Well, this is my first non-anime fic and my first fic for ff.net…Anyway,
review if you feel like it (I'm not one to demand reviews), and
constructive criticism is not scorned. The only reason I'm asking for
reviews is that I need suggestions for the continuation of the plot… If you
really really really can't stand my fic, please don't flame it—I'm not
forcing you to read it, remember? Alright, I've said enough, here's the
story already. More of my ramblings at the bottom. I don't own any
characters; they all belong to the beloved Tamora Pierce!!!
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"I don't want to go back," Lianne confessed. "I just…don't feel a part of my family. They're so perfect. Always."
Lady haMinch snorted—very ladylike, of course—at her fosterling's absurd notion. "Dear, you've not been with your family near long enough to make such a judgement. From the pretense they must show to the public you cannot determine their actual characters!"
Glancing away, Lianne considered the truth of Lady haMinch's words; though she, like every Tortallan citizen, was familiar with the reputation of each prince and princess, she hadn't spoken to them—except on short, irregular holiday intervals—since she was 10. Even then, Roald was often away on knightly journeys, Kalasin was involved in Court events, and Liam had just become a page or squire. But as of now, Lianne knew that Roald represented the perfect son, thoughtful, honorable, dutiful; Kalasin portrayed the perfect daughter, beautiful, spirited, enchanting; Liam honored the royal family every breathing day with his heroics and charming wit; Jasson could only be described as brilliant, not even 16 but already a famed mage and celebrated scholar. She knew that if her family was not perfect, then they were quite near to it.
Which led her back to her original problem, a problem that Lady haMinch, despite her abrupt charity, had not helped at all to resolve: while the rest of the Contes stood a revered pedestal, Lianne could not hold a candle to any of her siblings. Her limp, nondescript, blondish-brownish hair disgraced the name of princess. Where her family flaunted sapphire or ebony eyes, Lianne's were a muddy hazelish. Though Lianne had spent countless years in the convent and under Lady haMinch's mentoring, she still lacked any remarkable brains, charm, or lady skills. She had even been unable to master self defense and fighting arts, the final possibility to gain her family's respect. While listing her faults, however, Lianne quickly disregarded her talents; they were few, she dismissed, and of little use. What did it matter if she loved to sing and play the harp? Even her Gift! A measly ability to call fire, not to mention with an hideous sickly green- gold color!
"Listen to me, my dear," Lady haMinch's deep voice called Lianne back to the present. "Though you will deny my words, I shall tell you anyway. You are lovely, Lianne, no matter how much you degrade yourself. Your brothers and sister will love you for who you are, how you act, not for your dancing ability or your beauty. You, yourself, get to know them beyond what you initially see. And I promise that if life is too terrible, you may always come back and visit us here."
Stunned by the lady's uncharacteristic compassion, Lianne could barely respond to her hug. As she curtsied, she thanked Lady haMinch for the past four years and bid the household goodbye with tears. Lianne doubted the Royal Palace would welcome her as readily and unconditionally as the haMinch manor had.
"Farewell, milady," she uttered quietly. "Please tell Uline I said goodbye."
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After the long journey from haMinch to Corus, Lianne was exceedingly grateful for the chance to stand and stretch her cramped legs. At the moment the carriage stopped, she moved to burst out of the door, but heard again Lady haMinch's reminder to let a footman open the door for her. Groaning in pain, Lianne cursed the ancient tradition of overly-dependant, proper ladies.
At last, she emerged on the arm of tall, sandy-haired, well-muscled young man about her age. This was no footman, this was—
"Liam!" Lianne exclaimed, only to be gathered up in a suffocating hug by her older brother. She was happy to see him; of all her siblings, Liam had put forth the most effort on her visits to make her feel at home in the palace.
"Could it be—Lianne of Naxen, risen from the dead?" Liam asked in mock amazement.
Lianne attempted to glare at her brother and the eight-year-old joke, but failed.
Leading her out of the courtyard and into the palace, Liam guided Lianne to the set of rooms she had stayed in each Midwinter and Midsummer.
"Father wants to see you after supper," he informed her. "The rest of them, Mother and Father, Jasson and Roald, are eating in the Great Hall. If you don't feel up to the Great Hall tonight, you can eat in the page's and squire's hall with me."
"Th—thank you. I—I'll be ready in a moment," Lianne stammered in astonishment. She had not guessed anyone would welcome her as kindly as he had. "I'd just like to change out of my travel clothes." As he stepped out of the door, a servant conveniently appeared to deprive her of any independence whatsoever.
"Really," she assured the servant girl from behind a dressing curtain, "I can clothe myself." She briskly pulled on a dark green fur-lined gown and applied a bit of the lip color that lay enticingly on the dresser, sighing disappointedly at the fact she could do nothing with her hair; while she had long since acknowledged that she would never be pretty, it didn't hurt to try.
"Alright," Lianne announced, leaving her rooms. "Let's go!"
"Come, my beautiful sister," Liam declared with an elaborate bow. "Dinner awaits us."
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Okay, so what do you think? I have thought of a few directions that this fic can go, but I need YOUR help! *dons an atrocious top hat and points enticingly to reading audience* The choices are a) psychotic Lianne, driven completely off her rocker from jealously and loneliness (I can re-change this chapter to its old state, I suppose) or b) non-psychotic Lianne, includes feminist princess option or the old unhappily-engaged routine. Yes, quite true to life, that's what it comes down to: severely neurotic…or not. Anyway, I know it's pretty short, but thanks for reading, please tell me what should happen!
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"I don't want to go back," Lianne confessed. "I just…don't feel a part of my family. They're so perfect. Always."
Lady haMinch snorted—very ladylike, of course—at her fosterling's absurd notion. "Dear, you've not been with your family near long enough to make such a judgement. From the pretense they must show to the public you cannot determine their actual characters!"
Glancing away, Lianne considered the truth of Lady haMinch's words; though she, like every Tortallan citizen, was familiar with the reputation of each prince and princess, she hadn't spoken to them—except on short, irregular holiday intervals—since she was 10. Even then, Roald was often away on knightly journeys, Kalasin was involved in Court events, and Liam had just become a page or squire. But as of now, Lianne knew that Roald represented the perfect son, thoughtful, honorable, dutiful; Kalasin portrayed the perfect daughter, beautiful, spirited, enchanting; Liam honored the royal family every breathing day with his heroics and charming wit; Jasson could only be described as brilliant, not even 16 but already a famed mage and celebrated scholar. She knew that if her family was not perfect, then they were quite near to it.
Which led her back to her original problem, a problem that Lady haMinch, despite her abrupt charity, had not helped at all to resolve: while the rest of the Contes stood a revered pedestal, Lianne could not hold a candle to any of her siblings. Her limp, nondescript, blondish-brownish hair disgraced the name of princess. Where her family flaunted sapphire or ebony eyes, Lianne's were a muddy hazelish. Though Lianne had spent countless years in the convent and under Lady haMinch's mentoring, she still lacked any remarkable brains, charm, or lady skills. She had even been unable to master self defense and fighting arts, the final possibility to gain her family's respect. While listing her faults, however, Lianne quickly disregarded her talents; they were few, she dismissed, and of little use. What did it matter if she loved to sing and play the harp? Even her Gift! A measly ability to call fire, not to mention with an hideous sickly green- gold color!
"Listen to me, my dear," Lady haMinch's deep voice called Lianne back to the present. "Though you will deny my words, I shall tell you anyway. You are lovely, Lianne, no matter how much you degrade yourself. Your brothers and sister will love you for who you are, how you act, not for your dancing ability or your beauty. You, yourself, get to know them beyond what you initially see. And I promise that if life is too terrible, you may always come back and visit us here."
Stunned by the lady's uncharacteristic compassion, Lianne could barely respond to her hug. As she curtsied, she thanked Lady haMinch for the past four years and bid the household goodbye with tears. Lianne doubted the Royal Palace would welcome her as readily and unconditionally as the haMinch manor had.
"Farewell, milady," she uttered quietly. "Please tell Uline I said goodbye."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After the long journey from haMinch to Corus, Lianne was exceedingly grateful for the chance to stand and stretch her cramped legs. At the moment the carriage stopped, she moved to burst out of the door, but heard again Lady haMinch's reminder to let a footman open the door for her. Groaning in pain, Lianne cursed the ancient tradition of overly-dependant, proper ladies.
At last, she emerged on the arm of tall, sandy-haired, well-muscled young man about her age. This was no footman, this was—
"Liam!" Lianne exclaimed, only to be gathered up in a suffocating hug by her older brother. She was happy to see him; of all her siblings, Liam had put forth the most effort on her visits to make her feel at home in the palace.
"Could it be—Lianne of Naxen, risen from the dead?" Liam asked in mock amazement.
Lianne attempted to glare at her brother and the eight-year-old joke, but failed.
Leading her out of the courtyard and into the palace, Liam guided Lianne to the set of rooms she had stayed in each Midwinter and Midsummer.
"Father wants to see you after supper," he informed her. "The rest of them, Mother and Father, Jasson and Roald, are eating in the Great Hall. If you don't feel up to the Great Hall tonight, you can eat in the page's and squire's hall with me."
"Th—thank you. I—I'll be ready in a moment," Lianne stammered in astonishment. She had not guessed anyone would welcome her as kindly as he had. "I'd just like to change out of my travel clothes." As he stepped out of the door, a servant conveniently appeared to deprive her of any independence whatsoever.
"Really," she assured the servant girl from behind a dressing curtain, "I can clothe myself." She briskly pulled on a dark green fur-lined gown and applied a bit of the lip color that lay enticingly on the dresser, sighing disappointedly at the fact she could do nothing with her hair; while she had long since acknowledged that she would never be pretty, it didn't hurt to try.
"Alright," Lianne announced, leaving her rooms. "Let's go!"
"Come, my beautiful sister," Liam declared with an elaborate bow. "Dinner awaits us."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Okay, so what do you think? I have thought of a few directions that this fic can go, but I need YOUR help! *dons an atrocious top hat and points enticingly to reading audience* The choices are a) psychotic Lianne, driven completely off her rocker from jealously and loneliness (I can re-change this chapter to its old state, I suppose) or b) non-psychotic Lianne, includes feminist princess option or the old unhappily-engaged routine. Yes, quite true to life, that's what it comes down to: severely neurotic…or not. Anyway, I know it's pretty short, but thanks for reading, please tell me what should happen!