Forlaith: More Gathered

January 15 7/31/14

Forgive me for not writing sooner. The desire to write was there, but the seas have been unbearable, even close to land, though I suppose that is part of the problem. The sailors are having difficulty navigating the winter storms while keeping us in range of the coast—where unusual rock formations make it tricky. Living where I do—or did rather—I am use to sailing, but even I have found this rough going. Writing has been completely out of the question.
Since the last time I wrote, we have picked up two other young people to be adopted by the king. The first, Leofrick is not what I expected. I don't like to be cruel, but I believe Rownet may be right when she calls him 'down right ugly.' I prefer the term peculiar. He is skinny, with floppy hair the color of dirty water. He has attempted to grow a mustache, but it has come out softy and fuzzy, despite being twenty-two years old. Rownet teases him ruthlessly and Ardythe has suggested Leofrick learn to shave. I have a feeling the suggestion will turn into a demand once we reach Bathum.
To my utmost surprise, initially Leofrick seemed excited to come along. He is the youngest of a large family with no hope of ever inheriting any land. But the excitement didn't last long. A day after we set sail, Leofrick, Rownet and I were getting some air on deck during one of the few calms and overheard Ardythe and Marcys speaking about their recent acquirement.
“I'm not so sure about this young man you've found me. He's a scrawny little whip of a boy!”
“That's why I chose him, my lord,” Marcys said.
I cringed for Leofrick's sake; I would have hated being called such nasty things. It seemed strange that Marcys would agree with what the king had said. I had thought him a kind soul after first meeting him, despite his involvement in our current situation. Now I wasn't so sure.
“If all your children are beautiful beyond compare, they will question the reality of it. I've never met a family with only beautiful children. Have you?”
Rownet, Leofrick and I scurried down to the cabin Rownet and I shared.
“Who are 'they'?” asked Leofrick, voicing the question we were all wondering. I was thankful he didn't broach the subject of their judgement upon his person. I didn't want to be the one to lie to him in an effort to make him feel better, but knowing Rownet, the task would have been left to me.
We all stared at each other, without any answer to give. “Odrar?” Rownet suggested.
Slowly, we each thought through that possibility, but it didn't seem right. We had all heard our parents discuss Odrar and what we had once been to the distant nation. It seemed hard to believe that Ardythe would have anything to do with them, much less go to the trouble of creating a fictitious family for them.
“It doesn't seem right. I heard my parents say that we may likely go to war with them. What would Ardythe need a family for in dealings with them? Besides, they would know that we were not really his children. It has to be someone farther away,” I added.
Rownet looked confused, her delicate eyebrows pulled together in a frown. Leofrick, on the other hand, nodded. What I had said made sense to at least one person. Still, we didn't know the answer to our question, despite however many different conjectures we might come up with.
The next person to join our happy little family was also far from my expectations. We stopped in Dewhurst, a village known for it's unique fishing industry. I, myself, had never traveled to Dewhurst, but I had read about it and heard my father talk about the hardships that had befallen the ruling family—storms, shipwrecks, and illness.
On this occasion, Ardythe allowed us to leave the ship and see the small village. There wasn't much to see. The village was really only two main streets, connected by three narrow lanes. The two main streets ran parallel with the coast, the lower street connected to the long piers jutting out into the choppy, gray water. The ground was covered in new moss that had grown since the long drought and shallow puddles, the buildings dripped with moisture and green growth. Unlike my own home, the buildings looked as though their builders had been drunk while they worked—their walls leaning at odd angles and nearly all the doors and windows hanging at slight angles.
Due to the fact we were traveling by boat, we did not have horses to carry us up to the family dwelling and so we walked. Rownet and I picked up our warm, heavy skirts to keep them from dragging in the mud. It wasn't a long walk and we arrived a short time after leaving the ship, barely out of breath from the trek.
The family dwelling was unremarkable, even common place. Though made of stone, unlike the other buildings in the village, it was small and worn. The lord emerged, garbed in torn doe skin trousers, ragged boots, and a stained tunic. The only way I could tell he was, in fact, the lord of the manner was by the large gold ring on his finger.
The lord spotted us coming through the open gate and upon seeing his king dropped his bucket of milk.
“You're grace,” he muttered before offering a deep bow and retrieving the now empty bucket.
“I hear from the traders that you have a rather handsome son. Sadon, I believe,” stated the king in a deceptively cheerful voice. He didn't beat around the bush, I noticed.
“Uh... yes, yes I suppose I do. Shall I call him?”
“Please.”
The man nodded and ran away. We were all surprised by his sudden departure. After all, he left his guest standing in his small bailey, the winter sky beginning to spit on us. I pulled my cloak around my shoulders and tried not to shiver.
A few minutes later the lord returned with tall, handsome young man with brown hair and deep green eyes. I glanced at Rownet, and despite the age difference, she was eyeing the man in a way I completely understood. Despite my confined upbringing, I can spot an attractive man like any other woman.
The son was dressed like his father, in clothing that had once been fine, but now showed the signs of age and hard work. Over his shoulder hung a yoke from which hung two large baskets full of fresh fish. The smell was overwhelming.
Finally, the lord realized his error and invited us in, out of the light rain. Inside, we were treated to a variety of fish based food items. Did they eat nothing else?
“Now,” sighed the lord as he sat down next to his comely wife. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“You have two other sons, have you not?”
“Yes, sire. But they are at sea, at present.”
“No bother. It is Sadon that I am here for. You must give him up, I'm afraid.”
“Give him up?” squeaked Sadon's mother. I glanced at the young man. He looked confused. I could relate. How many children did Ardythe need?
“Yes. His country needs him.”
“He's not a warrior,” stated the lord.
“I do not need a warrior. I understand, like others, that you have some back taxes owing to me.”
“Uh... yes, yes your grace. I am working to pay it back. Just as quickly as I can!”
“Instead, allow me to take your son and I will forgive your debt, entirely.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. This was exactly the conversation I had not been privileged to hear at my own home.
Once again Ardythe was taking advantage of his people and their current, reduced circumstances. Like my family, Sadon's father was trying to pay back the money owing to the king—which could some day result in his death, should he not get it paid back quickly enough—but now an unusually simple solution presented itself. No wonder fathers were tempted to give their children away.
Nevertheless, I continue to feel a deep loathing for my father and what he has done to me. Second on my list of those I hate is Ardythe and third is Sadon's father.
Without a moments hesitation, he agreed to the terms and slapped his wife when she argued.
It makes me almost glad that I was not within when my father spoke with Ardythe. Did he give in so quickly? Did he even try to keep me from this fate?
I'm glad I do not know the answer.
Forlaith