Roger's Diary of Thoughts
Disclaimer: okay, the characters belong to TP and yadayadayada, don't sue me cause I'm broke anyway.
Author's Notes: After a long while since my last fic, I just had a burst of imaginative ideas. In the quartet, I noticed a part that struck a thought in me, a long time ago, and as I was browsing, a passage I read on a website somewhere brought up the memory of that idea, so now I'm writing in down while I have the chance. This takes place after Roger is brought back by Thom.
He ponders about what he feels for Alanna.
Duke Roger sat at his desk, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pen. There was an eerie shadow cast across his face from the dim lamplight in his extremely dark workroom, making him appear like his eye sockets were hollow. He was, as always, efficiently well-groomed, even though there was no purpose, as it was well into the night.
The paper on the table was blank. He lifted the pen, ready to write, and stopped. He set the pen down and looked across the desk to a small chest. He flipped the lock switch gracefully and took out the small picture inside. It was one of Alanna, garbed in her gold mail and amethyst studded belt with her glimmering sword and dagger hanging down her waist, behind her was her loyal and faithful friend and war-horse, Moonlight, sporting her gold trimmed bridle, nuzzling Alanna happily.
He grinned in the shadows. Alanna the Lioness, perfect, in strength and wit, and more stubborn than a mule, He thought, but she's a beauty, many men must notice her, it's a pity she will have to die, I would have very much enjoyed having her by my side, to have her complete loyalty, and, He paused and picked up his pen, her love.
He quickly began to brush the pen to the paper, relishing its smooth strokes and the swiftness in which it glided across the paper without straying. A picture soon began to form, one of him, sitting in the throne, decorated with many pieces of jewelry, but one particularly elegant ring adorning his finger on his left hand. But he didn't stop there, The brush made more rapid movements, to reveal a portrait of Alanna as well, in a beautiful, silk dress, sitting on another throne, next to him also wearing the bonding ring.
He slowly reached out, and pulled another paper to the desk, sinking into the quietness around him, the depth of the room. He drew another picture this time. It showed Alanna, lying on the ground, bloody, and beaten badly, her eyes were open, but they were empty, simply shells of her existence, showing nothing.
It seems I must choose, between my love and my hate. He grinned ruefully, but my heart obviously isn't connected to my mind at the moment. I guess this proves that love does not always conquer all. He snatched the picture of him and the Lioness, side by side, and ripped it viciously to shreds, before throwing the strips into the fireplace, and torching them with his gift, lighting the logs ablaze, and casting a bright light across and throughout the room. He sat there, grinning wickedly at the flames, an insane glint shining in his dark eyes. The fire snapped out, leaving naught but fine ash, and in the same instant, blanketing him in the comforting dark and quiet once again. He stopped grinning, and turned off the lamplight, sitting there in the dark, not moving, contemplating his thoughts, and smiled again.
Extra: I got this idea when I read the part in the book about Alanna dreaming that she was in the Chamber of the Ordeal, dancing with Roger.
