Legends of Belariath

Sutara

This was hell for any child, made to stand still while eyes mocked and stared, appraised and judged, atleast, this was hell for her. The sounds and smells that broke through that filmy clothe around her eyes, were the same that the Winter Moon festivities were famous for, when the House Zon-Kith`Serra and it's Matron invited all walks of nobility and drudgery to it's keep. The invitiation was coveted, the danger was apparent but above all, this was the time when the lower cast could mingle with the high born, their faces concealed behind masks, their weapons and spells taken from them before they ever entered into the structure.

So here, she stood, clustered with other children of the House, garbed in white eyelet and black capes, holding aloft a tray of drink for those whom passed to take. There was music coming from one of the large vaulted chambers, and soon a hush fell across the din as the Great Doors to the ball room opened, watching as the precession of the House parted that sea of people. The first, the grand Matron, Cherryh-Lui, a rare sight indeed, beautiful dark features, eyes that burned, while bodies bent to that stare, eyes lowered in deference. One of those long tapered hands were settled on the embroidered sleeve of her escort, the Master Sorcerer of House Emboitant, his thin features and wasted body hidden beneath layers of emerald and ruby silks, jewels glittering on his hands. There was power in that pair, a power to fear, and even as a child, she shivered and turned her head down, shifting on her feet, keeping that tray of drink infront of her as other children strained and peered, whispering softly to themselves. No one bothered with her, they ignored her, even though for some it was impossible. In her mind, she wanted it this way, petulant lips pushing outwards, the only sign of her distress, not knowing the true reason of such isolation, but wishing only to bask in her own ignorance.

As the Matron passed, she could feel, not see, the smug smile of that beautiful and deadly woman, could hear the sharp gasp as those burning eyes speared the lines that drew to either side of the parade, until with a moment's accuracy, those eyes settled on her. Looking down, but the tingle of flesh warning her, yet still, her head came up, and for a moment she was shocked with the fierce stare, mere seconds lasting for hours. That moment passed, and she felt the flush in her cheeks, the sting of fear at her spine. Her own eyes shifted, watching as more came through those doors. The next, was a woman in crimson and black, a tall creature with hair as white as snow itself, a wicked sword at her hip. The Matron's own Hand, her assistant in all manners, a woman's whose sword held no equal, priestess of Kirva, and her mother, Ellir`Na Sor`n

Slowly, her own crimson hues lifted to the turned face of that which was beloved, feeling wonder and pride swelling her chest as she smiled, drawing the attention of those whom stood near her. As if sensing that regard, Ellir`Na turned, and met crimson with crimson, a flicker of something troubled within her gaze, but no smile of return, letting her glance slide from her daughter's to nod to those who called out their greeting.

There was a warning in her stare, the child thought, not the last time that evening a sliver of fear working down her spine, like a cold finger. The rest of the evening passed in a haze of colors, the touch of hands on her shoulders, her hair.. lifting that tray until her arms wobbled, and her lids grew heavy. Before the Zenith of the night, the children were dismissed, sent back to the dorms and homes.. The child followed the others, heels dragging, fists coming up to rub her eyes, turning a corner where her mother's rooms would be.

Something stopped her cold, a whisper, or a shadow, moving down that wide hallway, making her press her body to the side, peering beyond that crevice to either side. There, she thought, seeing a door open down the other end, heard the sound of voices, one in particular that was familiar, soothing often enough times. She crept forward, fingers pressing to the wall, peering through the crack in the door jamb.

".. the winter festivals are almost over, I will be glad to have this place emptied of such scum. " a male's voice, unfamiliar, the smell of clove smoke coming from within.

"So say you Master Iirin, but I see how you love the attention of those scum, the attention of the Matron has given you place in the books, if only for now." her mother, that husky voice, tinged with amusement, she couldn't see much, only the movement of bodies. "Now, tell me, why have you brought me here?" she must have been with the Master Sorcerer of Emboitant house, leaning forward more, trying to strain to catch what was being said.

"Ahh.. ever to the point, such a valued trait. Very well, if you must know, I've a question about your daughter.."

"Sutara?" that voice tightened, and she straightened, straining to hear. Then another door opening, it must have been from inside. The movement of bodies before ..

"Madam.." "Madam.."

That single finger of fear, ice cold, intentionally feeding on her nightmares, collided into one realization, that the Matron was close, and her name above all else, brought into the conversation. A dangerous omen, and should she be caught spying, there was no amount of power her mother wielded that could save her from such a fate. Though still, her curiosity had sunk it’s claws into her, drawing her near, a glance to her left and behind to insure that no other person’s or servant was skulking in those vacant halls, waiting to pounce and scream out her crime.

“Yes, tell our dearest Iirin about your daughter Ellir, she’s been quite the oddity these past several years, hasn’t she?” The barest hint of sarcasm, tinged with polite amusement, making her wonder just how much the Matron had taken notice of her.

“Sutara? There’s nothing to tell, she’s my daughter, a born daughter of the House, beloved of Kirva. I really don’t see why the interest. “ Voice clipped, her mother’s tone cool and restrained, with the barest question underlying. She could not see her mother, but that tone spoke volumes, a wary suspicion.

“Isn’t she a half-breed though?” Master Iirin asked, Sutara blinked, having heard the word before many times, but that had been from the other children, never from one of the adults.

“She is, her father was a High Elf of a party we had captured and taken into custody.” She could sense her mother’s shrug, many of the warriors of the House practiced taking slaves, and children were not an uncommon result from those unions. It was, however, very irregular for those children to be raised with the high-born, much less become pledged into Kirva’s temple. “I don’t understand your interest, however, so you’ll have to excuse me if I ask bluntly, what this is about?”

“Dear Ellir, we will get to that in time, but I must tell you Iirin.. you should have seen the girl’s father, not only was he brought in as one of the slaves, but a merchant on top. He was only lucky enough that Ellir chose him from the other’s, but I still wonder, how he was able to run away.” The Matron’s voice was once again amused but with the underlining ire that most would quiver and seek refuge from. It didn’t seem to seem to worry her mother, peering through that crack, watching her face as it remained unchanging. There had been many rumors that it was her mother’s hand that had assisted in her father’s escape, some romantic nonsense that had no place being attached to the Hand of the Matron.

“Really? How fascinating, well, I have to say, she is a beautiful child, so.. unique.” Sutara stiffened, even young, she could hear the predatorial intonation behind that smile and words, lifting her fingers to stem the sound from lips as she waited for her mother to reply.

“Yes, unique, but you still haven’t answered my question.” There was a new tension in her mother’s voice, a tension that vibrated in the air.

“Ellir.. I’m afraid, well, the fact is, that since your daughter was pledged to Kirva, there have been doubts, aimed at the House. You know, I’m not really interested in what other’s think of our actions, but now there is question as to our standings with Kirva, and why would offer such a.. unworthy sampling.” Cherryh-Lui was warming to her subject, a glint of cruelty in her gaze, hands folded against chest, an almost chesire smile gracing blood hued lips. It was enough to send a premonition of fear skidding down her spine. There was a palbable silence, as it stretched, cooled the air like a breath of ice.

"And.. and what do you plan on doing about this?" It would be expected of her mother to curtail anything that might be seen as a weakening in the House structure, but when the cause itself was said to come from her own womb? Sutara strained herself, hoping to hear that reply, shivers working down her spine as the thousand different scenario's pressed into her mind.

"Well, Iirin and I have come to the conclusion we will do what should have been done when that half-breed was born. That is, she will be commited to one of the lower castes as a house slave, undoubtedly because of her coloring and birth, she may even be taken as a pet to one of the lower nobles." there was a stunned moment, a silence that in itself was deafening, something burning at her throat, a sound stuffed back inside by the fist planted in her mouth. Her eyes widened, hoping they had not heard her, but not wanting to find out, or wishing to know her mother's response. What could be expected? This was not her mother's place to refuse a request, no, an ORDER from the Matron herself, and lesser moriel have tried, only to be cut down by the Hand's sword itself.

The child rushed back to her rooms, the surroundings a blur, never taken into account, just the soft feel of her mother's rich satin duvet, the scent that lingered within it. These things were brought to her nose, her mouth, to stem the fear and tears that clogged the back of her throat, until hours had passed, and daylight filted through the above world, and she fell into a fitfull sleep.

The next time she woke, it was to the scent and feel of her mother's arms wrapped around her, her view of the world covered by what she could only think to be the blanket she had slept beneath.

"Momma?.." a hesitant question, arms instinctively tightening around her mother's neck. The scenery that she could depict was not anywhere within the structure itself, but within the caverns. Confusion was iminent, wondering how she had slept through such a thing, trying to peer up at her mother's face. It was inscrutable, dark visage casted into solemn lines, not even a flicker of crimson hues to the bundle she cradled so preciously.

"Momma?.." she asked again, rewarded finally with a flicker of eyes, their depths reflecting her own face back at her, unable to define the shadows that had deepened the color to a rich garnet. There was a light growing within the path they must have been on, and with a small gasp she curled deeper within the blanket, suddenly realizing that they were closer to the top world. It must have been dawn, for the light was not very strong, but she blinked and whimpered in fear. This must have been her fate, to be brought to the top world to die, even slavery was not good enough, her lip caught by her bottom lip as she tried not to sob, tried to be strong. It would be an honorable death, she affirmed to herself, not knowing of such a thing or if it existed, but sure it must, even to those in the NetherGloom. There was silence for the time that her mother continued to walk towards the outside, cavernous mouthes seen beyond the lip of the opening, a mist that shrouded the country side while plush green could be seen just beyond those rolling plateau's.

In the future she would wonder why there had been no guards at the time of her abandonment; in the future, she might realize the gift her mother was bestowing on her, but in the here and now, in that moment when she slid free of those beautiful arms, she could only gaze upwards, her heart in her eyes. There was a wealth of betrayal in those eyes, but what could one do, this was their life, their calling, their duty -- all that reflected back at the child as Ellir brought the blanket more securely around her shoulders, hands lingering.

"You must turn around Sutara, and run, and do not look back. If you look back, you will die. " her soft voice, husky with some unsaid emotion, fingers brushing the child's ribboned white and redhair from her face. Sutara furrowed her brow in confusion, gripping that blanket tight, her bare feet curling into themselves on the rocky earth.

"Momma.. I don't want to leave.." one final attempt, as her mother turned her, heard her sigh. "No, no looking back.. " there was a rough shove, and had she not been as nimble as she was, she would have fallen in the dirt, her breathing becoming broken, panic welling in her throat. However, she knew duty, knew when not to question orders, and began to walking, one foot dragging after the next, her chest rising with each hard inhalation of breath.

"Momma please!" she screamed, beginning to run, fearing what was behind her. There was no answer, her mother would never answer such a pathetic cry for help, and her legs moved faster, driving herself away, eating at the ground until minutes, hours passed. Her lungs screamed for redemption, her muscles burned, and finally, as the sun crested that horizon, she covered her face, but continued to move, unwilling to fall and die, despite the pain in her chest that said she had already died.

Let her die.. she cried to Kirva for mercy.. but none would come, she was not a Goddess known for her easily swayed grace, her head dipped beneath the blanket as she waited for the sun to reach it's zenith, to zap her strength, or for some hungry animal to come and find her. Her lips were growing dry, her tongue unable to banish that cracked pain, and after a few hours she finally collapsed beside a copse of tree's, blurred eyes seeing the haven of the forest, but unable to move.

So she curled and died..

Jingle, Jingle, Jingle

"Well, atleast I got here in time.. " the muttered words, breaking through her consciousness. The feel of something scratchy, smelling of must, wrapped around her, before water was forced past her lips. It hurt, stung at first, but then she began to gulp furiously. "Ok.. that's enough, you'll get sick if you take too much."

A hand guided her head away, and blearily she tried to peer at the face that hovered above her. It was faintly.. familiar, pale features contrasting vividly with the wealth of red hair that wreathed it. She coughed again, her body wracked with pain, doubling in on herself as she moaned, a pathetic sound, ashamed it was emmited from her own lips.

"Are...a-r-r-e..." she coughed again, voice scratchy, and the water was pressed to her lips, gladly taking of it before it was pulled away. "A-r-r-e you going to make me a slave?" letting her eyes look down, vision coming into focus, spotting the myriad of gold and jewelry that shone on the man's rich clothes, his bejeweled hand soothing back her hair.

He chuckled, actually chuckled! easing her into a sitting position so she could see that he had brought her to that lush forest line, the dense growth behind her and the tree she sat against, and the open waistland and plateau's infront.

""Naye, darlin' t'wouldn't be right ta make me own daughter 'omthing Ah abhore. " his thumb rubbed against her cheek, looking at her for what seemed an eternity, watching clarity and understanding dawn in her garnet hued orbs. Slowly, she sat up, clutching the blanket as she peered warily around, insuring that the sun could not hurt her.

He offered his hand.

She took it.

She did not speak the first few miles that they traveled, most of the time he carried her, other times she walked, especially during the evening. He told her about his new stables, and how he would become rich and support her the way she had been used to. Sutara didn't believe him, for her fate was that which Kirva deemed, and if she lived or died, it was the Goddess's fickle nature that would decide.

However, the years passed, and those schemes of his passed too, until one day, she found his horse while he slept the deep slumber of the drunk, a feet in itself for a full bloodied elf. That horse, became her own, and that sun-drenched road, no longer burning her skin, but still stinging her eyes (for she would never admit to the tears) became that which she traveled, the road away from Kirva, into the heart of another Goddess, Ishtar, welcomed into arms that need not seek to plunge a dagger into her back. Or cast her against her own, or say they would protect her, when all that they were, was greed and slothe. Though, as she took that horse, and road into the Empire that had made it's covenant with the Goddess, she could not help, but feel the itch at her back, that burn as eyes of the NetherGloom watched, as though somehow waiting.

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