The Truth
Kassi of Pirate's Swoop
Disclaimer: Because I live in a far-off land and I buy things with coins, I have no clue what a lawyer or cash is. Therefore, don't sue.
A/N: I needed a break from In the King's Own, and this popped into my head when I was trying to fall asleep a few nights ago. I think it should be 'interesting'......... eternal thanks to Brooke, for clarifying the original story, and Brianna, whose story Dancing with Demons, a takeoff on The Twelve Dancing Princesses, got me started thinking about fairy tales in the first place.
~~~~~~~~~~
Doubtless you have heard the tale of a 'sleeping beauty,' of a gentle princess on whom a spell was placed, so she could never wake until a handsome prince gave her a kiss. This is a favorite story that wandering bards sing of. They say that the moment she was kissed by her true love, she awakened, and they rode off on a white horse to live a happy life at his palace.
This is what they all say. It is far from the truth.
~~~~~~~~~~
No matter what those stories say, my name is Ara. You may think it was a commoner's name, and you would be right. In truth, I was born in a small village in the realm of King Charles. My mother died in childbirth, and I was raised by my aunt. When she in turn passed away, I went to live with my father and older brothers.
My father owned a tavern in the middle of the village. My oldest brother was a knight, and I had never met him. The other three generally hung around the tavern, helping out. Or so they claimed. Most often all were drunk, which was probably to be expected.
My only friend was Russ, the butcher's son. We were both fifteen, and he had shown me how to use a dagger, how to wrestle, and all sorts of useful things. In return, I taught him to read and write, a skill my aunt had taught me.
We were inseparable. The other girls hated me for not staying in my place and learning more womanly skills, and the boys felt that because Russ was poor, he was beneath them.
To my great annoyance, I looked very similar to my mother. My wavy, light brown tresses fell past my shoulders, accenting my hazel eyes. I have a natural glow to my skin, and I was tall and slim. The dresses and, occasionally, breeches I wore never completely hid my figure.
When I was ten, one of the village boys had tried to kiss me. I had punched him in the nose, hoping it would serve as a warning to the others. None seemed to heed this warning, as they all tried their luck. Being only a year or so older than myself, none succeeded.
I had begun working in the tavern when I was twelve. More than one man had tried to persuade me to sleep with him. It irked me constantly, but it was what was expected of a tavern maid. I would dearly have loved to take another job, but I was afraid of the consequences. My father viewed me as valuably property; I was able-bodied and could serve his customers.
I do believe that most of my problems truly began one night in the winter. The wind was whistling outside, and the tavern was nearly full with people taking refuge from the weather. The wooden floor was wet with water left by visitors tracking in the snow. Father had ordered me to take a table of men their drinks, and then mop up the floor.
I obediently poured the drinks into mugs, placed them on a tray, and made my way through the crowd to their table. One man, who sat at the head, seemed to be their leader. My mind on other things, I wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing. As I moved closer to him to set his mug in front of him, I felt his hand move up my skirt. His other hand slipped underneath the thin fabric of my tunic. Surprised and upset, I accidentally let the tray tilt. The three ales on it slid off, splattering ale and glass everywhere.
Most conversation in the room trailed off at the crash. My father quickly came over. Feigning concern, he asked the visitor if he was all right. The man glared at me. "Your maid just poured ale on me, and doubtless cut me with sharp shards of glass, and you ask if I'm all right? That whore isn't worth her name!" I flinched at the hated word, but kept silent. The man continued. "I'll have you know that these breeches are fine material, and I'll hold you responsible for any damage!"
"Oh, of course, sir," my father said smoothly. "Please, let me pay for your food and drink tonight as well." Shooting a glance in my direction, he added, "The girl is clumsy at times. She'll be punished well, mark my words."
I stiffened, afraid. His punishments were fierce and brutal, often abusing me so much that I wasn't able to walk for days. By his expression, his threat was not to be taken lightly.
Most conversation had return by now, drowning out the man's muttered swearing. "I'll not return here again," he informed us coolly. "Mark my words, you'll not get any business from me, no, nor from any I speak with." He pushed back his chair and stood. His companions followed him out the door and into the bitter cold.
Father rounded on me. "You worthless trollop," he muttered. His hand darted up to my head, striking my cheek. I stifled a cry of pain; his hand, calloused from work, was strong and heavy. "Get the mop from the back, clean up this mess, and return to the kitchen. I'll deal with you later." He shoved me back against a chair and walked away.
Breathing deeply, I struggled not to cry. My head ached fiercely, and my face stung where he had slapped me. I quietly mopped the floor, and then did as he had bid and entered the kitchen. One of my brothers - I can't remember which - nudged me. "That'll earn you a beating tonight," he whispered smugly. "And then you can come to my room, and I'll deal with you in my own way." I turned away, ashamed. I was used to these threats, but I knew they would follow through with them.
Father was waiting off to the side corridor. "You useless, slutty piece of garbage," he hissed. "I don't know why I keep you around - God knows you're worthless - " His fist struck me again, and I was thrown against the wall. I could see a maniacal glint to his eyes that meant he had already drunk too much ale that night. "Get back inside," he spat. "Try to be useful." I ran inside, relieved. I knew that I would be punished that night, but I was safe for now.
In the tavern, I wordlessly served men who were already drunk and would have pounding headaches come dawn. The less trouble my insolent tongue got me into, the better.
I was exhausted by late night. Most of the men had left, retreating to their rooms upstairs or to their homes, but a few were still unconscious, lying on the tables. I glanced at Father. He was nearly asleep himself, and wasn't paying any attention to me. I quietly slipped off to my room, which was a partitioned of corner of the basement. Thankfully, because it was in the basement, few men thought to bother me there. Opening the door, I saw a still figure on my bed. Stopping, I looked at the person. It didn't look to be Father or one of my brothers...
"Ah, dearie." The old woman slowly stood, her hand on a cane and her back permanently bent. "You're finally finished up there."
Now that her face and figure were thrown into light from my smuggled candle, I could see her face. Her skin was a dark caramel, wrinkled all over her face. Her hair was light gray, and it fell in wisps across her face. But the most amazing thing was her eyes. They were a deep, golden brown, and they looked so full of life and excitement that it made me shiver. They looked foolishly out of place on her wizened visage. "Please, ma'am, why are you here?"
The woman cackled. "Because you're in trouble, and you'll not get yourself out without my help." She shuffled closer. "I heard your father and brother," she told me softly. Her voice was both gravelly and flowing at the same time. "They don't mean well." The woman was so close to me that I could hear her raspy breathing. I wondered if I should call for help. "How would you like to leave them all behind?" she asked. "Never to work in a tavern again, be safe from your family?"
Forgetting my worries of a moment ago, I smiled. It sounded like bliss. "Grandmother, if I may ask, how can you help?"
She laughed again. "I can send you on a journey," she whispered. "There will be problems, of course, but there will be wonderful advantages to... this." She waved her hand around, indicating my dusty corner.
I considered it. The woman didn't seem to be wandering in her mind, and I had a feeling she could help me. Remembering my brother's words, I shivered. I would love to get away from that. "What must I do?"
She withdrew a crumpled package from her ragged dress. "Mix this with a cup of water," she told me. "Drink it, and your fortune will change forever." She shook her head and smiled at me pityingly. "Poor lass. You've a hard life." Before I could say anything, she had left the room. I hurried after her, wanting to thank her, but there was no one there.
Wondering if this was really a good idea, I drew a cup of water from a bucket. Pouring the contents of the packet inside, I stared at the odd mixture. Did I really want to do this?
"Ara!"
I cringed at my father's bellow, but that decided me. I quickly swallowed the potion. It tasted like hazelnuts, herbs, and something else I couldn't name. I had nearly remembered what the flavor was when I fell into unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Well, you'll have to admit it was 'interesting'... please review! I love it when people tell me what they think I should change about my writing. Flames are accepted, but please let me know why you flamed!
Kassi of Pirate's Swoop
Disclaimer: Because I live in a far-off land and I buy things with coins, I have no clue what a lawyer or cash is. Therefore, don't sue.
A/N: I needed a break from In the King's Own, and this popped into my head when I was trying to fall asleep a few nights ago. I think it should be 'interesting'......... eternal thanks to Brooke, for clarifying the original story, and Brianna, whose story Dancing with Demons, a takeoff on The Twelve Dancing Princesses, got me started thinking about fairy tales in the first place.
~~~~~~~~~~
Doubtless you have heard the tale of a 'sleeping beauty,' of a gentle princess on whom a spell was placed, so she could never wake until a handsome prince gave her a kiss. This is a favorite story that wandering bards sing of. They say that the moment she was kissed by her true love, she awakened, and they rode off on a white horse to live a happy life at his palace.
This is what they all say. It is far from the truth.
~~~~~~~~~~
No matter what those stories say, my name is Ara. You may think it was a commoner's name, and you would be right. In truth, I was born in a small village in the realm of King Charles. My mother died in childbirth, and I was raised by my aunt. When she in turn passed away, I went to live with my father and older brothers.
My father owned a tavern in the middle of the village. My oldest brother was a knight, and I had never met him. The other three generally hung around the tavern, helping out. Or so they claimed. Most often all were drunk, which was probably to be expected.
My only friend was Russ, the butcher's son. We were both fifteen, and he had shown me how to use a dagger, how to wrestle, and all sorts of useful things. In return, I taught him to read and write, a skill my aunt had taught me.
We were inseparable. The other girls hated me for not staying in my place and learning more womanly skills, and the boys felt that because Russ was poor, he was beneath them.
To my great annoyance, I looked very similar to my mother. My wavy, light brown tresses fell past my shoulders, accenting my hazel eyes. I have a natural glow to my skin, and I was tall and slim. The dresses and, occasionally, breeches I wore never completely hid my figure.
When I was ten, one of the village boys had tried to kiss me. I had punched him in the nose, hoping it would serve as a warning to the others. None seemed to heed this warning, as they all tried their luck. Being only a year or so older than myself, none succeeded.
I had begun working in the tavern when I was twelve. More than one man had tried to persuade me to sleep with him. It irked me constantly, but it was what was expected of a tavern maid. I would dearly have loved to take another job, but I was afraid of the consequences. My father viewed me as valuably property; I was able-bodied and could serve his customers.
I do believe that most of my problems truly began one night in the winter. The wind was whistling outside, and the tavern was nearly full with people taking refuge from the weather. The wooden floor was wet with water left by visitors tracking in the snow. Father had ordered me to take a table of men their drinks, and then mop up the floor.
I obediently poured the drinks into mugs, placed them on a tray, and made my way through the crowd to their table. One man, who sat at the head, seemed to be their leader. My mind on other things, I wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing. As I moved closer to him to set his mug in front of him, I felt his hand move up my skirt. His other hand slipped underneath the thin fabric of my tunic. Surprised and upset, I accidentally let the tray tilt. The three ales on it slid off, splattering ale and glass everywhere.
Most conversation in the room trailed off at the crash. My father quickly came over. Feigning concern, he asked the visitor if he was all right. The man glared at me. "Your maid just poured ale on me, and doubtless cut me with sharp shards of glass, and you ask if I'm all right? That whore isn't worth her name!" I flinched at the hated word, but kept silent. The man continued. "I'll have you know that these breeches are fine material, and I'll hold you responsible for any damage!"
"Oh, of course, sir," my father said smoothly. "Please, let me pay for your food and drink tonight as well." Shooting a glance in my direction, he added, "The girl is clumsy at times. She'll be punished well, mark my words."
I stiffened, afraid. His punishments were fierce and brutal, often abusing me so much that I wasn't able to walk for days. By his expression, his threat was not to be taken lightly.
Most conversation had return by now, drowning out the man's muttered swearing. "I'll not return here again," he informed us coolly. "Mark my words, you'll not get any business from me, no, nor from any I speak with." He pushed back his chair and stood. His companions followed him out the door and into the bitter cold.
Father rounded on me. "You worthless trollop," he muttered. His hand darted up to my head, striking my cheek. I stifled a cry of pain; his hand, calloused from work, was strong and heavy. "Get the mop from the back, clean up this mess, and return to the kitchen. I'll deal with you later." He shoved me back against a chair and walked away.
Breathing deeply, I struggled not to cry. My head ached fiercely, and my face stung where he had slapped me. I quietly mopped the floor, and then did as he had bid and entered the kitchen. One of my brothers - I can't remember which - nudged me. "That'll earn you a beating tonight," he whispered smugly. "And then you can come to my room, and I'll deal with you in my own way." I turned away, ashamed. I was used to these threats, but I knew they would follow through with them.
Father was waiting off to the side corridor. "You useless, slutty piece of garbage," he hissed. "I don't know why I keep you around - God knows you're worthless - " His fist struck me again, and I was thrown against the wall. I could see a maniacal glint to his eyes that meant he had already drunk too much ale that night. "Get back inside," he spat. "Try to be useful." I ran inside, relieved. I knew that I would be punished that night, but I was safe for now.
In the tavern, I wordlessly served men who were already drunk and would have pounding headaches come dawn. The less trouble my insolent tongue got me into, the better.
I was exhausted by late night. Most of the men had left, retreating to their rooms upstairs or to their homes, but a few were still unconscious, lying on the tables. I glanced at Father. He was nearly asleep himself, and wasn't paying any attention to me. I quietly slipped off to my room, which was a partitioned of corner of the basement. Thankfully, because it was in the basement, few men thought to bother me there. Opening the door, I saw a still figure on my bed. Stopping, I looked at the person. It didn't look to be Father or one of my brothers...
"Ah, dearie." The old woman slowly stood, her hand on a cane and her back permanently bent. "You're finally finished up there."
Now that her face and figure were thrown into light from my smuggled candle, I could see her face. Her skin was a dark caramel, wrinkled all over her face. Her hair was light gray, and it fell in wisps across her face. But the most amazing thing was her eyes. They were a deep, golden brown, and they looked so full of life and excitement that it made me shiver. They looked foolishly out of place on her wizened visage. "Please, ma'am, why are you here?"
The woman cackled. "Because you're in trouble, and you'll not get yourself out without my help." She shuffled closer. "I heard your father and brother," she told me softly. Her voice was both gravelly and flowing at the same time. "They don't mean well." The woman was so close to me that I could hear her raspy breathing. I wondered if I should call for help. "How would you like to leave them all behind?" she asked. "Never to work in a tavern again, be safe from your family?"
Forgetting my worries of a moment ago, I smiled. It sounded like bliss. "Grandmother, if I may ask, how can you help?"
She laughed again. "I can send you on a journey," she whispered. "There will be problems, of course, but there will be wonderful advantages to... this." She waved her hand around, indicating my dusty corner.
I considered it. The woman didn't seem to be wandering in her mind, and I had a feeling she could help me. Remembering my brother's words, I shivered. I would love to get away from that. "What must I do?"
She withdrew a crumpled package from her ragged dress. "Mix this with a cup of water," she told me. "Drink it, and your fortune will change forever." She shook her head and smiled at me pityingly. "Poor lass. You've a hard life." Before I could say anything, she had left the room. I hurried after her, wanting to thank her, but there was no one there.
Wondering if this was really a good idea, I drew a cup of water from a bucket. Pouring the contents of the packet inside, I stared at the odd mixture. Did I really want to do this?
"Ara!"
I cringed at my father's bellow, but that decided me. I quickly swallowed the potion. It tasted like hazelnuts, herbs, and something else I couldn't name. I had nearly remembered what the flavor was when I fell into unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Well, you'll have to admit it was 'interesting'... please review! I love it when people tell me what they think I should change about my writing. Flames are accepted, but please let me know why you flamed!