Post by Cass on Jul 20, 2012 15:09:42 GMT 10
Title: No Love No Glory
Rating: PG
Words: 1316
Summary: Lianne knows what she wants.
A/N: For May, and all her wonderfulness.
She falls in love with Alan of Pirate’s Swoop when she is twelve years old and he is the redheaded scamp who doesn’t care that she’s a princess. He cares about making sure his sister doesn’t get ahead of herself, and when his mother will come home, and if Lianne really did see turquoise sea glass on the beach of the Swoop, glinting in the sunlight, then shouldn’t they pick it up and bring it in to show Maude and Aly and Liam?
She stays in love with him through her sister leaving and her brother devoting himself to a girl she finds pleasant but inscrutable. She stays in love with him through a war and his twin deserting him and her father pushing marriages at her, one prince or duke’s heir after another until they blur and each portrait looks the same.
She writes him letters that Lord Raoul pretends not to see and signs each one Love, Lianne. In response (they are always quick responses, scrawled on parchment that is generally stained with grass or mud in his hasty hand) he writes Yours always, Alan, and maybe it’s bad that Lianne has always seen that as a promise.
She kisses him when she is fourteen and there is mud on her ankles. She is beginning to try to do things that she shouldn’t, but not the way Kalasin did, or Jasson and Vania will (they will be flashy, and there will be whispers of Jasson and the serving maids, though marriage contracts will pour in furiously for the handsome younger son of the king no matter his indiscretions, because it was bound to happen to one of them, and Vania—Vania will flirt and bedevil and bewitch, and bluff her losing hand into a win. Kalasin’s discord was mostly silent, and not entirely her own). Alan is chasing her, and she trips and falls, ruining her skirt. He offers her a courteous hand, a funny play on formality between friends. She pulls herself up and into his arms.
“Lianne—“ Alan says, shocked and pleased, and Lianne touches her lips, the gesture wondering.
She tries it again. This time, their noses don’t bump.
She hears the news of a marriage for her (it’s her turn, the court says, and Lianne wants to scream hang them, the gods-cursed lot of them, with nothing better to do all day than whisper and worry) and she doesn’t speak to her father for two weeks.
She talks to Princess Shinkokami before anyone else, even her own mother.
It would have been Kalasin, once, but Kalasin is oceans away, a desert queen with a devoted king, and letters won’t come fast enough. It would have been Kalasin, but it can’t be.
They go for a stroll in Queen Lianne’s old gardens. When she was little, Lianne liked to pretend that they were hers, that someone had picked every plant and flower just for her. She would scramble over stone benches and try not to fall into the fountain, teetering on skinny, knock-kneed legs until someone (usually Roald, sometimes her nurse, but rarely her mother or father) found her and pulled her up, sighing at the grass stains and mud and sending her to the baths.
The garden seems—smaller, now, than it used to be.
Shinko cradles Liano in a sling, one protective hand on the baby’s back. She snapped at the nurse earlier, retrieving the baby, Lianne standing behind her. Well, it wasn’t quite snapping, because Shinkokami does not allow those tones into her voice, but it had been effective all the same.
Lianne, who hasn’t a hope of learning Yamani control, envies it.
“It’s a lovely day,” Lianne says, stepping daintily over a crack on the path.
“Indeed,” Shinko says, though her eyes flick upwards to glance at the overcast sky. She’s wearing a necklace Lianne has seen her wear almost every time Shinko is dressed for herself instead of other people. It’s gilt, with a cheap clasp and glass beads, and Lianne hasn’t a clue why she treasures it so, not when the entirety of the crown jewels are available to her. “Look, Lianne—“
Lianne glances over at her. Shinko is looking down at the baby, nothing discernable in her gaze.
“I know about you and Alan,” she says.
“You—“
“You’re not exactly discreet,” Shinko responds. “I don’t think your parents know, but Baron Cooper most certainly does. I am not usually this direct, but you are being courted by the son of the realm’s spymaster—to think he would be ignorant is an impossible thought. You should know that.” A drop of rain falls, hitting her square on the nose. Shinko wipes it away. “You are getting too old to be foolish,” she says firmly.
Liano begins to fuss and Shinko strokes a hand loosely down her back until she quiets.
“How long?” she asks.
“Since I was twelve. We didn’t—anything—until I was fourteen, but—this isn’t some casual rebellion.”
“Good.” Shinko turns back towards the castle. The rain is coming down harder now, the plants opening up for it. “Because that’s what your brother thinks.”
“He’s wrong,” Lianne says mulishly.
Shinko’s eyebrows rise fractionally. Lianne is fairly certain it’s equivalent to a shrug. “I know that. Roald will most likely be easily convinced of that. I am sure George Cooper is, as well. The question is if you want our help.”
“Your help?”
“So you can marry him,” Shinkokami says, perilously close to a sigh. “I thought that was your intended end?”
“Marry him—oh.” Lianne stops next to the stone archway leading into the palace. “I hadn’t—I just didn’t want to marry anyone else.”
“Be sure,” Shinko says, and steps smartly inside, murmuring to the baby.
“Your sister thinks only in straight lines,” Shinko says to Roald. She slips into bed, exhausted. “I don’t think Lia is asleep yet.”
Roald shakes his head. “If she isn’t in ten minutes I’ll check on her,” he says. “And Lianne—gods, Shinko, the next baby we have is going to be named after exactly no one, this is getting all too confusing—as for Lianne, I know. I do know that.”
“Her and Alan isn’t a bad idea.” Shinko moves towards him instinctively, seeking his warmth and solidity. “Especially because now that there’s an heir, your brothers will be sent out of the country for their marriages, I suspect.”
“It depends on how much trouble Jasson gets himself into,” Roald yawns. “But the Trebond blood is probably bluer than mine, when it comes down to it. Hard for the conservatives to complain.”
Shinko nods. He slips an arm around her and watches her breathing even out.
“Do you think it was easier for us?” he asks, even though he is fairly certain she’s asleep.
She turns so that the curve of her spine aligns with his. “No. We were lucky. Just differently.”
Roald murmurs agreement and listens for Lianokami before he allows himself to drift off to sleep.
“Perhaps,” Jonathan says to George, pensive, tapping a pen against his chin. “It might work.”
“More like you haven’t a chance of stopping it, Trickster bless them,” George says. He looks up at the ceiling. “And that was most assuredly not an invitation, old man.”
“Don’t tell me,” Jon replies. “I’m sure I’m safer not knowing.”
George shakes his head. “He’s too busy celebrating right now.” He looks back at the papers spread out in front of him. “Of course, I’m not sure how Alanna will feel about it, her two youngest off and wed—and Aly, going and having three at a time, just to give her mother more gray hairs.”
“You could have told me before,” Jon begins, but George looks unrepentant.
Lianne gets married in the fall.
The leaves underfoot match her husband's hair.
Rating: PG
Words: 1316
Summary: Lianne knows what she wants.
A/N: For May, and all her wonderfulness.
She falls in love with Alan of Pirate’s Swoop when she is twelve years old and he is the redheaded scamp who doesn’t care that she’s a princess. He cares about making sure his sister doesn’t get ahead of herself, and when his mother will come home, and if Lianne really did see turquoise sea glass on the beach of the Swoop, glinting in the sunlight, then shouldn’t they pick it up and bring it in to show Maude and Aly and Liam?
She stays in love with him through her sister leaving and her brother devoting himself to a girl she finds pleasant but inscrutable. She stays in love with him through a war and his twin deserting him and her father pushing marriages at her, one prince or duke’s heir after another until they blur and each portrait looks the same.
She writes him letters that Lord Raoul pretends not to see and signs each one Love, Lianne. In response (they are always quick responses, scrawled on parchment that is generally stained with grass or mud in his hasty hand) he writes Yours always, Alan, and maybe it’s bad that Lianne has always seen that as a promise.
&.
She kisses him when she is fourteen and there is mud on her ankles. She is beginning to try to do things that she shouldn’t, but not the way Kalasin did, or Jasson and Vania will (they will be flashy, and there will be whispers of Jasson and the serving maids, though marriage contracts will pour in furiously for the handsome younger son of the king no matter his indiscretions, because it was bound to happen to one of them, and Vania—Vania will flirt and bedevil and bewitch, and bluff her losing hand into a win. Kalasin’s discord was mostly silent, and not entirely her own). Alan is chasing her, and she trips and falls, ruining her skirt. He offers her a courteous hand, a funny play on formality between friends. She pulls herself up and into his arms.
“Lianne—“ Alan says, shocked and pleased, and Lianne touches her lips, the gesture wondering.
She tries it again. This time, their noses don’t bump.
&.
She hears the news of a marriage for her (it’s her turn, the court says, and Lianne wants to scream hang them, the gods-cursed lot of them, with nothing better to do all day than whisper and worry) and she doesn’t speak to her father for two weeks.
&.
She talks to Princess Shinkokami before anyone else, even her own mother.
It would have been Kalasin, once, but Kalasin is oceans away, a desert queen with a devoted king, and letters won’t come fast enough. It would have been Kalasin, but it can’t be.
They go for a stroll in Queen Lianne’s old gardens. When she was little, Lianne liked to pretend that they were hers, that someone had picked every plant and flower just for her. She would scramble over stone benches and try not to fall into the fountain, teetering on skinny, knock-kneed legs until someone (usually Roald, sometimes her nurse, but rarely her mother or father) found her and pulled her up, sighing at the grass stains and mud and sending her to the baths.
The garden seems—smaller, now, than it used to be.
Shinko cradles Liano in a sling, one protective hand on the baby’s back. She snapped at the nurse earlier, retrieving the baby, Lianne standing behind her. Well, it wasn’t quite snapping, because Shinkokami does not allow those tones into her voice, but it had been effective all the same.
Lianne, who hasn’t a hope of learning Yamani control, envies it.
“It’s a lovely day,” Lianne says, stepping daintily over a crack on the path.
“Indeed,” Shinko says, though her eyes flick upwards to glance at the overcast sky. She’s wearing a necklace Lianne has seen her wear almost every time Shinko is dressed for herself instead of other people. It’s gilt, with a cheap clasp and glass beads, and Lianne hasn’t a clue why she treasures it so, not when the entirety of the crown jewels are available to her. “Look, Lianne—“
Lianne glances over at her. Shinko is looking down at the baby, nothing discernable in her gaze.
“I know about you and Alan,” she says.
“You—“
“You’re not exactly discreet,” Shinko responds. “I don’t think your parents know, but Baron Cooper most certainly does. I am not usually this direct, but you are being courted by the son of the realm’s spymaster—to think he would be ignorant is an impossible thought. You should know that.” A drop of rain falls, hitting her square on the nose. Shinko wipes it away. “You are getting too old to be foolish,” she says firmly.
Liano begins to fuss and Shinko strokes a hand loosely down her back until she quiets.
“How long?” she asks.
“Since I was twelve. We didn’t—anything—until I was fourteen, but—this isn’t some casual rebellion.”
“Good.” Shinko turns back towards the castle. The rain is coming down harder now, the plants opening up for it. “Because that’s what your brother thinks.”
“He’s wrong,” Lianne says mulishly.
Shinko’s eyebrows rise fractionally. Lianne is fairly certain it’s equivalent to a shrug. “I know that. Roald will most likely be easily convinced of that. I am sure George Cooper is, as well. The question is if you want our help.”
“Your help?”
“So you can marry him,” Shinkokami says, perilously close to a sigh. “I thought that was your intended end?”
“Marry him—oh.” Lianne stops next to the stone archway leading into the palace. “I hadn’t—I just didn’t want to marry anyone else.”
“Be sure,” Shinko says, and steps smartly inside, murmuring to the baby.
&.
“Your sister thinks only in straight lines,” Shinko says to Roald. She slips into bed, exhausted. “I don’t think Lia is asleep yet.”
Roald shakes his head. “If she isn’t in ten minutes I’ll check on her,” he says. “And Lianne—gods, Shinko, the next baby we have is going to be named after exactly no one, this is getting all too confusing—as for Lianne, I know. I do know that.”
“Her and Alan isn’t a bad idea.” Shinko moves towards him instinctively, seeking his warmth and solidity. “Especially because now that there’s an heir, your brothers will be sent out of the country for their marriages, I suspect.”
“It depends on how much trouble Jasson gets himself into,” Roald yawns. “But the Trebond blood is probably bluer than mine, when it comes down to it. Hard for the conservatives to complain.”
Shinko nods. He slips an arm around her and watches her breathing even out.
“Do you think it was easier for us?” he asks, even though he is fairly certain she’s asleep.
She turns so that the curve of her spine aligns with his. “No. We were lucky. Just differently.”
Roald murmurs agreement and listens for Lianokami before he allows himself to drift off to sleep.
&.
“Perhaps,” Jonathan says to George, pensive, tapping a pen against his chin. “It might work.”
“More like you haven’t a chance of stopping it, Trickster bless them,” George says. He looks up at the ceiling. “And that was most assuredly not an invitation, old man.”
“Don’t tell me,” Jon replies. “I’m sure I’m safer not knowing.”
George shakes his head. “He’s too busy celebrating right now.” He looks back at the papers spread out in front of him. “Of course, I’m not sure how Alanna will feel about it, her two youngest off and wed—and Aly, going and having three at a time, just to give her mother more gray hairs.”
“You could have told me before,” Jon begins, but George looks unrepentant.
&.
Lianne gets married in the fall.
The leaves underfoot match her husband's hair.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!