Post by Cass on Apr 20, 2010 8:18:09 GMT 10
Title: Tarnished Crowns
Rating: PG? I guess
Length: 1122
Summary: There's the wrong king and the unwilling queen. What would happen if things went very differently.
Author’s Notes: Hee. Rogerfic. And there's a lot of backstory here, which will be revealed later. Er, probably.
-
"I could be a very good friend." Roger's smile is wide and even and his teeth shine in the dusk, sharp points between the pink of his lips. "And I think we will be extremely good friends," he pauses, drawing out suspense like he is putting on a show. "Don't you think so, Squire Alanna?"
Alanna doesn't even have time to wonder how he knows or how he found out her secret before Roger's lips cover hers, and then all she can see is tanned skin and blue eyes staring at her as he kisses her-this feels strange too much force-before pulling back a minuscule amount. She doesn't even have time to be surprised.
"Guess what," the Duke's smile becomes slow and sickly-sweet like honey on a spoon. "You're now on my side. I hope that you enjoy winning, my lady."
-
The Queen of Tortall is exactly nine months and three days pregnant.
She carries twins, two heirs to solidify her husband's contentious reign. She is hovered over by the chief healer, his two assistants, and a mage husband who is the most powerful the realm has ever known.
She is bedridden with the risks of carrying twins, and her short temper frays more and more as the days pass. She lies wrapped in linen sheets, long red hair curling down her shoulders and over her huge chest and fecund belly. Soon the king stays away from her, and only the cool, calming touch of Duke Baird cools her ire.
When she gives birth to a boy and a girl after two days of labor, the city celebrates. They have grown accustomed to their sometimes-benevolent king and well, any excuse for a party, no? Banners are hung welcoming Prince Thom and Princess Alysy, named for dead relatives of the Crown: the queen's brother and the king's mother.
There is one tavern where the celebrations are muted, less an expression of joy and just an excuse to get so drunk the drinkers don't know the names of the flowers girls next to them in the morning. In the Dancing Dove, King George Cooper sits on his wooden throne and downs the strongest whiskey he can find while Myles of Olau, incognito in a dirty, dusky tunic, joins him.
-
Lady Delia of Rosemark hears of the birth when her sister-in-law comes back from Corus holding broadsides of the birth announcement and news of the feasts the King will be holding for his heir and his spare. She is not invited. Only a single representative from the fief may come.
Delia fumes. She thinks of dashing off an angry letter to the Crown, but she has long since fallen from favor, never the woman or man her King wanted. She's been good as banished to this godforsaken fief in these godforsaken hills, buried, smothered with greenery and rocks, and stuck in a keep during winters with in-laws who don't care for her since she is unable, or unwilling, to give them a grandson.
Sometimes she thinks of children with green eyes, black hair, and orange magic running around the palace, but instead she hears of the little baby prince, with eyes purple as his mother's, and the princess, the spitting image of her father except for a shock of bright hair, and she curses the queen fiercely and at length for giving Roger what she can't.
-
Roger visits his wife once the babies have been cleaned and pronounced healthy. They are resting in ornately carved wooden cradles at the foot of the bed, handed through generations of royals. The Queen is dozing, wrapped in clean sheets.
She wakes when he touches her cheek, trails his fingers down her neck and over her collar.
"Stop that," Alanna murmurs thickly. "Go away."
"It's your husband, Lioness," he oozes charm and affection and she sits herself up slowly and painfully.
"Clearly. Hello, Roger."
"Dearest," he responds. "The Duke tells me we have a boy and a girl?"
Alanna nods. "Lucky us."
A quick smile, a flash of white teeth. "Very good job. You've given me an heir. Two, actually, as I'm thinking of amending that particular law so we don't have too many children running around the place. Have they names?" He walks over to the cradles and peers inside. Two infants, pink and scrunched up with tiny fists and feet lie inside. Roger picks up the girl and hands it to Alanna, then holds the boy in his arms, an alien feeling: the baby he held was his cousin, years ago when the queen was alive and he too was a child.
The baby blinks, revealing blue eyes with a distinctly purple tint. There is black fuzz on its head.
"I'm naming the boy Thom," Alanna's voice books no arguments; it is the one she uses when she has to address recalcitrant councils at the behest of the king, who knows how his temperamental knight-wife scares some of the nobles.
He hands her their boy, named after his dead uncle, and exchanges him for the girl. Her eyes are blue too, but she looks like him. Roger smiles down at the baby, who fusses slightly. The fuzz on her head is red and he trails a finger over it.
"Did you name her?" he asks, as tiny hands wave about, catching his tunic.
"I couldn't think of anything," the Queen admits, leaning back into her pillows. "You do it."
"Fair's fair," Roger flashes her a smile he knows she recognizes as fake, and at her disgusted look wonders if she feels anything at all towards their twins. He does. It surprises him. He looks down at the baby again, and thinks for a moment. "Alysy, after my mother."
"Charmingly sentimental," his wife says with a snort, a habit he hasn't been able to break her of in three years of marriage. "Very unlike you."
"You're tired," Roger says, not rising to her bait like he usually does. "I should go."
He puts the children back in their cradles and closes the door softly behind him.
-
Alanna sleeps and she dreams of redheaded children with eyes darker than her own, darker than Roger's, running around a fief on the ocean with little dark-haired boys and girls and animals underfoot. She dreams of a shield with a lioness on it that means something, not just the coat of arms of the queen of Tortall. She dreams of a knighthood that is more than symbolic, where she can travel the lands and use her sword to defend against evil.
When she wakes up, irritated and with a pounding headache that won't go away even with the use of herbs, she will not remember a thing.
-
Rating: PG? I guess
Length: 1122
Summary: There's the wrong king and the unwilling queen. What would happen if things went very differently.
Author’s Notes: Hee. Rogerfic. And there's a lot of backstory here, which will be revealed later. Er, probably.
-
"I could be a very good friend." Roger's smile is wide and even and his teeth shine in the dusk, sharp points between the pink of his lips. "And I think we will be extremely good friends," he pauses, drawing out suspense like he is putting on a show. "Don't you think so, Squire Alanna?"
Alanna doesn't even have time to wonder how he knows or how he found out her secret before Roger's lips cover hers, and then all she can see is tanned skin and blue eyes staring at her as he kisses her-this feels strange too much force-before pulling back a minuscule amount. She doesn't even have time to be surprised.
"Guess what," the Duke's smile becomes slow and sickly-sweet like honey on a spoon. "You're now on my side. I hope that you enjoy winning, my lady."
-
The Queen of Tortall is exactly nine months and three days pregnant.
She carries twins, two heirs to solidify her husband's contentious reign. She is hovered over by the chief healer, his two assistants, and a mage husband who is the most powerful the realm has ever known.
She is bedridden with the risks of carrying twins, and her short temper frays more and more as the days pass. She lies wrapped in linen sheets, long red hair curling down her shoulders and over her huge chest and fecund belly. Soon the king stays away from her, and only the cool, calming touch of Duke Baird cools her ire.
When she gives birth to a boy and a girl after two days of labor, the city celebrates. They have grown accustomed to their sometimes-benevolent king and well, any excuse for a party, no? Banners are hung welcoming Prince Thom and Princess Alysy, named for dead relatives of the Crown: the queen's brother and the king's mother.
There is one tavern where the celebrations are muted, less an expression of joy and just an excuse to get so drunk the drinkers don't know the names of the flowers girls next to them in the morning. In the Dancing Dove, King George Cooper sits on his wooden throne and downs the strongest whiskey he can find while Myles of Olau, incognito in a dirty, dusky tunic, joins him.
-
Lady Delia of Rosemark hears of the birth when her sister-in-law comes back from Corus holding broadsides of the birth announcement and news of the feasts the King will be holding for his heir and his spare. She is not invited. Only a single representative from the fief may come.
Delia fumes. She thinks of dashing off an angry letter to the Crown, but she has long since fallen from favor, never the woman or man her King wanted. She's been good as banished to this godforsaken fief in these godforsaken hills, buried, smothered with greenery and rocks, and stuck in a keep during winters with in-laws who don't care for her since she is unable, or unwilling, to give them a grandson.
Sometimes she thinks of children with green eyes, black hair, and orange magic running around the palace, but instead she hears of the little baby prince, with eyes purple as his mother's, and the princess, the spitting image of her father except for a shock of bright hair, and she curses the queen fiercely and at length for giving Roger what she can't.
-
Roger visits his wife once the babies have been cleaned and pronounced healthy. They are resting in ornately carved wooden cradles at the foot of the bed, handed through generations of royals. The Queen is dozing, wrapped in clean sheets.
She wakes when he touches her cheek, trails his fingers down her neck and over her collar.
"Stop that," Alanna murmurs thickly. "Go away."
"It's your husband, Lioness," he oozes charm and affection and she sits herself up slowly and painfully.
"Clearly. Hello, Roger."
"Dearest," he responds. "The Duke tells me we have a boy and a girl?"
Alanna nods. "Lucky us."
A quick smile, a flash of white teeth. "Very good job. You've given me an heir. Two, actually, as I'm thinking of amending that particular law so we don't have too many children running around the place. Have they names?" He walks over to the cradles and peers inside. Two infants, pink and scrunched up with tiny fists and feet lie inside. Roger picks up the girl and hands it to Alanna, then holds the boy in his arms, an alien feeling: the baby he held was his cousin, years ago when the queen was alive and he too was a child.
The baby blinks, revealing blue eyes with a distinctly purple tint. There is black fuzz on its head.
"I'm naming the boy Thom," Alanna's voice books no arguments; it is the one she uses when she has to address recalcitrant councils at the behest of the king, who knows how his temperamental knight-wife scares some of the nobles.
He hands her their boy, named after his dead uncle, and exchanges him for the girl. Her eyes are blue too, but she looks like him. Roger smiles down at the baby, who fusses slightly. The fuzz on her head is red and he trails a finger over it.
"Did you name her?" he asks, as tiny hands wave about, catching his tunic.
"I couldn't think of anything," the Queen admits, leaning back into her pillows. "You do it."
"Fair's fair," Roger flashes her a smile he knows she recognizes as fake, and at her disgusted look wonders if she feels anything at all towards their twins. He does. It surprises him. He looks down at the baby again, and thinks for a moment. "Alysy, after my mother."
"Charmingly sentimental," his wife says with a snort, a habit he hasn't been able to break her of in three years of marriage. "Very unlike you."
"You're tired," Roger says, not rising to her bait like he usually does. "I should go."
He puts the children back in their cradles and closes the door softly behind him.
-
Alanna sleeps and she dreams of redheaded children with eyes darker than her own, darker than Roger's, running around a fief on the ocean with little dark-haired boys and girls and animals underfoot. She dreams of a shield with a lioness on it that means something, not just the coat of arms of the queen of Tortall. She dreams of a knighthood that is more than symbolic, where she can travel the lands and use her sword to defend against evil.
When she wakes up, irritated and with a pounding headache that won't go away even with the use of herbs, she will not remember a thing.
-
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!