A note from the Authoress: I wrote this on a whim today, there will be more background at the end of the last part. Yes, it contains Tamora Pierce characters, and Romance. Shock of all shocks!!!! Review, and I might actually write more like it.
I shall
disclaim: All of these characters belong to Tamora Pierce, and
like borrowed Barbie dolls, I have played with them for a while,
dressed them in clothes possibly foreign to them, set them into a
house that may not be their own, and driven them around a pink 57
Chevy convertible, when really they would have preferred the
white Ferarri. Please, let me indulge myself, and perhaps my
readers, for this moment's fancy.
Thank You,
Em
~When The World Was Done With You~
A fic by Em, AKA, Cycle Pinsetter
The old
woman paused tiredly on that balcony, her weary eyes gazing
across the overgrown garden below. These now dead gardens had
once been a part of the many beauties of the palace in Corus. Now
they lay in ruin. On this frigid winter evening, the hopelessly
tangled brambles were endless shadows, covering the faded garden
paths. Weeds had sprung up between the broken rose bushes, their
lifeless straw color invading the cold, unyielding stone walls
and providing a barren blanket for the thorny brambles. A wave of
emotion passed over her as her eyes registered this desolate
scene. What emotion was this? The emotion lingered, solidifying
the emptiness that was already inside her.
Was it wrong to come back to this garden? Had she made a mistake
by climbing these stairs to gaze a fragment of the past? Were the
pleasant memories of the past strong enough to overpower this
horrible rush of sorrow and guilt? Why did she feel responsible
for the death of this garden? I suppose its natural
for a person to feel responsible for not preventing the death of
something she loves, she thought
Once, many many years ago, an old oak tree thrived at the center of this garden. This oak had been the heart of all things living in side the secluded walls. Birds had flocked from all over the palace, and as was myth, the world, to congregate on the sturdy limbs of the trees. And on spring days, the Wild Mages Daine and Numair could be seen with their children, taking advantage of the beautiful weather, happily amongst the animals that found their way into this sanctuary. But the Wild Mages were different people now, their children had grown up, and taken flight, much like the birds that used to frequent the oak's branches. But Corus was no longer the center of the world, and every day now daring voyages were being made in massive ships, searching for something across the sea. It was a large world, with larger problems. The Feudal system was dying, and fiefs were giving rise to large cities. Armies and militias were opting for lighter weigh armor and turning their focus on the foot soldier instead of the cumbersome mounted knight. What was to become of her? What was the saying? Old soldiers don't die, they just fade away?
Queen Thayet had adopted the garden after she had learned that it was one of Queen Lianne's favorite places to walk. The garden had flourished under the care of both Queens. In the spring, a hundred different varieties of flower littered the carefully tended flowerbeds. The soil, already fertile from centuries of silt depositing from the banks of the King's river, yielded the brightest and healthiest blossoms, with aid from her Majesty's most distinguished gardeners. The trees, taken from all over Tortall and several other of the neighboring countries, were always groomed to perfection. Even as Lianne's health failed her, she still entrusted care of the gardens to her gardeners.
There was a intricately carved stone bench by the ancient oak. Jon had once told her that it was a wedding gift to his mother and father from the King and Queen of Maren. From its location in the center of the garden, a person sitting on the bench could see the entire garden. And in the winter, when the trees were barren of leaves, spindly arms clawing at the sky, one could lift their chin and gaze up to the very balcony that she was standing on. And vice versa, if it were years ago, she could look through the naked branches and see the bench at the base of the ancient oak.
But she
could not see the bench. The oak's splintered branches
obscured the bench. A few years ago (though it was probably ten,
as time flows swiftly when one's mind grows old) a bolt of
lightning had struck the mighty trunk, separating its massive
trunk into two sprawling halves. It stood, a long dead corpse in
the center of the garden, as a monument to the fallen garden
itself.
She sighed, pulling her once vibrant, graying hair away from her
face to feel the cool night air on her cheeks.
Moments
ago, she had ascended the narrow stairs slowly. Her strong leg
muscles could take the stress of traveling up the cramped spiral
staircase, but it was her heart muscles that protested. These
halls were laced with memories upon memories, layered and
overlapping. Each single memory triggered a chain of other
memories. She tried to quiet her mind.
As she had traveled down the familiar halls to this staircase,
there were several nods of respect, or perhaps sympathy, but the
hall was filled mostly with young people hurrying to get where
they were going. They regarded her with respectful distance.
After all, who should dare to converse with a legend?
Regretfully, she suffocated that thought.
Where were her friends? Must everyone see her as a relic, set on
such high a pedestal that they may only look up to admire how
brave she looks?
Her lips had curled in a half smile as she remembered running
down these same halls on an errand, many many years younger. The
enrollment was an equal number of boys and girls by now. She had
studied their faces calmly. Yes, the one on the left was
Kalisin's youngest daughter, led around by one of Roald's. She
had failed to remember which.
Roald was a fine King. And his Yamani princess made a lovely
queen. She just didn't care for gardens the old woman
thought, sadly.
Ten years. He's been gone Ten years, and still they look at me as if I am a pathetic specimen of humanity. The mourning is over, and he has long since passed into the realms of the gods. I do not miss him so much anymore, she admitted to herself. But sometimes I just wish I wasn't so damn lonely all the time.
She had lived at Pirate's Swoop in those ten years after he died, managing the place, seeing various grandchildren until she had given it over to her eldest, Alianne, and her family. She had come to the palace because she felt that it was the only placed she belonged after he had left her. But even now she felt even more alienated. It wasn't the same. Was the palace still the same bustling convergence as it was back in Jon's day? Maybe the life had been sucked out of herself instead of the building, and the palace still held its same magic.
She looked out across the garden again, a thought passing through her mind. The dead branches, weeds, and debri were just empty shells. Life had fled from these vessels long ago, to populate some other part of Tortall, or perhaps some other realm.
On shakey feet she climbed on the balcony, her feet standing almost firmly on the stone railing. The railing's width held her weight comfortably. She glanced down at the sheer drop below her, feeling cool breath in her lungs as a sharp wind whipped her long loose hair around her. She took a few more breaths, growing accustomed to the height.
They may not find me. Who looks in these old gardens anyway? They would probably search outside the palace first. This garden would be the last place to look for the great Lioness. And would this fate be the last that anyone would suspect?
She removed her hands from the cool stone wall and stood on the balcony, unaided. This is it, she told herself, her heart beating. The air was rushing around her, chilling her face and limbs. She could almost feel her heart freezing along with the rest of her body.
~Whoopsies! I haven't written any more story. Well now, that's a problem, isn't it? Well, if you want to read the end, then maybe you should review it, eh?
Or not. :)