Disclaimer: Tortall belongs to Tamora Pierce, not me. And so does Rosto, unfortunately...
This is for the Men of Tortall monthly challenge. The prompt for July was 'Shatter.' This is an entirely different take on Rosto's past than most of my other fics, to say the least. I enjoyed writing this one, however, and it has inspired something else that could possibly be posted in the near future that is in a similar vein as far as writing style goes. That said, don't forget to leave a review, please!
Leave, a small voice in his head said. Leave it all behind.
No one cares, it added. It whispered to him in the dark of the night, when he was alone. It whispered everything he did not want to hear.
It whispered to him when he was least expecting it. Sometimes it was when he was alone, sometimes when he was in a crowd of people. The little voice reminded him that he had never had true worth to anyone in his life.
His father had abandoned his mother when Rosto was very young. He did not even remember the man because of that. And Rosto… He had always taken second place to his younger sister. His mother – ever the player – had always wanted a girl to take her place when she retired. Her son meant nothing next to her precious baby girl.
He had run when he was twelve, convincing himself that it was for the best. No one wants you, the little voice had said. They would rather you did not exist at all.
Rosto had dropped every reference to his old life when he was fourteen, save for his first name and the set of pipes one of the old players had given him. He became Rosto the Piper then, a young man without a care in the world.
But he did care. You're worthless, the voice told him. You don't even have a name to claim as your own. You're just the Piper. He still cared. Even though he had run, he did care about those he had left behind.
When he was sixteen, he got word of his mother's death. She and his sister had been killed by his father, who had come back in a rage and murdered them after a performance in the eastern side of Scanra. The little voice, absent for nearly a year, returned. You let them die. You should have been there to protect them. They needed you. Your talent with a blade was for them, and you let them down. You deserve to die.
He started moving, then. He never stayed in one place for more than a few months until he was twenty. He stopped when he met a girl. One that loved him. He stayed for her. The voice disappeared for a time because of her.
But then she died, too, struck down by one of his fellow rushers and his friends. It's your fault, the voice whispered to him. It always is. Three men died that night – the ones that were responsible for her death. He did not care about the blood on his hands. He was lost again, trapped in the voice's hold.
Rosto had met Aniki not long after that. Then Kora. He never said anything about the voice to them. The numbness he felt inside was easily hidden by false smiles and vanity. He was a good rusher – few could rival him. But no one knew the inside.
Tortall was different. The voice spoke less and less as they drew closer to the capital. Rosto's reason was just the same as Aniki and Kora's. He wanted something to distract him from everything he was feeling, entertainment, as they put it.
And then there was her. The pretty Puppy who had such a bite. He watched her, feeling something other than numbness for the first time in a long time. He saw hope in her. Even as she pushed him away when he tried to pursue her, she made him feel alive for the first time in years.
He found, as time went on, the voice in his mind became quieter and quieter. It no longer spoke to him like it had. It faded away with her presence. Even if she was trying to make it so that they were only friends, he still clung to the hope that maybe, they could be more. They weren't so different, after all. They cared about the same people, just in different ways.
But by the time she returned from Port Caynn and the knowledge of her romance with the bank courier being public, things changed. The voice started whispering to him again, telling him everything that his innermost demons would say.
She doesn't want you, it said. Leave. She wouldn't care. No one would. You're just the Rogue. If you change, leave the old Rosto behind, no one will care.
For once, he listened to the voice without resistance. He let himself change, become hard and ruthless. Cold. Frozen. By the time anyone noticed, the man he had been was gone.
Everything fell to pieces behind him. And for once in his life, Rosto the Piper didn't care.