Duty

A Tamora Pierce Fan-Fic

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Ermelian of Aminar is the daughter of the wealthiest family in the district. Since she was little, she has been betrothed to marry her mother's dearest friend's son. And now with the recent spring floods from the Lictas River that destroyed many fiefs' grain stores, she and this Cleon of Kennan must be married post-haste, in order to save his people from starvation.

Author's Note: I do not own nor live in Tortall, much to my unhappiness. Copyright goes to Tamora Pierce.


CHAPTER 1

I study myself in the mirror. A girl, a familiar face, stares back at me. She is young-looking, with pale skin, offset by wavy hair that is too dark to be auburn but too light to be rich brown. Her face is round, and well enough, I suppose. The only special thing about her is her eyes—a clear, dark blue. I watch that girl's eyes, looking for any sign of emotion that might betray her. She is scared, but only those who know her as I do can tell. To others, she appears calm and serene, pretty. But underneath her skin—my skin—she is trembling.

"It's time."

I turn quickly at the sound of the voice. Annelien, my sister-in-law, breaks my peace. Her entrance shatters the calm I have created for myself and my panic grips my stomach.

"Anne, what if he doesn't like me? What if he thinks I'm too ugly or young? What if—"

"Meli, if you ask one more 'what-if' question, I will go downstairs and tell your betrothed that your family nickname is Melon."

I smile weakly. Annelien may be older than me by three years, but she is my best friend. She is lovely, with her dark-blonde curly hair, twisted elegantly into a crown on her head, her red gown bringing out the green in her eyes. She has nothing to worry about. She is not to meet the man she is to marry, someone she knows only from a distance. She is not dumpy and short and pale.

"Ermelian," she says gently. I will not look at her or I will cry. And as she and my mother have spent hours on my face paint, I cannot ruin it. "Ermelian, why are you crying? Silly, he will love you. You are beautiful and kind. Anyone who knows you loves you—he will see that even if he is only half as smart as Lionel."

I cannot help but smile at this. Lionel is my brother, Annelien's husband. He is known for thinking before speaking and saying addled things.

"Meli, love, everything will be okay. It is not the end of the world." Her soothing noises help me. I smile at Anne, grateful to her as always.

"I'm silly," I tell her. "He has to marry me, or else his people will starve. And he's not going to fall in love with me faster if I sit here and cry."

"There's our Melon."

I stick out my tongue at Anne. "If you tell him, I will tell everyone about the time you and Lionel…"

"All right, I promise."

Laughing, she takes my hand, and pulls me to my feet. She pats down my gown, the same blue to match my eyes, and twirls me in a circle. I have to admit, I look pretty. Had I been entering court I would not have been nervous to find men's eyes upon me, but this man is the one I am to marry.

Gripping hands, Anne and I rustle down the corridor and then down the grand steps that enter into the foyer. Our home is elegant, as we are one of the richest fiefs in the district. Another reason my marriage is so close at hand. Recently, in the spring, many fiefs had lost their stores to the spring floods, one of the most badly hit was Fief Kennan—and my betrothed is Cleon of Kennan. He needs to marry me to be able to keep his people from starvation. Neither of us has a choice about it and today is the day the contract is to be officially sealed.

As we descend the steps, I survey the crowd below. There is Father and Mother and Lionel, beaming at me, nodding their encouragement. Besides them are the local magistrate and Lady Gaia of Kennan, my mother's best friend. And with her is a tall, young man with red hair and solemn eyes. He stands at attention, his eyes on me.

We reach the bottom stair. Anne squeezes my hand and takes her place at Lionel's side. I now face the assembled group. They all look at me expectantly. I approach, mustering all the grace I can, plastering my prettiest smile over my features. I curtsey to Lady Gaia first.

Her smile is kindly and her eyes twinkle at me. This merry lady is one much to be esteemed, as she has managed her fief ever since the death of her lord some years ago. To have found approval with my mother-in-law-to-be is good; it is far more wonderful to be the daughter of her closest friend. I turn to Cleon and curtsey to him, but I cannot make myself look him in the eyes.

Mother speaks softly to Cleon. "May I present my daughter, Lady Ermelian of Aminar. Ermelian, this is Sir Cleon of Kennan." Once again I curtsey, and he bows— stiffly, I notice. I now force myself to look at him. He is big—tall and muscular, his shoulders so very broad. His hair is a ruddy red-orange and curly. His eyes are grey, but so solemn. I wonder what he thinks of me as we face each other. I am a midget compared to him. I find myself wondering how he would kiss me. This thought causes me to giggle as I imagine him bending in half. He is startled by my giggle. I blush, and bow my head, examining the marble floor. Our parents have been speaking all the while. I try to attend to their conversation.

Lady Gaia turns to her son. "Lord Asvin, Lady Leona and I are going to discuss matters with the magistrate—you and Ermelian should go and get reacquainted."

Were we ever acquainted, I wonder. We've met briefly at parties, especially during the Grand Progress, but we were always wrapped up by our crowds of friends. Does that count as acquaintance?

"Yes, Mother." He speaks for the first time, his voice is a rich baritone, soothing, comforting, friendly. And yet, there is something in his voice that I thought I saw in his eyes—a reluctance.

The adults disappear into the study. Turning to Anne for support, I see her and Lionel sneaking out the door. Some friends they are, I grumble. I turn back towards him—what am I going to do? I smile timidly. What do I say? Should I give him a tour? Oh Goddess, what shall I do? Panic wells up in me as I frantically try to think of something civilized to say.

"Hello." Ah, yes, my brilliant strategy lies before me.

He glances at me. "Hello."

"How are you?" I am persistent.

"Fine, thank you. How are you?" He is formal, stiffly formal.

"Just wonderful," I mutter under my breath.

"What?" He has heard me. I blush, ashamed at the breach in lady-like etiquette.

"I'm doing wonderful," I say, desperately trying to recover my poise.

He starts to say something, but stops. He nods once and we return to silence. I scramble to think of something to say, something to preserve that last shred of hope that our marriage will not be a dismal failure. If I were any other girl, if I were like the Lioness, or lady knight Keladry, or queen Thayet the Peerless, or even Annalien, I'd find some way to communicate with this man—this boy. I'd flirt and draw him out of his shell and soon he'd be wondering what he'd ever do without me. And me, I'd be falling in love with his arms and his smiles and his eyes, but never letting on. But alas, I am trapped inside myself. I cannot find the proper thing to say on such occasion.

"Goddess!" I say, surprised to find that I've cursed out loud. He looks at me, spooked out of his reverie.

I blush. "I apologize, s-s-sir. I did not mean to startle you."

He smiles curtly and turns back to staring at the wall. I breathe in, steeling myself. "Look, I know we don't know each other well—at all. But I think we should get to know each other. I mean, we are to be married after all."

His eyes widen in surprise and my jaw drops. I have never made a speech so…bold in my life. And his eyes…oh for one moment, his attention is on me, solely on me. My heart drops and then lurches to life, beating wildly. His eyes are not flat grey, but a grey that suggests depth, like a pool on an overcast day. I am pulled in by those eyes for a moment, but he drops our gaze and looks away.

"You're right."

"I am?" About what? What did I say? I cannot remember anything, except those eyes.

"We should get to know each other. We are going to be married soon. I have a duty to my people."

I have a duty to my people. Those words fall like stones on my heart. He is not going to try to love me—he is here because he has to be. Because it is his responsibility, his duty. I hate that word. Duty.

I nod slowly, pretending agreement. Inside, I know I am stupid—I know that I am marrying him because it has been agreed upon—it is my duty to be his wife. But here I am, trying to be open to this situation, trying to give us a chance at happiness, maybe even love. I've had my fantasies of knights in shining armor, true love, and all that nonsense. I'm sacrificing a season at court to marry this, this knight to help save his people. For Mithro's sake, he could be grateful! He sounds as open to the idea as a plank of wood.

"Tell me about yourself," I say, gently, the picture of femininity. I will get this bump to speak to me till I die.

He looks dubiously at me. "What do you want to know?"

"What are your friends like? What is it like to be a knight? I don't really know—but I think it's your turn to talk."

Astonishment flashes across his features. "Err…umm…my friends are mostly other knights. As a page and squire, we had a study group. We have book-learning as well as training as pages. And we had a group where we, uh, got together to study. Mostly it was of…uh…Neal of Queenscove, Prosper of Tameran, Faleron of King's Reach, uhhhh… Esmond of Nicoline, Merric of Hollyrose, Owen of Jesslaw, Prince Roald, Seaver of Tasride, and…Kel--Keladry of Mindelan."

"You know Lady Knight Keladry?" I've heard of this knight—the first known girl to become a knight in centuries! All us girls talk constantly about it, especially since she reached her shield not too long ago. A lot of girls think she is silly and stupid, while some think she is brilliantly brave. Annelien's friend Uline of Hannalof had talked to her and liked her. However, most opinions are that the girl thought she had no chance of a husband and is trying to find one as a knight. Secretly, I think it thrilling and wish I had thought of the idea—though I would never have been able to succeed. "What's she like?"

He winces. "She's alright. Good at mathematics."

Good at mathematics? What is that supposed to mean?

"Well, is she tall? Or short like the Lioness? Is she pretty? Is she better than most at the sword? Does she really have an army of sparrows? Does she really—"

"She's tall." His voice is strained and he won't look at me. What have I done? I thought I was doing well by guiding us towards something we could talk about. I am genuinely interested in learning of the lady knight, but he apparently doesn't want to speak of her.

"Oh."

We are back to the silence. If I weren't duty-bound to remain in this room with Cleon of Kennan, I think I would run screaming from the room, yelling at the top of my lungs, 'Damn duty.'

But, then again, I probably won't.


Well, what do you think? Shall I continue? Please read & review!! :)