If i knew there was so many of these I wouldn't have bothered writing
this. **Disclaimer: Not mine, hers, *Points at Tamora Pierce*.**
Convent life wasn't for Alanna. It broke her spirit, like a man breaks a horse, slowly, painfully, but breaks it he does. Eventually she gave in and allowed herself to be 'finished'. Before the word had brought dread into her heart, now she was used to it. She was brainwashed, a perfect noble lady. Sent to court with a pack of others, like cows or sheep in a herd or flock. Her mind made up and her heart hardened, she resigned herself to the truth. She would be just another lady at the palace, and not one of the 'best' either. Just another lady. There had been a time when she had wanted more, when she would have given anything to be a warrior, a Lady Knight. But everyone she knew had stamped on that idea and ground it into the mud. Now she was an obedient clone, nothing marking her significantly from all the other girls coming to and leaving court. Her brother was to meet her. She couldn't care less. Thom was his name, wasn't it? There had been no contact for five years, ever since he had left her stranded at convent, Alanna had never forgiven him. A young lady in a light blue, at best Alanna was described as interesting. Certainly her eyes and hair were special but not especially fashionable. The carriage ground to a halt. Alanna allowed herself to be handed out. A young man with vaguely the same looks marched up to her. He looked mildly happy to see her.
"Sister," he began. Alanna cut him off by walking elegantly in the opposite direction. He followed her at a rapid pace and although obviously not happy about it she allowed her brother to walk with her.
"Well," Thom tried again, "here you are Alanna. I never expected you to be so, well,"
"Finished? Broken? Cloned?" she readily supplied, her voice dangerous though at moderate level.
"No, uh, um, unlike you old self." He finished quickly. It was true. Alanna had been rough and boyish, pain of their father's life. Now here she was. Well, yes she was here, but no, she wasn't happy about it, he saw, reading her. He had tried to explain he was sorry. But all she had said was 'betrayer'. He didn't think of it as betrayal, more as not letting Alanna get her way all the time. He thought it would be good, but, miraculously for Thom, he had been wrong. He was sorry, oh so sorry, but his pride forbade him from telling Alanna. Let her be cold and distant, his pride said, I don't care. But his rational mind knew otherwise. It hurt him. She had been so different, she had hoped to break the mould. It was not to be, yet Thom felt as though, in leaving Alanna in convent, he had failed Tortall. It was a strange feeling and he shrugged it off as soon as possible. Before he knew it, Alanna was unpacking in her room and he was on his was to see if his knight master, Duke Roger of Conte, needed him for anything.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I will not cry, thought Alanna, though tears welled up in her eyes and her hands shook from the suppressed emotion. She numbly dressed herself for the ball that would be held later in the evening and allowed a maid to attend to her hair, leaving two slightly curling locks down, in an effort to soften her face. The effort was wasted. Alanna looked well enough but she would never be a beauty that was for sure. An opal necklace was hung around her neck and a twisted bracelet was thrust on her wrist, then, led by the competent maid, she went to the announcing chamber. The herald called out her name and she walked down the twisted, ornate staircase. She sat down on one of the plush velvet chairs scattered around the ballroom. No one asked her to dance, she was too plain and they were all mooning about the newest arrival, Lady Lirea of Rosemark. Eventually she retired and began the long walk back to her suite. She undressed and climbed into the lacy bedgown, covered in bow and ribbons so it was hard to lie flat. She fell asleep thinking, this is my life, and I hate its guts!
Convent life wasn't for Alanna. It broke her spirit, like a man breaks a horse, slowly, painfully, but breaks it he does. Eventually she gave in and allowed herself to be 'finished'. Before the word had brought dread into her heart, now she was used to it. She was brainwashed, a perfect noble lady. Sent to court with a pack of others, like cows or sheep in a herd or flock. Her mind made up and her heart hardened, she resigned herself to the truth. She would be just another lady at the palace, and not one of the 'best' either. Just another lady. There had been a time when she had wanted more, when she would have given anything to be a warrior, a Lady Knight. But everyone she knew had stamped on that idea and ground it into the mud. Now she was an obedient clone, nothing marking her significantly from all the other girls coming to and leaving court. Her brother was to meet her. She couldn't care less. Thom was his name, wasn't it? There had been no contact for five years, ever since he had left her stranded at convent, Alanna had never forgiven him. A young lady in a light blue, at best Alanna was described as interesting. Certainly her eyes and hair were special but not especially fashionable. The carriage ground to a halt. Alanna allowed herself to be handed out. A young man with vaguely the same looks marched up to her. He looked mildly happy to see her.
"Sister," he began. Alanna cut him off by walking elegantly in the opposite direction. He followed her at a rapid pace and although obviously not happy about it she allowed her brother to walk with her.
"Well," Thom tried again, "here you are Alanna. I never expected you to be so, well,"
"Finished? Broken? Cloned?" she readily supplied, her voice dangerous though at moderate level.
"No, uh, um, unlike you old self." He finished quickly. It was true. Alanna had been rough and boyish, pain of their father's life. Now here she was. Well, yes she was here, but no, she wasn't happy about it, he saw, reading her. He had tried to explain he was sorry. But all she had said was 'betrayer'. He didn't think of it as betrayal, more as not letting Alanna get her way all the time. He thought it would be good, but, miraculously for Thom, he had been wrong. He was sorry, oh so sorry, but his pride forbade him from telling Alanna. Let her be cold and distant, his pride said, I don't care. But his rational mind knew otherwise. It hurt him. She had been so different, she had hoped to break the mould. It was not to be, yet Thom felt as though, in leaving Alanna in convent, he had failed Tortall. It was a strange feeling and he shrugged it off as soon as possible. Before he knew it, Alanna was unpacking in her room and he was on his was to see if his knight master, Duke Roger of Conte, needed him for anything.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I will not cry, thought Alanna, though tears welled up in her eyes and her hands shook from the suppressed emotion. She numbly dressed herself for the ball that would be held later in the evening and allowed a maid to attend to her hair, leaving two slightly curling locks down, in an effort to soften her face. The effort was wasted. Alanna looked well enough but she would never be a beauty that was for sure. An opal necklace was hung around her neck and a twisted bracelet was thrust on her wrist, then, led by the competent maid, she went to the announcing chamber. The herald called out her name and she walked down the twisted, ornate staircase. She sat down on one of the plush velvet chairs scattered around the ballroom. No one asked her to dance, she was too plain and they were all mooning about the newest arrival, Lady Lirea of Rosemark. Eventually she retired and began the long walk back to her suite. She undressed and climbed into the lacy bedgown, covered in bow and ribbons so it was hard to lie flat. She fell asleep thinking, this is my life, and I hate its guts!