Categories > Original > Fantasy > The Whims of Lady Luck
.........
I was never intended to be a peasant brat. My mother was a lady; high class was practically her middle name. My father, in turn, was the governor of a fairly large town-large enough to have more than once class, and large enough to give considerable weight to his words at Court.
But my mother, Lady of Wrynne, died of a wasting sickness when I was no more than thirteen years of age. Her kindness, her grace, and her beauty were lost forever, and it seemed that our family died with her. My father, good man that he is, succumbed to devastation after her loss, and could no longer govern the town in which we had lived for so long, but the King was not content to leave a man of my father's talents lie idle.
My father and myself were sent the village of Pwaith, a tiny backwater village that my father would grace as mayor, and I would haunt as a reminder of why children raised as nobles should not be uprooted at tender ages and left to their own devices. How was I to make friends and divert myself when I had been educated at Court and brought up to be a gentleman, and these peasants could barely mark an X on a document, much less sign their names!
I was marked as an outcast from the first. I had only to speak a sentence before we could all grasp the very different intellectual levels presented, and they took me for arrogant long before I lived up to that standard. Of course, once I realized that wearing clothes that had been tailored for me and reading in public were unforgivable offenses to their very souls, I had been already forced into the role of the arrogant young master.
I wore my hair long, as was the current style at Court, and because I spent my life as a scholar, I was both pale and had skin that didn't resemble old leather. The boys of the village had branded me weak and effeminate, due to the delicate features I'd inherited from my mother and my hair which, being naturally waved and black, was apparently the ideal of the woman in the most current popular folk songs. Having not been warned that I am rather skilled with a bow and knife, they attempted to rough me up one day and ended up stuck to trees for most of that afternoon. Though I spent the next day fletching arrows, I was more than content with the memory of my would-be tormentors screaming in fright.
That was also the day the villagers labeled me "cruel" and even "savage," as if I had provoked an attack upon my person in order to shame the fools, rather than defended myself. But I was nothing like the ideal that had been set before their eyes, and they would have sooner given over those eyes than favorably compare me to their picture of perfection: Samuel of Pwaith.
Samuel, who managed to keep an inch's worth of height on me throughout our adolescence, who was blond where I was dark, and had charming blue eyes instead of green, which were known to be the mark of "mischief" to superstitious peasants. Samuel, who was stronger than I if not faster, and trained in swordsmanship if not in bow, and who never once appeared affected if I were to win or lose against him. Samuel, who was consistently kind, gentle, and moderately intelligent, and who had been working to gain my friendship from the very start.
I hate him.
.........
Without a set schedule of lessons to rely upon, my day is scattered and wasted. I've tried imposing order over it, even going so far as attending to chores, but my efforts are unrecognized and, ultimately, pointless. So I take to the forest which surrounds Pwaith, amusing myself by hunting and reading, or teaching myself to nap in trees. I leave early in the morning, around sun-up, and am gone until the night-an arrangement that has served my father and myself well for almost two years.
Today, I planned to spend a good deal of my time reading, but I find I grabbed a book I've read before: "The Song of Aden." Absolute drivel. So, instead, I climb a tree and wedge myself carefully into the branches, planning to fall asleep, but of course this plan, too, backfires.
It's not by any fault of my own, however. My eyes are just closing, feeling the weight of warm sunlight, when I hear Samuel call up to me, "Merrin!"
No matter how well I hide, and I'm certain I know enough about hunting and tracking to hide quite well, Samuel always manages to find me. If he weren't so innocent and pure, perfectly guileless, I'd suspect witchcraft. As it is, I bury my head in my arms and try to forget that he is here, staring up at me.
"Merrin, I can see you! Come down!" Samuel is laughing. He tends to think that my rude behaviors are a joke. If only I could strangle him, and prove otherwise.
"It's important," he calls up, his tone oddly pleasant and even wheedling. But I am hardly one of his flock, to be driven to pasture and then home at his whim. I pretend that I am deaf, or even dead.
"Very well, Merrin, but... you asked for it!"
Pardon? I raise my head just as he jumps up, climbing the tree with a natural ease, like a squirrel. In ten seconds he is staring directly into my face. Damn him.
"What do you want?" I growl, narrowing my eyes to slits.
He simply smiles, bright and engaging. "Your father is making an announcement. He asked me to find you."
Oh, I've already heard this one. Samuel is to be knighted today, and sent out into the wide, wild world to make a name for himself and the village. The last place on the face of the earth I wish to be during Father's announcement is in the crowd, watching Samuel receive a chance to escape this hell which he finds pleasant, while I am left here to rot.
"Go ahead, and I'll catch up," I say, reaching for the bag I have hanging on a nearby branch, which holds my belongings.
Samuel shakes his head. "Oh no. Last time you said that I had to spend another two hours chasing you down."
Did he ever consider that I didn't want to be found? "Then tell my father I'll be there later," I say, re-hanging the bag as my ruse hasn't worked. "Give him my regrets."
"Merrin," Samuel says warningly, leaning closer. We are already close enough to feel the other's breath; how much closer does he have to be? "He told me to find you. It's important!"
I lean back as much as I can in the tree. "It's not important to me."
"We are going," he says, and grabs my arm. I go very still.
"Let go of me."
"No."
"Let go." My voice is colder than ice, but it doesn't impress
Samuel. He grins, as if this is a game.
"Make me."
The bastard! I try to yank my arm away, but I don't have enough leverage and he pulls back, sending us both tumbling out of the tree.
"Ow!"
"Godsdamnit!"
The only blessings being that I didn't hit many branches going down and I landed on something soft, I raise my head and realize that I've landed on top of Samuel.
"I'm sorry," he says, blushing and looking away.
"You should be," I reply, jumping up and looking for my bag, which is still hanging up in the tree, innocent and unscathed. "Damnit!"
"I'll get it," Samuel offers, standing up and brushing himself off. I ignore him and start climbing up again, wincing at the few fresh scratches I can feel protesting, and pause only to brush my hair out of my eyes.
"Are you coming back down?" he calls after me. I don't even bother to answer. If he expects that, then he's truly peasant stock.
"I'll pull you out again," he threatens, looking up at me with a decidedly serious expression. The effect is somewhat marred by the leaves in his hair.
"You wouldn't," I say, settling back in place. Samuel sighs, shakes his head, and starts up the tree again-the bastard.
"Stop! I'll climb down!" I yell, giving in abruptly. I don't need another trip to the forest floor in a second or less.
Samuel hops down, grinning triumphantly. I hate him.
.........
I was never intended to be a peasant brat. My mother was a lady; high class was practically her middle name. My father, in turn, was the governor of a fairly large town-large enough to have more than once class, and large enough to give considerable weight to his words at Court.
But my mother, Lady of Wrynne, died of a wasting sickness when I was no more than thirteen years of age. Her kindness, her grace, and her beauty were lost forever, and it seemed that our family died with her. My father, good man that he is, succumbed to devastation after her loss, and could no longer govern the town in which we had lived for so long, but the King was not content to leave a man of my father's talents lie idle.
My father and myself were sent the village of Pwaith, a tiny backwater village that my father would grace as mayor, and I would haunt as a reminder of why children raised as nobles should not be uprooted at tender ages and left to their own devices. How was I to make friends and divert myself when I had been educated at Court and brought up to be a gentleman, and these peasants could barely mark an X on a document, much less sign their names!
I was marked as an outcast from the first. I had only to speak a sentence before we could all grasp the very different intellectual levels presented, and they took me for arrogant long before I lived up to that standard. Of course, once I realized that wearing clothes that had been tailored for me and reading in public were unforgivable offenses to their very souls, I had been already forced into the role of the arrogant young master.
I wore my hair long, as was the current style at Court, and because I spent my life as a scholar, I was both pale and had skin that didn't resemble old leather. The boys of the village had branded me weak and effeminate, due to the delicate features I'd inherited from my mother and my hair which, being naturally waved and black, was apparently the ideal of the woman in the most current popular folk songs. Having not been warned that I am rather skilled with a bow and knife, they attempted to rough me up one day and ended up stuck to trees for most of that afternoon. Though I spent the next day fletching arrows, I was more than content with the memory of my would-be tormentors screaming in fright.
That was also the day the villagers labeled me "cruel" and even "savage," as if I had provoked an attack upon my person in order to shame the fools, rather than defended myself. But I was nothing like the ideal that had been set before their eyes, and they would have sooner given over those eyes than favorably compare me to their picture of perfection: Samuel of Pwaith.
Samuel, who managed to keep an inch's worth of height on me throughout our adolescence, who was blond where I was dark, and had charming blue eyes instead of green, which were known to be the mark of "mischief" to superstitious peasants. Samuel, who was stronger than I if not faster, and trained in swordsmanship if not in bow, and who never once appeared affected if I were to win or lose against him. Samuel, who was consistently kind, gentle, and moderately intelligent, and who had been working to gain my friendship from the very start.
I hate him.
.........
Without a set schedule of lessons to rely upon, my day is scattered and wasted. I've tried imposing order over it, even going so far as attending to chores, but my efforts are unrecognized and, ultimately, pointless. So I take to the forest which surrounds Pwaith, amusing myself by hunting and reading, or teaching myself to nap in trees. I leave early in the morning, around sun-up, and am gone until the night-an arrangement that has served my father and myself well for almost two years.
Today, I planned to spend a good deal of my time reading, but I find I grabbed a book I've read before: "The Song of Aden." Absolute drivel. So, instead, I climb a tree and wedge myself carefully into the branches, planning to fall asleep, but of course this plan, too, backfires.
It's not by any fault of my own, however. My eyes are just closing, feeling the weight of warm sunlight, when I hear Samuel call up to me, "Merrin!"
No matter how well I hide, and I'm certain I know enough about hunting and tracking to hide quite well, Samuel always manages to find me. If he weren't so innocent and pure, perfectly guileless, I'd suspect witchcraft. As it is, I bury my head in my arms and try to forget that he is here, staring up at me.
"Merrin, I can see you! Come down!" Samuel is laughing. He tends to think that my rude behaviors are a joke. If only I could strangle him, and prove otherwise.
"It's important," he calls up, his tone oddly pleasant and even wheedling. But I am hardly one of his flock, to be driven to pasture and then home at his whim. I pretend that I am deaf, or even dead.
"Very well, Merrin, but... you asked for it!"
Pardon? I raise my head just as he jumps up, climbing the tree with a natural ease, like a squirrel. In ten seconds he is staring directly into my face. Damn him.
"What do you want?" I growl, narrowing my eyes to slits.
He simply smiles, bright and engaging. "Your father is making an announcement. He asked me to find you."
Oh, I've already heard this one. Samuel is to be knighted today, and sent out into the wide, wild world to make a name for himself and the village. The last place on the face of the earth I wish to be during Father's announcement is in the crowd, watching Samuel receive a chance to escape this hell which he finds pleasant, while I am left here to rot.
"Go ahead, and I'll catch up," I say, reaching for the bag I have hanging on a nearby branch, which holds my belongings.
Samuel shakes his head. "Oh no. Last time you said that I had to spend another two hours chasing you down."
Did he ever consider that I didn't want to be found? "Then tell my father I'll be there later," I say, re-hanging the bag as my ruse hasn't worked. "Give him my regrets."
"Merrin," Samuel says warningly, leaning closer. We are already close enough to feel the other's breath; how much closer does he have to be? "He told me to find you. It's important!"
I lean back as much as I can in the tree. "It's not important to me."
"We are going," he says, and grabs my arm. I go very still.
"Let go of me."
"No."
"Let go." My voice is colder than ice, but it doesn't impress
Samuel. He grins, as if this is a game.
"Make me."
The bastard! I try to yank my arm away, but I don't have enough leverage and he pulls back, sending us both tumbling out of the tree.
"Ow!"
"Godsdamnit!"
The only blessings being that I didn't hit many branches going down and I landed on something soft, I raise my head and realize that I've landed on top of Samuel.
"I'm sorry," he says, blushing and looking away.
"You should be," I reply, jumping up and looking for my bag, which is still hanging up in the tree, innocent and unscathed. "Damnit!"
"I'll get it," Samuel offers, standing up and brushing himself off. I ignore him and start climbing up again, wincing at the few fresh scratches I can feel protesting, and pause only to brush my hair out of my eyes.
"Are you coming back down?" he calls after me. I don't even bother to answer. If he expects that, then he's truly peasant stock.
"I'll pull you out again," he threatens, looking up at me with a decidedly serious expression. The effect is somewhat marred by the leaves in his hair.
"You wouldn't," I say, settling back in place. Samuel sighs, shakes his head, and starts up the tree again-the bastard.
"Stop! I'll climb down!" I yell, giving in abruptly. I don't need another trip to the forest floor in a second or less.
Samuel hops down, grinning triumphantly. I hate him.
.........
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