Tamora Pierce
Cheezy Frumaja
Title: The Man With the Black Robe: A Roger Biography
Summary: Basically, Roger's life story-the horror, the sorcery training, the romance, and the plotting. Should make you change your mind about whether he had a reason to vie for the throne or not. R/r, kindly?
Rating: R
Disclaimers: well, you know whom Jon, Roger, Alanna, and the rest of them belong to, don't you? But Roger's parents are mine, as well as his long-dead siblings. (Hey, no one ever said he was an only child, and I'm taking advantage of that.)
Chapter 1: Early Childhood
Roger of Conte was born in the midst of a heated argument between his parents, Duke Firenze and Duchess Rachyl. That was their problem-arguing. They could never seem to stop arguing and fighting, and even in this case, it had turned physical. Even in front of the healer, who had been trying to concentrate on pulling the boy from inside his mother. By accident, Firenze had struck the newborn's brown-haired head as it was appearing. Little Roger, as they had just decided to call him (this was the subject of the argument), was squalling by the time his breathing canals had been cleared. Of course, this was a normal infant thing to do, but in his case, the very windowpanes were rattling.
Rachyl stopped screaming long enough to acknowledge that the healer was now placing a red, screaming baby in her arms. "Well, Firenze, it's final. The last name either of us shouted was Roger, so that's his name. And I said it, so don't even TRY to take credit for it. Now leave my sight."
Fuming, the Duke of Conte stormed out of the room, slamming the door loud enough to make the healer cover her ears. Roger squealed louder.
"Oh, what a handsome son I have." For the first time that day, Rachyl smiled and sighed. And then she promptly fell asleep.
The first few days after Roger's birth, he spent the time lying on his back, staring silently at the ceiling of his room. With only a mere housekeeper to care for him, and guess when he needed to be fed or changed (for, after all, he was silent), he grew despondent. Without out milk from a mother's breast, he was thin for an infant, only adding to his lackadaisical attitude. When he next saw his parents, he did not recognize them. This was months after his birth. They came as he was still staring at the ceiling, silent and still.
"Oh, Firenze, you're such an irresponsible parent! Look-Roger's dead! Just lying there with his eyes open! I hate you, this is all your fault..."
"Well, as I recall, Rachyl, you never went to him after he was born, and a child always needs the mother more. You are stupid and ignorant, you wench! And besides, he's not even my son, seeing as the last person you slept with before your pregnancy was that retired knight Henry. So, therefore, I do not see why I have any obligation as his so called father."
"How dare you suggest that I committed adultery against you? You dishonorable pig! You-you-bastard!"
"Well-it's only evidence, fool," Firenze spat. "You haven't slept with me for two years, whereas the last man you invited into your room was him, and that was nine months ago!"
All the while, the makeshift nanny sat in the corner of the room in bewilderment and horror, not able to believe her ears. However, she refused to intervene, believing that she would somehow get violently caught in the crossfire and die a horrible death at the hands of the Duke and Duchess. And as for little, innocent baby Roger, he only stared at the ceiling, wishing in his own infant language that he knew how to cover his ears. However, only being three months old, he hadn't the coordination to do so. The fight went on a few more minutes, until the two royal figures scuffled out into the hall and the nanny shut the door.
"There, there, child, now take a little nap, that's a good..." she stopped as a ball of green magical substance blasted through the door, narrowly missing her head and crashing through the glass window. "Firenze at his magical tricks again..." she muttered, spreading the blankets neatly over little Roger, who only blinked and sighed. "It's a pity you had to have those devils for parents."
And so Roger grew up in his little room, thinking all the while in his silent way that the nanny was his own mother, never knowing her name or his parents. When he finally learned to walk and started having real meals brought up from the kitchens, he was surprised mildly that there was a world outside of his room. There were colors, not just the drab gray and white and raw wood of his room, and the occasional cloudy blue if he strained to see through the window.
The nanny accompanied him wherever he went, making sure he did not trip over steps or legs of tables and chairs. Roger quietly marveled at the gilt furniture and the velvety upholstery, the silver decorations and the colorful woven tapestries, his wide sapphire eyes glancing every which way. Every once in a while, the nanny would talk randomly to him, not expecting him to understand, and would point out objects and name them.
When next the boy learned to talk, the first thing he ever uttered was a sentence. "What's my name, nanny?" For the nanny, though she would chatter to him, had never remembered to teach him his name. She was so surprised she jumped and spun around wildly trying to find who had spoken, until she realized it was Roger. 'But he isn't more'n a year old,' she thought dazedly. Taken aback, she replied,
"Why, Roger of Conte, little dear."
She didn't bother to tell his testy parents that he'd finally learned to speak, fearing yet another heated row in which one parents would claim the other was at fault for never taking care of Roger, and so on. That was the last thing anyone needed. And the year-old spoke again.
"Do I know magic?"
"You should, dear. Your parents both have The Gift, so it ought to have been handed down to you." The nanny did not mention that his mother had had an affair which caused her pregnancy, believing anything on that subject not fit for a child's ears.
"Do I have a brother?"
"Yes. You have two brothers, but they were killed a long time ago in a battle against Scanran raiders. They were Gary and Nicholass." At this, the nanny was stony-faced.
"Are you my mother?"
The nanny sighed, shaking her head. "No. I'm just a housekeeper assigned to taking care of you. Your parents...well, you've seen them, but only for moments. Their names are Rachyl and Firenze. Perhaps you'll see them today." Secretly, the nanny hoped she wouldn't have to introduce Roger to his parents, fearing that the incident would have a negative impact on the poor child's mind. Unfortunately, she happened to stumble upon the very couple fighting violently in an office. Before she could turn away and scoop up the child, Firenze saw her and called to her.
"Ah, Helga, come here for a second and show my stupid wife that SHE is the one that left this stain in the plush carpet and that you could have easily cleaned it. See, my lying wife claims that the stain is years old, when I could've sworn it wasn't there minutes ago!"
Inwardly, Helga, (for that was her name), thought, 'what a pointless and stupid argument.' But she obeyed doggedly and slouched into the room, the curious Roger following close behind. She motioned for him to leave the room for his own safety, but he stayed at her skirts. Quietly, she murmured to him, "Them'll be your parents, child. Rachyl and Firenze." AS she finished, Rachyl started in on her. 'Mithros, what have they gotten me into?' she questioned herself as the irate kraken-like woman screamed. Roger hid in Helga's skirts.
After the argument had gone on a while, Helga being completely ignored for all that she was ordered into the room, Roger began to get agitated. Hardly a domineering or powerful figure, still in swaddling clothes, with skinny little chicken legs and thin arms, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "DON'T YOU TWO MONSTERS KNOW HOW TO SHUT UP?"
Absolutely pole-axed, both Firenze and Rachyl looked down upon the toddler. His dark brown hair was frizzy and wild, due to his annoyance. His face, still cherub-like, had the expression of extreme anger. His parents just stared. "Who's that?" they chorused. "A little babe, and he can talk?"
Having just learned his name, Roger replied calmly, though still angry, "My name is Roger, and I'm your son."
Rachyl fainted dead away. Firenze stumbled into a chair, hit his head when falling to the floor, and came to the same fate as his wife. Helga and Roger stood, chuckling and shaking their heads.
"Shall we leave them here, little one?" Helga inquired, her old, rheumy eyes dancing with glee.
"Why not? I have no pity on them, as I hardly know them."
Still impressed by the year-old's extensive vocabulary, Helga muttered. "You brilliant little child. You must be strongly Gifted, young fledgling." She whistled, and led the boy downstairs to meet the rest of the manor. So wrapped up in her their worlds, neither of the two realized Roger was glowing orange from his Gift.
Cheezy Frumaja
Title: The Man With the Black Robe: A Roger Biography
Summary: Basically, Roger's life story-the horror, the sorcery training, the romance, and the plotting. Should make you change your mind about whether he had a reason to vie for the throne or not. R/r, kindly?
Rating: R
Disclaimers: well, you know whom Jon, Roger, Alanna, and the rest of them belong to, don't you? But Roger's parents are mine, as well as his long-dead siblings. (Hey, no one ever said he was an only child, and I'm taking advantage of that.)
Chapter 1: Early Childhood
Roger of Conte was born in the midst of a heated argument between his parents, Duke Firenze and Duchess Rachyl. That was their problem-arguing. They could never seem to stop arguing and fighting, and even in this case, it had turned physical. Even in front of the healer, who had been trying to concentrate on pulling the boy from inside his mother. By accident, Firenze had struck the newborn's brown-haired head as it was appearing. Little Roger, as they had just decided to call him (this was the subject of the argument), was squalling by the time his breathing canals had been cleared. Of course, this was a normal infant thing to do, but in his case, the very windowpanes were rattling.
Rachyl stopped screaming long enough to acknowledge that the healer was now placing a red, screaming baby in her arms. "Well, Firenze, it's final. The last name either of us shouted was Roger, so that's his name. And I said it, so don't even TRY to take credit for it. Now leave my sight."
Fuming, the Duke of Conte stormed out of the room, slamming the door loud enough to make the healer cover her ears. Roger squealed louder.
"Oh, what a handsome son I have." For the first time that day, Rachyl smiled and sighed. And then she promptly fell asleep.
The first few days after Roger's birth, he spent the time lying on his back, staring silently at the ceiling of his room. With only a mere housekeeper to care for him, and guess when he needed to be fed or changed (for, after all, he was silent), he grew despondent. Without out milk from a mother's breast, he was thin for an infant, only adding to his lackadaisical attitude. When he next saw his parents, he did not recognize them. This was months after his birth. They came as he was still staring at the ceiling, silent and still.
"Oh, Firenze, you're such an irresponsible parent! Look-Roger's dead! Just lying there with his eyes open! I hate you, this is all your fault..."
"Well, as I recall, Rachyl, you never went to him after he was born, and a child always needs the mother more. You are stupid and ignorant, you wench! And besides, he's not even my son, seeing as the last person you slept with before your pregnancy was that retired knight Henry. So, therefore, I do not see why I have any obligation as his so called father."
"How dare you suggest that I committed adultery against you? You dishonorable pig! You-you-bastard!"
"Well-it's only evidence, fool," Firenze spat. "You haven't slept with me for two years, whereas the last man you invited into your room was him, and that was nine months ago!"
All the while, the makeshift nanny sat in the corner of the room in bewilderment and horror, not able to believe her ears. However, she refused to intervene, believing that she would somehow get violently caught in the crossfire and die a horrible death at the hands of the Duke and Duchess. And as for little, innocent baby Roger, he only stared at the ceiling, wishing in his own infant language that he knew how to cover his ears. However, only being three months old, he hadn't the coordination to do so. The fight went on a few more minutes, until the two royal figures scuffled out into the hall and the nanny shut the door.
"There, there, child, now take a little nap, that's a good..." she stopped as a ball of green magical substance blasted through the door, narrowly missing her head and crashing through the glass window. "Firenze at his magical tricks again..." she muttered, spreading the blankets neatly over little Roger, who only blinked and sighed. "It's a pity you had to have those devils for parents."
And so Roger grew up in his little room, thinking all the while in his silent way that the nanny was his own mother, never knowing her name or his parents. When he finally learned to walk and started having real meals brought up from the kitchens, he was surprised mildly that there was a world outside of his room. There were colors, not just the drab gray and white and raw wood of his room, and the occasional cloudy blue if he strained to see through the window.
The nanny accompanied him wherever he went, making sure he did not trip over steps or legs of tables and chairs. Roger quietly marveled at the gilt furniture and the velvety upholstery, the silver decorations and the colorful woven tapestries, his wide sapphire eyes glancing every which way. Every once in a while, the nanny would talk randomly to him, not expecting him to understand, and would point out objects and name them.
When next the boy learned to talk, the first thing he ever uttered was a sentence. "What's my name, nanny?" For the nanny, though she would chatter to him, had never remembered to teach him his name. She was so surprised she jumped and spun around wildly trying to find who had spoken, until she realized it was Roger. 'But he isn't more'n a year old,' she thought dazedly. Taken aback, she replied,
"Why, Roger of Conte, little dear."
She didn't bother to tell his testy parents that he'd finally learned to speak, fearing yet another heated row in which one parents would claim the other was at fault for never taking care of Roger, and so on. That was the last thing anyone needed. And the year-old spoke again.
"Do I know magic?"
"You should, dear. Your parents both have The Gift, so it ought to have been handed down to you." The nanny did not mention that his mother had had an affair which caused her pregnancy, believing anything on that subject not fit for a child's ears.
"Do I have a brother?"
"Yes. You have two brothers, but they were killed a long time ago in a battle against Scanran raiders. They were Gary and Nicholass." At this, the nanny was stony-faced.
"Are you my mother?"
The nanny sighed, shaking her head. "No. I'm just a housekeeper assigned to taking care of you. Your parents...well, you've seen them, but only for moments. Their names are Rachyl and Firenze. Perhaps you'll see them today." Secretly, the nanny hoped she wouldn't have to introduce Roger to his parents, fearing that the incident would have a negative impact on the poor child's mind. Unfortunately, she happened to stumble upon the very couple fighting violently in an office. Before she could turn away and scoop up the child, Firenze saw her and called to her.
"Ah, Helga, come here for a second and show my stupid wife that SHE is the one that left this stain in the plush carpet and that you could have easily cleaned it. See, my lying wife claims that the stain is years old, when I could've sworn it wasn't there minutes ago!"
Inwardly, Helga, (for that was her name), thought, 'what a pointless and stupid argument.' But she obeyed doggedly and slouched into the room, the curious Roger following close behind. She motioned for him to leave the room for his own safety, but he stayed at her skirts. Quietly, she murmured to him, "Them'll be your parents, child. Rachyl and Firenze." AS she finished, Rachyl started in on her. 'Mithros, what have they gotten me into?' she questioned herself as the irate kraken-like woman screamed. Roger hid in Helga's skirts.
After the argument had gone on a while, Helga being completely ignored for all that she was ordered into the room, Roger began to get agitated. Hardly a domineering or powerful figure, still in swaddling clothes, with skinny little chicken legs and thin arms, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "DON'T YOU TWO MONSTERS KNOW HOW TO SHUT UP?"
Absolutely pole-axed, both Firenze and Rachyl looked down upon the toddler. His dark brown hair was frizzy and wild, due to his annoyance. His face, still cherub-like, had the expression of extreme anger. His parents just stared. "Who's that?" they chorused. "A little babe, and he can talk?"
Having just learned his name, Roger replied calmly, though still angry, "My name is Roger, and I'm your son."
Rachyl fainted dead away. Firenze stumbled into a chair, hit his head when falling to the floor, and came to the same fate as his wife. Helga and Roger stood, chuckling and shaking their heads.
"Shall we leave them here, little one?" Helga inquired, her old, rheumy eyes dancing with glee.
"Why not? I have no pity on them, as I hardly know them."
Still impressed by the year-old's extensive vocabulary, Helga muttered. "You brilliant little child. You must be strongly Gifted, young fledgling." She whistled, and led the boy downstairs to meet the rest of the manor. So wrapped up in her their worlds, neither of the two realized Roger was glowing orange from his Gift.