Thank you for everyone's reviews. I am getting mega flames for Tortall's Twin part 2 and this makes me feel better. I am expecting more flames for that. For somebody who asked: Alan is not Alanna's twin brother, her twin's name is Thom. Her father's name is Alan. Hope that clears it up. PS, for clarification, the Roald mentioned is King Jonathan's father, not his son. This is like a long time ago, when Roald was maybe in his early twenties and as yet unmarried.
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Themma's Escapades
Chapter 3: Lady Trebond
Themma hated her life. She hated, hated, hated it. Her friends still sent letters; but it wasn't the same. Alan of Trebond was no doubt the most boring person in the world. All that Themma had left was the fifteen minutes before she got married. She savagely combed her bright orange curls, wishing she could to something, anything. But it was hopeless, she might as well be chained to the altar. Even her Gift couldn't help her now. Her Gift was fairly strong, but any time they talked about her getting formal teaching the conversation always seemed to wind up at the same spot.
"Ah, yes, a beautiful deep maroon color."
"No, it's more black."
"I'd say that it was a navy blue."
"Are you kidding? It's obviously a dark purple."
"You're all wrong. It's a deep green."
Nobody could ever agree on the color of her Gift, but Themma thought is was more a dark purple. Kind of maroonish. Only natural, she thought, if nobody knows what color my Gift is, then of course I do illusions, because nobody really knows what they're seeing. Themma then thought about the situation at hand. There had been special precautions taken; everyone knew about Themma's illusions, and not to pay attention if a flock of wyverns attacked, or if a spidren came a-calling. Suddenly Themma was walking up to her husband-to-be, with everyone watching to see how she reacted. She survived through the priest's reading, and heard when the lord of Trebond said, "I accept, for my son Alan of Trebond," she heard, and now it was her father's turn to speak. He licked his lips, watching the glares from both Themma and Lady Karenne. Abruptly Themma ran. She hiked up her skirts and ran, running away from the fate she did not ask for or want. The voice of her father echoed behind her…
"I accept, for my daughter, once of Mel Harbor, now Themma of Trebond."
Themma didn't know where she was running, she dimly remembered being caught and dragged kicking and screaming back to her husband, and slapped for her insolence. Then she knew that she was wrong. All her life she had been wrong. Life was not joy, or happiness, it was pain and suffering. She withdrew herself, accepting her fate.
***
"Yes, my Lord," she said, and put down her needlework. It was almost a year later, a year of living in shadow. She hated herself for doing this, and she hated everyone else because they were doing this to her. Her stitches were tight and even, her manners polished. She seemed to everyone a perfectly fine lady, and her eariler activities were forgotten. The only thing they ever thought strange of her was that she had no children. Themma had made herself an ankle charm so that she would not have children, she may have sunk into ladylike behavior but she would never, never have children. But in her head she tallied every remark, every curtsy, and added it to her store of revenge. One day she would escape. She had her horse, her still unfound sword, and her chain mail that she saved and kept polished. Themma had heard that the king was mustering an army for his conquering, and she would be the next soldier for his lines.
***
Roald of Conte looked out his window and breathed in the scent of early morning. Today he was to go with his father to the army camps, to witness a war firsthand. Tortall was a growing empire, conquering parts of Tusaine, Scanra, Galla for it's own. Now was the time when King Bardon looked to the Southern Desert for his country. There were harsh men there, with deep black eyes and the magic of the Desert, it was said. They were brutal fighters, and the King was having some trouble with them.
Roald sighed and got dressed, going down to the Mess for his breakfast. Technically, he was a knight. Many thought he had only gotten that far because his father had helped him in some way, but he had gone through the Chamber of the Ordeal. Roald shuddered, thinking about that. Nobody considered him a real knight because he was so bad a fighting. Not like some. Sir Myles of Olau, just past the Ordeal, was better than him by far. And so was Sir Gareth of Naxen, now the King's Champion, Sir Blair of Tirragen, and many others that Roald was too depressed to name. He just wasn't cut out to be a great king or a general. His younger brother, Jerick, was a great fighter. He was the best squire in his class. Roald would rather spend his time poring over old tomes and books, not falling down and whacking things.
***
Roald rode down south, as the climate got warmer and the plants sparser. Finally it gave way to rolling desert hills of sand, and the dry winds. They rode down to the main army base, a cluster of forts and tents, circled around the only city of the Bazhir, the desert tribesmen.
"Why do they have only one city?" Roald asked.
His father snorted. "Some hogwash about guarding demons. They have some story about evil monsters calling away their children, so they built this place to guard them. See that black dot on the horizon?"
King Bardon pointed to a little speck that Roald could see if he squinted. "They call that the Black City, and they have some prophecy about the Night and the Day doing battle with the demons there. Absolute nonsense."
Roald was steered over to the camps where they would arrange their strategies.
***
Crown Prince Roald looked at the surrounding desert, littered with the bodies of allies and foe. He thought of the families left without fathers, the widows his own father had made. He thought of the dead, stinking and bloated in the heat, all pointing fingers at him. You… You killed us… Ussssss… We will take you to the Black God with us… Ussssss… Roald thought of all that, and vomited what little he had eaten that afternoon into the bushes. Looking up, he saw a young soldier on a horse watching him. He looked away, hoping the soldier would not recognise him. The soldier dismounted, and walked over to him.
"If you think that I didn't see you, you're in for a surprise. But it's okay. I know what it feels like to think it's all your fault…" He trailed off.
Roald looked at the young man, with auburn hair cut short and a soft, husky voice. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Never mind. It's a long story. I already know you, you're Prince Roald." The boy smiled crookedly. "You can call me Thom."
Thom held out his hand, and Roald shook it. "Did you come with the rest of the recruits?" Thom nodded.
"I came to get away from my father's fief. If I had stayed there a moment longer he would no doubt have married me off to some empty-headed noble lady."
Roald smiled. "I know the feeling. I'm betrothed to Princess Lianne of Galla, as part of those idiotic treaties. I haven't even met her before!"
Thom grinned. This was the beginning of a friendship.
***
Themma was still nervous, but this Roald seemed to be nice, for all he was the heir to the Tortallan throne. She was still happy, even though her stiff and book-bound husband and her parents were probably scouring half the countryside for her. They would never think to look here, this far south! She smiled inwardly. Try to get me to tat lace now!
I hope that is good. That was probably the longest chapter or anything I have ever written. There will be maybe two more chapters, not too long. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed!