The Northern Plains
by KitLee
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters aren't mine. They are property and brain-children of Tamora Pierce. I do own the Northern Plains, Anorran, etc. Please don't use them without my permission.
Author's Note: I've noticed a real shortage of Lark fics, so this is my contribution to that. Seriously, we know that she was a tumbler, but I think that there's more to her than that. Where was she born? Where did she grow up? Why did she leave to become a tumbler? This is my answer to these questions. Please Read/Review!
Chapter 1 -- Prince Anorran
Prince Anorran XIII of the Northern Plains paced anxiously in the anteroom of his father's chambers. For the past two years, the king had been ill; tonight he had taken a turn for the worst. The only other person in the room was his mother, Queen Aediel. Palace guards stood watch outside, and inside the finest healers in Kuval were tending to the king.
"Sit down, son," Aediel said firmly. "You are not doing your father any good by fidgiting."
"I can't help it," Anorran protested, although he did take a seat. "I think this may be the end."
"Thank the gods," Aediel murmered.
Anorran shot her a questioning look.
"Sometimes death can be a release for someone so ill for so long," Aediel said cooly.
"Perhaps," Anorran conceded. "But I do wish that Father would simply get better."
"Think optimistically, son. Your father has had a long and productive reign. Even if he dies tonight, he will have done good. Soon it will be your turn to rule."
Anorran shuddered inwardly. Aloud, he said, "That is true, Mother."
Aediel raised one eyebrow. "Of course it is true. I am your mother."
Anorran stared out the window. He never had any idea of how to respond when his mother said that.
Outside in Kuval the people were going about their business as usual. No official word had been sent that the king was dying. Farther away, across Lake Arrona, Anorran could see the lights from the larger city, Kuman. Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to be a commoner in Kuman, instead of the High Prince.
"My Prince?" the healer asked. Anorran's head shot up to see the chief healer standing before him.
"Yes Giald?" Anorran asked, rising to his feet. "Is father --"
"No my Prince, not yet. He is asking for you, though. I -- I don't think it will be much longer."
Anorran stood and hurried through his father's door, forgetting all of the proper protocols. Once inside, Anorran was surprised by the lack of light. Only a dim candle shed its flickering light. Anorran instantly recognized it as his father's Life Flame. Beside the flame, on the bedside table, there was only a glass of water, a piece of parchment, and a ring.
King Anorran XII lay weakly on the bed, his usually pale skin even paler. "Son!" he cried out weakly, struggling to sit up.
In an instant, Anorran was by his father's side. "Rest Father. I will help you." Gently, Anorran helped his father sit upright, propped against several pillows.
"Son --" King Anorran began, but he was interrupted by a fit of coughing and weezing. Anorran lifted a glass of water to his father's lips. Once he'd stopped coughing, he began again. "Son, I am afraid that I am dying. I feel the very force of death in this room." He gestured towards the flame. "Soon my flame, spelled since birth to represent my life, will flicker for the last time and die." Another coughing fit seized the king.
"Father, don't speak. It's only making you worse," Anorran insisted.
"Bah!" the King exclaimed hoarsely. "I need to tell you these things." He lifted his ring of office from the table. "This is yours now. The seal will get you anywhere within the realm." He handed Anorran a piece of parchment. "This is a map to the kingdom. It is enchanted. It will show you every place you need." The King sat up and grasped his son's hands in his own. "It is imperative that you know this: I am leaving you a divided kingdom. I am sorry that I must do so, but it cannot be avoided. There have been threats --"
"Yes Father, I know," Anorran said. "I will take care of them. Don't worry."
The King smiled. "I don't worry with you in charge of the realm. I know that you will do the right thing." He moved to the last object on the table: the candle. In one quick motion, he blew it out. Then he lay back down against the pillows and closed his eyes. His breathing grew even more ragged and weak.
"Father!" Anorran exclaimed. "Don't go!"
"I must Son. It is my time."
"But -"
"Be careful --" the King breathed.
Anorran closed his mouth and leaned forward to catch the words.
"-- of what you seek," he finished. His head collapsed against the pillow; and his hand, which Anorran had grasped, fell limp.
Anorran sat by his father's side for several minutes, trying to absorb his father's death. Finally, he slid on the ring, stuck the parchment in the pocket in his cloak, and stood up. He walked mechanically out to the anteroom. During his time in there, a multitude of nobles had joined his mother and the healers there.
"The king is dead," he said softly. Ignoring the cries of "Long live Anorran XIII!" and brushing off his mothers touch, he quickly fled the room. Following the parchment, Anorran wound his way through the palace in the side passages. Taking a sharp right turn, tricky to see for those who weren't looking for it, Anorran opened the hidden door there by pressing his signet ring against the stones. Obediantly, the door swung open to reveal his destination.
By this time dawn was breaking and light poured into the room. It was made completely of glass and stood suspended in a hollow in the middle of the palace. Small pores and mirrors angled the light in, and only the door through which he had entered connected it with the palace. The room was completely empty, save a podium with a sphere resting on it. Anorran walked over to it and gaped at it.
The sphere was perfectly smooth. The outside was a layer of flawless diamond, and the inside had a core of liquid red -- not blood, but something else, something more shiny. Anorran took a deep breath the steady his quaking nerves, then thrust out his hands to place them on the sphere before he could reconsider.
Instantly, the magic of the sphere rushed into Anorran's body. He gasped in surprise and shock. Images flew through his brain; faces of people he had and hadn't seen filled his mind. His pale skin grew uncharacteristically flushed, and his limbs convulsed until the sphere sent him hurtling through the chamber to crash against the far wall.
Anorran gasped and struggled to regain control of his body. Thankfully, he hadn't hit his head when he'd landed. Woozily, he stood up, swaying a bit like a drunken man. His mind felt like that of a drunk -- fuzzy and confused. Anorran tried to take a few steps, but his legs slipped out from under him and deposited him unceremoniously onto the floor again. He blinked in the pink and golden light of dawn, until suddenly his mind felt remarkably clear -- even more so than before. It was as if the light had burned away his confusion as the sun burns away morning fog. In his mind now was only one face, a familiar face. And Anorran knew that this face -- Alexias' face -- was that of his destiny.
Meanwhile -- miles away in the country of Emelan, near the city of Summersea, in Winding Circle Temple -- the woman formerly known as Alexias was going about her morning routine.
by KitLee
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters aren't mine. They are property and brain-children of Tamora Pierce. I do own the Northern Plains, Anorran, etc. Please don't use them without my permission.
Author's Note: I've noticed a real shortage of Lark fics, so this is my contribution to that. Seriously, we know that she was a tumbler, but I think that there's more to her than that. Where was she born? Where did she grow up? Why did she leave to become a tumbler? This is my answer to these questions. Please Read/Review!
Chapter 1 -- Prince Anorran
Prince Anorran XIII of the Northern Plains paced anxiously in the anteroom of his father's chambers. For the past two years, the king had been ill; tonight he had taken a turn for the worst. The only other person in the room was his mother, Queen Aediel. Palace guards stood watch outside, and inside the finest healers in Kuval were tending to the king.
"Sit down, son," Aediel said firmly. "You are not doing your father any good by fidgiting."
"I can't help it," Anorran protested, although he did take a seat. "I think this may be the end."
"Thank the gods," Aediel murmered.
Anorran shot her a questioning look.
"Sometimes death can be a release for someone so ill for so long," Aediel said cooly.
"Perhaps," Anorran conceded. "But I do wish that Father would simply get better."
"Think optimistically, son. Your father has had a long and productive reign. Even if he dies tonight, he will have done good. Soon it will be your turn to rule."
Anorran shuddered inwardly. Aloud, he said, "That is true, Mother."
Aediel raised one eyebrow. "Of course it is true. I am your mother."
Anorran stared out the window. He never had any idea of how to respond when his mother said that.
Outside in Kuval the people were going about their business as usual. No official word had been sent that the king was dying. Farther away, across Lake Arrona, Anorran could see the lights from the larger city, Kuman. Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to be a commoner in Kuman, instead of the High Prince.
"My Prince?" the healer asked. Anorran's head shot up to see the chief healer standing before him.
"Yes Giald?" Anorran asked, rising to his feet. "Is father --"
"No my Prince, not yet. He is asking for you, though. I -- I don't think it will be much longer."
Anorran stood and hurried through his father's door, forgetting all of the proper protocols. Once inside, Anorran was surprised by the lack of light. Only a dim candle shed its flickering light. Anorran instantly recognized it as his father's Life Flame. Beside the flame, on the bedside table, there was only a glass of water, a piece of parchment, and a ring.
King Anorran XII lay weakly on the bed, his usually pale skin even paler. "Son!" he cried out weakly, struggling to sit up.
In an instant, Anorran was by his father's side. "Rest Father. I will help you." Gently, Anorran helped his father sit upright, propped against several pillows.
"Son --" King Anorran began, but he was interrupted by a fit of coughing and weezing. Anorran lifted a glass of water to his father's lips. Once he'd stopped coughing, he began again. "Son, I am afraid that I am dying. I feel the very force of death in this room." He gestured towards the flame. "Soon my flame, spelled since birth to represent my life, will flicker for the last time and die." Another coughing fit seized the king.
"Father, don't speak. It's only making you worse," Anorran insisted.
"Bah!" the King exclaimed hoarsely. "I need to tell you these things." He lifted his ring of office from the table. "This is yours now. The seal will get you anywhere within the realm." He handed Anorran a piece of parchment. "This is a map to the kingdom. It is enchanted. It will show you every place you need." The King sat up and grasped his son's hands in his own. "It is imperative that you know this: I am leaving you a divided kingdom. I am sorry that I must do so, but it cannot be avoided. There have been threats --"
"Yes Father, I know," Anorran said. "I will take care of them. Don't worry."
The King smiled. "I don't worry with you in charge of the realm. I know that you will do the right thing." He moved to the last object on the table: the candle. In one quick motion, he blew it out. Then he lay back down against the pillows and closed his eyes. His breathing grew even more ragged and weak.
"Father!" Anorran exclaimed. "Don't go!"
"I must Son. It is my time."
"But -"
"Be careful --" the King breathed.
Anorran closed his mouth and leaned forward to catch the words.
"-- of what you seek," he finished. His head collapsed against the pillow; and his hand, which Anorran had grasped, fell limp.
Anorran sat by his father's side for several minutes, trying to absorb his father's death. Finally, he slid on the ring, stuck the parchment in the pocket in his cloak, and stood up. He walked mechanically out to the anteroom. During his time in there, a multitude of nobles had joined his mother and the healers there.
"The king is dead," he said softly. Ignoring the cries of "Long live Anorran XIII!" and brushing off his mothers touch, he quickly fled the room. Following the parchment, Anorran wound his way through the palace in the side passages. Taking a sharp right turn, tricky to see for those who weren't looking for it, Anorran opened the hidden door there by pressing his signet ring against the stones. Obediantly, the door swung open to reveal his destination.
By this time dawn was breaking and light poured into the room. It was made completely of glass and stood suspended in a hollow in the middle of the palace. Small pores and mirrors angled the light in, and only the door through which he had entered connected it with the palace. The room was completely empty, save a podium with a sphere resting on it. Anorran walked over to it and gaped at it.
The sphere was perfectly smooth. The outside was a layer of flawless diamond, and the inside had a core of liquid red -- not blood, but something else, something more shiny. Anorran took a deep breath the steady his quaking nerves, then thrust out his hands to place them on the sphere before he could reconsider.
Instantly, the magic of the sphere rushed into Anorran's body. He gasped in surprise and shock. Images flew through his brain; faces of people he had and hadn't seen filled his mind. His pale skin grew uncharacteristically flushed, and his limbs convulsed until the sphere sent him hurtling through the chamber to crash against the far wall.
Anorran gasped and struggled to regain control of his body. Thankfully, he hadn't hit his head when he'd landed. Woozily, he stood up, swaying a bit like a drunken man. His mind felt like that of a drunk -- fuzzy and confused. Anorran tried to take a few steps, but his legs slipped out from under him and deposited him unceremoniously onto the floor again. He blinked in the pink and golden light of dawn, until suddenly his mind felt remarkably clear -- even more so than before. It was as if the light had burned away his confusion as the sun burns away morning fog. In his mind now was only one face, a familiar face. And Anorran knew that this face -- Alexias' face -- was that of his destiny.
Meanwhile -- miles away in the country of Emelan, near the city of Summersea, in Winding Circle Temple -- the woman formerly known as Alexias was going about her morning routine.
