Cadenza - 1/2 - Elder Scrolls - Colin and Amarie
On the morning after she gave birth, Amarie Minette Beanique rose before the sun, took a long, warm bath, and put her baby in a straw-woven basket. She covered the child, sleeping, oddly quiet, with the dirty sheets still messy from afterbirth, and then topped that with a clean dress that she took from her closet and rumpled herself. After pulling her walking-boots on over stiff, sore legs, she picked up the basket, donned a long, black cloak, and started down the old, creaky stairs of the manor where she lived with her mother and father.
Her father was nowhere to be seen, though as Amarie was trying to heave the large, wooden door open, she half-wakened her mother, who was lying on the velvet-covered couches in the adjacent drawing room, gown unbuttoned to the waist and foot lying in a puddle of spilled brandy from a tipped-over bottle on the floor. The older woman shouted "Stop!" but then rolled over once, mumbling something incoherent that Amarie did not know nor care to translate. She heaved the door open, and continued outside.
It was cold out, and still dark; at the sudden change of temperature the child began to whimper, and Amarie prodded the lump of fabric in the basket under her cloak.
"Be quiet!" she hissed, jostling the basket a bit. This only served to frighten the child further, and it began to cry in earnest - face full of horror, Amarie pressed down on the sheets to muffle the sound and quickened her pace until she found the servants' path down to the river.
***
On the day his execution was scheduled, Colin Meric woke at dawn, which was odd, because he had meant to sleep in. It wasn't as though he was dying for anything heroic. He'd lifted a few coins and some diamond cufflinks from Amarie's old man - the old man, he might add, who hadn't even been home at the time - and next thing he knew he was clapped in irons, shoved back into lockup, this time down in the city dungeon proper, with the sludgy floor and the rats and the fleshy bits of former prisoners left to die because no-one cared enough to retrieve them.
"Up so early, you stinking sewer-rat?" Passing a hand over his unwashed face and yawning slightly, Colin stumbled to his feet and offered the guard a short bow.
"Well you know, Heinrich, I just had to get up and make myself pretty for you."
He didn't hear whatever drivel came out of the guard's mouth next - Colin stumbled his way over to the barred window, and crossed his arms at the base of it, peering out. Shades of orange and red were beginning to stain the early morning sky, and Colin felt something unsettling stir in his chest. It startled him - he had been sleeping, deeply, because in all his fifteen years, even on the day of his scheduled execution, he'd never been able to resist the lure of a good night's sleep. Not a good quality in a thief, perhaps, but then again he hadn't quite proven himself to be a good thief, now had he? Now he was fully awake - eyes wide and completely alert.
See, this …this was exactly why he went into Cyrodiil to work. He'd served more than his share of jailtime in Cyrodiil, and paid more fines than that, but you could only die once, and that's what they forced you to do when they caught you stealing in High Rock.
"Hey mud-for-brains! Got any food for a dying man?"
***
The river was high and rapid, it's white-topped surface rushing and roaring past the green hills on the outer edges of her parents' estate. She stood, enjoying the breeze for a moment as it brushed past her hair. Amarie had often come here as a child, to picnic with her nannies or have lessons when the weather was nice. Now that she was fifteen, there were no more lessons or picnics, only balls to attend. By the end of the next social season, most of the girls her age would have suitors, at least, if not husbands.
The baby was still sniffling - ugly little pink thing. It had a mop of Amarie's atrociously bright red hair, and an ugly, wrinkled face. It was amazing, how something so small could wreck her future so thoroughly.
"You're disgusting," said Amarie, as she drew the baby out of the basket. She had spit up on herself, and the whole load of clothes smelled like vomit. For a moment, Amarie cradled the child as if she loved it- pictured herself bathing it, dressing it, feeding it at her breast. But the fantasy was short-lived, and she made a face at herself.
"I'll never find a husband because of you," she said to the child. "It would be all your fault, and then I would have to hate you."
Slowly, carefully, Amarie held the baby out over the crashing rapids.
This story was written with the prompt "beginnings" - in this case, the beginning of a baby's life, and the struggle between her teenage parents - a mother who doesn't want her and a father who does. This is also the first appearance of Colin, a young Breton thief in over his head, in a series of what I hope to be many appearances. A second part is on it's way!
Her father was nowhere to be seen, though as Amarie was trying to heave the large, wooden door open, she half-wakened her mother, who was lying on the velvet-covered couches in the adjacent drawing room, gown unbuttoned to the waist and foot lying in a puddle of spilled brandy from a tipped-over bottle on the floor. The older woman shouted "Stop!" but then rolled over once, mumbling something incoherent that Amarie did not know nor care to translate. She heaved the door open, and continued outside.
It was cold out, and still dark; at the sudden change of temperature the child began to whimper, and Amarie prodded the lump of fabric in the basket under her cloak.
"Be quiet!" she hissed, jostling the basket a bit. This only served to frighten the child further, and it began to cry in earnest - face full of horror, Amarie pressed down on the sheets to muffle the sound and quickened her pace until she found the servants' path down to the river.
***
On the day his execution was scheduled, Colin Meric woke at dawn, which was odd, because he had meant to sleep in. It wasn't as though he was dying for anything heroic. He'd lifted a few coins and some diamond cufflinks from Amarie's old man - the old man, he might add, who hadn't even been home at the time - and next thing he knew he was clapped in irons, shoved back into lockup, this time down in the city dungeon proper, with the sludgy floor and the rats and the fleshy bits of former prisoners left to die because no-one cared enough to retrieve them.
"Up so early, you stinking sewer-rat?" Passing a hand over his unwashed face and yawning slightly, Colin stumbled to his feet and offered the guard a short bow.
"Well you know, Heinrich, I just had to get up and make myself pretty for you."
He didn't hear whatever drivel came out of the guard's mouth next - Colin stumbled his way over to the barred window, and crossed his arms at the base of it, peering out. Shades of orange and red were beginning to stain the early morning sky, and Colin felt something unsettling stir in his chest. It startled him - he had been sleeping, deeply, because in all his fifteen years, even on the day of his scheduled execution, he'd never been able to resist the lure of a good night's sleep. Not a good quality in a thief, perhaps, but then again he hadn't quite proven himself to be a good thief, now had he? Now he was fully awake - eyes wide and completely alert.
See, this …this was exactly why he went into Cyrodiil to work. He'd served more than his share of jailtime in Cyrodiil, and paid more fines than that, but you could only die once, and that's what they forced you to do when they caught you stealing in High Rock.
"Hey mud-for-brains! Got any food for a dying man?"
***
The river was high and rapid, it's white-topped surface rushing and roaring past the green hills on the outer edges of her parents' estate. She stood, enjoying the breeze for a moment as it brushed past her hair. Amarie had often come here as a child, to picnic with her nannies or have lessons when the weather was nice. Now that she was fifteen, there were no more lessons or picnics, only balls to attend. By the end of the next social season, most of the girls her age would have suitors, at least, if not husbands.
The baby was still sniffling - ugly little pink thing. It had a mop of Amarie's atrociously bright red hair, and an ugly, wrinkled face. It was amazing, how something so small could wreck her future so thoroughly.
"You're disgusting," said Amarie, as she drew the baby out of the basket. She had spit up on herself, and the whole load of clothes smelled like vomit. For a moment, Amarie cradled the child as if she loved it- pictured herself bathing it, dressing it, feeding it at her breast. But the fantasy was short-lived, and she made a face at herself.
"I'll never find a husband because of you," she said to the child. "It would be all your fault, and then I would have to hate you."
Slowly, carefully, Amarie held the baby out over the crashing rapids.
This story was written with the prompt "beginnings" - in this case, the beginning of a baby's life, and the struggle between her teenage parents - a mother who doesn't want her and a father who does. This is also the first appearance of Colin, a young Breton thief in over his head, in a series of what I hope to be many appearances. A second part is on it's way!