PierceFic Writing Community

piercefic @ 2008-07-08T19:24:00

2008-07-08T18:34:33Z

I finally finished my epic Song of the Lioness AU, after about 3 years~! It's been up on fanfiction.net for a while, but this is the final, complete version, so I hope you like it! (Crossposted)

Title: The Chosen
Author: moonshadow_nal
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: Lord Alan of Trebond died when his children were only four. Each of the twins were sent to live with their respective godsparents, but how different are the Alanna and Thom that hardly remember each other to the ones we all know? [AU; eventual Alex/Alanna]

( fake-cut to my fic journal )

50 Themes on Kel and Zahir

2008-07-03T23:03:38Z

Crossposted to the_swoop -- sorry if this is seen twice!

Just in case anyone's interested -- I just finished writing a 50themes on Kel and Zahir. It's a bit of a long, rambly PG15 sort of deal, but it was fun to write and took me ages, since I bounced back and forth between ideas (dealing with noncon pairings is always a party). Now it's finally out there for your perusal if you'd like. :)

01 Motion through 50 Believe

Thanks so much!

- Em

His Wildmage: Interlude

2008-06-15T23:46:44Z

Title: His Wildmage: Interlude
Author: Wantonchef
Rating: PG-13/Teen
Summary: Bittersweet, angsty fic centered around the invented trials + tribulations of our most beloved wildmage and her teacher directly after the Immortals War. Definitely PG-13, possibly some lemons to come in later chapters. Please enjoy/review at your discretion!
wantonchef

piercefic @ 2008-04-08T21:24:00

2008-04-09T04:25:35Z

Title: Upon My Dishonor
Author: fathomlesssky
Rating: PG-13 for slash
Summary: He was used to being alone, if nothing else, as surely as his name was Roger of Conte. His eyes did not flicker even once at the cutting cold as he leapt of his horse with a flourish, heavily booted feet marking the snowy ground.

part one: past
part two: present

eye-spy challenge, TP

2007-07-24T00:04:40Z

Friends, Tortallans, lend me your eyes!!

Be they sky blue and dreamy or tired and bloodshot, if you've got vision, we want an eyeful. Post us your drabbles as comments below. The challenge is open for one week. The only criteria is that they must relate in some way to eyes. And Tamora Pierce. Short drabbles are what we're hoping for, but if you want to write a 10,000 word epic we will not object!

We'll be waiting, gazing soulfully. With big, hopeful, puppy-dog eyes.

-Team!Fen

Click here to add your drabble!

Aly/Thom I

2007-06-05T12:07:49Z

Title: Under The Influence
Author:

rain_sleet_snow
Pairing: Aly/Thom I
Rating: PG-13 for squick.

There is a widely acclaimed universal truth, no matter what country you are in, that refers to paperwork, and it is this: paperwork is boring, if necessary.

But no matter how many times one offers up prayers to be delivered from the dreaded reports, forms and letters to be signed, copied out in triplicate and the dates to be underlined in red ink with no smudges, one does not expect one’s prayers to be answered.

It’s even fair to say that if they were, one might be more than slightly confused, and that is in fact the state one Alianne Cooper-Crow found herself in when her prayers were answered.

Aly found herself standing in a sort of grey mist, mysteriously permeated with the smell of something like wine, and assumed it had something to do with Kyprioth or the palace’s mages having one of their distressingly frequent accidents, so patiently she sat down and waited. After a few minutes, rewarding her patience, the mist began to clear- but not to show her office as it should be two or so hours before the noon bell on a sweltering summer day, shutters open to the thread of a breeze. Instead, it showed a room in what might be the Tortallan palace some years ago; near midnight, wintry weather for autumn or spring, and two braziers and a fire crackling merrily.

Aly was standing in- of all things! –a pentagram, drawn on the floor in some kind of pale purple powder, small candles at each corner burning with a violet flame. A young man who looked like- no, wait, was almost identical to what her mother must have looked like when she was younger –sat, or rather sprawled, in a comfortable armchair of the sort Aly felt in need of now. She tried to step out of the pentagram, but could not.

“No,” the man said. “You can’t until I scuff out that sign.” He indicated a rune with one booted foot. “And who are you, may I ask?”

Aly put her hands on her hips. “That’s not a piece of information I like to give out to strangers. You tell me your name first.”

“Oh, it’s Thom,” Thom said casually, and then added, “Lord Thom.”

Aly looked at him- really looked at him. Bright red hair. A little taller than her, perhaps, violet eyes half-lidded with tiredness, shadows under them. Drunk, or at least half-drunk, by her shrewd guess, and... rather attractive, she thought, and an idea for getting out of this wretched pentagram and home occurred to her. “Really?” she said with a smile, tilting her face so the light shone on it, and almost felt his gaze sharpen. “Well, I’m Aly.”

“I suppose you can come out,” Thom informed her. “After all, I’ve never talked to someone I’ve summoned by mistake. I’m drunk, you see,” he added, and snapped his fingers. Aly stepped over the borders of the pentagram.

“Now how did you manage that?”

Thom waved his hands vaguely, his eyes on her. “Oh, experiment set up for the next day, stumbled in, lo and behold....”

“Amazing,” said Aly, meaning it, but glad Thom probably didn’t know she meant ‘amazingly sloppy of you’. “May I sit down? It was quite a tiring... journey, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

Aly sat on one of the arms of the chair and smiled at him again, and the purple eyes narrowed a little. “You’re a pretty little thing,” Thom told her with drink-fuelled frankness. “Nice figure.” An arm wrapped around her waist, and Aly grinned to herself. This was fun. Nawat was sweet, but, well... and she needed to get home, she reminded herself. This mage was her best chance of doing so.

“I find,” she murmured softly so Thom had to lean closer to hear, “that all sorts of interesting things can happen when you are... I believe the polite term is under the influence...”

Violet eyes met hers with surprising clarity, given the fact that Thom was inebriated. “Care to prove it?”

Three Fics

2007-05-31T01:45:18Z

A collection (one one-shot, two drabbles) of things I've written but not posted. No fluff, actually (suprise!). Comments appreciated greatly.

For all ~
Author: emmegan
Rating: PG

( Familiar )
Pairing: dead!Liam/Alanna
Wordcount: 1345
Summary: An annual visit of Dragon and Lioness. For rain_sleet_snow.

( A Solitary Blue )
Pairing: Kalasin/Kaddar
Wordcount: 213
Summary: Kaddar muses on Kalasin's eyes. For lallipop.

( Maiden's Blush )
Pairing: Delia/Josiane (implied)
Wordcount: 305
Summary: Two delicate maidens linger near Alex's liquor cabinet. Are they drunk? ...Maybe. Inspired by the tammy_drabbles prompt "Cocktail Names."

Anyone Merric happy?

2007-05-19T00:22:40Z

So, the other day I decided to write my very first Tortall fic, because I am currently very wrapped up in it... I hope you enjoy! It's a Merricxoc, she isn't a sue so don't worry, oh and this is only the prologue!

The trouble with maids… Prologue

    Alanna and Neal had no idea what to make of the scene in front of them. Merric had a girl by the shirt and was scratching himself in various places. Red spots marked his sunned skin and the girl was bawling and scratching at the same time. Truly, it was a site to behold, seeing two grown adults drenched and looking insane. Neal started to snicker before Alanna shushed him, explaining that they had chicken pocks which could be extremely dangerous in someone who wasn’t a small child.

    Alanna surveyed the spots on Merric’s chest, arms and back closely before preparing herself to speak. Merric might just hate her for this, but at least she had been able to deem it not deadly.

    “ Well, you see, I can’t actually heal you. Chicken pocks are contagious extremely to any healer who tries to heal them. I don’t know why, so before you ask let me tell you what you and the girl need.” Alanna explained swiftly cutting off several attempts for Merric to speak.

    “ She’s my maid and her name’s Haruko.” Merric said tightly

    “ I’m sorry, you’ll need to both get a balm of calamine lotion and to take baths with an oatmeal mix. Trust me, I know that sounds weird, but it helps and it feels good. How’d she come to be your maid anyway?” Alanna inquired with a light smirk, clearly seeing that Merric cared more for the girl than he should that of a maid.

    Merric’s gaze turned icy before he answered, “ I bought her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘ Bought her? What in Mithros’ name would make Merric buy a slave? What I wonder even more, is how she came to be one? Was it the same as, Aly?’ Alanna thought to herself later in her rooms after seeing to it that Merric would take proper care of the girl and himself.

I don't mean to spam, but:

2007-05-11T01:39:37Z

I have a new Tortall RPG, and seeing as you are all fans and excellent writers, I would like to invite you to at least check it out. If you want to delete this post, by all means go ahead; I know probably sticks out like a sore thumb in this pretty and orderly layout. I will put a link to this community up on the board either way, because I rather like what you have going here. :)

Nearly 300 years after the reign of King Roald I and Queen Shinkokami, Tortall has risen to the height of its power. The Realm is both peaceful and prosperous, its enemies quelled for the time being. Together with their Yamani allies, Tortallan explorers have discovered distant and fruitful lands at the westernmost edge of the Emerald Ocean: the Western Reaches. In the past hundred years, Tortall has remained a dominant presence in the Western Reaches and has benefited from its abundant resources. Yet new lands and new profits have lured more than just Tortallans and Yamani looking for a new start––the seas are now infested with pirates and privateers of every nationality and interest.

Under the rule of Queen Amedessa of Conté, Tortall continues to grow in both power and wealth. But Amedessa and her two sisters mark the end of the Conté line; leaving Amedessa with the weighty responsibility of deciding to whom the Crown will go to next. Determined to rule her country to the best of her ability, this looming responsibility marks Amedessa's one true fear as it is a decision that could ultimately ruin the monarchy she has tried so hard to strengthen and glorify.

Another Raoul/Buri

2007-05-06T04:15:45Z

Title: Possession
Author: emmegan
Pairing: Raoul/Buri
Rating: Hard R, perhaps?

Summary: Buri poses a question to Raoul, and gets a very interesting response. Rating for shmexyness and possessive!Raoul. Rawr.

Possession

[circle of magic] "stone plant (a story in reverse)" Evvy, Briar/Tris

2007-05-05T16:20:36Z

title: stone plant (a story in reverse)
author: Carla
disclaimer: Tamora Pierce owns the world and characters.
dedication: Written for June in Yuletide 2006
distribution: My site and Yuletide.
notes: The quoted line in the text is from Outcry From the Inferno: Atomic Bomb Tanka Anthology.
rating: 13+
spoilers: through The Will of the Empress
summary: Evvy misses the jade-plant boy.

"stone plant (a story in reverse)"

TMI

2007-04-20T02:20:36Z

Inspired by a conversation with lea_hazel and also a pairing posted over at pierce_pad.

Title: Too Much Information
Pairing: Thayet/Myles/Ilane
Author: emmegan
Rating: Oh, well. PG, let's say. Hiked-up skirts, debauchery and voyeurism. Although that makes it sound better than it is.
Summary: Myles walks in on Ilane and Thayet in a... compromising situation.

Cut leads to my journal. Comments there are appreciated to a frightening extent.

Looking back on it, Thayet mused, they really had given Myles too much information.

Raoul/Buri

2007-04-06T13:45:53Z

I completed this at the behest of trisana_mcgraw. My first Raoul/Buri piece in a while.

Title: None. I'm horrible at titles. Help.
Pairing: R/B.
Rating: PG15ish? Obvious shmexyness.
Wordcount: 1208.
Summary: Buri tempts Raoul away from his late-night paperwork, but gets the tables turned on her.

Cut leads to my journal; comments there are love.

( Buriram Tourakom wakes up in the middle of the night, with the distinct awareness that she is cold. )

Code of Chivalry

2007-04-03T19:52:54Z

Title: Code of Chivalry
Author: faeralinn
Rating: PG
Summary: Basically Myles gets drunk and relives the reason why he is so critical of the Code of Chivalry.

Bad Memories . . .

Sorry If This Isn't Allowed

2007-04-02T02:33:29Z

Hi!

I've been reading Tamora Pierce for almost 9 years now.
(I can't believe it's been that long.)

But it was only after The Will of the Empress that I got this craving for Briar/Tris fanfic.

Only I can't seem to find any of it?
Can anyone point me in the right direction? Actually, any amazing Tammy fanfics would be great.
But especially that pairing.

Also, I made a series of Emelan Icons. where should i post them?

Kel/Zahir

2007-03-29T15:10:28Z

Erm... hello, everyone, I'm Emmegan, and this is my first post here.

This was written partially at the request of Rainstorm Amaya, partly of my own volition. It might turn into an epic if I don't watch out.

Title: Something Along the Lines of Beloved, Pt. 1
Author: emmegan
Rating: G
Pairing: Kel/Zahir
Wordcount: 1765
Summary: Kel and Zahir have a conversation on the palace wall about their similarities. Zahir makes amends for his past behavior, and they both see each other in a new light. A pre-emptive plot setter for the shmex that May so desires.

Link leads to my journal -- I'd appreciate comments there. Thanks!

Something Along the Lines of Beloved, Pt. 1

piercefic @ 2007-03-26T14:01:00

2007-03-26T18:10:53Z

Title: Hunter's Fire
Author: lyredenfers
Word Count: 1,080
Rating: PG
Summary: Jonathan, Delia and an oak tree.

Hunter's Fire

Song of Lioness: One-Shots

2007-03-18T01:23:24Z

Title: Bored
Author: trascendenza
Word count: 250
Rating/Warnings: R, some kinkiness, two crazy women having crazy sex.
Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce owns them, I just play.
Characters/Pairing: Delia of Eldorne/Princess Josiane of the Copper Isles
Genres/Plot summary: Femmeslash/PWP. Delia and Josiane get into an argument in Roger’s office.

Bored

Title: New Soil
Word count: 200
Rating/Warnings: G, none.
Characters/Pairing: Thayet jian Wilima/Buriram Tourakam.
Genres/Plot summary: Femmeslash/Fluff. Thayet and Buri are acutely aware of how far from home they are.

New Soil

Wifely Duties

2006-12-26T06:50:37Z

Title: Wifely Duties
Theme: 2006 Dove Midwinter Fic Exchange
Genre: General, Drama
Setting: Tortall, post-TQ (so bear in mind spoilers for the duology)
Rating: PG-13 for implications (femslash, but very mild)
Word Count: 1,538
Notes: Written for lea_hazel, who wanted Sarai/Kally/Kaddar/Zaimid of any combo, with Sarai POV. Seeing as I know very little of Carthaki holidays, I drew inspiration from the Egyptian festivals of Sham El Nessim (occurring after Easter, so between March and April depending on the year) and “feast of the good soul for sexual fertility” (March 20). Also, thanks to Lally for a) setting up this exchange and b) the title to this piece.

-- --- --

Sarai absently fiddled with her gold bangle, one of the first trinkets Zaimid had given her when they were courting under Aly’s nose in the Isles, and admired how the fire threw the shadows of the nobles onto the palace wall; their sputtering, shimmying doubles were a stark contrast to the subjects themselves, reclining lazily on cushions as slaves offered them the traditional fish and lettuce.

A heavily jeweled hand slipped into hers, and it wasn’t until she glanced to her right that Sarai started slightly; Kalasin and Zaimid’s hands were both so similarly adorned that she often had trouble distinguishing the Empress’ soft fingers from Zaimid’s calloused ones.

When Kally’s hands were outside of her robes, at least.

Kally kept their hands tucked behind Sarai’s skirts and followed the other woman’s gaze; to any observer, it would simply appear that the two women, standing outside of the fires’ range, were huddled together for warmth.

“In Tortall we have a festival called Beltane,” Kally said at last. “Couples hold hands” – she squeezed Sarai’s fingers – “and jump over the embers of the fires.”

Sarai snickered. “I doubt that any of the counselors would give you the pleasure of seeing them hop around in such an undignified way. Especially with all those robes – they’d go up in flames.”

“True,” Kally remarked with a bittersweet smile. “But when I celebrated my first of these festivals – in fact, I think we had two the year that I arrived, in order to increase my fertility or something as stupid – I realized that the intent was similar, if a bit more civilized, to Beltane.” Her blue eyes, or what Sarai could glimpse of them behind her gold-mesh veil, flicked to the side; when she saw that no one was approaching, she dared a kiss to Sarai’s jaw. “So my roundabout point is, you’ll find things here that will remind you of home, and you won’t be so glum.”

Sarai ducked her head with a shy smile, but really she didn’t want to look Kally in the eye, for fear that the other woman would see that it wasn’t homesickness – far from it, actually – that was making her tense.

She swallowed and looked again at her empress. Disentangling her hand from Kally’s, she traced a finger along the burgundy silk at her waist that she knew from experience contained the garment’s hidden clasps. Zaimid told me– “Someone told me that this festival is called the ‘feast for the good soul,’” she whispered, her eyes flashing playfully. She almost smirked at the flush that appeared beneath Kally’s veil. “What do you say we make a feast of our own?”

Kally’s voice was equally husky. “I know just the kitchen.”

---

While Sarai watched from her perch on the table (Varice would have suffered a heart attack if she had seen her not only wrinkling her skirts, but on top of where food was to be served), Kally held a strip of salted fish between two fingers and wrinkled her pretty Conté nose. The image was so adorable that Sarai couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t look so tortured, darling. Come, give it to me.”

Kally obligingly allowed her to bite delicately into the fish, but the Empress made a face as her lover did so. “I don’t know how you can stand the taste. I don’t mind the smell – it reminds me of Pirate’s Swoop, actually – but I’ve never been able to stomach the stuff unless it’s smothered in sauces.”

Sarai shrugged and slid off the table, licking a morsel from her finger. Kally flung open and closed the doors of the cupboards, more to make noise than to search for food. “I don’t really know,” Sarai said. “I’ve just had incredible cravings lately for the strangest foods–”

She winced and bit her tongue, too late. A door slammed shut, but it was followed by silence.

Sarai cursed under her breath. Kally was a healer, for Kyprioth’s sake! She didn’t know how she had thought that she could hide it.

Love made her dunderheaded.

Kally sputtered quite unprincesslike through a variety of responses, finally deciding on, “How could you?”

Sarai stared at her in disbelief, at a loss for words. Of all of the unpleasant-sounding fragments she had caught, she would never have expected one so accusatory. “Kally, I –“

“I have to lie with Kaddar,” the Empress interrupted as if Sarai hadn’t opened her mouth, “for an heir, but you don’t –“

“Of course I have to, Kalasin,” Sarai retorted, grabbing Kally’s arm to both steady her and get a word in. “I have my wifely duties too, even if the fate of the kingdom doesn’t hang on them.”

“You must have been doing your ‘wifely duties’ quite often if it’s happened this quickly,” Kally shot back, her voice caught between venom and a whine.

Sarai barked a laugh. “I’ve been here for nearly a year, Kally! Zaimid expects me to be in his bed more often than anniversaries and holidays. And – I don’t refuse him.”

Kally twitched out of her grip and flounced over to the cupboard, then to the oven, quite a feat considering the yards of stiff fabric in which she was currently incased. Just as Sarai was admiring how graceful she was, even when she was angry, Kally whipped around and shoved her face close to Sarai’s. Her eyes appeared, strangely, as liquid as the ocean, but they were narrowed in anger. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been trying to.”

Sarai inhaled and glanced at the enamel carving on the far wall. She chanced a look back to see Kally backing away, her hands trembling as she struggled to replace her veil. But her movements weren’t quick enough for Sarai to miss the tear that slithered down her cheek.

“Oh, Kally,” she whispered helplessly, reaching out for the slimmer woman. This time Kally didn’t wrench away; she rested her head against Sarai’s stomach, but then she jerked back as if she had been burned.

Sarai kept a firm grip on Kally’s shoulders. “Look at me, Kally. I know that you’ve never loved Kaddar, and I’m sorry. But I chose to be with Zaimid, and I won’t begrudge him the happiness of having a son or daughter.” Kally started to cry harder, her shoulders heaving beneath Sarai’s hands. “Kally, I can’t – I won’t apologize for falling in love twice.”

Kally shook her head feebly. “It’s not – it’s not entirely that. I went to see Zaimid today.” Sarai stared at her in surprise.

“Seeing as tonight was the fertility rite,” Kally supplied, “and I would probably have to do my duties for Kaddar.” She couldn’t suppress her shudder. “It’s been two years, Sarai – two years since I wed Kaddar, and I still haven’t been able to produce an heir. I asked Zaimid if there were anything wrong with me – I expected him to make a quip about us still not having outgrown our awkwardness around one another, which is certainly true – and he said that I may not be – be able to –“

Sarai felt her own eyes moisten, but she didn’t dare free one hand to wipe them, fearing that Kally would dart away like a spooked horse. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pulling Kally into a deeper embrace.

When Kally spoke again, her voice was so muffled by tears and by Sarai’s dress that her words were almost incoherent. “I just wanted to spend this gods-damned fertility celebration with someone who I knew wouldn’t be thinking at all about babies, or getting pregnant, or –“ Anything else she might have said melted into sobs; indeed, her whole body sagged into Sarai’s.

“What’s going on here?” Varice Kingford strode into the kitchen in a flurry of silk and perfume. A frown creased her smooth forehead at the sight of the two women’s tear-streaked faces; she didn’t even scold Sarai for sitting on the table.

Kally took advantage of Sarai’s surprise to wriggle out of the other woman’s grip, straightening her dress with fingers that still shook. She looked up at Varice, but her throat felt too thick to form any words.

Varice clasped her hands together. “Your husband was looking for you,” she said, her voice quieter. “Shall I tell him . . . ?”

“Tell him that I’ll be in my bedchamber,” Kally said, her tone sliding into haughtiness as she fully replaced her veil. “I have to tell him something.” Her eyes slid over to Sarai. “I’m sure that you have something to tell yours, too.”

“Kal—“ Sarai opened her mouth, but the Empress had already swept out of the room. Sarai let her outstretched hand drop into her lap and clenched her fingers into a fist.

“Is everything all right?” Varice asked, replacing the salted fish in the cupboard.

At the sight of the food that Zaimid had told her was supposed to inspire fertility, Sarai barked a laugh. What was that phrase Nuritin had always told her was spiteful? Oh, yes – rubbing salt in the wound. “No, but I don’t think you or I can do anything about it.”

-- --- --

Evidence

2006-12-24T19:44:59Z

Title: Evidence
Author: ladylegend
Rating: K/G
Summary: Douglass has a theory and talks Sacherell into helping him prove it.

Evidence

Disclaimer: Douglass, Sacherell, and Alan’s closet all belong to the lovely Ms. Pierce and a publishing company whose name I cannot remember at the moment.

“I’m telling you, he’s not normal.”

“Like you’re any judge of that.”

“Well, at least I like to swim.” That sounded vaguely like sulking. And a sulking Douglass of Veldine was not pleasant to be around.

Sacherell sighed. “Fine. Let’s hear it. What’s so not normal about Alan?”

“Well, he doesn’t ever swim with the rest of us ―”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that already.”

Douglass continued as though Sacherell hadn’t said a word. “― and he’s so tiny, and ―”

“Plenty of people are short. Why, my own ―”

Douglass glared. “― AND he’s never shown a hint of facial hair.”

“So? You shave. I shave. He could shave too.”

“But, Sach, he’s not even got roots.”

“Some guys are late bloomers. Are you going somewhere with this conversation?”

“I’m getting there. So, after examining all the evidence ―”

“What evidence? He hasn’t committed a crime, has he?”

“Not really, I don’t think. I mean, it’s illegal, sure, but ―”

“Illegal? What’s Alan done that’s illegal?”

“I’m not sure yet, okay? Look, all I’m saying is, after looking at ―”

“Just spit it out.”

“Sach, I think that he’s a she.”

There was silence for a moment as Sacherell digested this.

Silence, and then…

“Oh, you can’t be serious!” Sacherell burst out laughing. He rolled to the floor, clutching his stomach and trying to breathe, and when he finally had himself under control, he looked up at Douglass. “You know,” he said. “You really got me good that time. I seriously thought that you were actually going somewhere with that. Great...” he trailed off. Douglass wasn’t laughing or smiling or really doing anything to reveal his delight in seeing Sacherell be so spectacularly got.

“Oh, no,” said Sacherell. “You’re not ― you can’t ― you don’t really think that, do you?”

Douglass nodded.

“Female?”

Douglass nodded again.

“No.”

Yet another nod.

“But ― a girl?”

Douglass, once again, nodded.

“Would you say something?”

“Do you want to go test the theory?”

“Test the…no. No. How do you plan on proving something like that?”

“Easy. Sneak into his room while he’s playing chess with Sir Myles, find some evidence one way or another, and scram.”

Sacherell argued, but Douglass had a gift of making everything sound so sensible. Of course they should break into Alan’s room. No, Faithful would either be with Alan, or he wouldn’t stop them anyway; Alan knew them. Of course they’d be able to find some kind of evidence.

And so Sacherell found himself kneeling before Alan’s door, a set of lock picks strewn on the floor around him, trying to figure out the best way to go about this.

“Are you done yet?” asked Douglass.

“No, I haven’t even star ―”

Douglass turned the knob. The door opened.

“― ted.”

“Quit procrastinating,” said Douglass. “Come on.”

“Procrastinating?” Sacherell followed Douglass into the room. “Where’d you learn a word like procrastinating?”

“Geoffrey.”

“Did you tell Geoffrey your theory too?”

“No.” Douglass began looking under Alan’s bed. “He would have laughed in my face.”

“I laughed in your face.”

“But he would’ve tried to send me to Duke Baird.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Sacherell opened the drawer of Alan’s bedside table, finding only a chess set. As he was closing the drawer and Douglass was peeking into the closet, they heard footsteps in the hallway.

“Won’t be back for another twenty minutes to an hour, huh?” Sacherell glared at Douglass and struggled to fit himself under the bed as Douglass disappeared into the closet he had just opened. The door didn’t get shut all the way, but Sacherell didn’t have time to hiss a warning before Alan walked in.

“I have got to get that door fixed,” Alan remarked, setting Faithful on the ground and going over to shut the closet door himself. The cat turned and, looking right at Sacherell, winked one bright purple eye.

“What are you looking at?” Alan asked his cat.

“Nothing,” the cat mewled. Sacherell blinked. His ears must be playing tricks on him.

“Nothing, huh?” said Alan, unperturbed by the cat’s ability to converse. “How about my chess set, have you seen that?”

“Try the drawer in that table,” replied Faithful. Sacherell would have to remember to get his ears checked next time he saw the healer.

“But I was sure I looked ― ah. Thanks. Let’s go.”

The cat and boy (or possibly girl) left. After Alan’s footsteps receded, Sacherell crawled back out from under the bed.

“You know, Douglass, I think that cat’s the weird one. It winked at me. Winked at me. It’s a cat. What’s it doing winking at people? And what are you doing in there, anyway? Let’s go; we didn’t find anything but a chess set, so let’s just leave it at that.” Sacherell pulled open the closet door to reveal shirts, tunics, hose, the usual things one found in such a place, and Douglass standing in the corner, staring wide-eyed at something.

“Douglass, come on, let’s get out of here...” Sacherell caught sight of what Douglass was staring at.

Dresses. In Alan’s closet. Five of them.

“I...” Douglass’s voice was faint. He cleared his throat. “I think we found something, Sach.”

fin

Because you can never have too much Douglass. Although, looking back, it does seem more Sacherell-centric. But still.

Five things that never happened to Roger of Conte!

2006-10-17T13:11:19Z

Title: Five things that never happened to Roger of Conte
Author: Kat aka treanzRating: G
Summary: Five very short, alternate paths in or around SotL. Lighthearted humour and implied slash in a couple. Prompted by a challenge on Tamora Pierce discussion site, The Dancing Dove.

Thud. Thud.

It was the sound of his leather soles gently slapping the floor with impatience. Jaw clenched, page Roger of Conte kept his eye on the wall in front of him. His fellows were in their afternoon classes, undisturbed by the whims of women. He sighed, clearly bored. Normally, a disturbance to routine would have been welcomed. If Roger has wanted to sit in a bare room and wait for other people to do things, though, he would have become a clerk. As it were, the Queen had been in labor for almost two days now. Surely she was almost done?

Thud. Thud.

A sharp glare thrown by Gareth of Naxen settled him again. Roger resisted the urge to sneer at the highly strung Duke. It was not worth the punishment work the Queen’s brother could assign him, as newly appointed Training Master. In return, the boy relished every time the increasingly powerful Duke was forced to bow to him. After all, he was the heir. For the moment.

His uncle, King Roald, paced the floor in front of the door that connected to the Queen’s chambers. Suddenly, the door flew open.

A woman entered, hastily bowing. “Sire.”

Roger watched distastefully as King Roald turned quickly and asked, “Well?”

“Her Majesty has borne a royal daughter. Praised be the Gods."

II.

The young man’s eyes widened with shock. Quietly, Squire Alexander of Tirragen asked, “You want me to do what?” The last word dripped with repulsion.

Duke Roger studied him for a moment. He had not thought the boy to be such a fool. “Alex, it is a simple process. Think of it as restoring the kingdom's order." He paused, drawing out the implications of his assessment. "You will have no more competiton. You are the best swordman at court, without a doubt. But how much longer iwll you continue to best Squire Alan?" He licked his lips, baring them against carnivorous white teeth.

Alex stood, bowing jerkily. “I will not.” He turned, striding from the room with his head held high.

III.

Purple eyes gazed into deep blue ones. “You want to be my friend?” Alan of Trebond repeated hopefully.

Roger moved even closer to the Squire. “I can give you things you never dreamed of.” His face was scant inches from Alan’s. “Accommodate your utmost desires.” He continued. The Duke swelled with pleasure as Alan drew a surprised breath. Roger eased his lips over those of the younger man.

IV.

He folded his arms resentfully. The emerald coloured silk itched uncontrollably. Heavily jeweled embroidery pulled at his sleeves. Stiffened material restricted his movement. The Conte Duke was most certainly not comfortable. Nor was he impressed.

“You fool!” Roger hissed angrily. “Look at me! This is appalling. How could you let something like this happen?” Venom dripped from his every word. “The Duke of Conte-”

Thom of Trebond smiled lazily at him. “Careful Delia. You had better watch those mannerisms. One might think you shared more than just your body with him. Of course, things can happen when you dabble in another sorcerer’s magic.” The Master paused. “Things can go… awry.”

Roger blazed with a myriad of colours as the court watched, transfixed by amazement. The magic of the land mingled with the orange of his gift as the priest and priestess lowered the crown onto his head.

Shameless indulging in Roger-love. If you liked that, you might also want to read the Very Secret Diary of Roger of Conte.

piercefic @ 2006-09-30T15:16:00

2006-09-30T05:21:11Z

I've wanted to write this pairing for a very long time. :) I would say I'm new to this fandom, except I started a fic over a year ago but sort of got distracted by RL. That fic is linked to below The Kiss.

--

Title: The Kiss
Fandom: Tamora Pierce
Pairing: Daine/Rikash (almost)
Warnings: Really, I wouldn't say there are any. Unless very, very, very implied beastiality.
Summary: After the war, Daine visits an injured Rikash.

The Kiss.

--

Title: Court Games
Author: Ayla Pascal
Summary: When Roger turns back time and reveals Alanna to be a girl, she gets sent to the convent. Five years later, Alanna goes to court to search for a husband. AU. Alanna-Roger.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Alanna/Roger

Court Games

piercefic @ 2006-09-19T16:58:00

2006-09-19T20:59:13Z

I'm new to the world of Tamora Pierce fan fiction, despite having read her books for three years, and this is some weird fic that came to mind and wouldn't leave me alone until I did something. I don't even know where the Gary/Raoul thing came from. I don't even read it. ^_^

Title: Mistakes
Author: hahahahowlucky
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Some mistakes aren't easily remedied. Gary/Raoul

It was a mistake. Gary was quick to admit that as much as he was to deny it ever happened. It shouldn't have happened. That's what he said. They were just grateful, happy to be alive...confused, maybe, but it meant nothing. He was just the first one there, the first one he saw when he stumbled from the chamber, half-dead. He didn't know why he ended up in his room that night, when his father had taken him to his own chambers. He didn't know how he had come to his bed, how they had gotten tangled in the sheets, how their lips had met with a sharp electricity. And how it all happened again the next night. It was just a mistake and it could never happen again. Never. As the heir to Naxen, and his father's title, he couldn't let something like this get out.

Raoul wasn't so sure, though. He had escaped to his bed that night, pale visions of his friend's face a constant thought. He didn't sleep, but waited, and wasn't surprised when the door opened and he could feel his warm presence slip into the sheets next to him. Gary's body was shaky then, vulnerable, and as he pulled Raoul forward to kiss him there was no hesitation. And he didn't pull away. He knew that he should have, that he should have ended it there, but he didn't.

Now neither of them could look each other in the eyes and any words that passed between them in the presence of others were thought out and guarded. They were knights now. They held the honor of their families in their hands and this was a scandal that the court gossips would have to Corus in less then a day.

So now Gary ignored him as often as possible and both their beds felt dreadfully cold and empty. This left Raoul nothing, and he could feel the small shadows of depression flood his mind steadily each day until he resorted to something that he hated to fend them off. Every night he fell asleep with a bottle in his hand, his mind rich and alive with the liquid that seemed to warm the blood in his veins. It didn't make him happy, though. It wasn't like a touch or a kiss.

Instead, it forced things out of him. He spoke his thoughts aloud and he cried and he yelled. The next morning he couldn't remember anything, but he could hear his friends whisper. They had heard him. His shouts had echoed, carried through the stone halls. Gary had heard them, and they made his heart twist painfully as he lay awake.

He could never escape them, even after all the alcohol had been kept away from Raoul, a desperate attempt from his friends to save him from a bad fate. They were still in his mind. Even at dinner, where everyone spoke at once, and loudly, he couldn't keep it away...and as Raoul collapsed at the table one night, it was all brought back with a resounding crash.

"What's wrong with him?" Jonathon had gotten to his feet at the noise, seeing his friend's head on the table, a small trickle of blood running from it. Gary fought back a small cry that was working up his throat, as Jonathon and Alan lifted his head up. Black curls obscured his face.

"I can't live like this." his deep voice sounded softer than normal and far too child-like, "I can't." He opened his eyes, and met Gary's for half a second before his head lolled to the side again, and he lost consciousness.

"Didn't we get rid of all the alcohol?" Alan asked, concern written over his thin face. Gary sighed openly.

"It isn't the alcohol." He said, "He...hasn't been eating enough." He had been a moment away from revealing what they had done.

"Let's get him to bed, then." Jonathon was staring at Gary with questioning eyes. Two servants came to help them carry him from the dining hall. People began to whisper, gossip and rumors about drunks and broken engagements and things that had nothing to do with them. This wasn't their secret. They had no right to twist it, to turn it into something it wasn't. Gary stood and ran from the table. The whispers increased, getting closer to the truth.

That night he sat at his desk, hand shaky as he went through his work, wishing for once that he had been assigned a guard position. His participance in the war had been little and it was well known that he was to take over for his father as Duke and ruling lord of Naxen. A desk knight. That was his fate and he had chosen not to fight it.

A knock, a sharp and brittle one, sounded through the room. He jumped, ink crashing to the floor. He swore softly, stood, and opened the door. Jon stood there, sapphire eyes surveying him evenly. Gary looked at him expectantly.

"Why didn't you tell one of us that he hadn't been eating?"

"I...I don't know..."

"That isn't the reason, is it, Gary?" Bits of his heritage were thrown into Jon's voice, overly commanding, "You have to tell us. He's killing himself."

"I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me, Jon." He could feel his muscles tense, "I barely believe it myself. And I was part of it."

"Part of what?" the prince's voice was desperate, soft and pleading, and less like a ruler then he'd ever heard it be.

"Let me talk to him first. Before I...before we tell you."

"He's asleep."

"I can wait." he brushed past him and down the hall, passing door after shut door until he reached a very familiar one. He touched it first, hand sliding over the rough wood to the handle. He opened it, slowly as the faint creak of the rusted hinges sounded exactly how they did that first night. Raoul lay on the bed, hair an inkstain against the white of the pillow. Alan sat nearby, violet eyes clouded as he looked up.

"Would you mind leaving?" Gary whispered, "I'd like to be here when he wakes. We need to talk." Alan nodded swiftly, standing. He took the seat. "Thank you."

"Just bring him back to us." he said, voice rough, "Okay?"

"I'll try." Alan left him alone, the door shutting with the same harsh creak. He saw Raoul stir, big hands clutching the sheets tighter, but his eyes didn't open. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." this came out a dull whisper, hardly audible, "I never meant this to happen. I would never wish this on you." He shifted again, slight groan falling from his lips. "Raoul?" His face twisted for a moment before his black eyes opened slowly.

"What did you mean to happen, then?" He croaked, and Gary noticed for the first time how pale his face was, and how the skin almost looked stretched as if he had to work to speak.

"I don't know. I don't know."

Raoul was sitting up, and swinging his legs over the bedside. Before Gary could think, he had him pressed against the wall, blood-shot black eyes holding him. He kissed him, bruising, searing, pressing him harder. It hurt and it tasted like sweat and it was wonderful and he couldn't gather his thoughts enough to comprehend really what he was doing as his hands found the tumble of curls and tangled themselves in it. Tongue parting lips, clash against teeth, they battled harshly for control of the situation but always ended up falling back against each other.

The door opened.

They stumbled apart, turning wildly to see Jonathon standing in the doorway.

"So this is the reason." Jon murmured, eyes widened, "I didn't...mean to interrupt.." For once someone had left Jonathon of Conte speechless, but Gary couldn't think straight enough to wonder at it. They stood there, breathing heavily. Jon turned. They could hear his footsteps down the corridor, the sharp click of his door.

Raoul sank onto the bed again, face looking more haggard then before. Gary sat next to him, studying the callouses and scars that littered his hands from too many years of training. Training that would do him no good now. When this got out, what could they do?

"It wasn't a mistake." He looked up. Raoul was surveying him with extremely soft eyes.

"It's all a mistake." Gary whispered, shaking his head, "Life's a mistake, half the time."

"Then why are you still living? Why don't you go throw yourself off a tower or something?"

"Do you think I haven't considered it?"

"Don't turn on me now. You started this."

"And you can finish it! Just...get over it. It didn't mean anything. It was just...just..." he struggled to find an appropriate word, every inch of him shaking violently.

"Just what, Gary?" His friend's voice was loud, louder then it should be. He was the quiet one.

"I don't know. Nothing...and everything...and I don't know." He stood, anger etched in every single line of his face, confusion turning his brown eyes dark and clouded.

"That's not good enough." Raoul reached out a hand but Gary stepped away.

"It has to be." He whispered, backing towards the doorway and slipping out without another word.

Spark - Drabble -Styxion

2006-09-17T05:32:54Z

Title: Spark
Author: Styxion
Word Count: 100
Pairing: Daja/Ben (Implied)
Warnings: Implied Underage Sex
Rating: PG

She cried. Cried for a wasted life. Cried for twisted love. Cried for lost virginity.

She remembered. Remembered warm hands in the cold warehouse. Remembered soft kisses in the dark. Remembered secret actions she dared not speak of in the light of day.

She dreamed. Dreamed of more nights of sweet pleasure. Dreamed of ignorance to her lover's crimes. Dreamed of more than she could have.

Weeks after he died by her flame, she came to know the truth. He was not truly dead. She carried him with her. A tiny flame of life. A child of fire.

She smiled.

Love Until It Hurts

2006-09-16T05:17:34Z

Title: Love Until It Hurts
Theme: 31_days 10 - love until it hurts
Genre: General
Setting: Tortall, Squire
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1317
Notes: Wind Chimes is the title of the entire 31_days piece; it can be found on ff.n or the 'Dove. I know that I'm posting this out of order, but I haven't posted a fic in a long time (and am getting jittery from that), and I'm just not feeling the inspiration on the June 9 one right now (which, interestingly, also stars Evin and Miri).

---

June 10: love until it hurts, feat. Evin Larse and Miri Fisher

-

Miri didn’t know which she registered first, Evin’s whooping laugh or his lanky figure stumbling over his feet in a way she hadn’t seen him do since they were first-year trainees, but suddenly his broad hands were braced against her shoulders, and his hair, currently in a shaggy style he had the mistaken notion impressed the court ladies, tickled her ear as he glanced fearfully over his shoulder and then, turning back to her, attempted to gasp out something.

She placed her hand on his arm to steady him and, after glancing around to make sure that she wasn’t going to be the butt of some joke, asked, “What happened? Did Lady Roslyn’s betrothed discover that you’ve been giving her more than riding lessons?”

Evin’s grin instantly slackened, but his eyes still carried their customary twinkle. “Absolutely not, and he will continue to be happily oblivious. No, no, it’s much better than that – and, come to think of it, it does have something to do with riding.” Amused by his own, undoubtedly sordid, humor, Evin doubled over again with a fresh wave of chuckles.

“Well, what is it?” Miri demanded.

Evin straightened and swiped at his streaming eyes with his fingers. “Oh, Miri, darling, it’s perfect.” He squared his shoulders; even with a simple story, he always assumed a pose as if he were imparting a Player monologue. “I went to dear commander’s tent to drop off my report, and what do I see but . . .” He paused for emphasis, but his next words came in an unpracticed rush. “She was in bed with Raoul of Goldenlake!”

Now Miri was sure that it was a joke at her expense. She sighed good-naturedly and gave his shoulder a shove. “Very funny, Evin, but you’re lacking in originality; the gossips have had those two in bed for several months now.”

“Oh, no, I can assure you that they most definitely are lovers,” Evin said, his smile sliding downward into a grimace. “The image is, unfortunately, burned into my mind. Commander Tourakom was –“ His hands flapped in the air between them, shaping crude outlines. “And her hair was down, and her breasts –“

“Evin, stop!” Miri cried, grabbing his hands but dropping them a moment later. “I believe you. You couldn’t have made that up – at least, I hope not.”

Evin shook his head, wiping the last of the tears from his eyes. Miri stared at him for several beats before her lips began to tremble, followed by her chin and then her shoulders, and soon the laugh was spreading through her entire body.

Evin was still shaking his head. “Who would have thought that the Commander would acquire a love life before we did. No offense, of course, because dragging us through hell under the pretense of imparting valuable life lessons does keep her in shape, but she’s getting on in years. Then again, so is Lord Raoul.” He rubbed his chin, his eyebrows furrowed in mock-contemplation.

Miri shrugged. “I think it’s sweet.”

Evin’s eyes cut to hers, but his fingers continued to stroke his chin as if he were a professor at the University. “Sweet perhaps in the most trite sense of the word – that the Commander of the Riders and the Knight-Commander of the King’s Own have decided to share a bedroll . . . assuming, of course, that they could both fit in one.”

Miri grinned and crossed her arms. “I’m not saying that they’re going to raise little giants who grow up to be Rider-knights, but you have to admit that it’s a good match. Something could come out of it.”

Evin removed his hand from his chin to lay it on her shoulder, but whereas the gesture had always been friendly, it now was unbelievably condescending. “Miri, dear, this fairy-tale that you’re weaving is lovely, but give up on the doe-eyed innocence; we both know that it doesn’t suit you. Now, everyone knows that the Riders and the Own are as nomadic as the Bazhir. Relationships and love” – she bristled at the mocking stress he put on the word – “aren’t included in the handbook.”

His cocky grin only stoked her ire. “Of course they’re not in love,” Miri retorted. “But not everyone employs your ‘love them and leave them’ attitude, either. Why is it so hard for you to consider something that goes beyond a roll in the hay?”

She should have recognized the darkness seeping into his eyes, but anger from Evin was so rare and she was too caught up in her tirade. “I’ll have you know,” he said, “that I’ve received very few complaints about my behavior. And furthermore, I do learn about the ladies before I woo them.”

“For a week, maybe. How long were you planning on ‘wooing’ Lady Roslyn before you cut her loose? Give her one last night of romance?”

“She’s just one woman,” Evin said, his voice tighter, quieter, the second warning that Miri failed to catch. “How I treat her doesn’t indicate how I’ll treat others.”

“Of course it does!” Miri snapped. “You’re the same with every woman – you’re not mature enough to actually commit to a single one. Don’t you want to actually have feelings for someone, to stand by her side, to love until it hurts?”

“Of course not, because it would mean I’m the one getting hurt – by some maiden’s betrothed!”

“See?” Miri insisted heatedly. “You laugh, and you make a joke of the whole thing. You never take it seriously.”

“What is there to take seriously?” Evin demanded. “And why are you the one yelling at me? I’d understand if you had some lad you were smitten with, but seeing as he’s never raised his head in all of the years we’ve known each other . . .”

Miri shook all over – her chin with the effort of not throwing back the retort that would slap the all-knowing smirk off his handsome face, her fingers itching to do it anyway – but before she could do anything, they were interrupted by Commander Tourakom, of all people. Her skin was flushed and shiny from a quick scrub, and instead of its customary braid, her hair was pulled back in a hasty horsetail.

“Larse, my office, now,” she barked. “Hullo, Miri,” she added with a glance at the other woman, but that one look at Miri’s face made her head snap back in a double-take.

This wasn’t the first time Miri cursed herself for not taking Evin up on his offers to teach her some Player facial tricks, but it was certainly the one that called the loudest for them.

Buri stared between the two in mild disbelief, then threw her hands up. “Vau help me – Larse, can’t you keep anything to yourself?”

Miri lifted one foot to execute the near-silent sidle step that late nights playing pranks on the Own had helped her to perfect, but Buri caught the slight movement. When she spoke, she sounded less outraged than resigned: “Come on, Miri; it looks like I’ll have to talk with both of you.”

Miri could feel Evin’s probing gaze resting heavily on her, but she resolutely kept her eyes forward as they trailed the Commander like chastised children.

It’s too bad, she thought as they entered Buri’s tent to find Raoul of Goldenlake with his broad arms crossed over his chest; when he saw the two Riders Buri had towed in, one eyebrow arched and, if it were possible, his cheeks darkened further. It would have been a hilarious story.