Gilded Seclusion (Brenton)

[Harbor]

:Wearing:

So rarely am I permitted outside, the endeavor must be met with the most effort possible expended on my appearance. My husband the duke has spread the lie that I am fragile with some reoccurring illness and must stay inside most of the time. This is his explanation for why the number of state suppers I have attended can be counted on one hand, and the number of people outside his keep who have actually seen my face can be counted even fewer. The duke is jealously, terribly possessive--no man has the right to look upon my face but himself. Even so, I still must be perfect--an epitome of female beauty--whenever I step through his barred doors, escorted by guards no less. By his order I must wear a full veil regardless, to protect my face from being seen, but even yet I must be perfect.

"Is your hair always gold?" my youngest daughter asked me when she, briefly, passed me in the hall. Most daughters would know better, that their mother's hair does not grow gold naturally. But I cannot blame her. We are permitted to see each other little enough. With six children, you would think that my time would constantly be filled by their presence. But no, my lovely children all have maids and manservants and attendants and tutors--according to their father, they have little need of me. They only needed me for a couple of months and then they needed me no more. By the way my children and I watch each other from across empty rooms when we are lucky enough to pass through them together, any stranger could see that this is not true--we need each other simply because as people we know that a child ought to know her mother, a mother ought to know her son. But the duke does not see it that way. His belief is that I ought to belong to him, and to him alone. My children already know better than to ever break the plane of space between the two of us, and I am not permitted to so much as raise my gaze to speak in defense of children learning too young the strength in his hard hands.

I knelt and lightly brushed a stray black lock of hair out of her eyes. "No, love, my maids brushed gold powder into it today. I am going out for a while."

She nods. She doesn't ask when I will be back because what does it matter to a child who is only permitted to speak with her mother once ever few weeks or so. The duke will hear from his guards that I stopped to talk to her as I left. Certainly I will hear from him later. I leave then, wary of prompting even more of the duke's wrath, and my guards shell me in as we stride toward the front doors. As the guards there retract the bolts, I reach to my hair and draw my white--it is nearly always white--veil down over my face. Tiny pearls are sewn into the hem so it doesn't flutter and reveal me, but there are tiny slits cut into it so at least I can see a sliver of the world as it appears directly before me. For the most part I must rely on my husband's guards to prevent me from running into anyone; I know very well they will prevent anyone else from touching me. The last person who tried is probably still scarred from the cut one of the guards put in her face.

Armed as I am with three guards, a handmaid, full veil, gold dust in my intricately-woven black hair, matching rings, gold and pearl jewelry, and a burgundy and lace-trimmed gown, with sleeves so long I can hardly expect to do anything for myself, I step out into the world for the first time in months. Since the duke's keep is not far from the market, only on the outskirts of town, I choose to walk, though he would have growled to see me do it. I am a lady now, and must act like one. At least while in his presence. With his guards, who can only tell him of what I have done for the day, I am permitted a shred more leniency as far as my actions and those of others. As soon as I reach the market, with the coin the handmaid carries I purchase for myself a silver goblet of mulled cider, and for her a pewter cup of the same. I would give her the goblet as well, but I know that my husband will hear of it and beat her for my generosity. He knows that beating me doesn't always work. I draw up my veil just enough that I can drink without wetting it, hooking the folds over tiny pins in the top of the angled crown keeping the silk from lying against my face. 

I don't often have the opportunity to walk this much, so already I've grown tired. I step toward a seat beside the bakery and one of the guards draws it out. Gleaning what I can from the tiny slivers I am allowed to see, I notice that they seem to be in placid enough moods today to probably allow me to speak to a couple of people without making much fuss. But who would dare? It has been nearly five months since the last time I, the ill, reclusive wife of the duke, emerged from seclusion and the last time someone tried to carry on a conversation with me my guards nearly drew steel on him. I am so infrequently seen at all, let alone in public, that for a moment, as always, I wonder if anyone will even recognize me without being able to see my face. But of course they do--I am the only one I have ever known not to be permitted to have one. My veil identifies me. I am the duke's wife. His property. I have been since I was fifteen. 

[Brenton]

The pounding of feet, steel boots, could be heard all the way across town as guards sprinted through the streets. Empire Scum! All of the guards could still hear the spite in the stranger's words when he spit profanities. Each of them also felt the warm trickle of blood from the gashes in their cheeks. Yet none of the soldiers could find this mystery man and it could be bad. After all the duke's wife was in the city according to gossip on the streets.

Just then a flash of movement from the right and one of the guards was headless. Once again the chase had begun and people were moving aside. The strange man vaulted over a wall and into the market, instantly sheathing his blue sword. He searched and soon the handsome half elf man sat down with a woman wearing a white veil. Don't alert the city guards. I am not your enemy.

[Harbor]

As Isilee sat at the small table with her warm drink cupped in her ungloved hands, she didn’t hear any abnormally concerning scuffles from anywhere nearby, but the handful of city guards who trotted past, frowning lines etched in their brows and cheeks, she knew that someone somewhere was giving them trouble. For the sake of all involved she hoped that either the troublemaker was an unethical man about to be caught or a moral man about to escape. With any luck as few innocent people would be harmed as possible. But then, sometimes it was the bystanders, the people irrelevant to the grand scheme of all involved, that were the worst harmed anyway. Innocent people were not suspicious of their world and therefore took no pains to protect themselves from it. They were the type of people who acquired the first bruises, and typically they were the people who least deserved them. But that was the way of the world.

It had been months since Isilee had last been permitted to visit the city, so she was determined to spend as much of her time while she was still feeling relatively well enjoying herself as she could. Her lady’s maid had bundled herself up well enough that she wasn’t chilled by the frozen breeze drifting between busy people on the street, though Isilee was colder because her husband preferred his lovely wife’s splendor to be seen instead of hidden inside the sleek furs that would have kept her warmer. Warmth was a commodity he did not see as necessary, and as the cold was unlikely to kill her, only irritate, she unwillingly agreed. He would not have let her leave if the weather would genuinely harm her.

When a young man with an oddly angular cast to his features—something a cousin to her own appearance, though not quite as foreign—appeared without warning and somehow without her two guards’ notice, as they were facing away, and slid into the chair beside her, she turned to look at him with a raised brow of pleasant surprise that he wouldn’t be able to see, and her hands on her goblet paused. His words were even more baffling still, that he should feel the need to define himself. Isilee had but one enemy in her life, but on the opposite hand she didn’t know if she had any friends. Since she wasn’t allowed proper companions, anybody in their staff who felt any particular fondness had to hide it even from her, so they would not be summarily dismissed for the transgression against their lord of caring about their lady. Quietly, she replied, ”It’s not the city guards you need worry about if you aren’t an enemy.” No. The city guards might even be on her side if they knew of her isolation up in the duke’s keep. The duke’s guards, on the other hand, were loyal to him. At the sound of her mistress’s voice, the lady’s maid glanced up and noticed her new companion, very nearly smiled, and drifted away to the other side of the street, leaning on one of the other stalls in such a way that it pulled her fur-lined coat against the lines of her waist and hip, so that Isilee’s guards were inclined to watch the maid instead of the lady. Isilee was temporarily caught by this distraction as well, mystified as to the cause of it. Rella was new—she had only attended to Isilee for a week—so she didn’t know her very well, but none of her maids before had ever made the slightest gesture to allow her any more freedom on her rare outings. They had simply followed their orders to watch and attend. How peculiar.

Drawing her attention back to the unexpected man at her side, Isilee did her best to guess, futilely, who he might be. In a brief glimpse of him out of the cut in the silk over her face, she’d seen a sliver of his angled face, but past that she had to rely on other forms of observation. As quiet as he was, she’d heard the shift of metal when he sat down. Not knowing much of weaponry past what could be learned from books and scrolls, she couldn’t begin to guess what sort of blade he carried, but that he was able to carry it at all with her guards so close was a fact to note. The guards didn’t mind as much when the occasional woman approached her, but men they tended to disarm before they came within touching distance.

Keeping her voice low enough that it would fold into the fabric of street noise around them before reaching the guards, Isilee asked, ”If not my enemy, then whose are you?”

[Brenton]

Brenton sighed as the city guard ran by but he had already noticed the Duke's guards as well. This woman was making it a point to avoid them noticing him which meant she was not allowed freedom often. He grinned and spoke quietly. Your guards cannot harm me for if they do a very angry dragon will descend from the skies. If you wish to escape then wait for my distraction and run to the gates. I will meet you and we will rescue any who you want. My name is Brenton, king of During Weldenvarden. Quickly he removed his.cloak and handed it to Isilee before standing up. Move quickly and stick to the shadows. Brenton walked toward the maid and kissed her as he looked at the guards. Quickly he drew his sword. Who's first, boys?

[Harbor]

At his calm proclamation Isilee’s eyes widened and she looked through her veil at the smudges of his hands. We will rescue you? Surely he didn’t mean his dragon? Good heavens, a half-elven king and dragon rider coming to spirit her away? That was simply too imbalanced to be true. Kings did not rescue bastards. Dragons didn’t bother themselves with the uninfluential wives of tyrants. Elves didn’t bother themselves with humans. The ludicrousness of it all left her struck dumb until she roused herself to find his fine cloak draped across the table before her and Brenton taunting her guards. Well, he certainly was confident, with that attitude.

But by all the hells, why couldn’t men ever consult women when concocting their grand plans? Isilee couldn’t be seen running away, couldn’t be seen as anything other than obedient to the duke. If he so much as suspected that she had left willingly, her children would start to lose fingers for every day she was gone.

In moments though the maid had ducked around the three sparring men and was dragging Isilee to her feet. ”Come on,” she coaxed, ”I’ll just get you out of sight.” In truth, that was the minimum that Isilee needed before she could do as she wished and run, even though she hadn’t been able to run in years. Rella threw the king’s cloak over Isilee’s shoulders, and it was dark enough that once they were between buildings anybody who saw her wouldn’t recognize her, especially with her gaudy dress now hidden who would be able to identify her? As the maid pulled her along—Isilee couldn’t navigate her own city, she saw it so infrequently—the lady yanked pearls and jeweled combs out of her hair, casting the expensive veil off as well as the ‘crown’ that held it in place. The less of her finery that people glimpsed the better. And besides, she had always hated such blatantly useless frippery.

Rella yanked her through a number of smaller alleys and finally toward a postern gate that was rarely guarded since hardly anybody remembered its existence. She heaved the door open, shoved Isilee out onto the wooden steps, and was about to slam the door when Isilee stopped her. Grasping at the maid’s hands, she said hurriedly, ”Come with me. Rella, please.”

But the maid only grinned. ”I’ve more work to do yet, Lady. Perhaps another time.” And with that she disappeared. Isilee was left standing alone in the quiet, gray morning, tiny flecks of snow drifting down, listening to the burgeoning chaos that echoed from within the city walls. It was those sounds of shouting and metal clashing that drove her to hasten down the steps, clutching the cloak about herself, and hide crouching beneath them. Wooden steps and raised postern gates, she remembered reading, were useful in the event of a siege because attacking men could neither sprint through such a narrow door nor such a door that was raised six feet off the ground, since the steps would be burned as the invading army approached. Now that she’d gotten her dormant heart to racing after her own short sprint through the city, the cold air felt colder against her warmed skin, and she pulled the cloak up tighter around her neck. While waiting, she tried not to think about the children the king had offered to bring away with her, and tried not to be furious with said king for making such an offer without realizing that she was incapable of taking all of her children from the keep without the duke noticing or his men fighting her for the possession of them. She might as well try to grow feathers, for all the good such an act would do.

When she finally saw Brenton again she eyed him suspiciously. ”How long has it been your intention to kidnap the duke’s wife?” she wanted to know. ”And why?”

[Brenton]

Simply spoken, the feeling of kissing Relia had made Brenton confused but filled him with confidence as she ran with the Duke's wife. He was soon in a fight with the guards, casting them aside until walking to the last one and getting the location of Isilee's children. With practiced movement all of the guards were beheaded and Brenton was gone. He ran fast toward the postern gate still marveling at the soft lips of Isilee's maid. Soon he was next to the lady and he grinned. When your maid moved and caught my attention I had to find a reason to kiss her. Now then, your children will be in danger if we leave them but you are in danger now. Maybe your maid will help me when I go to rescue them. With that he gave a sly grin and sheathed his sword, Undbitr and gave a dagger to Isilee. Is that fine with you, Lady Isilee?

[Harbor]

At first Isilee just stared at him. ”What do I care about why you kissed a maid?” Just so long as he didn’t kiss her. Isilee was tired of kisses, and men, and the things that men expected and did after kisses. At least she’d only ever had to deal with one man doing it. She supposed the duke could have done her worse. Budding up beneath her irritation with this baffling person who absolutely refused to answer any of the questions she’d asked—and with more to come—however, was a strange sort of fascination that came with looking a stranger in the eyes when she almost never saw strangers at all, and only her children ever looked her in the eyes.

Finally she broke through the irritation and shook her head. ”No, the duke won’t harm them unless he thinks I’ve disobeyed him or they disobey him themselves.” He thrust a dagger into her hands and Isilee stared at him again, aghast. Shoving it back, she demanded, ”Don’t you understand who you’re trying to irritate today? If anybody sees me doing anything but fighting your attempts to spirit me away my children will suffer for it. I can’t be seen cooperating with you.” Isilee managed to resist the urge to shove him but couldn’t resist the look of pure frustration—mixed with fear—that she ground into him. ”Why are you taking me away?”

[Brenton]

Brenton shook his head in frustration as she argued with his attempts to help. After her maid had just aided her leaving the city this young woman wanted to return and risk watching her beaten or killed. The king couldn't understand such cruelty to those willing to help her. With a sigh, the half elf took the knife and ran back into the city in pursuit of the maid. Soon he saw her and slid to a stop, breathing slightly unevenly. Please, miss, return with me to my home. You are in danger for helping and I do not wish to see you injured. Young maid, return with me and you will never have to worry again. Brenton hoped beyond hope that she would accompany him back.

[Harbor]

Isilee was sorely tempted to either hit him or snarl when, without answering her question for a second time, he turned without warning and bounded back inside. Well then. Apparently he was bound and determined to be as mysterious and as aggravating as possible. So, since standing in the shadow of the wall was starting to make her shake and she wasn't quite furious yet to return to her prison and beg asylum, she left the wall And crept to a copse of pale ash trees less than a quarter mile away. Far enough the sentries on the wall wouldn't see her but not far enough that an elf would have to search. Besides, where else could she go?

Within the city Rella had slipped back into her usual ways of blending in with all other citizens, having discarded of her maid's uniform already, and was pleasantly astonished to see the handsome fellow from before come bolting up to her. At his formal request, breathless from running, she chuckled and patted him on the cheek. "Darling my own escape is already waiting for me, but you're a dear for asking. Forget about me." Before he could get any ideas she slipped back into the crowds and skipped away.

[Brenton]

Brenton was shocked, utterly in pain, when suddenly guards surrounded him with their weapons drawn and at the ready. He counted ten in total, child's play, but none of them mattered as he watched Rella walk away from him. Brenton didn't even draw his sword but instead dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his head. Capturing me isn't going to help you in the least. The guards didn't listen to him as they bound his hands and dragged him to his feet. RELLA! Get her to safety and run! Suddenly a fist connected to his skull and Brenton crumpled to the ground.

[Harbor]

Isilee sat discontentedly with her arms around her knees, still wrapped and warm in her borrowed cloak. This copse of trees was on a rise; she was able to see a small corner of the market from there, and she watched it with a deeply set scowl as she waited for the King Hero to come back and explain himself. Several minutes passed, though, and she started to pace. Using a trick her father had taught her, she curled her thumb and index finger together tightly, creating the tiniest hole that she could see through, and put the fingers up to her eye. Something about the shape of the air in the hole gave her perfectly clear vision—almost as useful as a spyglass—to scan the market with. She saw someone separating a young woman from the crowd and speaking to them, she glowered, and when she identified the man and the woman, she cursed aloud.

Isilee sprinted back toward the wall. She was quite skilled at climbing walls, and had been maneuvering her way out of her own window down into the garden below for years, just so she could feel the sunlight or the starlight on her skin without being overshadowed by a man with a sword or just any man at all. She reached the base with her breath left far behind her and wasted no time in digging her fingers into the grooves between the rough stones where the mortar had been worn away. The toes of her lacy shoes were narrow and hard, and made it easy to climb, even though her knuckles were rubbed raw by the cold stone. Climbing up with her skirts as long and voluminous as they were was a trick, but with practice she had learned. The sentry in her shaded corner of the wall must have heard her ascent because he and his crossbow poked out over the lip. Isilee threw herself up and grabbed the crossbow by the lathe, yanking the man with it over the edge. He fell with a faint howl and she kept the crossbow for herself. Her father, in an effort to give her as much dignity as possible, had forbade her from learning the ways of weaponry, but one of his household guards had taught her at least this one weapon.

Hauling herself onto the walkway, Isilee lifted the crossbow before herself, sighted through the tiny telescope on its stock, and fired into the back of one of the men who had just shoved Brenton to the ground. Since the baskets lining the wall were well stocked with a collection of bolts and arrows, she reloaded and fired again.

[Brenton]

Bolts flew through the air air took out two guards before Brenton opened his eyes again and snapped the rope binding his hands. In a heartbeat he sprung to his feet and cut down the other eight guards before he took off for Rella's receding form in the distance. Already his throat was tightening but the half elf caught up to her. And what if I don't want to forget you? Please, miss, don't ask that of me.

Grazael swooped down and landed next to the wall that Isilee was standing on. He really does want you safe. Brenton spent years enslaved to the tyrant king and watched his mother killed by the king. He wants the oppressed to be safe and is stubborn. Please don't dismiss him and go back to your prison.

[Harbor]

Bolts flew through the air air took out two guards before Brenton opened his eyes again and snapped the rope binding his hands. In a heartbeat he sprung to his feet and cut down the other eight guards before he took off for Rella's receding form in the distance. Already his throat was tightening but the half elf caught up to her. And what if I don't want to forget you? Please, miss, don't ask that of me.

Grazael swooped down and landed next to the wall that Isilee was standing on. He really does want you safe. Brenton spent years enslaved to the tyrant king and watched his mother killed by the king. He wants the oppressed to be safe and is stubborn. Please don't dismiss him and go back to your prison.

An unfamiliar thudding sound caused Isilee to pay more attention to the sky than her aim, but continued to shoot anyway because that was what her father’s guard had taught her. She ducked, kneeling behind the walkway’s inner wall so anyone looking up would be less likely to see her clearly. When a dragon landed beside her, her eyes widened, and she was lucky that Brenton and Rella had vanished, because she couldn’t keep shooting reliably with the impressive bulk of an actual dragon standing peaceably beside her. ”Hello,” she said uncertainly. The dragon spoke inaudibly, and her stomach hollowed out with mixed shock and trepidation. She pressed her lips together as he did, and hollowed out her throat to respond. ”I’m not dismissing him, I’m harassing him. I don’t know him; I can’t trust him yet. I don’t know his motives.” Or she hadn’t, until the dragon landed. But what had given them the impression that she intended to go back to her husband? She didn’t. She was just torn between choosing the uncertainty of a person who may hurt her and the certainty of the husband whom she knew would hurt her. And it terrified her to have such a delicate situation taken out of her control, especially when she’d had her own plan.

Below, when the handsome fellow caught up to Rella again and stopped her hasty flight, rolling her eyes, Rella ducked sideways into a darker doorway so they wouldn’t’ be seen. ”What?” she asked, exasperated. What could he possibly want now? ”Don’t want to forget me? Well, hon, that’s kind of the point. I go unnoticed everywhere. It’s a problem when people remember me.” A quartet of city guards trotted by and Rella put a hand on the side of his face to turn it out of their sight. ”You have got to be more careful, darling.”

[Brenton]

Brenton shook his head slowly as he dropped his gaze and thought carefully. He didn't want to forget Rella but he could see her point since Konner told him what assassins were like. That's something I can understand but I refuse to forget you. If you must stay then promise me you will come find me. Marry me, please. Brenton hoped that Rella would agree and then he could leave.

[Harbor]

Rella blinked and stared at him. ”Why is it that important to you? I’ve been taking care of myself for years.” She frowned up at him, concerned about how quickly he’d decided that she was so important, and how willing he was to take actions to keep her that way. But whatever oddities he may have, just because he cared about people more than she allowed herself to didn’t mean she had to tease him for it. She had problems of her own, and if she let down her starchy pride enough, he might be able to help her with him. He looked like the sort of man who could do a girl some good, whether or not it lasted.

So Rella nodded. ”All right. I’ll find you if I can and I solemnly promise not to get killed in the meantime. Here.” She fished in the hidden pocket inside her waistband and produced a rolled slip of parchment, unrolling it just enough to show him the sparse address on the inside before tucking it gingerly into his hip pocket. ”You can contact me through here. Sparingly.” She squeezed his hand once and climbed out of the doorway, wondering as she left if she’d ever know him well enough to tell him her name.

[Brenton]

Brenton smiled as she walked away and then he heard it, the sound of soldiers yelling dragon. Instantly his whole mood changed and the king ran toward the wall, vaulting up onto a roof and sprinting harder. Soon he saw Isilee and Brenton stopped long enough to don his armor and pull on a riding cloak. I am king of Du Weldenvarden and I try to keep the oppressed safe. Any more information you require will have to wait until I return with your children. The Duke should allow me entrance for fear of angering the elves. With that he jumped down and mounted a white stallion before riding toward the manor house.

[Harbor]

Brenton returned at a swifter run than any human could manage, and paused before them. Isilee remained crouched and hidden behind the walkway’s inner wall, certain that the city’s soldiers would hesitate to either attack or approach a dragon, and watched as the king threw armor over his clothes. Goodness, what was he preparing himself for now? ”….wait until I return with your children.” Oh. So that was what he needed it for. Well, the duke may let him in, but how was one elf going to get six confused, untrusting children—not one of them older than ten, and the youngest just two—out of her husband’s well-protected keep, through the city and onto a dragon? ”Good luck,” she said weakly, watching him leave. She wanted to ask the dragon if Brenton had always been prone to such lunacy as he’d displayed today but didn’t want to risk being impaled on one of the formidable claws she could see clearly from her place tucked in against the wall. Instead, she reloaded the crossbow and waited, again, hoping that this time the king would be so inclined as to get himself back in one piece. She didn’t expect him to be able to bring her children. If she did, it would only break her heart if he came back alone.

[Brenton]

Brenton rode up to the gate and was challenged but the guard stopped when he saw the crown resting on his head and the white stallion's pristine coat. Within moments he was riding in and stopped at a safe distance to make sure his boots still held his long bladed daggers. The daggers were hidden so Brenton walked toward the front door with perfect posture and looked around carefully. Guards at every entrance and archers on the walls. This would certainly be interesting to get even one young child out safely. Brenton walked through the doors and was ushered toward the Duke's chambers. He gathered himself and quickly cast as web of spells to protect him from danger. As king, I should not be riding through chaos. Do not think I cannot have you beheaded in your own chambers just because I am not in Du Weldenvarden.

[Harbor]

The duke turned in his study, being saved from surprise at his unexpected visitor by the quick flight of a footman up ahead of him. "As a king, you shouldn't be barging into a man's chambers like an unschooled manservant, either." He smirked, leaning back against his desk, feigning comfort even if he felt uncertainty gnawing at his bones like mice after a long-forgotten prisoner. "Why have you left your sacred forest, Your Kingship?"

[Brenton]

I may rule over the forest but my horse takes me wherever I feel like going. And as someone with connections in Uru'baen, I control this room now so tell me exactly where the children are or I will call in favors and have you strung up for kidnapping and murder. Brenton drew his sword just in case and stood still. And even in your own city you should show me respect for my crown.