Categories > Original > Fantasy > The Whims of Lady Luck
.........
We stumble into a town too small to be drawn on our map around late afternoon, early evening the day after Samuel kills his first man. If it were my decision, I'd be the one riding front and leading Alistair, but a hero is generally adamant in maintaining some semblance of ability. Samuel is no exception to this rule.
"Samuel." I point to the right as he leads us into the square. He blinks and checks Alistair; he very nearly led us past the inn. I can feel him tense a bit and prepare a sour remark should he even attempt to pass it off. If he refuses to stay for his own benefit, then I will insist he stay for mine.
Though I'm not entirely certain I like the looks of this place. The townspeople are quiet, watching us with shadowed eyes. I've moved through small towns before; adults tend to stay back and gawk while children move in like scavengers, frightening the horses and laughing witlessly when they just miss being kicked in the head. The children here are staying back, not even whispering among themselves.
The inn doesn't inspire much confidence in me, either. Heavy shutters on the upper windows, and bars along those on the ground floor, both of which seem hastily tacked on and poorly thought-out. But the bandits that Samuel and I killed might be to blame for that.
I swing myself from Alistair before Samuel can give voice to whatever he may be thinking, if he is capable of anything more than a childish remorse at the moment. "Is there an innkeeper about?" I ask, directing the question to the young boy standing near the door of the place. "And don't bother to answer unless there's stable."
"Merrin," Samuel mutters. I smirk upon hearing his exasperated tone.
My brusqueness pays off when the innkeeper arrives and Samuel takes over our arrangements. I lead Alistair around to the stable, following the boy, who appears to be the innkeeper's brat. He's at that perfect age of being too old to leave with a nurse, and too young to be trusted with any useful work.
"He's a hero, right?" the boy asks suddenly. He doesn't look up at me, but there's an urgency in his voice that makes me frown. "A real one?"
I think about Samuel and the concept of 'hero' before nodding. "He killed a man only yesterday."
Perhaps it's the way I say these things. I'm not altogether certain the boy's reassured. Nevertheless, he nods and gestures toward an empty stall, and I set about making Alistair comfortable. I haven't had much practice stabling my own horse, but it can't be terribly difficult. And Alistair will kick me if I do something wrong.
The boy has melted away when I turn, though it's no great surprise. I should have said 'villain' instead of 'man,' I suppose. What a shame.
It's as I'm walking back to the inn that I start to wonder why the boy wanted to know.
.........
Samuel's lying on his back on the lone bed in our room when I make it up there. Our room is on the far end of the inn, high enough to catch the rather chilly wind, so of course Samuel has the windows open. I keep my scowl to myself and pile our packs on the cot in which I'll be sleeping, before walking over to pull the shutters together.
"I've ordered us dinner," Samuel says softly as I wrestle the shutters closed, cursing.
"How decent of you," I mutter. The table is set up in the front of the room, where the breeze from the windows would hit hardest, and our lovely vase of violets has spilled. All we need are a few lacy curtains and the place would be unbearably quaint.
"Let me," Samuel says as I start to pick them up, and I back away without a word, suddenly suspicious. He said nothing when I led Alistair to the stables, but he may have been playing peace maker, after hearing my first remarks about the inn. We haven't been on our own very long, and I haven't quite been playing the role I'm supposed to be playing.
'Chronicler' is, as far as reality is concerned, a very fancy word for 'servant.' As a knight, Samuel is considered a gentleman, even a lord. Upon my mother's death, I should have inherited her title, but her cousin contested it and won in light of my age and his ability to take advantage of grief. Until my father's death, I have no title.
And as little as I may like it, appearances are important. In our village, and in the countryside, I have license to treat Samuel as I've always done, but in a town-no matter how small or inconsequential-there are rules to which we must adhere.
Such are my thoughts when there is a knock at the door, and I elbow Samuel viciously when he tries to get there first.
"Yes?" I ask, holding the door close so that our visitor doesn't catch a glimpse of Samuel clutching at his side. Appearances, right? The girl outside the door smiles tremulously, holding up a tray with our food. "Come in, then."
I hold the door open and wait while she deftly serves up our meal, blushes as Samuel greets her, and checks over our room quickly. She's probably been a maid here for years. And I thought my life was hitting a low point.
"Thank you," Samuel says, smiling at her brightly. She blushes again and I almost laugh-Samuel doesn't even seem to realize the effect he has on her.
"I'll be back tomorrow to get you some fresh flowers, sir," she says, curtsying just a bit and turning to leave. She smiles at me and I nod back, letting her out and shutting the door quietly but firmly.
"What a lovely repast," I say, checking the cleanliness of our cutlery. "The bread is, quite possibly, softer than the common rock and the soup looks something more than dirty water. Are we really able to afford such luxuries?"
Samuel doesn't answer. I look up in irritation and he's staring sightlessly at the wall, jaw clenched against whatever it is he is thinking. He hasn't even finished clearing up the violets.
"Enough, Samuel!" I slam my palm down on the table and he jumps. While it may be best to be patient in the face of grief, ignoring one's physical needs never helps. "Sit down and eat."
"Merrin-" Samuel stops, shakes his head, and sits down. I glare at him, ready for an argument, but he doesn't look up. For the entire meal, an uneasy silence reigns.
It's going to be a long night.
.........
I've never been accused of lacking in will. Once I've made a decision, the decision is made. It may as well have been written in stone. In such situations, obstacles only fuel what others call my prideful nature, and I refuse to even think of backing down.
Nevertheless, I hate cots. Sleeping outside is not the same; I don't expect to lie in comfort. In an inn, paying for my room and board, I expect to be able to sleep, not to sit up all night thinking of burning the bit of 'furniture' my host must have scavenged from a torture chamber.
But that would hardly solve my problem, would it? The floor may be more comfortable than this damned cot, as it lacks the abnormally sharp bumps that are working into my back, but I doubt our friendly innkeeper has found a way to stop drafts.
Irritation having moved through into sheer rage at the world, due, of course, to my inability to fall asleep, I roll over to glare at the senseless root of all my current misery and find that Samuel is, in fact, awake.
From where I lie on the cot, I can see the fall of moonlight through the shutters reflected from his open eyes. I can't imagine that the mattress is as uncomfortable as the cot, and so sit up to whisper, "Why are you awake?"
Samuel looks over in surprise, then sits up as well. "Why are you awake?" he counters, possibly thinking himself clever.
Though I want to snarl, I manage to keep my voice cool. "I am not your concern, but you are mine. Is there a problem?
He rolls over, planning to ignore me, but I'm no mood to be dismissed. I crawl out of the damned cot and cross over to his bed quickly and quietly. Samuel starts when I shake his shoulder, and stares up at me with huge eyes.
"Merrin, what are you doing?"
There are tear tracks on his cheeks. With a sigh, feeling as though I've been forced to take on the role of parent to someone I once wanted to push out of a tree, I nudge him aside so as to sit on the edge of his bed. "Maybe it would be better for us both if you were to talk this out."
"Leave it alone," he whispers back harshly. This is possibly the closest we'll ever get to Samuel hitting me in the face. I lean back, resting on my elbow, and settle in for the argument we let fall at dinner.
"If you think I am prepared to leave this be, then you are sadly mistaken," I begin, raising my voice just a bit with each word, and Samuel flinches. "If you refuse to tell me-"
He sits up quickly and puts his hand over my mouth. "Are you going to wake everyone up?"
I nearly smile; his voice now slightly amused and a great deal less angry. If only I could be certain that he'd sleep the night through. He needs to, but I've experience enough with undesirable emotions to know sleep may be elusive. For both us.
"Probably," I say into his palm.
At this, Samuel shifts, sliding even farther over and lifting the covers, inviting me to sleep in his bed. Raising my eyebrows, I comply, lying down and turning to face him. I suppose he needs a friend, and I am the only one around to take the role.
Unless he sleeps in the stable with the horse.
"It will be fine," he says quietly, smiling at me. I feel better, seeing that smile. Perhaps he is working through his remorse. "I'm still upset over the- the bandits. I'll be fine."
Overly sensitive, is my friend Samuel.
.........
Morning arrives with a scream. How promising.
Samuel has already leapt out of bed and is hurriedly pulling on his chain mail. I get up more slowly, stretching to get the kinks out of my back. I'm not used to having to share a bed; I usually spread out all over the place.
I wonder if I tried last night, anyway. It didn't seem like I'd pushed Samuel over to the side of the bed and stolen most of it for myself. In fact, he'd stolen most of the blankets.
My grogginess is slipping away as someone knocks on the door. The girl from yesterday, the one who served us, is crying and trying to say something to Samuel, who pushes past her and is out the door with an apology floating in the air behind him.
I jump up and, since I don't have chain mail to put on, start after him, leaving the girl to cry in our room. Cruelty is in the eye of beholder.
"Samuel!" Halfway down the stairs, Samuel grabs me, pulling me to the side. I choke on my own words and fall against him.
"She says a vampire attacked him," Samuel whispers into my ear. A vampire? And who wasn't missed until morning that the townspeople are crying about now?
"Attacked who?"
"The innkeeper's son." Samuel's breath is uncomfortably warm on my cheek. I think back to the little boy I met yesterday and am suddenly very cold. "We have to find the lair, before it attacks someone else."
What in the hells...?
"We're looking for a vampire's lair?" I repeat rather stupidly. This whole thing has happened just a bit too fast for me. I am not at my best early in the day. "You are going to tell these people that you and I are going to slay their vampire? Where are we going to look?"
Samuel lets me go, biting his lip. "I don't know quite yet."
Wonderful.
.........
We stumble into a town too small to be drawn on our map around late afternoon, early evening the day after Samuel kills his first man. If it were my decision, I'd be the one riding front and leading Alistair, but a hero is generally adamant in maintaining some semblance of ability. Samuel is no exception to this rule.
"Samuel." I point to the right as he leads us into the square. He blinks and checks Alistair; he very nearly led us past the inn. I can feel him tense a bit and prepare a sour remark should he even attempt to pass it off. If he refuses to stay for his own benefit, then I will insist he stay for mine.
Though I'm not entirely certain I like the looks of this place. The townspeople are quiet, watching us with shadowed eyes. I've moved through small towns before; adults tend to stay back and gawk while children move in like scavengers, frightening the horses and laughing witlessly when they just miss being kicked in the head. The children here are staying back, not even whispering among themselves.
The inn doesn't inspire much confidence in me, either. Heavy shutters on the upper windows, and bars along those on the ground floor, both of which seem hastily tacked on and poorly thought-out. But the bandits that Samuel and I killed might be to blame for that.
I swing myself from Alistair before Samuel can give voice to whatever he may be thinking, if he is capable of anything more than a childish remorse at the moment. "Is there an innkeeper about?" I ask, directing the question to the young boy standing near the door of the place. "And don't bother to answer unless there's stable."
"Merrin," Samuel mutters. I smirk upon hearing his exasperated tone.
My brusqueness pays off when the innkeeper arrives and Samuel takes over our arrangements. I lead Alistair around to the stable, following the boy, who appears to be the innkeeper's brat. He's at that perfect age of being too old to leave with a nurse, and too young to be trusted with any useful work.
"He's a hero, right?" the boy asks suddenly. He doesn't look up at me, but there's an urgency in his voice that makes me frown. "A real one?"
I think about Samuel and the concept of 'hero' before nodding. "He killed a man only yesterday."
Perhaps it's the way I say these things. I'm not altogether certain the boy's reassured. Nevertheless, he nods and gestures toward an empty stall, and I set about making Alistair comfortable. I haven't had much practice stabling my own horse, but it can't be terribly difficult. And Alistair will kick me if I do something wrong.
The boy has melted away when I turn, though it's no great surprise. I should have said 'villain' instead of 'man,' I suppose. What a shame.
It's as I'm walking back to the inn that I start to wonder why the boy wanted to know.
.........
Samuel's lying on his back on the lone bed in our room when I make it up there. Our room is on the far end of the inn, high enough to catch the rather chilly wind, so of course Samuel has the windows open. I keep my scowl to myself and pile our packs on the cot in which I'll be sleeping, before walking over to pull the shutters together.
"I've ordered us dinner," Samuel says softly as I wrestle the shutters closed, cursing.
"How decent of you," I mutter. The table is set up in the front of the room, where the breeze from the windows would hit hardest, and our lovely vase of violets has spilled. All we need are a few lacy curtains and the place would be unbearably quaint.
"Let me," Samuel says as I start to pick them up, and I back away without a word, suddenly suspicious. He said nothing when I led Alistair to the stables, but he may have been playing peace maker, after hearing my first remarks about the inn. We haven't been on our own very long, and I haven't quite been playing the role I'm supposed to be playing.
'Chronicler' is, as far as reality is concerned, a very fancy word for 'servant.' As a knight, Samuel is considered a gentleman, even a lord. Upon my mother's death, I should have inherited her title, but her cousin contested it and won in light of my age and his ability to take advantage of grief. Until my father's death, I have no title.
And as little as I may like it, appearances are important. In our village, and in the countryside, I have license to treat Samuel as I've always done, but in a town-no matter how small or inconsequential-there are rules to which we must adhere.
Such are my thoughts when there is a knock at the door, and I elbow Samuel viciously when he tries to get there first.
"Yes?" I ask, holding the door close so that our visitor doesn't catch a glimpse of Samuel clutching at his side. Appearances, right? The girl outside the door smiles tremulously, holding up a tray with our food. "Come in, then."
I hold the door open and wait while she deftly serves up our meal, blushes as Samuel greets her, and checks over our room quickly. She's probably been a maid here for years. And I thought my life was hitting a low point.
"Thank you," Samuel says, smiling at her brightly. She blushes again and I almost laugh-Samuel doesn't even seem to realize the effect he has on her.
"I'll be back tomorrow to get you some fresh flowers, sir," she says, curtsying just a bit and turning to leave. She smiles at me and I nod back, letting her out and shutting the door quietly but firmly.
"What a lovely repast," I say, checking the cleanliness of our cutlery. "The bread is, quite possibly, softer than the common rock and the soup looks something more than dirty water. Are we really able to afford such luxuries?"
Samuel doesn't answer. I look up in irritation and he's staring sightlessly at the wall, jaw clenched against whatever it is he is thinking. He hasn't even finished clearing up the violets.
"Enough, Samuel!" I slam my palm down on the table and he jumps. While it may be best to be patient in the face of grief, ignoring one's physical needs never helps. "Sit down and eat."
"Merrin-" Samuel stops, shakes his head, and sits down. I glare at him, ready for an argument, but he doesn't look up. For the entire meal, an uneasy silence reigns.
It's going to be a long night.
.........
I've never been accused of lacking in will. Once I've made a decision, the decision is made. It may as well have been written in stone. In such situations, obstacles only fuel what others call my prideful nature, and I refuse to even think of backing down.
Nevertheless, I hate cots. Sleeping outside is not the same; I don't expect to lie in comfort. In an inn, paying for my room and board, I expect to be able to sleep, not to sit up all night thinking of burning the bit of 'furniture' my host must have scavenged from a torture chamber.
But that would hardly solve my problem, would it? The floor may be more comfortable than this damned cot, as it lacks the abnormally sharp bumps that are working into my back, but I doubt our friendly innkeeper has found a way to stop drafts.
Irritation having moved through into sheer rage at the world, due, of course, to my inability to fall asleep, I roll over to glare at the senseless root of all my current misery and find that Samuel is, in fact, awake.
From where I lie on the cot, I can see the fall of moonlight through the shutters reflected from his open eyes. I can't imagine that the mattress is as uncomfortable as the cot, and so sit up to whisper, "Why are you awake?"
Samuel looks over in surprise, then sits up as well. "Why are you awake?" he counters, possibly thinking himself clever.
Though I want to snarl, I manage to keep my voice cool. "I am not your concern, but you are mine. Is there a problem?
He rolls over, planning to ignore me, but I'm no mood to be dismissed. I crawl out of the damned cot and cross over to his bed quickly and quietly. Samuel starts when I shake his shoulder, and stares up at me with huge eyes.
"Merrin, what are you doing?"
There are tear tracks on his cheeks. With a sigh, feeling as though I've been forced to take on the role of parent to someone I once wanted to push out of a tree, I nudge him aside so as to sit on the edge of his bed. "Maybe it would be better for us both if you were to talk this out."
"Leave it alone," he whispers back harshly. This is possibly the closest we'll ever get to Samuel hitting me in the face. I lean back, resting on my elbow, and settle in for the argument we let fall at dinner.
"If you think I am prepared to leave this be, then you are sadly mistaken," I begin, raising my voice just a bit with each word, and Samuel flinches. "If you refuse to tell me-"
He sits up quickly and puts his hand over my mouth. "Are you going to wake everyone up?"
I nearly smile; his voice now slightly amused and a great deal less angry. If only I could be certain that he'd sleep the night through. He needs to, but I've experience enough with undesirable emotions to know sleep may be elusive. For both us.
"Probably," I say into his palm.
At this, Samuel shifts, sliding even farther over and lifting the covers, inviting me to sleep in his bed. Raising my eyebrows, I comply, lying down and turning to face him. I suppose he needs a friend, and I am the only one around to take the role.
Unless he sleeps in the stable with the horse.
"It will be fine," he says quietly, smiling at me. I feel better, seeing that smile. Perhaps he is working through his remorse. "I'm still upset over the- the bandits. I'll be fine."
Overly sensitive, is my friend Samuel.
.........
Morning arrives with a scream. How promising.
Samuel has already leapt out of bed and is hurriedly pulling on his chain mail. I get up more slowly, stretching to get the kinks out of my back. I'm not used to having to share a bed; I usually spread out all over the place.
I wonder if I tried last night, anyway. It didn't seem like I'd pushed Samuel over to the side of the bed and stolen most of it for myself. In fact, he'd stolen most of the blankets.
My grogginess is slipping away as someone knocks on the door. The girl from yesterday, the one who served us, is crying and trying to say something to Samuel, who pushes past her and is out the door with an apology floating in the air behind him.
I jump up and, since I don't have chain mail to put on, start after him, leaving the girl to cry in our room. Cruelty is in the eye of beholder.
"Samuel!" Halfway down the stairs, Samuel grabs me, pulling me to the side. I choke on my own words and fall against him.
"She says a vampire attacked him," Samuel whispers into my ear. A vampire? And who wasn't missed until morning that the townspeople are crying about now?
"Attacked who?"
"The innkeeper's son." Samuel's breath is uncomfortably warm on my cheek. I think back to the little boy I met yesterday and am suddenly very cold. "We have to find the lair, before it attacks someone else."
What in the hells...?
"We're looking for a vampire's lair?" I repeat rather stupidly. This whole thing has happened just a bit too fast for me. I am not at my best early in the day. "You are going to tell these people that you and I are going to slay their vampire? Where are we going to look?"
Samuel lets me go, biting his lip. "I don't know quite yet."
Wonderful.
.........
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