Post by Griff on Aug 29, 2011 6:44:51 GMT 10
Title: Break the Yellow Rose Bloom
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1600~
Summary: Roger is Jon's father. No, really! (Not crack)
Notes: Written for Katty. Because it has Roger. So, yeah. Katty.
-
Lianne felt Roger's radiant disapproval when he stepped into the tight courtyard garden set apart from the winding hedge maze garden off the ballroom where the young lovers liked to hide. This garden was fondly called 'The Mother's Garden' and it seemed a fitting place to share her news.
Lianne smiled calmly at Hannath, her maid, and requested, “It is a warm day to be in the garden without something to drink. Fetch Duke Roger and I a pitcher of fresh juice, please. Whatever is in best season.”
Hannath curtsied sharply and turned to rush when Lianne added pointedly, “And, dear. Take your time.”
She was scarcely out of the garden before Roger stormed across the grass, hissing, “Three weeks, Lianne, without so much as a word. You accept my letters and leave them unopened, you feign illness when I come to call. By the gods, you've even taken to eating in your rooms to avoid me. I demand an explanation.” His voice trailed off as he watched her work in fascination. “What are you doing?”
She paused, arms deep in the dark loam, and turned her head with a small smile, “Planting your rose.”
He stood at a loss, arm handing limply at his sides. Without his temper, Roger looked exactly as young as he was. It was easy to forget, with his arrogance, clever mind, and innate strength, Roger was barely a man.
Lianne pushed down her stifling guilt and pointed to the delicately decorated terracotta pot sitting on the nearest bench. “Bring it over, would you?”
He did, crouching close as held the small rosebush over the hole.
Lianne watched his mind work, trying to match her actions to causes. Her weeks of silence had put him on a brittle edge, but he seemed to see the rose as a sort of acceptance. He wasn't wrong. However, she knew this wasn't what he imagined.
“It would fit it's pot for another season,” Roger noted blandly, refusing to pose an actual question. Perhaps his ego restricted him, Lianne mused, or he simply wanted to handle her carefully. After all, she had given him call to be wary.
“But it wouldn't blossom,” Lianne shrugged simply. “Sometimes, one must leave their comforts for the greater good.” She chided herself harshly, because this was not to be an object lesson. Lianne was not here to explain herself. Her actions were justified; more importantly, they were necessary.
She allowed him one last moment of victory as she shared, “I'm pregnant.”
Of all the expressions Lianne expected to see, Roger's awe was not one of them. He was astounded, she realized, not by the idea, but the fact he knew as well as she that this baby was his. Lianne had never considered Roger might wish a child for a child's sake. It had always been a game of wits with him.
The guilt turned vicious as she turned away from his kiss.
“What,” He whispered, searching until her eyes met his. “Is it not mine?”
“It is,” She agreed simply, pulling the rose from the pot with one sharp pull. She dropped it in the hole with less care than she should have, but she was desperate to be on her feet and out of arms reach. She filled the gaps in the sod and moved away, turning her cold shoulder to her lover. “You know well as I that Roald would already have a dozen children if he were able.”
“I don't understand,” He said with a dark chill in his voice. It was the ugliness he harbored so deeply in himself, passed down from Jasson through the generations. Setting a hand on her belly, Lianne spared a moment's dread for her own child's soul.
“We are done.” Lianne spared no kindness. “We will not meet again.”
“Why,” Roger pressed, pain and fury tying his voice in a choked knot. “What brought this madness? Fear of your husband? Don't you understand, there is nothing in our way! We have a child, you and I. We have love -”
“I don't love you,” Lianne said with an unquestionable bite. She hadn't meant to show her loathing, but the hand was shown. She turned and spat, “I have never loved you.”
He had not expected that.
She swallowed hard and turned away, pressing her lips in a line as she fisted her hands in her skirt. “You are ugly, Roger. In every deed and hallowed act you make, you are a terrifying monster. Tell me you love me because I'm pretty. Tell me you love my eyes, my smile. Tell me you gave me that rose to remind me you cared, and not to prove how powerful you are that you can make a red rose bloom yellow. Tell me that our affair is not feelings grown into a spiteful pit of hate for your cousin.”
And, in that moment, Lianne realized that, for all his cruelties, Roger truly had loved her. Perhaps not as a man should love a wife, but with all the fervor a boy of but eighteen could manage. And she had broken that faith. Whatever humanity he'd had, Lianne knew it was shattered now. It was a loss she hadn't anticipated, but a sacrifice she had to accept.
“I would have given you everything,” Roger snarled, power pulsing under his skin. His eyes flicked blue to brown as his magic reared angrily.
“And destroyed it,” Lianne countered quietly. She sighed tiredly and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Roald has not your mind, or power, your charms, or your looks, but he has a soul and that is something you can never understand. You live for your own hungry gains. You say you would give to me, and I understand now that perhaps you would have. But you would have taken everything from the world to satisfy it. How many bloody wars would you submit the people of Tortall to fight simply for your glory? How many taxes would you levy to pay for your blood? How many villages would starve to feed your armies?”
Roger's nostrils flared and his hands shook in tight, angry fists, but he didn't respond.
Lianne closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, letting herself relax into the reality of what she'd done. To remember why. “Carthak has accepted your application to their university.”
“I did not submit -”
“I did.” She cut him off. “You can't imagine I would let you near my child.”
“You planned this,” He accused hotly. “You lured me in and used me.”
“I needed a child to break the line of succession. You were the perfect stud.”
“And when I write my cousin a letter from my safety in Carthak, what is to prevent Roald from cleaving your head clean off your shoulders?”
Lianne couldn't help but smile, “Because you're not a fool, Roger.”
He sneered.
“Believe me,” Lianne stepped forward, meeting his eyes boldly, “I did this knowing I have made my bed in a pit of vipers. I have not won. Do you think I'm so foolish as to believe you'll leave with your tail tucked between your legs?” She eyed him up and down and shook her head, “You're not the sort. You have few redeemable qualities, Roger, but you are a dedicated man with pride. I have made myself a dangerous enemy and I expect I will suffer sorely at your hand. But,” She waved her hand towards the castle, “That is merely revenge. What you want is the crown.”
He gave her a shrewd flat look and crossed his arms.
“As soon as Roald knows of our... dalliances. We will both be cast out as traitors to the crown, stripped of our titles, and likely locked away on Traitor's Hill. You will lose all claim to the throne. Your son, however,” Lianne pointed out with no small amount of pride, “will still be the closest blood relative and Roald's heir.”
She turned on him with surety, “The only way you still have a dream of ruling Tortall is if his parentage is kept secret.”
Roger stared hard at her for a long minute. Then, he nodded to himself, “So it is a boy.”
“Yes,” Lianne nodded with him, “I wanted to be sure.”
“Sure,” He laughed darkly, “Sure you had an heir before you cast me aside, back to barn?”
Lianne didn't give him the satisfaction of her shame, “Exactly.”
“When,” Roger squeezed his hands and clenched his jaw, “will he be born.”
“Four months,” Lianne offered, “Well after you've left the country.”
“And what will you tell Roald when he learns you've hidden your pregnancy for over a season?”
“The truth,” she shrugged, “I didn't want to raise false hopes.”
Something churned behind Roger's eyes, a thought she was afraid to meet as much for its passion as its danger. Instead, Lianne clapped her hands suddenly and said with bright cheeriness, “Well, Hannath will be back with refreshments soon. I'm sure you have packing to see to.”
Roger accepted her blatant dismissal without a word, but Lianne couldn't help calling after him, “Roger,” He paused. “This ugliness, it is between you and I. I misjudged you sorely and, for all it would not have swayed me, I am sorry. You loved me and I never imagined... I will not poison him against you.” She closed her eyes and finally let the guilt overwhelm her as the tears came. “All I ask is that you love him? Please?”
In a broken voice, he replied, “Congratulations on your son, Your Majesty,” and left.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1600~
Summary: Roger is Jon's father. No, really! (Not crack)
Notes: Written for Katty. Because it has Roger. So, yeah. Katty.
-
Lianne felt Roger's radiant disapproval when he stepped into the tight courtyard garden set apart from the winding hedge maze garden off the ballroom where the young lovers liked to hide. This garden was fondly called 'The Mother's Garden' and it seemed a fitting place to share her news.
Lianne smiled calmly at Hannath, her maid, and requested, “It is a warm day to be in the garden without something to drink. Fetch Duke Roger and I a pitcher of fresh juice, please. Whatever is in best season.”
Hannath curtsied sharply and turned to rush when Lianne added pointedly, “And, dear. Take your time.”
She was scarcely out of the garden before Roger stormed across the grass, hissing, “Three weeks, Lianne, without so much as a word. You accept my letters and leave them unopened, you feign illness when I come to call. By the gods, you've even taken to eating in your rooms to avoid me. I demand an explanation.” His voice trailed off as he watched her work in fascination. “What are you doing?”
She paused, arms deep in the dark loam, and turned her head with a small smile, “Planting your rose.”
He stood at a loss, arm handing limply at his sides. Without his temper, Roger looked exactly as young as he was. It was easy to forget, with his arrogance, clever mind, and innate strength, Roger was barely a man.
Lianne pushed down her stifling guilt and pointed to the delicately decorated terracotta pot sitting on the nearest bench. “Bring it over, would you?”
He did, crouching close as held the small rosebush over the hole.
Lianne watched his mind work, trying to match her actions to causes. Her weeks of silence had put him on a brittle edge, but he seemed to see the rose as a sort of acceptance. He wasn't wrong. However, she knew this wasn't what he imagined.
“It would fit it's pot for another season,” Roger noted blandly, refusing to pose an actual question. Perhaps his ego restricted him, Lianne mused, or he simply wanted to handle her carefully. After all, she had given him call to be wary.
“But it wouldn't blossom,” Lianne shrugged simply. “Sometimes, one must leave their comforts for the greater good.” She chided herself harshly, because this was not to be an object lesson. Lianne was not here to explain herself. Her actions were justified; more importantly, they were necessary.
She allowed him one last moment of victory as she shared, “I'm pregnant.”
Of all the expressions Lianne expected to see, Roger's awe was not one of them. He was astounded, she realized, not by the idea, but the fact he knew as well as she that this baby was his. Lianne had never considered Roger might wish a child for a child's sake. It had always been a game of wits with him.
The guilt turned vicious as she turned away from his kiss.
“What,” He whispered, searching until her eyes met his. “Is it not mine?”
“It is,” She agreed simply, pulling the rose from the pot with one sharp pull. She dropped it in the hole with less care than she should have, but she was desperate to be on her feet and out of arms reach. She filled the gaps in the sod and moved away, turning her cold shoulder to her lover. “You know well as I that Roald would already have a dozen children if he were able.”
“I don't understand,” He said with a dark chill in his voice. It was the ugliness he harbored so deeply in himself, passed down from Jasson through the generations. Setting a hand on her belly, Lianne spared a moment's dread for her own child's soul.
“We are done.” Lianne spared no kindness. “We will not meet again.”
“Why,” Roger pressed, pain and fury tying his voice in a choked knot. “What brought this madness? Fear of your husband? Don't you understand, there is nothing in our way! We have a child, you and I. We have love -”
“I don't love you,” Lianne said with an unquestionable bite. She hadn't meant to show her loathing, but the hand was shown. She turned and spat, “I have never loved you.”
He had not expected that.
She swallowed hard and turned away, pressing her lips in a line as she fisted her hands in her skirt. “You are ugly, Roger. In every deed and hallowed act you make, you are a terrifying monster. Tell me you love me because I'm pretty. Tell me you love my eyes, my smile. Tell me you gave me that rose to remind me you cared, and not to prove how powerful you are that you can make a red rose bloom yellow. Tell me that our affair is not feelings grown into a spiteful pit of hate for your cousin.”
And, in that moment, Lianne realized that, for all his cruelties, Roger truly had loved her. Perhaps not as a man should love a wife, but with all the fervor a boy of but eighteen could manage. And she had broken that faith. Whatever humanity he'd had, Lianne knew it was shattered now. It was a loss she hadn't anticipated, but a sacrifice she had to accept.
“I would have given you everything,” Roger snarled, power pulsing under his skin. His eyes flicked blue to brown as his magic reared angrily.
“And destroyed it,” Lianne countered quietly. She sighed tiredly and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Roald has not your mind, or power, your charms, or your looks, but he has a soul and that is something you can never understand. You live for your own hungry gains. You say you would give to me, and I understand now that perhaps you would have. But you would have taken everything from the world to satisfy it. How many bloody wars would you submit the people of Tortall to fight simply for your glory? How many taxes would you levy to pay for your blood? How many villages would starve to feed your armies?”
Roger's nostrils flared and his hands shook in tight, angry fists, but he didn't respond.
Lianne closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, letting herself relax into the reality of what she'd done. To remember why. “Carthak has accepted your application to their university.”
“I did not submit -”
“I did.” She cut him off. “You can't imagine I would let you near my child.”
“You planned this,” He accused hotly. “You lured me in and used me.”
“I needed a child to break the line of succession. You were the perfect stud.”
“And when I write my cousin a letter from my safety in Carthak, what is to prevent Roald from cleaving your head clean off your shoulders?”
Lianne couldn't help but smile, “Because you're not a fool, Roger.”
He sneered.
“Believe me,” Lianne stepped forward, meeting his eyes boldly, “I did this knowing I have made my bed in a pit of vipers. I have not won. Do you think I'm so foolish as to believe you'll leave with your tail tucked between your legs?” She eyed him up and down and shook her head, “You're not the sort. You have few redeemable qualities, Roger, but you are a dedicated man with pride. I have made myself a dangerous enemy and I expect I will suffer sorely at your hand. But,” She waved her hand towards the castle, “That is merely revenge. What you want is the crown.”
He gave her a shrewd flat look and crossed his arms.
“As soon as Roald knows of our... dalliances. We will both be cast out as traitors to the crown, stripped of our titles, and likely locked away on Traitor's Hill. You will lose all claim to the throne. Your son, however,” Lianne pointed out with no small amount of pride, “will still be the closest blood relative and Roald's heir.”
She turned on him with surety, “The only way you still have a dream of ruling Tortall is if his parentage is kept secret.”
Roger stared hard at her for a long minute. Then, he nodded to himself, “So it is a boy.”
“Yes,” Lianne nodded with him, “I wanted to be sure.”
“Sure,” He laughed darkly, “Sure you had an heir before you cast me aside, back to barn?”
Lianne didn't give him the satisfaction of her shame, “Exactly.”
“When,” Roger squeezed his hands and clenched his jaw, “will he be born.”
“Four months,” Lianne offered, “Well after you've left the country.”
“And what will you tell Roald when he learns you've hidden your pregnancy for over a season?”
“The truth,” she shrugged, “I didn't want to raise false hopes.”
Something churned behind Roger's eyes, a thought she was afraid to meet as much for its passion as its danger. Instead, Lianne clapped her hands suddenly and said with bright cheeriness, “Well, Hannath will be back with refreshments soon. I'm sure you have packing to see to.”
Roger accepted her blatant dismissal without a word, but Lianne couldn't help calling after him, “Roger,” He paused. “This ugliness, it is between you and I. I misjudged you sorely and, for all it would not have swayed me, I am sorry. You loved me and I never imagined... I will not poison him against you.” She closed her eyes and finally let the guilt overwhelm her as the tears came. “All I ask is that you love him? Please?”
In a broken voice, he replied, “Congratulations on your son, Your Majesty,” and left.