Disclaimer: I own nothing unless you don't recognise it. I think I own most of this chapter.

14 years later

(Set just around SotL)

Chapter 1

Her mousy brown hair flopped over lowered lashes, causing her to appear shy and reserved. She was, however, quite the opposite, in fact a little rude. Maybe it was that that had prevented her form getting work, having gone through every inn, way house, stable, merchant, etc.(it didn't matter to her what she did, she had to do something.) And maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was the fact that she was an orphan, a whore's daughter, and a bastard. She really had no idea who her parents were, and if she did have some distant relations called 'Baker'. Often she had sat as a little girl, under the stars wondering if she really were a princess from a far away land, and her parents were searching for her... come to think about it, Baker didn't seem a very noble name, and she probably was the daughter of a whore. That was what she had always been told, and that was what she believed. And if people didn't respect her for who she was, but what she was, then that was her problem.
The thing was, Isabel Baker had never been respected. Maybe it was the fact that she was a whore's bastard, but nobody had ever explained to the girl in all her 14 years why mothers forbade their children to play with, or even go near her, why the children didn't want to. Isabel had accepted that she was just different, and had found happiness in other ways.
And anyway, Isabel was wicked. In everything she did, she did it wrong. She was scolded, she was worthless, she was sullen, disagreeable, she was deceitful. That was who Isabel Baker was. That was who Isabel Baker was told she was. And that was who Isabel Baker believed herself to be.
With a sigh, she pushed herself up off the bench, and saddled a strawberry roan Mare, who was tied o a rail, eating grass. The horse was a little large for such a small girl, but the horse, which Isabel had named Skye, was the girl's only friend, and she and the mare trusted each other well enough to work together in harmony. Skye had not managed to throw Isabel in years, and the last time she had, it had been an accident. Setting Skye into a run, Isabel and set along the cobbled path along the beach to the place that she was made to call home.
In the distance, through squinting green eyes, Isabel thought she could see in the distance a large group of four or five figures slumped against the city gates. Isabel immediately drew Skye down a small path, directly onto the beach. She would bet everything she owned those people would not smile sweetly and let her pass. They were probably robbers of some kind, and unless you could strike down 5 on your own, or for some reason they would let you pass, they would take your money and anything else of worth. Checking she had her 4 knives on her, she led Skye into a cautious trot, hoping they wouldn't see her. Isabel considered herself to fight well enough with a few knives, but these men were about three times the size of her.
If things were different, Isabel would probably be a member of the rogue now. But things weren't different. All her life she had been told that she had bad blood, there was no hope for her, she would probably turn out like her good for nothing parents. So Isabel had subconsciously promised herself that she would never turn out like them. Never.
As she got back onto the main streets, and turned into the familiar Sights and smells of the city. The market was packing up for the evening, and the sellers were calling out last minute bargains to get rid of most of their stock. The shopkeepers were sweeping up, and locking their doors. Horse traders were tying up their livestock. As Isabel walked through a jewellery stall, a Bazhir trader yelled something at her in a strong southern accent. She guessed that he wanted to buy Skye.
"No, sorry, she ain't fer sale, sir."
Turning into a small inn, she hit the door three times. The porter's door opened and a gruff man grunted at her. The gate swung open, and Isabel trotted in. the new stable-boy Sam, took Skye with a sneer, and the children playing in the courtyard went quiet as Isabel walked past. She was used to such treatment. She was bad, after all.
Unlocking the front door quietly, she sneaked up the stairs, gritting her teeth in a silent prayer to Mithros that the landlady wouldn't hear her. Walking into a small room, she flopped down into a hammock. This room was her refuge. It was painted in a sort of pale pink shade; wallpaper slightly peeling at the edges. There was a small window, a tiny set of drawers, a bedside table next to the hammock, and a desk, all mahogany brown. On the bedside table was a candle stick holding a half used candle, a worn book with a ragged bookmark thrust in the centre, and a pair of leather gloves that Isabel had dumped there in the morning, and then wished that she had bought them along with her; her hands were numb from the bitter cold, and Skye's reins had not helped.
On the mantelpiece of the window, was an odd-looking jewellery box. Inside, were a few odd pieces of jewellery, for Isabel loved it. She wore a silver bracelet with a seahorse charm on it, always. She had wondered if her mother had given it to her as a child, possibly before she had abandoned her by the inn door, but how could a common prostitute have afforded this fortune in silver? It had occurred to Isabel that it would fetch a high price, but she couldn't bear the thought of parting with it. It was the only identity she had, for on the inside, carved in exquisite writing, it bore the words: loved Isabel. The knowledge that there was someone out there thinking of her gave Isabel a moral strength, even when she felt that nobody could ever possibly love her.
She paused with this thought for a while, smiling to herself softly. As if a bomb had exploded in her she jumped up. The Blacksmith was coming today to fit Skye with new shoes today! All hell would break loose if she forgot that! Great, she thought. Yet another reason to call me a worthless wretch. A forgetful, careless worthless wretch. With a sigh she stalked out of her room, slamming the door. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------- foot note: depressing, I know. I've been reading Jane Eyre. Ah well, you get a big stuffed animal if you review. Cheers, xxvioletfirexx