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FIC: Make A Wish (au!SotL)
TITLE: Make a Wish
FANDOM: (au!)Song of the Lioness
PAIRING: Implied Delia/Roger
RATING: PG
WORDS: 1, 432
DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations belong to Tamora Pierce, I’m just playing.
NOTES: These versions of the Song of the Lioness characters are AU, originally developed for a game on LJ, but I think they work on their own, too.
EXTRACT: ...every child knows that a shooting star can grant anything...as long as no one hears.
Make a Wish
A shooting star, a dying piece of light; falling from the dark bowl of the sky towards the horizon. It is falling to where the pot of gold is kept, and some people think that’s where it lands. A pot of star-gold at the end of the rainbow, perhaps. Other people think that the star never makes it to the ground, that it uses its last magic on those who dream. Powerful magic, fragile magic; every child knows that a shooting star can grant anything…as long as no one hears.
Make a wish.
--
Two children, born in May. Red hair and violet eyes, a boy and a girl, each with a Gift and a dream. Their mother died to bring them into this world, so they are raised by servants instead of their absent-minded father. The boy wants to study, to read, and understand how he can walk with the gods like sorcerers past. The girl wants to fight, to earn her shield and have adventures like the warrior-maidens of legend.
They are out camping with their sergeant-at-arms, learning how to take care of themselves in the wild. Both of them, not just the boy, because to teach one twin is to teach the other, poor motherless things. The girl grabs her bother’s arm and points up at the sky.
“Look, Thom! A shooting star!”
He twists and turns, and then scowls. “I can’t see-“ His twin has her eyes shut, so he pokes her.
“Hey! I was making a wish!”
“I couldn’t see it.”
“That’s alright, my wish was for both us.”
“…what did you wish for?”
“I can’t tell you, otherwise it won’t come true.”
“Well, if it’s my wish as well…”
“Oh, alright.” She leans close, and whispers in his ear, “I wished we could both be free to do whatever we want.”
The sergeant-at-arms doesn’t have the heart to tell the children that he heard them.
--
A slim boy, dark and the child of April. An only child, born too early for his mother to bear anymore, he is quiet, courteous, and just a little weird. The heir to an extensive and rich estate, his father teaches him about duty and honour, about the importance of doing the right thing and to always follow his conscience.
He stands in the Duke’s study, straight and as tall as he can, self-assured despite the bloody lip and torn uniform. He has been fighting, again, and this time the Duke is in full lecture mode. He speaks to the page about the duty that one noble owes another, about keeping the peace in the palace, and about people who become bullies. The boy’s self-confidence begins to waver, and he frowns as the lessons that his father taught him and the Duke’s lecture blur into a kaleidoscope of conflicting ideas. He looks out the open window at the clear night sky, and sees a dying star.
“I wish I could do what was right,” he whispers.
“Alexander.” The Duke’s voice is oddly gentle, and the boy turns to face him. “That is what we are trying to teach you, Alexander. Right and wrong, and the Code of Chivalry. An extra hour of Ethics for a month.”
The Duke holds out his hand to be kissed, and thinks the matter closed.
--
The middle child, born on the Night of the Dead. An ordinary child despite that, most people say. They ignore the strength in her thin frame, the fierce intelligence in her green eyes, and tell her parents Delia’s such a pretty girl. Of all the daughters born to her tired, beautiful mother, she is the only one who lives. She does not care for right or wrong, or for the heroes of the past; what good are they to her, a girl who grew up in a hall with fire-scorched beams and sword-cuts in the doors. She wants the future, wants it to be bigger, brighter then this…
A small girl, a skinny girl, she is leaning against the wall of her convent cell with her arms curled around her empty stomach. No dinner for those who answer back, and it doesn’t matter that she eats like a bird because she still eats. She is tired, and hungry, and wants her mother, for all she died when the girl was seven. But her pride forbids her to cry, so she blinks away the angry tears and looks out of the window. A star is dying, falling, shooting across the sky…
Silently, so no one can hear but her, she whispers in her mind, I wish I was happy.
--
How long between shooting stars? Twenty years, ten, five…a few months, and sometimes only a few moments. One thing is certain, another star will always die and another wish will always be granted…
--
A woman, born in May with her father’s red hair and her mother’s violet eyes. Gifted, though untrained, a dreamer whose dreams have turned to dust, a sister and a twin to a dead brother. As a lady, she’s dressed in silks and jewels. As a fighter, she is only a beginner.
She paces in her room, pulling pins out of her hair and kicking her tight shoes across the floor. Feeling trapped, breathless, she runs over to the open window and takes a deep breath of night air. A ghost of a memory of her and her brother in the woods, camping under the light of a dying star, and she looks up to see another falling star. Make a wish, Alanna, make a wish…
Softly, so only she can hear, “I wish I was free.”
(her brother’s soul rests at a place where time and space meet for their end night after night; he sees many stars die; he never makes a wish)
--
A man, born in the middle month of spring. Slim and dark, the lord of his alcoholic father’s estate, he is still quiet, still courteous. But deadly, now, almost impossibly quick with a blade and renowned as much for that skill as for his eccentric ways. The ethics lessons had only strengthened his own conviction, but things are never so clear cut in practice. In theory, in theory everything he does is right…
Green eyes dark with guilt, he watches a youthful knight fade away into the shades and wants the memory of those haunted hazel eyes to leave with their owner. Muttering a helpless curse, he hits a tree and slides to the ground. Still stained with the blood of battle, the young knight rests his head against the bark and stares up at a patch of sky. Dark, so dark, with a single dying star falling the ground; he has a memory of another star and smiles. Make a wish, Alex, make a wish…
Quietly, so only he can hear, “I wish I was right.”
--
A woman, born on the last day of October when the winds begin to get cold. The youngest of her parents’ children to survive to adulthood, she is still small and slender, still with the glint of intelligence in her bright eyes, still pretty. Right and wrong matter to her now, but only as an appearance, as a means to an end. Her father and brother might still eat in a hall of scorched beams, but she is the mistress of the king, the mother of his children, and her future is bright and brighter.
She is standing at the battlements with her little son, her arms around him so he doesn’t fall from the wall. They are looking up at the clear night, waiting for a shooting star as they do most nights before she puts him and his twin sister to bed. It is getting late, but before she suggests that they go inside, he points.
“Mama, look! A shooting star!” She laughs at that, and hugs him close.
“Make a wish, Andy, in your heart, so it comes true,” she tells him softly. She doesn’t make a wish for herself, for she knows not to ask the gods for too much. Her son scrunches up his bright green eyes and his lips move silently. Nodding to himself, he opens his eyes again and leans back into her embrace.
“Made my wish, Mama.”
--
A shooting star, a dying star; falling to the horizon from the dark night sky. Everyone knows that it is a magic star and a magic star can grant anything a dreamer asks, as long as no one hears.
Make a wish, child, make a wish…
FANDOM: (au!)Song of the Lioness
PAIRING: Implied Delia/Roger
RATING: PG
WORDS: 1, 432
DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations belong to Tamora Pierce, I’m just playing.
NOTES: These versions of the Song of the Lioness characters are AU, originally developed for a game on LJ, but I think they work on their own, too.
EXTRACT: ...every child knows that a shooting star can grant anything...as long as no one hears.
A shooting star, a dying piece of light; falling from the dark bowl of the sky towards the horizon. It is falling to where the pot of gold is kept, and some people think that’s where it lands. A pot of star-gold at the end of the rainbow, perhaps. Other people think that the star never makes it to the ground, that it uses its last magic on those who dream. Powerful magic, fragile magic; every child knows that a shooting star can grant anything…as long as no one hears.
Make a wish.
--
Two children, born in May. Red hair and violet eyes, a boy and a girl, each with a Gift and a dream. Their mother died to bring them into this world, so they are raised by servants instead of their absent-minded father. The boy wants to study, to read, and understand how he can walk with the gods like sorcerers past. The girl wants to fight, to earn her shield and have adventures like the warrior-maidens of legend.
They are out camping with their sergeant-at-arms, learning how to take care of themselves in the wild. Both of them, not just the boy, because to teach one twin is to teach the other, poor motherless things. The girl grabs her bother’s arm and points up at the sky.
“Look, Thom! A shooting star!”
He twists and turns, and then scowls. “I can’t see-“ His twin has her eyes shut, so he pokes her.
“Hey! I was making a wish!”
“I couldn’t see it.”
“That’s alright, my wish was for both us.”
“…what did you wish for?”
“I can’t tell you, otherwise it won’t come true.”
“Well, if it’s my wish as well…”
“Oh, alright.” She leans close, and whispers in his ear, “I wished we could both be free to do whatever we want.”
The sergeant-at-arms doesn’t have the heart to tell the children that he heard them.
--
A slim boy, dark and the child of April. An only child, born too early for his mother to bear anymore, he is quiet, courteous, and just a little weird. The heir to an extensive and rich estate, his father teaches him about duty and honour, about the importance of doing the right thing and to always follow his conscience.
He stands in the Duke’s study, straight and as tall as he can, self-assured despite the bloody lip and torn uniform. He has been fighting, again, and this time the Duke is in full lecture mode. He speaks to the page about the duty that one noble owes another, about keeping the peace in the palace, and about people who become bullies. The boy’s self-confidence begins to waver, and he frowns as the lessons that his father taught him and the Duke’s lecture blur into a kaleidoscope of conflicting ideas. He looks out the open window at the clear night sky, and sees a dying star.
“I wish I could do what was right,” he whispers.
“Alexander.” The Duke’s voice is oddly gentle, and the boy turns to face him. “That is what we are trying to teach you, Alexander. Right and wrong, and the Code of Chivalry. An extra hour of Ethics for a month.”
The Duke holds out his hand to be kissed, and thinks the matter closed.
--
The middle child, born on the Night of the Dead. An ordinary child despite that, most people say. They ignore the strength in her thin frame, the fierce intelligence in her green eyes, and tell her parents Delia’s such a pretty girl. Of all the daughters born to her tired, beautiful mother, she is the only one who lives. She does not care for right or wrong, or for the heroes of the past; what good are they to her, a girl who grew up in a hall with fire-scorched beams and sword-cuts in the doors. She wants the future, wants it to be bigger, brighter then this…
A small girl, a skinny girl, she is leaning against the wall of her convent cell with her arms curled around her empty stomach. No dinner for those who answer back, and it doesn’t matter that she eats like a bird because she still eats. She is tired, and hungry, and wants her mother, for all she died when the girl was seven. But her pride forbids her to cry, so she blinks away the angry tears and looks out of the window. A star is dying, falling, shooting across the sky…
Silently, so no one can hear but her, she whispers in her mind, I wish I was happy.
--
How long between shooting stars? Twenty years, ten, five…a few months, and sometimes only a few moments. One thing is certain, another star will always die and another wish will always be granted…
--
A woman, born in May with her father’s red hair and her mother’s violet eyes. Gifted, though untrained, a dreamer whose dreams have turned to dust, a sister and a twin to a dead brother. As a lady, she’s dressed in silks and jewels. As a fighter, she is only a beginner.
She paces in her room, pulling pins out of her hair and kicking her tight shoes across the floor. Feeling trapped, breathless, she runs over to the open window and takes a deep breath of night air. A ghost of a memory of her and her brother in the woods, camping under the light of a dying star, and she looks up to see another falling star. Make a wish, Alanna, make a wish…
Softly, so only she can hear, “I wish I was free.”
(her brother’s soul rests at a place where time and space meet for their end night after night; he sees many stars die; he never makes a wish)
--
A man, born in the middle month of spring. Slim and dark, the lord of his alcoholic father’s estate, he is still quiet, still courteous. But deadly, now, almost impossibly quick with a blade and renowned as much for that skill as for his eccentric ways. The ethics lessons had only strengthened his own conviction, but things are never so clear cut in practice. In theory, in theory everything he does is right…
Green eyes dark with guilt, he watches a youthful knight fade away into the shades and wants the memory of those haunted hazel eyes to leave with their owner. Muttering a helpless curse, he hits a tree and slides to the ground. Still stained with the blood of battle, the young knight rests his head against the bark and stares up at a patch of sky. Dark, so dark, with a single dying star falling the ground; he has a memory of another star and smiles. Make a wish, Alex, make a wish…
Quietly, so only he can hear, “I wish I was right.”
--
A woman, born on the last day of October when the winds begin to get cold. The youngest of her parents’ children to survive to adulthood, she is still small and slender, still with the glint of intelligence in her bright eyes, still pretty. Right and wrong matter to her now, but only as an appearance, as a means to an end. Her father and brother might still eat in a hall of scorched beams, but she is the mistress of the king, the mother of his children, and her future is bright and brighter.
She is standing at the battlements with her little son, her arms around him so he doesn’t fall from the wall. They are looking up at the clear night, waiting for a shooting star as they do most nights before she puts him and his twin sister to bed. It is getting late, but before she suggests that they go inside, he points.
“Mama, look! A shooting star!” She laughs at that, and hugs him close.
“Make a wish, Andy, in your heart, so it comes true,” she tells him softly. She doesn’t make a wish for herself, for she knows not to ask the gods for too much. Her son scrunches up his bright green eyes and his lips move silently. Nodding to himself, he opens his eyes again and leans back into her embrace.
“Made my wish, Mama.”
--
A shooting star, a dying star; falling to the horizon from the dark night sky. Everyone knows that it is a magic star and a magic star can grant anything a dreamer asks, as long as no one hears.
Make a wish, child, make a wish…