Post by aradan on Jul 29, 2006 0:06:59 GMT -5
All I know, all I remember, is this hut, this vale, my Mother. We lived here forever, my Mother and I, tending our few sheep, raising our small patch of crops to supplement the mutton; for from our sheep we received food, clothing, and the small supply of coins their wool gave us. I remember lying on my mat in my little loft, watching as my Mother would spin yarn by the firelight at night. I remember her hands, so fine and nimble, but worn from the work. She would dye the yarns with flowers from the fields; all we had that was in abundance. The hues she was able to create seemed magical to me, as if the lilies, wild roses, purple asters, and daffodils would fuse to the fabric, imparting the sheen of a meadow in spring. I remember she was kind, she always smiled, she sang as she worked, and she never complained.
Her name was Clariisa.
I remember the few times we would go to the town; a small town, almost a village, but to a small boy whose world was a meadow, it spread to the horizon. We would sell our yarns to the Merchant there, who always treated my Mother with respect and kindness, whom he always addressed as My Lady; to me he always gave a sweet and a smile. The townsfolk were another matter; they invariably treated my mother, not with disdain, but a breed of coldness, as if she was there but not, averting their eyes as she would walk past. She on the other hand held her head high and greeted them kindly. It was first from the townsfolk, in hushed whispers that they thought I couldn’t hear, of the name I now bear– Aradan the Baseborn, the bastard. All my questions regarding the father that I had to have but never knew she would not answer, saying only that when I came of age, she would tell me all. All she would say was that I had his keen blue eyes, his quiet strength, his grace of movement, and his kind and good heart.
She was the only family I ever had.
The only man I ever really knew was Garrard. Where he lived was the wilds, his roof the sky. Every once in a while he would return from his travels, bring us news of the world outside our world. I remember him and my Mother talking into the night, their eyes smiling, their voices low and rising with the smoke from the fire through the smoke hole in the roof. I remember that as I grew how he would show me his weapons, his bow and sword. He taught me some of their use, and would let me practice with them, for by my work on the farm I grew into a strong youth, and could handle the weapons well he said. He showed me a tip here, a word of advice there; not much – he was a quiet man, as most solitary hunters are. He told me the world outside was not peaceful, and a man needed to learn to protect himself and those he loved. It was only later that I discovered that he was our protector, as he kept the things in the dark of the nights at bay, shielding our world, shielding us.
I will miss them both.
It was late spring, my seventeenth spring, a soft rain falling watering the meadow, when they came. The rain had made the world silent, so our warning was a foot through the door, a snarled command. I was asleep in the loft when the Orcs came in. I later learned they were but a small scouting party, as the main assault was on the town, which they destroyed, looted, burned. Our fire was still burning, so its light gave my Mother the precious few seconds she had left, as their eyes adjusted to its glow; she snatched a knife and slashed at the leader, cutting deep into his snout, causing his every breath to send out a pink cloud. Then the Orc looked at her and smiled, a hideous sight.
I will never forget the sound her head made as it hit the dirt floor.
I sprang from my mat, but an axe thrown from one of the orcs grazed my head, dazing me. And then he was there, Garrard; cutting and slashing his way through the orcs, like a peasant reaping his wheat at harvest, silent tears rolling down his face. He slew them with ease, his every motion displaying a workaday effortlessness, until he fell the others and stood before the leader. The huge orc just stood there, not even moving as his allies were cut down, grinning as if battle was what he desired, what he lusted after; and it was. Then the Orc attacked, and it was as if the whirlwind had appeared, but Garrard stood firm, his blades flashing as he parried, thrusted, slashed, dancing the dance of war, of death. He held firm, and then slowly gained the mastery over the Orc, who started to see his doom approaching, when fate struck. For an orc, who had fallen earlier and lay unmoving behind Garrard, silently rose to his knees and thrust up with a wicked, twisted dagger into Garrard’s back; it was the opening the leader had been waiting for. His sword pierced guard, and hauberk, and flesh, its point sticking out Garrard’s back; he fell next to my Mother. The leader wrested Garrard’s red sword from his grip, spraying his blood on them both as he looked into Garrard’s eyes, seeing approaching death written there, and smiled a last time, saying only “enjoy”. The two orcs fled then, for it was obvious there was nothing else to loot, and I lay unmoving.
I remember climbing down to look upon the ruination of my world.
I held her hand, her head; but the light, the joy, had fled from her eyes with the sword swing that took her life. How long I sat there I do not know, but after a while my eyes saw, my ears heard labored breathing not my own. I looked into Garrard’s eyes, and saw him looking at my Mother’s head, saw his pain, and knew then that he loved her. He told me how he had tracked the orcs through the woods, and when he saw where they were headed, how he tried to intercept them, only to arrive too late. He wept as he said he was sorry, as if it were his fault she was dead, and not the orcs’. He paused then, gathering himself, for his time was upon him, and he knew it. He instructed me to seek for his dwelling two days travel to the North, and gave me the signs I would need to find it, for it was well hidden to the eyes of man, as he was wise in his woodcraft. He said that I would find a part of his gear there, that he would see me have it to protect myself, as I was alone now, in all the wide world. And then he steeled himself one last time, and laid charge upon me, to avenge my Mother, and when I next see the Orc, to retrieve his sword and make it my own, for he would not see it sullied, as it was forged for good by an Elven master smith. Then he looked at me one last time, and smiled, and said he was glad, for he would rejoin my Mother, and walk again in the meadow hand in hand.
I laid them side by side.
I gathered what little I had, a cloak of finely colored wool woven by her hand, a pack, Garrard's dagger, and gazed one last time at the only home I’d ever known. I threw the torch onto the pallet where I laid many a night, dreaming the dreams of boyhood. When the flames grew too hot, too bright to look upon, I turned and walked toward the only other place I had known in my life, the town. But it too glowed bright when I got there in the dawn of the next day, for the main thrust of the orcs had arrived before me. For all the next day I looked for survivors, finding only one, the merchant, for the orcs plied their trade well. I heard from him, before he too died, of the town's final hours. All I’ve ever known, gone; such is fate. So now I turn my face to the north as I begin my search; for Garrard’s dwelling, for my Mother’s killer, for a sword, for my destiny.
And every time I see a flower-strewn meadow in spring, I smile, and remember her love…
Her name was Clariisa.
I remember the few times we would go to the town; a small town, almost a village, but to a small boy whose world was a meadow, it spread to the horizon. We would sell our yarns to the Merchant there, who always treated my Mother with respect and kindness, whom he always addressed as My Lady; to me he always gave a sweet and a smile. The townsfolk were another matter; they invariably treated my mother, not with disdain, but a breed of coldness, as if she was there but not, averting their eyes as she would walk past. She on the other hand held her head high and greeted them kindly. It was first from the townsfolk, in hushed whispers that they thought I couldn’t hear, of the name I now bear– Aradan the Baseborn, the bastard. All my questions regarding the father that I had to have but never knew she would not answer, saying only that when I came of age, she would tell me all. All she would say was that I had his keen blue eyes, his quiet strength, his grace of movement, and his kind and good heart.
She was the only family I ever had.
The only man I ever really knew was Garrard. Where he lived was the wilds, his roof the sky. Every once in a while he would return from his travels, bring us news of the world outside our world. I remember him and my Mother talking into the night, their eyes smiling, their voices low and rising with the smoke from the fire through the smoke hole in the roof. I remember that as I grew how he would show me his weapons, his bow and sword. He taught me some of their use, and would let me practice with them, for by my work on the farm I grew into a strong youth, and could handle the weapons well he said. He showed me a tip here, a word of advice there; not much – he was a quiet man, as most solitary hunters are. He told me the world outside was not peaceful, and a man needed to learn to protect himself and those he loved. It was only later that I discovered that he was our protector, as he kept the things in the dark of the nights at bay, shielding our world, shielding us.
I will miss them both.
It was late spring, my seventeenth spring, a soft rain falling watering the meadow, when they came. The rain had made the world silent, so our warning was a foot through the door, a snarled command. I was asleep in the loft when the Orcs came in. I later learned they were but a small scouting party, as the main assault was on the town, which they destroyed, looted, burned. Our fire was still burning, so its light gave my Mother the precious few seconds she had left, as their eyes adjusted to its glow; she snatched a knife and slashed at the leader, cutting deep into his snout, causing his every breath to send out a pink cloud. Then the Orc looked at her and smiled, a hideous sight.
I will never forget the sound her head made as it hit the dirt floor.
I sprang from my mat, but an axe thrown from one of the orcs grazed my head, dazing me. And then he was there, Garrard; cutting and slashing his way through the orcs, like a peasant reaping his wheat at harvest, silent tears rolling down his face. He slew them with ease, his every motion displaying a workaday effortlessness, until he fell the others and stood before the leader. The huge orc just stood there, not even moving as his allies were cut down, grinning as if battle was what he desired, what he lusted after; and it was. Then the Orc attacked, and it was as if the whirlwind had appeared, but Garrard stood firm, his blades flashing as he parried, thrusted, slashed, dancing the dance of war, of death. He held firm, and then slowly gained the mastery over the Orc, who started to see his doom approaching, when fate struck. For an orc, who had fallen earlier and lay unmoving behind Garrard, silently rose to his knees and thrust up with a wicked, twisted dagger into Garrard’s back; it was the opening the leader had been waiting for. His sword pierced guard, and hauberk, and flesh, its point sticking out Garrard’s back; he fell next to my Mother. The leader wrested Garrard’s red sword from his grip, spraying his blood on them both as he looked into Garrard’s eyes, seeing approaching death written there, and smiled a last time, saying only “enjoy”. The two orcs fled then, for it was obvious there was nothing else to loot, and I lay unmoving.
I remember climbing down to look upon the ruination of my world.
I held her hand, her head; but the light, the joy, had fled from her eyes with the sword swing that took her life. How long I sat there I do not know, but after a while my eyes saw, my ears heard labored breathing not my own. I looked into Garrard’s eyes, and saw him looking at my Mother’s head, saw his pain, and knew then that he loved her. He told me how he had tracked the orcs through the woods, and when he saw where they were headed, how he tried to intercept them, only to arrive too late. He wept as he said he was sorry, as if it were his fault she was dead, and not the orcs’. He paused then, gathering himself, for his time was upon him, and he knew it. He instructed me to seek for his dwelling two days travel to the North, and gave me the signs I would need to find it, for it was well hidden to the eyes of man, as he was wise in his woodcraft. He said that I would find a part of his gear there, that he would see me have it to protect myself, as I was alone now, in all the wide world. And then he steeled himself one last time, and laid charge upon me, to avenge my Mother, and when I next see the Orc, to retrieve his sword and make it my own, for he would not see it sullied, as it was forged for good by an Elven master smith. Then he looked at me one last time, and smiled, and said he was glad, for he would rejoin my Mother, and walk again in the meadow hand in hand.
I laid them side by side.
I gathered what little I had, a cloak of finely colored wool woven by her hand, a pack, Garrard's dagger, and gazed one last time at the only home I’d ever known. I threw the torch onto the pallet where I laid many a night, dreaming the dreams of boyhood. When the flames grew too hot, too bright to look upon, I turned and walked toward the only other place I had known in my life, the town. But it too glowed bright when I got there in the dawn of the next day, for the main thrust of the orcs had arrived before me. For all the next day I looked for survivors, finding only one, the merchant, for the orcs plied their trade well. I heard from him, before he too died, of the town's final hours. All I’ve ever known, gone; such is fate. So now I turn my face to the north as I begin my search; for Garrard’s dwelling, for my Mother’s killer, for a sword, for my destiny.
And every time I see a flower-strewn meadow in spring, I smile, and remember her love…