I am in a really depressed mood, so I wrote this. Not only that, but this is what I think would have happened if Alanna would have gone to the convent.
Disclaimer: In Tamora Pierce's writing, every thing ends happy. Everything turns out okay. I think you will quickly learn that this is not Tamora Pierce's writing.
Because of One Person
If Alanna Really went to the Convent
By Fantasizing-Lady-Knight
A Journal
Dear Diary,
I think you're the only person I can talk to anymore. The sisters of the convent all have given up on me. All of the other girls either think I'm insane, pity me, or scorn me. I have tried countless times to get a few guards who protect the convent to help me fight, but they refuse. Once I even met a Shang warrior, but when I asked him to teach me he laughed. It's bad enough that I have to become a lady here. That I have to learn how to curtsy, pour tea, and embroider. That when I reach sixteen I will be sent to Court to find a husband, and when I have a husband, my life will be his, not my own. And add to all of that that I'm not allowed to fight... I wish the gods would get it over with and just kill me. Life is torture.
Dear Diary,
I tried to run away today, but a guard caught me on my way out. When he caught my arm, I was so angry that his glove caught fire. Purple fire. Because of this escape attempt I have to mend all of the dresses that need mending. The gods damned sisters know I hate sewing more that anything else. Damn the bitches.
Dear Diary,
It has been all over the news for weeks: a horrible plague has infested Corus, and the capital of Tortall is rotting from the inside out with a horrible disease they call the Sweating Sickness. Scores of innocent people die everyday, and the fever sucks healers dry and even kills them sometimes. No one is sure what caused it, but sorcery is suspected. Half of the healers in Corus are as weak as babes, dead, or dying. Even the Queen is infected.
Dear Diary,
The news came today. Prince Jonathan has caught the plague, and is dying. Within hours of catching it, he was hallucinating—healers suspect he won't survive the night. I also got a letter from Thom. He wrote that half of his fellow pages are dead, and his page duties have been canceled because a large percentage of the servants are dead. I wish I could catch the Sickness, my life is that bad. If I died at least I wouldn't have to learn how to arrange balls. Damn my life.
Dear Diary,
The whole country is mourning. The prince's soul was taken by the Black God around midnight. The queen can bare no more children. Now the King's nephew, Duke Roger, is the heir to the throne. Besides that, her Majesty is still ill. Not horribly so, but she has lost weight, and has coughing fits often. I heard from word of mouth that the king is also not doing well. He is paler and also skinnier because he has been so worried about his kingdom and his wife.
Dear Diary,
It is only a month after the death of the prince, and the queen has already died. Life doesn't seem to be getting any better. I have heard that the king stays locked in his chambers for days at a time, refusing to come out. I hope the Dark God claims my soul soon because I don't want to live anymore. My life is horrid, and my country is dying. Why couldn't I have been a boy?
Dear Diary,
The kingdom is so heavily in mourning that any man in the streets who is seen wearing any color other that black is fined. The king eats only once every few days. I've heard rumors that he's gone mad. Uuosae must be thriving.
Dear Diary,
I just heard the news that King Roald has committed suicide. He jumped off of his balcony which was about one hundred feet above the courtyard below. No one is quite sure whether he did a wonderful or horrible thing. He has been selfish, leaving his country because of his own misery. But, I think that if he was depressed enough to kill himself, he wouldn't have been able to rule a country. Gods ease his passing—at least he's with his wife now.
Dear Diary,
King Roger was just crowned. He decreed seven whole days of public feasting and celebration. Maybe he will be a wonderful king, but for some odd reason I doubt it. Something like a sixth sense inside me claims I should hate him but I haven't the faintest idea why.
Dear Diary,
Tusaine is boiling. Spies have brought the news that they are planning to attack Drell River Valley and try to win it back. Thom has written to me, telling me that he will be fighting at Drell River if anything happens. From the sounds of it, he thinks Roger is a pretty good king. Thom heard a speech that King Roger gave after his crowning and wrote to me that it was very impressive. Maybe life will get better.
Dear Diary,
It's only been three months since Roger's crowning, and it is already obvious that he is a horrible king. He has taken so much of the country's money to make the palace even more luxurious for himself. He has men guilty of petty crimes executed on the spot. While men on the streets are starving, he is readying for a war with Tusaine. He doesn't plan to just beat back the Tusaine forces, but to conquer Tusaine. He has already become allies with Carthak—it seems the Emperor there is like Roger's twin. He is powerful and power-hungry. Not to mention the fact that Roger just declared that slaves are allowed in Tortall.
Dear Diary,
Thom sent me a letter. In one week he will be sent to Drell River Valley to fight. He sends me his love. His letters are the only highlight in my life. Without them I probably would have strangled my self with a pair of dainty lady stockings on my very first day here. Gods how I love Thom.
Dear Diary,
I just wanted to tell you goodbye. This is the last time I will write to you because this is the last minute I'm going to live. No one can make me keep my life now. Thom was reported missing in action at the Tusaine border. I don't want to live anymore.
Farewell.
High in the Realms of the Gods, a woman watched stoically as a young woman with red hair, matted with neglect, and purple eyes dull with sorrow, take a small dagger and slice the keen blade along both of her wrists. The young woman—actually just a girl, for she could be no older than twelve—fell back on the ground as blood oozed from the two wounds, staining the cream-colored carpet beneath her. The girl closed her tear-filled eyes for the last time, and her soul burst from the lifeless carcass to be taken with the Black God happily. The spirit skipped the whole way to gate of the Realm of the Dead where she met her twin with tears of joy in her eyes. They embraced, laughing merrily, to enter the Realm together, holding hands and hugging every once in a while, glad beyond human comprehension to be together again.
The woman in the Realms of the Gods sighed and brushed her obsidian-colored hair away from her inhumanly beautiful face. A single tear rolled from one emerald eye, down one perfect cheek to land with a splash on the back of one of her perfect hands folded neatly in her lap. This had all happened because the purple-eyed girl had not switched places with her brother.
Everything had fallen apart. Everything. Tortall would never be the same. Women would never learn to fight. People with no hope left would never run to Tortall for safety. Another tear fell from one her eyes. The only Wildmage to ever be born would die, starving and alone in a forest. The greatest mage ever to walk the land would be hung at the age of twenty-four. The only person who could have defeated Blayce the Gallan wouldn't ever get to be anything but a lady.
And now the Goddess cried. Because of one person.