to watch the pretty little Eldorne girl try to hook every eligible male at Court." Wouldn't it have infuriated Delia if she couldn't hook one (or more) of them? Written for the Peculiar Pairings fic-a-thon at Goldenlake. Delia thinks Squire Alan is "batting for the other team." *ahem*.

Raoul raised his head and looked around the room, bleary-eyed. It was his own room in the palace, and he was in his own bed. Good. His bedmate was most definitely female – the long hair and the visible curves of her breasts and hips told him that much. Good.

She did look more like the sort of lady Jon would pursue, but he couldn’t do anything now but hope that she wasn’t married. He wasn’t in any state to deal with a furious husband.

The building headache he had was not as welcome, but it was a sign he was alive. Somehow, he’d made his way to bed.

Delia of Eldorne sat up, her thick chestnut-colored hair falling over her shoulders and nearly to her waist. “Good morning, Sir Raoul.” Her green eyes were bright, but the smile on her full lips didn’t reach them. It was the same smile she wore at Court.

“… Delia?” He rubbed his eyes. “What?”

The lady got up and walked around the bed, taking the coverlet with her. Suitably covered, she walked to the window, threw open the shutters, and peered out. “Perhaps I should say good afternoon instead.”

Raoul swore, as the noon sun streamed into the room. “I’m sorry, Lady Delia,” he said, hurriedly, remembering her presence. He did not remember bringing her back here.

Her smile broadened, as he struggled from bed and found his loincloth, along with last night’s clothing.

“Nonsense. Why, I should be honored.” She was able to touch his shoulder with one delicate hand. Mithros, her eyes were striking even when she was wrapped in nothing but a blanket.

She dressed as he did, pulling on her garments with surprising speed, and lacing even the silk gown herself.

A loud knock sounded at the door and Raoul groaned; the sound made his head hurt.

“Raoul? It’s Alan. Jon said you might need my hangover cure and it’s almost noon…”

Of course it was noble minded Alan, who did not flirt with ladies, who didn’t tumble said ladies, and who got up at dawn every morning. Raoul grumbled as Delia opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Squire Alan.” Delia’s voice was throaty and full of charm.

Alan bowed, awkwardly. “Lady Delia.” The stocky redhead kissed the proffered hand and nodded his head at the room behind the lady. “If you’ll pardon me, my lady, I…”

Alan trailed off and flinched as Delia put her dainty white hand underneath his chin.

She smiled, somehow making the expression look unfriendly. “Pity,” she said, idly toying with her hair with her free hand. “You would think a lad your age would have more interest in the ladies, Squire. Your knight-master certainly does.”

Alan bristled visibly and blushed, but said nothing.

“Unless, of course…” Delia tapped her own jaw with a finger, as if she was thinking. “Never mind, Squire. How improper of me, to keep you from your duties. Sir Raoul.” She let go of Alan and curtsied.

Raoul bowed grudgingly, and the annoying, scheming girl swept out in a rustle of silk, shutting the door behind her.

Alan’s purple eyes were bright with curiosity and Raoul glared at him.

“Not one word from you,” he threatened, splashing cold water from the basin over his face. I am telling Douglass to never, ever let me drink again, he thought, and let his fist smack the top of the wardrobe for good measure.

“She’s...”

“The Lady Delia is a beauty, knows it, is annoying as can be, and would just as easily turn on a man as help him,” Raoul said through clenched teeth. “I knew that.”

“Good,” Alan said, dryly, setting the bottle containing the hangover cure on the desk. “Jon doesn’t.”

Raoul swore. “Go away, Alan.” But the lad was already out the door, that damnable cat perched on his shoulder.

Now to find Douglass, so he could make sure last night would never happen again.

(Fic) Tortall: "A Royal Proposition", PG-13.

Mon, 03 Aug 2009 04:35:49 GMT

Title: A Royal Proposition
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 702
Fandom: Tortall
Summary: "The way she spoke those last words suggested there was something more to her brother other than the elegant, spoiled, and gilded young man who would someday be Emperor of Carthak, but Prince Ozorne didn’t hold Roger’s curiosity."
Set pre-SOTL, while Roger is in Carthak. Makes a few small assumptions about the Imperial family. Written for the Peculiar Pairings fic-a-thon at Goldenlake.
Pairing: Roger/Princess Fazia.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Your Grace,” Princess Fazia said, her voice deep and smooth. Roger rose from his bow and looked up at the woman in front of him, veiled and elegant, glittering with jewelry and clad in the best silks money could buy.

She was barely older than he was, the older sister of the Imperial heir apparent, and already married. When her husband had been pointed out to him at a banquet, Roger had been mildly disappointed.

“Your Highness?” What in Mithros’ name did she want with him? He had been warned about the rules of propriety in Carthak before he’d left for the university and had gotten several more warnings when he arrived. Surely this violated several of those customs.

Her mouth quirked into a smile and she played with the ribbons threaded through her black hair. “Have you ever seen such things, Your Grace?”

Roger frowned, as she removed the pins holding the silk veil in place and discarded both pins and cloth carelessly.

“My brother says your uncle’s court is appallingly tame,” Fazia said, her dark eyes focusing on him. “Ozorne always loved to exaggerate, but I don’t think he was that time.”

He blinked as the princess summoned a slave with a snap of her fingers, had the girl pour wine, and dismissed her from the room, all in a moment.

“Tyran,” she said, wrapping a glittering hand around one glass. “I am rather partial to it. Would you care to join me, Your Grace?”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” he said, bowing once again and taking the seat she lazily gestured to.

“You were once your uncle’s heir, I understand?”

He managed to keep the scowl from his face – just. “Yes, until the birth of my cousin – the king’s son.” This woman was plotting something – she was clever, more so than her brother or husband gave her credit for – but he could not reason out what it was.

She leaned back in her chair, her glass cradled loosely in one hand. “The healer tells my husband he will never have children - he is the one at fault, not me. There is a possibility a child I did have could inherit the throne; Ozorne is… unlikely to ever marry.”

The way she spoke those last words suggested there was something more to her brother other than the elegant, spoiled, and gilded young man who would someday be Emperor of Carthak, but Prince Ozorne didn’t hold Roger’s curiosity. He raised his eyebrows. “What are you proposing, Your Highness?”

The princess’ smile became a tiny smirk. “Clueless boy.”

He bristled at the insult and at her laughter – she was laughing at him – and got to his feet. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I –“

“Sit.” She sat up, setting her glass aside. Her tone brooked no argument; she was a woman well-used to giving orders, and he sat.

“I cannot put you on a throne,” she said, her eyes meeting his, “but I could make your son Emperor one day.”

He swallowed and fumbled for the glass she’d set aside for him. “And your husband?”

Fazia rolled her eyes, every inch the bored and impatient noblewoman. “He has his affairs among the court, and I am expected to look away from it. Not even my father would support me if I confronted Gazanoi about his behavior. I would only humiliate my parents, my brother, and my husband. Tell me,” she inquired lazily, “are you northerners so honorable?”

Roger shrugged. “Under an ancient law of noble privilege, men are entitled to challenge men who dishonor them to duels or such.”

The princess wore the tiniest of smirks on her face and arched one eyebrow. “Then I suggest we don’t get caught, hmm? No one will question my son’s parentage – Gazanoi is far too proud to reveal that he is infertile by claiming any child I present him with as illegitimate.”

The scheming female had planned this, Roger realized, mildly annoyed. She’d managed to outwit him. She was far from unattractive and seemingly more intelligent than any of the ladies in Aunt Lianne’s circle he’d been introduced to.

“Come, you clueless boy.” She beckoned to him and he followed, willingly.

(Fic) Tortall, 'Things You Can't Say in Mess Halls', PG.

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 04:45:02 GMT

Title: Things You Can't Say in Mess Halls
Rating: PG
Word Count: 183
Summary: "Don't you dare, Evin Larse. You are not ruining the first hot meal I've had in two weeks." Evin finds himself faced with some angry and disgusted messmates. AKA why not to interfere with Riders and food.
Notes: Say it with me: "EVIN!"

****

Miri choked, coughed, and put down her fork. Reaching for her cup, she glared at her friend. "I was eating."

He chuckled, helping himself to her plate, as he always did. "I wasn't stopping you from eating, was I?" He was grinning and she longed to make him pay for this.

She made a face at him and shuddered. "Goddess, Evin, that was disgusting! And you eat your own food." She yanked her plate to the right, away from him.

"Miri, did I tell you..."

She pointed her fork at him. "Don't you dare, Evin Larse. You are not ruining the first hot meal I've had in two weeks."

He held up his hands innocently. "I was just talking. It would be a shame if you stabbed me."

"No, it wouldn't," Commander Buri muttered, passing by with her own tray in hand.

Evin frowned. "What? I only said..."

Miri groaned softly. She really should have come to the mess later, after her bath.

"We know what you said," one of her messmates put in, helpfully. "Some of us are trying to eat, Larse."

(Fic) Tortall, 'Wedding Bands', PG-13.

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 23:51:34 GMT

Title: Wedding Bands
Summary: Bored queens and young knights are not a good combination.
Rating: PG-13.
Genre: Femslash/General.
Warnings: Implied femslash. Infidelity.
Author's Notes: Written for treanz . Not my usual, but after reading the suggestion/request and the promise of cookies in a thread at Goldenlake, the idea would not go away

"Lady Keladry."

Kel looked up.

It was after morning glaive practice, which had become something of a palace tradition. The group had expanded to include Princesses Lianne and Vania, the Lioness, Buri, and the occasional other lady who was close to the queen. Sometimes, the men close to these women came out to watch, curious.

"Kel, please, Your Majesty," she said and bowed. "Princess Lianne is coming along well, for only beginning her training."

"She is." Thayet smiled, a glaive held in one hand. "I wonder who persuaded Buri to join this little exercise."

Kel grinned. "It wasn't me, Majesty."

"Raoul, perhaps." Thayet returned her grin, her hazel eyes amused.

Kel blinked when the queen's hand rested on her shoulder. She was aware of the woman's wedding band, glittering with a diamond - her only jewelry at this hour - and the expression on the queen's face.

*****

"Majesty." Kel pulled her tunic over her head and bowed, her awkwardness hidden behind a Yamani mask of smoothness. She gathered her boots and stuffed her feet into them as she fastened her belt.

"Lady Kel." Tortall's 'peerless' queen sat in a chair, her eyebrows raised. "I can trust you to be discreet?"

"Certainly, Majesty." What would Mama think? Kel wondered, bowing once more. She's married, she's the queen. The sparkle of Thayet's wedding band caught her eye once again. "Though I don't think I'll have a reason to, from now on, begging Your Majesty's pardon."

She'd made a mistake. Not a life-threatening one on the battlefield, but tumbling the wife of her king? Was a mistake, all the same. She left the queen's chambers, somehow managing to avoid notice, shaking her head at her own folly.

(Fic): Tortall, Twice, G.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:59:51 GMT

Title: Twice
Rating: G
Word count: 120
Summary: Tortall's 'unusual' royal couple come to terms with a number. Written for the Goldenlake Drabble Tournament.

Jonathan looked at the missive from the Carthaki ambassador and blinked.

He glanced up at Thayet, who grinned. "How many times are you going to read that?"

"Kalasin's a mother. Gods help us."

"That makes us grandparents."

The door to the dining room opened and Shinkokami entered, her family, including her young daughter, in tow.

"Twice over," he added, suddenly feeling old.

Thayet smirked. "Imagine how Alanna and George must feel; Aly's had triplets."

Well, at least Kally hadn't done that.

"Twice?" Roald looked bewildered.

Jon sighed. Thinking of himself as a grandfather - twice- wasn't something he wanted to do this early. At least not before breakfast. "Ask your mother," he told his eldest son, as the younger children entered.

(Fic): Tortall, Lies, G.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:51:11 GMT

Title: Lies
Rating: G
Word count: 250
Summary: Sarra is tired of telling the same lies again and again. Written for the Goldenlake Drabble Tournament.

The number of times old Benek had asked about his granddaughter's father: Once.

The number of times Daine had asked about her Da: Too many.

Sarra sighed. The question had come up - once again. The girl seemed to be the most curious around Beltane and around her name day.

"Someday I'll tell you," she told her daughter, as she pulled the heavy pot off the fire.

Daine frowned. "You say that every year, Ma. Why won't you tell? Is it someone that was married?"

Sarra shook her head. "No. Come help me with the washing, miss."

Daine followed her, obedient but sullen. "Even if it's just his name. Please?" Her eyes were wide. "If you knew his name, why'm I Sarrasri and not named for him? He didn't want me?"

Sarra looked away. She couldn't tell her child the truth, but she was fair tired of telling the same lie. "No, dearheart." She hugged Daine around the shoulders. "Don't think like that."

"Ma, if he wasn't a trader and he wasn't a married man, who was he?" Daine was old enough to have been hurt by the villagers' talk - and she was too clever for her own good. She was no longer happy with the story of a Beltane night in the wood.

Sarra shook her head, sadly. If she told the truth, her child would never believe her. Who would? Daine, like everyone else, would think she'd run mad. How many times was she to tell the same lies?

(Fic): Tortall, Fear, PG.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:47:25 GMT

Title: Fear
Summary: Princess Fazia observes her brother's descent into madness and paranoia, from what she hopes is a safe distance.
Rating: PG-13, for safety's sake.
Genre: General/Angst
Author's Notes: This originally started as an entry for a drabble tournament, but it got long pretty quickly. The approximate three year age gap between Ozorne and Fazia? I made that up, for the purposes of this thing.

They are just children - Ozorne ten, she seven - when Father says their mother has indulged the Empire's heir for far too long and takes Ozorne to learn about the workings of their land.

Fazia is left with Mother, her nursemaid, the Imperial tutors, and her toys. She misses the boy who was her clever older brother, her playmate and her friend. When she does see her brother, he's different. Formal and distant, hardly bothering with her. She wouldn't dare ask him to play a child's game with her, now.

Mother tells her this is how it will always be. Ozorne will be Emperor and won't have time for her. She, when she is older, will be married and her duty will be to her husband, not her brother. As if that is supposed to ease the hurt somehow. The nursery and the palace are boring places, now.

*****

She is seventeen and Ozorne twenty, when she marries Prince Gazanoi, from Chelogu, one of the far southern provinces.

Her brother stands at her wedding, wearing a smile on his usually serious face, nodding in approval. She's pleased him. Fazia feels a silly bit of childish happiness rise, at the idea that she's pleased her older brother. She may not be the heir, but she is an Imperial princess - and a grown one, at that. Surely she doesn't need his approval, as if she were a little girl. Father arranged this match, after all.

He is proud, though, as proud as Mother and Father - she made a marriage that befitted her rank - and that makes her smile. Not being married to her new husband, but the pride from her family.

*****

Ozorne is crowned, two weeks after Father's death on the battlefield. Fazia cannot shake the feeling of unease as she sits in the throne room, with her husband, her children, and other dignitaries and nobility, including their mother, now Dowager Empress.

Father died a honorable death, worthy of any man of the Imperial house, and certainly worthy of an emperor, but that does not ease the loss. Or her feeling that something is not quite right with her brother. He's not at all similar to the boy and young man she knew.

His behavior has gotten stranger and stranger, in recent years. It would seem as if he were going mad, but Ozorne is too clever for madness. He suddenly seems to be afraid... of everything. Or as afraid as a man so regal gets. He sees plots and assassination attempts where there are none.

When he is crowned Emperor, officially, Fazia rises along with the rest of the room. But she keeps her eyes down and away from him. Her doting older brother frightens her, now.

The city and palace whisper of ill omens; the red star that hangs in the sky and the sudden, unexpected death of the previous Emperor, but no one dares speak beyond a whisper.

******

When he issues a warrant for the Draper boy's execution for treason, within a year of the coronation, Fazia just manages to hold her tongue.

Master Draper, she reminds herself, was a friend of her brother's - a good friend, not just a powerful one. The two were inseparable as boys and young men at the university. The boy from a merchant family in Tyra and the Imperial heir - an odd combination, certainly, but the young Draper was powerful enough to make up for his lack of a noble birth.

So what in the name of all the gods has happened? Why would Ozorne want his best friend executed? She speaks nothing of it, but knows it is on her husband's mind as well. Her brother's behavior has become stranger, more erratic, more fearful. His attempt to execute his best friend is a sign of this.

Somehow, the young mage manages to give her furious brother the slip. Fazia has no idea as to how he did it, because Ozorne has spies everywhere. Unless there is a mage present, no one dares to speak freely in the palace or surrounding compound and estates. The Emperor's eyes and ears are everywhere, always listening and watching.

Her brother's former friend, now considered a traitor, is not the last to incur the new Emperor's wrath. Several others, through the years, are accused of plotting against Imperial interests and disappear or are tried and executed - scholars, the empire's best generals, and high-ranking nobles.

Ozorne takes the military might Carthak is famed for and doubles it; he spends the citizens' taxes on wars and campaigns, while crops fail and people starve. He could not beggar the Empire if he tried, but his common-born subjects think he is. He does not ask his sister's opinion and she does not give it, preferring to raise her children and shelter them from their uncle as best she can.

****

The story changes - aboard a ship that disappeared, presumed to have drowned, a riding accident, eloped with a foreigner - but Ozorne's heirs almost always disappear after having said something to displease the Emperor - or something to make him feel threatened.

After the disappearance of the most recent one, Fazia considers the order of succession and realizes with a sick feeling that her son will be Ozorne's heir, if he chooses to follow the order.

She should be honored, but she loves her son, loves him being alive, and fears for her brother's sanity. She doesn't want her son falling victim to him for something insignificant.

Kaddar is fourteen, having not been groomed for this role in the slightest. She does her best, wishing desperately that her husband was among the living to help his son. She kisses his forehead and sends him out of the robing room, the night he's to be formally named heir. She is unable to actually enter the throne room and watch. Let Ozorne think what he will.

She had lost her husband, as he fought in the Emperor's name. If he was determined to kill her son as well, Fazia was not going to watch.

Her daughters, all married to men that befit princesses of the Imperial house, come to her, dismayed and fearful for their younger brother. She can say nothing. She knows better than to question her brother - and how could she deny the honor of her son becoming Crown Prince? That would make Ozorne suspicious and certainly mean more deaths.

*****

When the news arrives at the villa, of her brother's transformation into a Stormwing - he had chosen that fate over death - Fazia sits, uncertain of what to feel.

With the palace burning, she is unsure if her son is alive. She wonders to herself if Ozorne got what he wanted, but knows he did not. Her brother would not be satisfied.

"Your Highness? Prince - that is, His Imperial Majesty, is here."

Fazia blinks, as her steward tells her that. "My son is alive?" She whispers, the smoke on the air heavy in her lungs.

"Yes, Your Highness," the steward replies, with a bow. "He has company, as well. Shall I..."

The man trails off, as she rushes to the foyer. Kaddar stands next to the man formerly called Arram Draper. Ozorne's one-time best friend carries the limp form of a sleeping girl in his arms - the odd girl-child with the dragon who had come with the delegation. With them is Kaddar's master at the university, Lindhall Reed.

Kaddar looks grim, but allows her to embrace him. "Mother..."

"Hush," she tells him, firmly, thinking that Ozorne being so terrified - frightened of shadows, even - was what brought him to this.

(Fic): Tortall, Mother Tried, PG.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:39:17 GMT

Title: Mother Tried
Summary: Eleni taught him manners, and all she got was a charming rascal for her trouble. Pre-SOTL, before George takes the Rogue's throne.
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: I think I got Eleni's voice, but I'm not sure. She needs more lines. Also, George's uncle, Rispah's father in this one? I made him up. I thought of him as a 'crooked' Provost's Guard.

Eleni Cooper looked at her son, wondering what she'd done to turn him so crooked. She'd taught him his letters, punished him when she thought it was needed, taught him manners and respect. She had done the best she could, left with a very clever lad to rear alone.

The lad - young man, now - grinned at her and embraced her. "Not to worry, Mother," he said, in a deep voice - a man's voice. "I'll be fine."

She glared at him. "And what of me, George Cooper? My son, turned as crooked as can be! What will folk think of me? I worked hard to get us here, in a respectable home."

George looked serious, for a moment. "Aye, I know that," he acknowledged. "If any would speak ill of you, send them to me." His voice was still colored by the Lower City slang that had influenced him as a youngster.

"That was not what I meant - and you know it." Eleni propped her fists on her hips and eyed him.

She had tried to raise him right and had gotten a polite, charming rogue who participated in throat-cuttings and theft for her trouble. He was grown, too big for her to turn him over her knee and spank him. If she could, it might make him see sense.

He kissed her cheek, every bit the loving son. "No - it wasn't. You needn't be tangled in my business."

With the things he did, no one would know him as her son unless he told. Eleni sighed; it didn't feel right in the least. "Don't go about corrupting Rispah, either," she warned, gathering their mugs from her kitchen table.

"Me? Corrupt Rispah?" George raised his eyebrows. "Uncle Jas did that, Mother."

Eleni shook her head, exasperated. "Incorrigible," she muttered. "And never you mind speaking ill of your own kin."

"Kin that left you to live in the Cesspool're no kin," George said.

Eleni decided to pretend she didn't hear him - no use in re-opening an old wound.

George seemed to understand that - he was clever enough, after all - and said, "Well, I'm off."

"Be careful," she cautioned her only child, as he gathered his cloak.

"Yes, Mother. You'll see." George patted her arm in an attempt to placate her. There was no fear in his eyes - was he afraid of anything, the rascal? - but he seemed to be serious enough.

As he left, Eleni wondered if the Goddess would hear her prayers for a son on the wrong side of the law.

(Fic) Tortall, Perfumed Letters, PG.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:20:23 GMT

Title: Perfumed Letters
Summary: Neal has a lady friend. His knight-mistress is curious and Neal is vain.
Genre: General/Humor.
Author's Notes: The potential Neal and Alanna dynamic through his squire years has always struck me as hilarious. This came of it.

When perfumed letters and notes began to arrive for her squire, Alanna was suspicious. Every time one arrived, Neal became useless. But he never brought another woman into her company. Whoever he was courting, he was doing it out of her sight.

"Squire." She leaned on the doorframe of his room, seeing the young man in a state of disarray, an elegant note - from a lady, no doubt - held in one hand. Several tunics were set out and several more discarded on the floor.

Neal had the grace to flush. "Whatever does her ladyship desire to inflict upon me now?" He asked, tilting his nose into the air.

Alanna resisted the urge to cross the room and smack him, as she had hundreds of times. "Whoever she is, I think she's mad, but you shouldn't be moping around, waiting on an old lady like me. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

He grinned at her and bowed, obviously grateful. Then to maintain his dignity, he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Your ladyship is too kind to a lowly squire like me."

Alanna rolled her eyes. How had Baird produced such an infuriating son? "Queenscove?"

"Yes?"

"Fix your hair," she advised, reaching for the door. "Your lady has manners and grace, obviously." She indicated the note in his hand. "Especially if she writes to you so religiously."

"And I am but a lowly uncultured buffoon next to her." He sighed, wistfully as his hands went to his hair. "If only..."

"Queenscove?" She was not going to let him dissolve into a romantic puddle. If she did, he would soon start quoting poetry to her at breakfast. She'd endured enough bad poetry during her own page years - it was time to stop this.

He raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Shut up." She shut the door, shaking her head. At least she hadn't caught him writing poetry - yet.

(Fic) Tortall, 'Flee', PG.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:16:40 GMT

Title: Flee
Rating: PG
Summary: "I promised, Thayet. I swore. I keep my promises." Buri deals with stubborn princesses, promises, armies, and children. And Thayet is being 'difficult.'
Genre: General/Angst-ish.
Notes: Buri and Thayet before they met Alanna and co. in Lioness Rampant has been nagging me for a long time. So I wrote it. Also, yay grumpy Buri.

"Thayet." Buri felt bad for waking the princess from what little sleep she got, but that only lasted a moment. "Thayet."

Princess Thayet, Kalasin's daughter by a lowlander, sat straight up in the chair she'd fallen asleep in. "Buri?" She was awake and alert, getting to her feet as she spoke.

"We need to go," Buri said, quietly. "Zhir Anduo's army is coming. The Daughters say they'll help, but we need to go."

Thayet's eyes flickered with worry; go where, she was obviously wondering, but she said nothing. She went to the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out clothes for traveling, a bedroll, and her leather packs.

Hurriedly, she shed the black mourning garments she wore for Kalasin - a ridiculous lowlander custom, the tribes mourned their dead properly - and pulled on the shirt, leather jerkin, split skirt, and good boots. Into a leather pouch went the Princess' jewels, the trappings of her rank and power.

Buri raised her eyebrows. Thayet was concerned with her jewels? At a time like this? This was not the same princess she had promised to look after.

"We can sell them," the princess said, placing the pouch around her neck and hiding it beneath her shirt. "If need be."

That was Thayet.

"Come on - we haven't got much time," Buri said, still furious with the Daughters for not telling them of the approaching army earlier.

Thayet followed her, out of the room and into the hall and down the stairs, out of the building that housed the convent's female residents. Across the stone courtyard, several robed Daughters of the Goddess awaited them.

The Daughters had packed things onto a donkey, and Buri sighed, seeing the children standing behind them. Two older girls and a younger boy and girl; the only students who hadn't been removed from the convent by frightened families. If they had any family left to speak of, those children were left for dead.

Thayet looked to the First Daughter. "What of the children?"

The priestess sighed. "We can only keep them here, Your Royal Highness. We have no way of knowing the fates of their families, but I..."

****

Buri swore under her breath for the first mile. She was supposed to look after Thayet. Not other children. Now she had four others to worry about, four more mouths to try to feed, when she was only supposed to worry about the princess. All because Thayet had been stubborn.

Thayet glared at her as they walked, guessing what Buri was cursing about. "I was not leaving them to die, Buri," she snapped. "They're our people. They didn't do anything to deserve to sit and wait for death."

Kalasin's daughter had a point. However much Buri disliked it, she had one.

"Your Highness?" One of the older girls, younger than Buri herself, spoke. "I - we can - we needn't tag along. If..."

"Stop," the princess said, firmly. "It's Thayet. I only hold a title because of my father's behavior. Unfortunately." She sighed, touching the nose she'd inherited from her father. "No titles, please."

Buri saw the guilt on her face - of course. Thayet felt responsible for what Adigun jin Wilima had done to their people. Nothing anyone would say to her would make her feel better.

They walked through the night until dawn, when the children began to stagger from exhaustion. Thayet walked with them, encouraging them and telling them they'd make camp soon, smiling, telling stories, and singing songs - anything to keep them moving.

"We have to stop," Thayet whispered, as the sun peaked over the mountains. "We have to. They're done in. They can't go any further."

Buri scowled. "I don't like it," she said, sourly. "We're not safe."

The princess looked sad. "Is anywhere safe?"

Off the main road, under the cover of brush and trees, they made a small camp. The older girls helped fix a meal, while the younger children dozed against the broad trunk of a tree.

What little supplies the Daughters had been able to spare would not last them long. Not if they were feeding a party of six.

Thayet got up, setting aside her rough bowl. "We should be able to forage," she said, determinedly hopeful. She had heard the reports of people starving all across Sarain and the ones that stated the crops were failing. The princess was being hopeful for the sake of the little ones, Buri realized, seeing the hidden fear in Thayet's face.

"You're not going alone," Buri told her, firmly. She was not letting Kalasin's daughter out of her sight for a moment. Not when she was a pawn - and the daughter of the Wilima line. "You're not."

She had promised Kalasin and Mother she would look after the princess. Allowing Thayet to wander by herself was not looking after her. "I promised, Thayet. I swore. I keep my promises."

"Stay here with the children," Thayet ordered, equally as stubborn. "You're keeping your promises. I'll keep to the road and I won't go far." She took up the crossbow she knew how to use. "Mother, Pathom, and Panhra didn't teach me K'miri ways for me to sit around, Buri."

Buri listened uneasily the whole time the princess was gone. The children huddled together by the small fire, the one they were taking a risk to have, and looked at her, scared, filthy from the road, and bone-tired.

She looked back at them. Thayet was better with children. Even when she was scared, Thayet was calm, always able to tell a story or soothe an upset child. Buri didn't have that. Right now, she couldn't think of anything to even say to them.

The older girls smiled, weakly - uncertain. Dark fell in rapidly, and Buri forgot about them, worried about the princess. Had she been captured? Or killed? She should have never let her go alone, Father Storm's curses...

Kalasin's daughter stepped into the clearing, carrying her bow and what looked to be a baby. Buri was relieved to see her, but dismayed by the infant and the lack of game. "A baby, Thayet?"

"I found him in the brush," Thayet said, putting down her bow and cradling the baby with ease. "There's a burned-out farm up along the road; probably his family's."

"Dead?"

Thayet looked grim. "Yes. Someone hid him in the brush or they'd have killed him, too." She stared at the fire, the shadows giving her face even more of a sad look. "Everything is dead, here."

Buri bit back an angry retort. When Kalasin had jumped to her death last year, Buri's mother and brother had died with her and Thayet knew that. She wouldn't forget.

"We can't keep him," Buri said, flatly. "We've hardly enough to feed two, never mind six, never mind a baby along with them. We can't."

"And leave him here to die because of things my father started? That this one never had a hand in?" Thayet turned away from the fire to look at Buri. "It's not right."

"It isn't," she agreed. "I know that. But I swore to look after you. You can't save the world, Thayet - just like you can't save all our people from the Warlords."

The princess's face tightened. "I'm not trying to!" She glanced at the children, asleep under the shelter of the tree and lowered her voice. "I'm not. But it's not right."

"We don't even know where we're going," Buri said, wearily. "Where are we going?"

Thayet shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted, finally. "There's nowhere that the army wouldn't catch up with us..."

There was no need for Thayet to finish that sentence. They both knew what would happen then. Thayet would be held to manipulate her father - or worse, killed. If the Warlord was overthrown, the one who took the throne would force Adigun jin Wilima's only daughter's hand in marriage.

Buri looked down. Then around at the sleeping little ones, children who had been sent to the convent school in hopes they'd be safe, the infant resting in Thayet's arms, and finally, the princess herself. "We'll go," she said. "In the morning. All of us. I can't abandon you and you're being difficult."

(Fic): Tortall, 'A Minchi Named Gareth', G.

Sat, 16 May 2009 04:56:49 GMT

Title: A Minchi Named 'Gareth'.
Rating: PG
Summary: A new baby means Cythera has to deal with stubborn Naxens and their silly pride.
Genre: Humor/Family fic.
Notes: Based on quasi-canon about the Naxens, from here. I was very disappointed that one of Gary's sons wasn't Gareth the Third, so this came of it. Also, Duke G. I <3 him. /silly.

***
"Gareth haMinch?" Gareth the Younger of Naxen, Prime Minister and king's cousin, looked at his wife, appalled.

Cythera was beaming, holding their new grandchild in her arms. "It's in honor of you. Or your father. What's the problem?"

Gary sighed. His wife was not a Naxen by birth. Of course she wouldn't understand. "'Gareth' is a Naxen name. There was a King Gareth, which started the trend, but it's been ours for generations. A Minchi naming his son Gareth? It's not right."

Cythera gave him a look. "You're being silly," she told him, firmly. "It's a name, Gary. Your father was thrilled."

"Father is senile," Gary muttered, barely audible and Cythera sighed. She knew Gary's father had ears like a bat, even in his old age - why didn't Gary know that?

"This would be like if we'd named one of the boys Jonathan or Jasson. Families don't share names..." Gary continued.

"Muttering about my supposed senility again, are we?" Gareth the Elder inquired calmly, looking at his only son.

Gary opened his mouth and Cythera kicked him. "No," she told her father-in-law with a bright smile. "Gary's just a bit upset that Zenoby and Beltair named this lad Gareth."

Gary could bait his father all he liked - later. When she didn't have her daughter's newly-born child in her arms.

The Duke did not look convinced, but only settled back in his chair, hands resting on his cane. "I think he may be rather upset at the idea of being a grandfather," he said, after a moment. "Perhaps the naming of the child was your daughter's idea?"

"Zenoby always was proud," Cythera said, tugging at her husband's arm. "And he'll grow up well. Maybe you could convince Gilmyn and Dolsa to name one of theirs Gareth, if it bothers you so much?"

(Fic): Tortall, 'The Queen Is Riding in The Rain', G.

Fri, 15 May 2009 05:17:20 GMT

Title: The Queen Is Riding in The Rain
Rating: G
Summary: Children don't care how muddy - or how tired - you are. They want their mother. Set about two years before the beginning of Wild Magic.
Genre: Fluff/family fic.
Pairing:Jon/Thayet
Notes: treanz wanted more Jon/Thayet. So I promptly got right on that, as you can tell. This is Jon/Thayet and Conte family fic. Also, given Sarain's basis in real South East Asian countries (Cambodia, Laos, perhaps Thailand) I gave it a monsoon season.

It has been raining for days. Some of those she rides with are swearing it will never stop. Thayet thinks of Sarain's monsoons and shakes her head. Tortall's spring rains don't compare to those, no matter how thoroughly miserable she might be right now.

She leads the two Rider Groups through the gate and around to the barracks and stables, then dismounts. Her Riders do the same and lead exhausted mounts towards the stables, not waiting for a word from her. They're too tired and too wet. They, like she, want a bath, food, and bed.

After grooming the muck out of both ponies' coats and treating them to a hot mash, she gathers her things and heads up the hill to the palace. She is still covered in mud, still soaked to the bone, and still cold when she enters the royal wing, her hair and clothing dripping on the stone floors.

Thayet opens the door to the private parlor used by her family in the evenings, at the rear of the wing, and is greeted with childrens' laughter, then cries of "Mama!"

The children all race to her before she can speak, bowing - except for Kally, who carries little Vania in her arms.

Kneeling to return their hugs, she knows she shouldn't - she should put them off until she's clean - but she doesn't care. They're her children, after all. She kisses each on a cheek or forehead and with gloved, muddy hands, she lifts Vania from Kally's arms.

The elder five look up at her, delighted to see her - it's spring, it's raiding season, she shouldn't be home and they know that - and Vania only smiles at her.

"Mama, you're a mess," says outspoken Kalasin.

Thayet grins wearily, despite herself. "I rode thirty miles in the rain, Kally."

Kally looks properly appalled at this, for all her six years, and Jasson extends his arms to her, asking to be held. She scoops him up and kisses him, eliciting a squeal.

With Lianne clinging to her leg, Jasson held on a hip, and Vania in one arm, she sees the noise has drawn her husband's attention. Jonathan stands in the door of his study, eyebrows raised at the scene before him. Thayet realizes what he sees: his wife, hidden under a layer of muck, surrounded by children.

She grins, he laughs, and she laughs with him. She's still laughing, perhaps out of exhaustion, when he takes Jasson and Vania from her arms and holds her himself, despite the state she's in.

(Fic): Tortall, 'I Love Her, But Mother Would Never Approve', G.

Fri, 15 May 2009 05:12:43 GMT

Title: I Love Her, But Mother Would Never Approve
Summary: Newlywed Thayet sets about turning things on their heads, while Jon and Court observe.
Pairing: Jon/Thayet
Genre: General and silliness
Rating: G
Notes: For treanz and her 'more Jon/Thayet. NOW' campaign. Because I apparently have no life and I like silly things.

Jon watches her go about her work, the things she's taken upon herself. Opening schools across the realm, establishing the Queen's Riders, basing their structure partially on the combat she saw in Sarain, and helping him establish a university.

Some of his nobles dislike the Queen and her ideas and her reforms, but others seem to admire her - or are at least frightened of her.

Thayet does what she does, training the fledgling Riders and visiting schools and hospitals all with their son, the young Crown Prince, in a sling on her back.

Jon knows better than to object. He had, once before, and she'd looked at him and told him that common women carried their babies with them in the fields. She wanted to raise her children, not leave them for someone else to raise. She would never put Roald in danger; did he honestly think she would?

Of course she wouldn't.

"Aunt Lianne would never approve," Gary says, thoughtfully, one morning. "Of Thayet, I mean."

Jon sighs. Gary is just thinking out loud, as usual, and doesn't mean anything by it - he and Cythera adore Thayet.

Alanna, privy to this meeting before a Council meeting, smirks. "I think that's the point, Gary."

(Fic): Tortall, 'Towers', PG.

Fri, 15 May 2009 05:09:12 GMT

Title: Towers
Rating: PG.
Summary: Jon thinks his betrothed will like the view. Thayet does not. She has her reasons.
Genre: Angsty-romance type thing.
Pairing:Jon/Thayet.
Warnings: Mentions canon suicides.
Notes: More fic for treanz . And I found myself adoring Jon and Thayet. I've had this kicking around for a long time, ever since a re-read of Page, when Jon says 'you couldn't get the queen up here for love or money' re: Balor's Needle. Also, I am being spammy like a spammity spammy thing. I'm sorry.

"No." Thayet shook her head, her eyes focused squarely on his face. "No. Not now, not ever."

"Why?" Jon was legitimately concerned; his betrothed didn't seem to be the sort afraid of heights. Thayet appeared to be fearless, most of the time. "It's a wonderful view."

"And it can be wonderful all it likes." Thayet's lips were thin and her face was drawn. "I don't need to see it." With that, she turned her back to him, her shoulders stiff.

"What's wrong?" He wanted to know, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Did I say something?"

The princess took a breath. "My mother jumped to her death from a tower window, Jonathan."

"Gods." The losses of his own mother and father came back to his mind and he winced. "I'm sorry..."

Thayet turned back to face him. "Don't apologize. You didn't push her. I just... don't particularly like towers."

He couldn't say anything else to that. "I..." Alanna would mock him mercilessly, if she was here to be witness to this. He was never tongue-tied.

Thayet's face was sad, but her eyes were level. "My mother did an honorable thing, by K'mir tradition. It doesn't warrant an apology."

"It doesn't make it hurt less, though, does it?"

She frowned at him, somehow managing to look beautiful at the same time, then seemed to come to a realization. She took his hand, when he reached for hers.

Her smile was weak, but it was a smile. At least.

(Fic): Tortall, 'The Last Difference She Notices', G.

Fri, 15 May 2009 05:04:21 GMT

Title: The Last Difference She Notices
Rating: G
Genre: General/romance-ish
Summary: Thayet considers, during her first winter in Tortall.
Pairing: Jon/Thayet.
Notes: For treanz. Also, was written for my fanfic100 claim of Tortall.

Thayet has seen snow, before. At the Roof of the World, while she waited for Alanna to come back down the mountain.

But that snow was harsh, blown about by howling winds, cold and heavy stuff. It was mountain snow, dangerous and blinding to travelers.

Here, it was different. The Tortallans, who is she is still tempted to label 'odd', play with the stuff. They strap blades to the soles of their boots and slide around on what had been water. Tortallan children play with it as if it wasn't cold at all. (Which it was.) They put on layers of clothing and move through it. Most travel to the north is stopped, but not travel in and out of the city, from what she's seen.

And the snow lies knee-deep on the ground and hangs from the branches of trees, muffling most sounds. It falls softly, not blowing. It coats the rooftops of the stables, the barracks and everything else she can see from the window. It looks... almost peaceful.

"Thayet?" Jon's deep voice startles her. Her betrothed stands behind her, dressed in casual, sensible clothes. "Watching the snow?"

"It's not the same," she says, quietly, touching the pane of expensive glass. "In Sarain, it only snows in the mountains. And most of the time it rains. It's different."

Jon smiles. "Didn't you tell me everything was different here?"

"Horse Lords, yes." The Tortallan court had been a whirlwind of change, even with friendly people to help. The attitude of people here was different. Tortallans weren't troubled by decades of civil war. Her first winter in Tortall - and the last difference she notices is the weather.

"Alanna suggested I take you skating," he tells her. "Would you care to?"

Thayet looks at him, puzzled. "Skating?"

With that he grins like the young man he is, not the King he was crowned, and offers his arm.

(Fic): Tortall, 'Puppies and Paperwork', PG.

Mon, 11 May 2009 22:24:44 GMT

Title: Puppies and Paperwork
Rating: PG
Word count: 705
Summary: ""What on earth am I supposed to do with puppies?"
Notes: For boosette . The prompt involved Kel and puppies.

Keladry of Mindelan opened her eyes to the pale grey light of dawn, then realized where she'd fallen asleep. At her desk, atop the reports that needed to go to her district commander. Ink was smeared and blotted across one page, making it unreadable. She grumbled a curse and pushed her chair back, her back aching.

That's what I get for actually trying to do my paperwork, she thought, wryly. She half-listened to the sounds coming through her shutters as she warmed water in a pot in the fire. Her people were already up and at the spring chores, by the sounds.

She was washing the smeared ink off her face when a sparrow lit on her shoulder, peeping insistently. Kel put down her cloth and looked around, puzzled. She'd left food and water out for the birds... and then, half-awake, she saw it.

Jump stood in a corner of her bedchamber, his crooked tail waving. Behind him lay another dog, a female, probably belonging to one of the residents of New Hope, surrounded by sparrows - and a brand new litter of puppies.

Kel rubbed her eyes. Puppies? "I suppose you want me to be proud of you," she told Jump, whose tail wagged faster in response, his alert black eyes fixed on her. She knelt down to inspect mother and litter, tucking her nightgown's skirt out of the way.

The mother, who was well-fed enough to be a pet, not a stray or one abandoned by locals fleeing the war, licked Kel's hand and whuffed. She looked as if she might be related to the hounds used by lords and huntsmen alike for tracking small game.

Kel looked over the litter, carefully - five tiny pups, one with Jump's black-on-white markings, the others a combination of blacks and browns. They seemed to be healthy enough. But whatever was she to do with puppies? She was told she traveled with a small menagerie as it was.

"Milady?" Tobe stepped into the room. "Sir Neal is looking for you..." The boy trailed off. "Puppies?"

"Yes, Tobe." Kel sighed, wearily. "Puppies."

"You're a Da, Jump," Tobe told the dog, who barked in agreement, tail still wagging. "Milady, didn't you go to bed last night?"

Kel raised her eyebrows at the boy, who was a skinny thirteen-year-old, and said mildly, "Are you mothering me?"

"No, lady." Tobe ducked his head and scratched Jump's lone ear.

"Good. Shoo. I need to get dressed." She shoved him towards the door and hunted for her clothes, once he was gone. She had things to do, the new litter of puppies being the least of her worries.

***
"By Mithros." Neal squatted down to inspect the pups, later that evening. "Jump multiplied. The Stump would probably love this."

Kel shook her head. "What on earth am I supposed to do with puppies?"

Neal fixed her with his green eyes. "Mindelan, don't tell me you never had strays growing up. I know you."

"The housekeeper looked after them when they were this small," she explained, "and if I'm posted elsewhere, with things winding down, I can't take them all with me."

"When they're weaned, take them to my lord Wyldon," Neal suggested, scratching Jump's backside. "They'd probably make fine game dogs. Or give them to the heathen village children."

"Neal!"

"They are heathens."

"They are children, not heathens." She looked back at the litter that now occupied the corner of her bedroom - a room barely larger than her quarters as a page.

"Also, you've got ink on your face. Fall asleep on your reports?" Neal raised his eyebrows, knowingly.

Kel thought a string of curses and went to wash her face again. "Why didn't anyone say anything?"

"They wouldn't. They like you, Mother."

"Behave," she threatened in her best 'Mother' voice, "or I'll tell Yuki on you."

Neal looked offended, his face in an expression worthy of a Player on the stage. "I am behaving," he muttered, thinking she couldn't hear. He rose, stretching. "I have reports too, dear Protector - Father and Master Harailt want to know what I've learned from the locals, this far north."

Kel glared at his retreating back. "Stop calling me that ridiculous name," she muttered, annoyed by it.

(Fic) Tortall, 'On The Road Again', PG, Countrystars AU.

Tue, 05 May 2009 17:04:35 GMT

Title: On The Road Again
Rating: PG
Word count: 1329
Summary: Six teenagers. Crammed together all summer while traveling. Who told Thayet this was a good idea again?
Notes: AU as AU gets, based on the ideas in this thread.

Jonathan = Jon de Conte, CEO of Conte Records.
Thayet = Thayet de Conte, Jon's wife, half-Cambodian, semi-retired performer, mother.
Buri = Buri, Thayet's PA, responsible for making things run smoothly and keeping Thayet sane.
Alanna = Alanna Trebond, one of the first female performers to make a dent in the music industry, semi-retired. (Think Kitty Wells.)
George Cooper = Alanna's husband, used to work as a bodyguard/security type, dabbling in production. He does occasional security work now and then.
Raoul = Raoul Golden, shy, large cowboy, married to Buri. Notorious for avoiding publicity events, but well-loved.
Numair = Jack of all trades roadie of sorts.
Daine = Numair's fiancee, taking time from her veterinary practice to tour with Numair. Has an iguana, Kitten.
Prince Roald = Roald de Conte II: Jon and Thayet's eldest, a reluctant performer. Girls love him for his looks. Engaged to the gorgeous Shinkokami, who he met on his band's Japanese tour. Shinko is SERIOUSLY harshing the squee of his fangirls.
Princess Kalasin = Kalasin de Conte: second to eldest, very much in love with her boyfriend Kaddar.
Kel = Kel Mindelan = Young, up-and-coming performer. Has a flock of parakeets, her dog Jump, a back-up band, and an incredibly cranky secondhand tourbus, dubbed Peachblossom.

"Roald!" The shriek of a furious teenage girl who was convinced her brother had just ruined her life rang through the hotel suite. "Jasson!"

Thayet de Conte sighed to herself, rubbing her eyes. Had there ever been a time when she didn't have to play referee? She sat for a moment, determined to wait until she was called before rushing in. They just might sort it out themselves, for once.

"MAMA!"

Where did a girl with such a sweet singing voice get such a shriek? She wondered, dragging herself to her feet and heading towards the sounds of bickering teenagers.

She had been hoping for five minutes to herself, but that was unlikely when one was a mother, a performer and wife to a CEO of a record label.

Her eldest daughter, Kalasin, stood there, the very picture of righteous teenage girl outrage, her cell phone clutched in one hand. "Mama, Roald said..."

Half-listening, Thayet looked over all her children. Kally was furious, Roald looked insulted, Jasson looked as if he'd been up to mischief and Liam was in the corner of the room, guitar in his arms.

She was missing two - the younger girls. The discordant sound of piano - or in this case, keyboard - keys being hit all at once told her where Vania was. "Roald, Kally, where's Lianne?"

Roald blinked. "I don't know," he said, quietly. "I haven't seen her. Kally?"

Kalasin shrugged, indifferent to the whereabouts of her younger sister, still outraged at her brothers.

Thayet held back her temper, barely. "You are supposed to watch them..." she began.

Buri, her assistant and sometimes-saving-grace, appeared at her elbow. "Lia went with Shinko and Kel. Shopping," the shorter woman said, calmly. "She'll be back in a couple of hours. Kel's brothers are with them."

"I should've known it was a bad idea to bring them all," Thayet muttered. "God."

Buri was grinning and Thayet swore. "Not a word, Buri. Not one."

"I didn't say a thing," the woman responsible for keeping Thayet sane replied, straight-faced.

"Mama," Kalasin tugged her elbow, impatient, wanting someone to justify her anger. "Mama, Jasson said..." The girl was distracted by the phone in her hand, as it beeped. She peered at the screen, let out a high-pitched squeal and ran off, anger forgotten.

Jasson grinned and trotted off, earbuds lodged firmly in his ears.

Roald shrugged. "It must be from Kaddar," he offered, as explanation, naming Kally's boyfriend. "He's overseas on tour and she hadn't heard from him."

Thayet tousled her son's hair, admiring how much he looked like his father. Girls that had no idea who Jonathan de Conte was swooned over his son, nicknamed 'prince' for his manners and clean-cut good looks. They all seemed to detest his fiancee, the lovely Shinkokami - it had all started when he had publicly announced his engagement.

Shinko, bless her, took it all in stride and Roald never complained or lashed out at a female fan. They were young, beautiful, and charming. They might end up becoming the media's darlings, even though Roald wanted to live privately.

"Thayet, this afternoon is yours, but Lalasa wants you to look at gowns for next month," Buri continued, seeing the family crisis had been avoided.

Thayet nodded, eyeing the quietest of her sons, Liam. He caught her looking at him and smiled. He reminded her not of Jon, but of Jon's father.

Roald de Conte had been famously quiet and a bit of a recluse, with an incredibly smooth voice and pop-styled good looks. He'd been widely respected, if considered old-fashioned by some. Everyone had mourned when he died suddenly, in a car accident, leaving his only son his record label.

"Tomorrow?" She asked Buri, watching Liam think. He was the clever, quiet one, with songwriting credits to his name.

"Back on the road."

Thayet groaned. "Teenagers. Awake at six am. Do you hate me?"

"No. I don't," Buri replied, with a smile. "They can go back to sleep on the bus. They've been doing it since they were babies."

Thayet shrugged, hearing Kalasin's unmistakable irate shriek. "Jasson," she grumbled. "Bothering her again. Jasson, leave your sister alone!"

"I can't practice with all the noise!" Vania shouted back from her seat at the keyboard. She hadn't developed the shrill quality to her voice. Yet.

"Not doing anything, Ma!" Jasson called back. "She's being a baby!"

"He is too!"

Thayet thought a whole string of curses learned from roadies over the years. "Stop it, both of you."

"You're both stupid! Both of you!"

"Don't help, Vania," Thayet told her, sternly.

"It's silly," the youngest muttered, rebelliously. "Stupid..."

"Oh shut up, Vania!" Jasson yelled.

"No, you shut up!"

"Idiot!"

"Dumb...!"

Thayet groaned. Six teenagers, or nearly-teenagers, crammed together. Why hadn't someone told her this was a bad idea? Didn't Jon pay people for that? "Stop it. All of you. Or I'll send you home and get Gary to babysit, since you bicker like children."

Buri shook her head and looked to Liam, who had gotten up and was fiddling with the stereo. "You're the only sane one in this bunch, aren't you?"

Liam said nothing, but he flushed a little. He preferred to go unnoticed, speaking when he thought it was important. The strains of a familiar song began and the whole suite went still. Kally even stuck her head out, phone in one hand and Jasson pulled the earbuds out to listen.

"Aunt Alanna does it every time," was all Liam offered for explanation.

That was one thing the family did have in common; a love of music. One of the genre's first big female 'stars' had been a young woman called Alanna Trebond. She had toured with acts of all sorts - and when she toured for years with Buri's husband, Raoul Golden, she had become an adoptive aunt to the children.

She was able to tell them all sorts of stories of her early years, performing among men, including the night she'd discovered a bullet hole in her first bus from the previous owner.

She had, for a time, had a highly publicized relationship with Jonathan, but found she couldn't handle the lifestyle. That was something Thayet understood all too well. (How often did she see the supposed break-up of her own marriage in the tabloids?)

Alanna wanted to live with her husband, who had managed a few young rock acts, and their children and not be constantly in the public eye. To protect the children from the media pressure, which was something else Thayet understood. She couldn't shelter her children, but she tried.

"Mama," Kally approached, looking as if she wanted something. Thayet knew that look. Along with the sheer stubbornness in her eye that the children got from their father.

"Yes?"

"Kaddar wants me to join his tour when they come back through. Can I?"

"May I," Liam corrected from the corner.

Kalasin flipped her hair and glared at him. "Shut up, Liam."

"Kally, Liam," Thayet warned. "And as for touring with Kaddar? Ask your father."

Kalasin pouted, prettily. "But we don't see Dad for another month!" She wailed, eyes starting to fill.

Oh, teenage drama, Thayet thought, mildly amused despite her building headache.

Buri patted the girl's arm, smiling sympathetically. "I think that might have been your mother's point."

"Roald tours with Shinko," Kally said, sourly. "Please?"

"Roald is older and he and Shinko are engaged to be married," Thayet said, firmly. "I might consider it, but I wouldn't let you go without having a chat with your father. That's that, Kalasin de Conte."

Kally, still pouting, flounced off, probably to tell her friends how 'mean' her mother was being.

"Were we ever like that as teenagers?" Thayet asked Buri, trying to remember.

"No," Buri said, firmly. "We need to go out for coffee before you go insane. Behave, children," she called, pulling Thayet out the door by the arm. "Don't kill each other.".

(Fic) Tortall, Conte Women Will Rule The World, PG.

Tue, 05 May 2009 05:24:20 GMT

Title: Conte Women Will Rule The World
Rating: PG
Word count: 582
Summary: King Jonathan is looking for marriages for his younger daughters. When this news reaches Carthak, the Emperor is very afraid. (AKA 'Kalasin and Kaddar are driving each other mad.')

There was a thirteen-year-old on the throne of the Copper Isles, his cousin Zaimid had only recently returned (now married to the older sister of the Isles' new queen), his own wife seemed intent on driving his mother mad, and his sisters were of no help. His advisors seemed to want his attention or presence constantly - even more so than usual - and his court was very much divided in their opinion of his Tortallan wife.

Kaddar Iliniat was stressed. Actually, that was an understatement. He rubbed his eyes, wearily and stretched. His wife had managed to pry the rings from her swollen fingers and now sat across from him, going over what appeared to be personal letters.

"Kally?" He asked, seeing her yawn.

Kalasin raised her head, dark circles visible under her blue eyes, even with her tan. "Something for you?" She asked, folding her hands on the curve of her belly.

"You've developed a wandering eye," he teased, gently. She had been observing the men of rank closest to them at dinner. "Does someone other than me strike your fancy, my dear?"

She glared at him, letting him know what she thought of that in no uncertain terms. "Don't be ridiculous. They wouldn't want me like this," she indicated the curve of her abdomen, a visible sign of the fact that she carried Carthak's heir within, "and your mother would skin me."

He cringed; his mother and his wife fought constantly, usually about matters of decorum. Those arguments were bad enough to be witness to. "So?" He probed.

"For my parents - they're looking at potential husbands for my sisters," she replied, yawning once again. "Father asked me to look at suitable candidates here."

Sisters. She had two, both younger, Kaddar recalled, and all from the same unconventional royal family. He didn't know how much more of that particular family the court could handle.

"Two of you, here? At once?" He asked, worried by this prospect.

Kally and her 'odd' ideas and their products - like the schools and hospitals she'd opened - had turned the court on its ear. Zaimid's Lady Sarai was in the process of shocking them once again and scaring them half to death at the same time, with her swordcraft and her fiery attitude. Would his nobles, in particular the older families, tolerate another woman of their like? Hag's bones, he thought and groaned.

She only shrugged and removed her slippers, apparently oblivious to his distress. She hadn't been able to fit her feet into sandals in weeks and had resorted to northern-style slippers, despite the heat.

"We might as well bring Daine back and let her tear down the palace - again," he said, dryly, "if your father intends to marry your sister here."

Kalasin raised her eyebrows, elegantly. Had she learned that trick from his mother? No, his older sister. "We can't," she told him, a tiny smile ruining her serious expression. "Daine's pregnant again." She reached across and patted his arm. "Father's looking at the princes of Maren and Galla for the girls, too - don't fuss. Yet."

Kaddar sighed, seeing the mirth on her face at his expense. "I hate you," he grumbled. She was mostly capable of being diplomatic and charming, but in private she had a wicked sense of humor. And, as usual, she was intent on making his life difficult.

"You do not," she retorted, levering herself to her feet and crossing to her dressing room. "You just think you do."

(Fic) Tortall, Distance, PG.

Tue, 05 May 2009 05:14:01 GMT

Title: Distance
Rating: PG
Word count: 588
Summary: Alanna thinks her husband has changed. He proves otherwise. Set in the ten year gap between Lioness Rampant and Wild Magic.
Notes: O.O. If anybody has this journal friended, I'm really sorry. It's fic archive time and I can't for the life of me figure out how to do it and keep everything accessible without spamming your f-lists.

“I feel like I don’t know you,” Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau, King’s Champion, called ‘the Lioness’ remarked, studying the grain of the dining table carefully. “Not anymore.”

They were just having their reunion, after her return from combat along the border. She resented the tasks that had delayed this and was startled at the changes in her husband even in the short time she’d been gone. Or was she just noticing them all at once?

“Nonsense.” George chuckled from his nearby seat. “Of course you do. I’m the same man ye married.”

She looked up at him, suddenly. “Are you?”

“Are you my very same lass?” He answered with a question of his own, hazel eyes sharp. After a moment of silence from her, he leaned back in his chair. “We all change, lass – whether you like it or not.”

She gestured, helplessly, lost for words. “It isn’t the same…”

“No, of course not. Jon wouldn’t’ve approved of his Champion marryin’ the Rogue, now would he?”

“As if I wanted his approval!” She cried, offended, and he laughed.

“No, you wouldn’t – it might hurt your pride. But I never want to be witness to you two fighting again. That last time, your Bazhir probably could hear ye.”

If she were still in her younger years, she might have thrown something at him, but she was a grown woman. “Be serious, George… please?”

“Serious as can be, darlin’.” He straightened up, fixing her with eyes that never missed a detail.

“What you’re involved in now – all the sneaking about… it’s changed you.”

“And your wars haven’t changed you? I’m doing what I always did, lass – just on the respectable side of things. I stopped courting the noose to court you.”

“I’m thrilled,” she said, dryly. “But the little one needs a father – I can’t be both. Even if you gave up courting the hangman…”

He rose from his seat and crossed to her, bending to kiss her, gently. “Do you not think I worry when you ride off with nothing but that horse for company? That someday, you might turn me a widower? At least when you were off adventuring, you had Coram.”

“I know how to take care of myself,” she objected.

“As do I. Do you think I survived in the Lower City by luck, Alanna? I’ve no god’s hand on me. Besides, your father keeps me buried in paperwork, so’s I’m not leaving you a widow anytime soon. Trust me, lass.”

How couldn’t she? When he put it like that… it wasn’t fair of her to protest his line of work – he rarely had anything to say about her own life as a knight, even if he did like to hear the tales from the march.

“Paperwork?” She raised her eyebrows at him and he gave her a matching look of his own.

“Aye. It’s what I do, nowadays. Myles says it befits a baron.”

“I’ll tell him you want something else to do, if you’d like…”

“And I can’t do that for myself, Lioness?”

She rolled her eyes at him and he all but swept her off her chair and off her feet. “If it means I get to see you more often, your Da can bury me under all the paper he likes,” he murmured.

Well, she definitely understood his reasoning, when he put it that way.

(Fic) Tortall, 'Ridiculous On The Rocks', PG.

Tue, 05 May 2009 05:05:17 GMT

Title: Ridiculous On The Rocks
Rating: PG
Word count: 388
Summary: Alanna is not impressed by men and their dramatics, Daine is grooming the ponies, and Numair is sulking. Set during Wild Magic.

‭"‬Will you‭ ‬stop being ridiculous‭?" ‬It was Alanna who was behind him,‭ ‬not Daine.‭ ‬She'd all but fled to groom the ponies,‭ ‬after he'd yelled at her out of the shock.‭ ‬And fear,‭ ‬he realized.‭ ‬Fear that she was,‭ ‬in fact,‭ ‬dead.

‭"‬Why would I do that‭?" ‬He queried,‭ ‬over his shoulder,‭ ‬not looking at her.

‭"‬You're scaring the children,‭ ‬for one,‭" ‬he saw the knight gesture back at the camp and the Rider trainees,‭ ‬out of the corner of his eye,‭ "‬and you're annoying me.‭"

"I apologize,‭ ‬Lady Knight,‭" ‬he said,‭ ‬dryly,‭ ‬only to earn himself a cuff on the back of his head.

‭"‬Stop,‭" ‬she admonished.‭ ‬In their current position‭ ‬-‭ ‬him sitting,‭ ‬she standing,‭ ‬Tortall's Lioness was taller than he.‭ "‬You're behaving like one of my children‭ ‬-‭ ‬and three of them is‭ ‬more than enough for me.‭"

"Shouldn't you be yelling at Daine for being ridiculous‭?" ‬He asked,‭ ‬actually chancing a look at her.

‭"‬She's a student.‭ ‬You aren't.‭ ‬She‭"‬-

‭"‬Was‭ ‬dead.‭ ‬She‭ ‬stopped her heart.‭"

"Who's the healer‭?" ‬Alanna demanded tartly,‭ ‬from over his head.‭ "‬I‭ ‬know she stopped her heart.‭ ‬Because student mages‭ ‬usually do stupid things.‭ ‬Were‭ ‬you ever a student,‭ ‬master mage‭?"

"I never actually killed myself,‭" ‬he pointed out,‭ ‬for the sake of argument.‭ "‬My...‭"

"Didn't you try‭?"

"Not deliberately.‭"

"And you know full well she didn't do it‭ ‬on purpose,‭" ‬Alanna argued back‭ ‬-‭ ‬her obstinate streak was‭ ‬far more‭ ‬well known than his.‭ "‬She's alive.‭"

"Only by having a healer at hand to give her heart a jolt.‭"

"And she likely won't do it again,‭ ‬now that she knows better.‭ ‬She's not stupid‭ ‬-‭ ‬unlike some people.‭"

He turned around to tell her‭ ‬exactly what he thought of that,‭ ‬only to see her grinning at him.‭ ‬He scowled and her grin only broadened,‭ ‬looking more like that of a‭ ‬Corus street urchin than the smile of a lady,‭ ‬a seasoned warrior and a mother.

‭"‬And to think my life‭ ‬used to be sane before that girl,‭" ‬he meant Daine and knew Alanna understood,‭ "‬came along.‭"

"Children have a‭ ‬remarkable way of disrupting things,‭" ‬the woman pointed out,‭ ‬calmly.‭ "‬And besides‭ ‬-‭ ‬I find‭ '‬sane‭' ‬to be rather boring.‭"

He snorted and rose to his feet,‭ ‬brushing off his clothes as he did so.‭ "‬You would,‭" ‬he retorted and Alanna kicked him,‭ ‬lightly.

(Fic) Tortall, 'Now Will You Marry Me?', PG.

Tue, 05 May 2009 04:55:44 GMT

Title: Now Will You Marry Me?
Rating: PG
Word count: 818
Summary: Daine has fallen pregnant while on the warfront. Numair is not amused. Perhaps better described as an old 'we're having a baby? What?' fic. This fic, it has just occured to me, is over a year old. Mainly here for archival purposes.

Fall, 462 H.E.

“Daine?” He all but burst into the tent behind her and she sighed. She was almost – almost – beginning to regret having sent that letter. But she couldn't not tell him. Their friends might very well see her marched up Executioner's Hill for not telling him.

She turned from her report and looked at him – a mess from riding, his clothes windblown, packs in hand.

“Did you all but kill that poor horse to get here?” She demanded, crossing the tent to tug at his collar and straighten his tunic.

He gave a strangled laugh and dropped his bags. “You're – you're worried about the horse?” he demanded, fastening the tent flap.

“Why wouldn't I be?” She asked, archly. Leave it to Numair to be dramatic.

He stared at her as if she'd run mad. “Daine...”

“What?”

He sputtered and reached into his tunic, producing her letter. “You choose to tell me you're pregnant via a letter – and yet you're calm?”

She crossed her arms across her chest and scowled at him. “You're being ridiculous, Numair.” As much as she loved him, the man would drive her mad with his flare for drama. He should turn his hand to being a Player, she thought, not for the first time.

“I'm being ridiculous?” He sputtered eyes wide. “Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith.”

“You are, dolt. How else was I tell you? We're lucky to see each other as we ride in and out,” she grumbled. “There was no other way.”

His face softened, briefly. “How long have you known?”

“Not long,” she admitted. “I suspected as much – and the healer confirmed it.”

“Well, then.”

She looked to him, a little frightened. He'd been a fine, doting adoptive “uncle” to the children of their friends Alanna and George, but did he want to be a father himself? Scholarly pursuits and fatherhood likely didn't go well together. “Numair?” She queried, softly, looking at the toes of her boots.

He lifted her chin, gently. “Now you'll marry me, won't you?”

She paused. The man had spent the last ten years, nearly, trying to convince her to marry him. He always chose the oddest of times to ask her, too. “I don't know,” she said, finally.

“Daine...” His voice trailed off, warningly.

“What now?” She asked, eyebrows raised.

“I don't want your – our – child born out of wedlock.”

Of course, her mind said. Leave it to him, the ever honorable Numair Salmalin, to be worried about that. In the middle of a war. “Goddess bless it, Numair, I don't care,” she retorted. She could be as stubborn as he. “That's nobility's silliness, not mine.”

“You would think you, of all people...”

“Me of all people what?”

“You spent your childhood being called 'bastard'... one would think you would care.”

“That's different. I didn't know my Da. Ma did, but she wasn't telling. Our child isn't my bastard by a random stranger. I know it's you. Or are you doubting that, now?”

His face reflected hurt; she might as well have slapped him. She cringed.

“I'm sorry, Numair,” she said, quickly. “I...”

Then, the memories hit her. Being mocked by village children for the question in her parentage. Being ousted from their groups and being left to tend her family's herds, well away from the village. Being insulted by most adults, who said – among other things - that no respectable man would have her, as well as slipping in the odd insult to her mother. She cringed again and shook her head.

Her child, if she let it be born out of wedlock, would endure the same things. But Court gossips in Corus were far more cruel. She knew that. And children shouldn't be forced to endure it just because of her foolishness. “I don't know,” she said, again, shaking her head. “We're in the midst of a war.”

He kissed her forehead. “You and I aren't warriors, dear one. We hold no oath – you know that.”

“But...” She scowled at him. “If we're to wed, I don't want any fuss. I've had enough of that.” With two royal weddings she'd attended in recent memory, she had. And Buri's wedding, of course.

“No fuss, I promise,” he replied, taking her hand in his. “Thayet reports that Kalasin and Kaddar are expecting a child – a son.”

“That's fair wonderful, that is,” she replied, taking a chair. “Does she think much of being a Grandma?”

“No one dares mention it,” he said, a smile crossing his face and she rolled her eyes.

“And you, Da?” She asked, finally and he only blinked at her. And then the realization seemed to hit him.

“Marry me, Daine?” He asked, again, after a pause.

“Here? In the fort? With the soldiers as guests?” She shook her head at him. “No thank you. Ma would have a fit if we married in enemy country."