Smaller Stars
Author: Tailyn
Rating: PG-13, just in case.
Genre: General/Adventure
Disclaimer: I do not own Tortall, Lianne, Liam, Jasson, Alan, Aly, Alanna, Jonathan, etc. Tortall, it's surrounding lands, and their recognizable inhabitants all belong to Tamora Pierce; I am only borrowing them. I only own the plot and the original characters.
Author's Notes: I looked, but I wasn't able to find definitive ages for Lianne, Liam, or Jasson, all of whom appear regularly in this story. For my own purposes, I crafted ages for them, based around information in various books (especially Wild Magic and Trickster's Choice) and the ages I needed them to be. At the beginning of this story, Liam is 17, Lianne is 16, and Jasson is 14. (For the record, that would make Roald 23 and Kalasin 22.) This story takes place about a year after Trickster's Choice, and will spoil parts of that story, so be careful reading if you haven't finished that book yet. As this is the first story I have posted publicly, I would really appreciate feedback so I know what I need to fix, and what does or doesn't appeal to a general audience. I'm not going to freak out at a little constructive criticism, I promise:-D
-
Midwinter, 462 H.E. – 23rd year of the reign of King Jonathan IV and Queen Thayet
Corus, Tortall
-
There was a time when fighting among the pages would be, if not deliberately brought to his attention, ignored by the training master of the pages of Tortall. It has been, Padraig haMinch admitted to himself as he surveyed the two boys in front of him, very quietly encouraged, now that he thought of it. It certainly had been at the time when he had been in training for his shield.
And yet, things had changed. His predecessor, Wyldon of Cavall, resigned from the position when he grew to believe that his leniency on fighting among the boys so significantly hindered their education that two actually died because of it. Personally, Padraig disagreed. He had known Joren of Stone Mountain as a boy, the haMinch fiefdom being relatively near that of Stone Mountain, and the vicious streak was just as present in the youth as in the man ultimately deemed unworthy by the Chamber.
Though in that one case Padraig did not believe the common brawls among the pages to be responsible, he was not an unintelligent man, and during his years as training master, it became clear to him that, generally, Wyldon was right. The violent rivalries among the pages and squires were entirely out of hand, and had been for quite some time. Upon discussion, Padraig found that many of the senior knights of the realm, and the king himself, agreed that it was foolish to allow the future knights of Tortall destroy themselves over childish competition. And so the general policies on fighting among the pages were, for the first time in decades, really enforced. The slaps on the wrists were gone, and Padraig had made no exceptions to his punishments in years.
This, he mentally sighed, was why he certainly couldn't start now, no matter who stood before his desk with a split lip and a growing black eye, as Jasson of Conte, the youngest prince of the realm, now was. Beside him stood Emrest of Nenan, similarly decorated with blooming purple bruises and a shallow cut across his forehead. This, in and of itself, surprised Padraig; Jasson and Emrest were not the closest of friends, perhaps, but the belonged to the same small social circle, and had never had any problems before. Adding to the peculiarity of the situation was the lack of the usual stormy faces boys brought in for punishment wore. The pair, instead, each displayed expressions of embarrassment, punctuated by the occasional apologetic glances they sent one another every so often. All this Padraig noted in silence, letting long, uncomfortable moments go by before be began to speak, as was generally the custom.
Finally, he shifted in his chair, placing his palms against the wood of the desk as he looked from one boy to the other. "Would either of you care to explain this?"
Emrest moved his gaze uneasily from Padraig to Jasson, who shrugged, and then focused his attention on his training master. "We lost our tempers over something foolish, sir." Eyes flickering to Emrest briefly, he went on, "We are both very ashamed of ourselves and will serve our punishment without complaint."
"May I inquire," Padraig began, his stare serious beneath heavy brows, "what drove you to lose your tempers to the point where you would engage in blows not only in front of other pages, but Swordsmaster Colbey, as well?"
Again, Jasson answered only after a silent look in his companion's direction. "A disagreement we had regarding a bet, sir."
"Which we have since resolved," Emrest said, finally adding his voice to the discussion.
"Oh, a bet," Padraig said, not entirely able to keep the dry tone he was becoming known for from creeping into his voice. "How unusual among my pages. Enlighten me, what about this bet was so controversial?"
This question brought a much longer pause from the boys than the others; both shifted their weight, reluctant to explain. It was Jasson again who spoke up. "We did not entirely agree on the reward for the winner."
Padraig toyed with the idea of questioning for the specifics, but judging by the flush growing on Emrest's face, and the extremely displeased frown on Jasson's, he decided that he probably would rather not know. "Very well," he said, sitting back in his seat. "You will both be suspended from leaving the palace grounds for the next three months, to begin with. You will also each report to me first thing tomorrow morning, so that I may give you the rest of your individual punishments. Emrest, may I remind you that this is the second time you have been called her for fighting. Should this happen again, you and I will need to have a very serious discussion regarding your future here. Both of you will report to Duke Baird at once."
Dismissed, the boys did not waste time exiting the office. Padraig could hear a muffled conversation begin just outside the door a moment later. Ignoring it, he returned to his papers.
-
In the hall outside, a petite young woman situated in an alcove near the door to the training master's office looked up as that door opened suddenly. She watched quietly as the two boys exited, shutting the door behind them. Both sighed heavily, as if they had been perhaps holding their breaths for their time in the office, and then looked at each other seriously.
"Sorry," Jasson finally said, running a hair through his dark hair awkwardly.
Emrest nodded, abashed. "Me too."
"You deserved it."
"I know." Accepting the extended hand Jasson was offering him and shaking it, Emrest offered a crooked grin, breaking the lingering tension. "We'll hear about this from everyone, you know that, right?"
Jasson could not help but laugh. "Absolutely."
He was about to continue further when he was interrupted by a voice from behind him. "So, you did start a fight then."
Both boys turned suddenly, startled. Emrest immediately flushed and bowed, eyes on the floor. "Your Highness."
"It's not polite to eavesdrop," Jasson said, arms folding across his chest. "Not at all ladylike."
Lianne of Conte offered her younger brother an innocent smile, quite the picture of a demure young lady, though she knew Jasson knew otherwise. "I wasn't eavesdropping at all! I just happened to be passing by when I saw you."
"I'm sure," Jasson drawled, quickly shooting Emrest a meaningful. Emrest bowed again, clearly flustered, and fled down the hall towards the healers'. "Who told you?"
"Liam," Lianne said simply, pretenses gone. "And Alan. Apparently you started shouting in the middle of the sparring room and then flung yourself at poor Emrest in front of all your mates and some knights who were watching and the swordmaster. I've been told it was very dramatic. Or really funny. Depending on who I was talking to."
Jasson made a face at her and set off down the hallway, quite rightly confident that she would follow. "Remind me you said that next time I try not to laugh in Liam's face when he goes on about some girl."
"I'll try to remember," Lianne offered, grave tone not matching her grin in the least. "What'd he say to you?"
"Nothing."
Lianne rolled her eyes, slipping her arm through his and leaning against him with a charming smile. "It's not very nice to tell lies to your sister, Jasson. It hurts my feelings."
"I'm sure." Despite the annoyance in his voice, Jasson slowed his pace to match hers and did not shrug her arm off. He did, however, pinch her forearm with his other hand, and then ignore her yelp of protest.
"Please tell me?"
He sighed, feeling his resolve give in. Lianne had always been able to get him to tell her anything, and she knew it perfectly well. There was a time when Jasson, at the extremely indignant age of 7, had told her to mind her own business and leave him alone when she had gone to him for gossip, but she had completely ignored him, a tradition which generally continued.
"He and I had made a bet last week, but we didn't agree to the terms. Today he said that if I won he'd keep his cousin Amari from bothering me all night as usual, but if he won, he wanted me to talk you into a few dances at the ball this evening."
Though she found the stalwart defense of her brothers' sweet, if not annoying at times, Lianne could not contain the peal of laughter that his explanation caused. "So, you hit him?"
"Not right away," he sniffed.
"My champion. Well, I'm touched – really, I am. But it wasn't necessary. Uncle George visited me this morning, and I've already promised him all my dances, so I won't have the time." Lianne offered him a sideways grin, eyes dancing impishly. "But Jasson, please try to get used to being nicer to all my many suitors. You can't beat all of them up."
He scowled and pinched her again.