Post by opalgirl on Jul 7, 2009 4:19:04 GMT 10
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.
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.