| Illya Journal entry 1 |
[Apr. 21st, 2006|03:39 am] |
| [ | Illya is... |
| |  drained | ] |
A warning, gentle readers: this is a really loooong and rather angsty post. Please bear with, keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle, and please don't feed the emo Illya. XD.
By the Seven and all the old gods, what have I gotten myself into?
From pariah, to huntsman to lord. Quite the advancement, worthy of remark and envy. I still have trouble believing what's happened, everything has come to pass so very quickly...There's so much for me to learn and do, and all of it seems so very dire. Everything is so strange, I'm part of some grand, complicated and very dangrous game, and I can't for the life of me understand the rules.
One thing I do understand is this : I'm going to get myself killed. Not that I can think of anyone that would want to kill me right now...except maybe my darling wife's grandmother. It's that no one less capable, and likely few less deserving, has ever found themselves so very rappidly advanced with so little effort. I wonder when the day comes when I have to pay for it. Or worse, someone else does...
What I would give for the Seven to have made someone else the bloody long lost scion. If only that I might go back to doing what I'm actually good at, instead of playing pretend. Truely that is all I am doing. I'm not Wilfred, I have precious little knowledge of how the world works outside of the wild, and even less cunning to navigate it. And I am certainly no Morgan, no wit, less charm and certainly lacking her gift for making money. Would that I have half their talents...maybe that horrific encounter with Lady Nerys would have gone differently. Anything would have been better, for while in the company of that woman, I have never felt more lacking of any worth than at any time in my life. I am not clever, or good with words (or anything besides a bow and skulking about the forest for that matter) that is for certain.
Perhaps I could have atleast kept some dignity by not rising to her bait .... but when that wretched woman started insulting my poor Ranny... I swear, I was a hairsbreadth away from striking her. It's one thing to insult me and my heritage, I've been called bastard my entier life, the barb has long sinced ceased to sting, but Ranny? I've met few people less deserving of the sort of malicious spite that just seemed to spew forth every time that woman opened her mouth. So like the idiot I am I tried to play her game and got burnt for it. Badly. I suppose I should learn something from this, but somehow I doubt it. I have such a short temper sometimes, I must make a most distressingly easy target. I can only be gratefull that her ladyship has finally left.
Atleast she was unable to prevent mine and Nor's marriage. I sincerly believe that it may be the best thing I will ever do with this newfound position. Nor fullfills her duty to marry, and she is able to remain with Britamor whom so obviously make her happy. Nor is the closest thing I have to a family, no longer even being a Tyrell. I hope I can make her happy, even if it is in this exceedingly strange manner.
Of course by the will of the Seven, nothing ever seemes to stay quiet anymore.
What is there to say about the latest fiasco those whom I hold dearest to my heart have created. Out of some misguided sense of duty, Nor thought that she needed to introduce some outside assistance to aid our....conjugal relations. Needless to say, the whole thing was the most ridiculous mess I have ever had the misfortune of being in the middle off.
Imagine my confusion, waking up next to my lady wife and...Morgan. How that came about I'll never know. Morgan's never shown much more than a passing interest in me for Nor's sake. I can only assume that it was Nor's idea, though I won't press the issue. At this point, it really doesn't make a damned bit of difference who's idea it was really. I only hope that Morgan can forgive me for rather unceremoniously dumping her in one of the empty chambers. She's been rather cold with me lately, and can I only assume that I've at best offended her, at worst hurt her in some way.
All I can say in my defense is that I feared what might happen if someone had walked in and seen that rather debaucherous sceene. Nor and I would have escaped rather unscathed, having the unfair advantage of being 'noble', but Morgan? Something like that would have spread like wildfire through the castle staff and reached the village rather quickly. Her reputation would have been ruined. Maybe I over reacted, but I've learned that it's better to be safe than sorry, a cold comfort that is though to either of us.
As a whole though I don't think I've ever been more disappointed in my life. Wilfred is a very brilliant man, but he is not the maester. Maester Tammond should have learnt more before suggesting I take some strange mushroom. Wilfred and Nor....what is there to say? I understand that I cannot give Nor what she wants, and I don't begrudge her being with Britamor, because I truely believe that they love one another.
But Wilfred and Nor laying together (along with Morgan and Britamor) was less an act of love an more a greivous lapse in judgement.One that could be very dangerous to the all of us. I can only hope that if he is the father of her child, that it bears more resemblance to her than to him, or else raising the child as my own will be even more difficult.
I suppose the only thing I can really hold against Morgan is that she likely used this whole situation to be with Nor again. I find it hard to stay angry over that given how everyone else has behaved, but seeing how upset Britamor is makes forgiving more difficult. Not that it likely matters much to her anyways, strange woman will go and do what she wills, regardless of what I think. I just wonder if she realizes the possible consequences of some of the things she does. It's a wonder she hasn't been caught and publicly humiliated yet. Or worse. Nobles, I've learned, are very unforgiving of small folk whom try to pass themselves off as one of their own.
Sort of like how I am
It's amazing how complicated everything has become. So much emotions and conflicting loyalties. I find myself wishing, not for the first, or likely last,time that I had not accepted this....title? position? seemes more like a farce sometimes. Really, when I think about it, it's all Ser Hughs fault. Well, not really, but he is the reason I accepted instead of just letting Fallowfield go back to the crown. I remember when he asked me if this, being a lord, was what I really wanted. All I could think of was how I so very much didn't want to be a lord, and how ill suited I was. Then thrice damned man had to go and say something that cut right to the core.
"Stop running away from your responsibilities Illya". It was a rather unpleasant and sobering realization that followed. I've spent almost my whole life running and hiding. The shame I felt was overwhelming, and all I could do was say 'yes' and hope that I wouldn't let everyone down.
It really makes a body wonder why they bother getting up in the morning somedays. Here's to hoping that I won't make a complete idiot of myself at this damned ball of Gavin's. I'd be more than happy to settle for half an idiot. Quite reasonable I think. While I'm wishing for miracles, I think I'd also like some valerian steel and a dragon. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 11th, 2006|12:28 am] |
| [ | Illya is... |
| |  contemplative | ] |
Illya's life with Badger was simple. He got up before sunrise every morning, did some chores, ate, followed Badger around as he hunted for the last stragling nocturnal animals, checked the traps they had laid the day before, ate, learned how to fletch arrows or sharpen axes, did more chores, probably ate again at some point, skined and salted the catch of the day, and go to bed. Day after day it generally went on as such, with occasional changes to the routine made as needed. Like when they needed to go to the village. He still hated going into the village, perhaps more than he had when he was younger. The villagers still spat and called him 'bastard' every time they went, but they had atleast some respect for Badger and the adults atleast would leave him alone for the most part.
Unfortunately it did little to protect Illya from the amusement of the village children. He learned quickly to stay away from them, lest he be chassed up a tree or tossed into the nearby lake again. He shrudered when he remember the last time they had managed to catch him. Despite the warmth of summer, the lake was always cold. Very VERY cold. As he got older it had become less and less of an issue. The village children were always so slow and clumsy, he could usually get away from them unless they caught him by surprise. Unfortunately he wasn't terribly strong and once caught there was little chance of escape.
He could only be gratefull that the blacksmith's appretice didn't seem terribly interested in joining in the other childrens fun. He even imagined sometimes that he saw a look of sympathy in the other boy's eyes. He wondered sometimes if he could find a friend in that one, but was always too afraid to try and talk to him on the odd occasion the opportunity presented itself. Badger said that it was well and fine if he wanted to be craven, but he couldn't not talk to people forever and he might as well get used to it. Illya disagreed with Badger on that point. It always seemed like more trouble than it could possibly be worth to talk to people. Since the villagers by and large seemed to agree with him rather than Badger on that count he generally considered it a victory. Unfortunately, it was one of those victories than he would rather have not had.
He shook his head of those strange thoughts as he stepped out into the dull light of the false dawn. He scrambled over to a pile of uncut wood and as he climbed up the ledge he could feel the sharp edged rocks through his thin leather boots. He thought he should ask Badger about trading for some new boots, but decided that he'd better finish yesterdays chores before he even thought about asking Badger for anything. Aranging himself and the wood, he hefted a worn old axe into the air and started working.
He wasn't sure how long it was he worked before Badger called him over. Illya was grateful as he was relieved of duty to eat. Badger cuffed him as he entered the shelter for not finishing his chores yesterday, but it wasn't a har cuffing and Ilyla was shure Badger wasn't all that annoyed about it. He had finished early enough and Badger didn't have the energy anymore to pester him about these things.
Illya sat down on the log he used as a bench as he doled out the thin gruel Badger had saved from dinner last night. The older man slowly settled himself down and Illya frowned as he watched him. He diddn't know exactly how old Badger was, but he'd been having trouble with his knees lately and Illya was starting to worry. Badger noticed Illya's frown and snorted as he took his worn old bowl from the boy. Illya sighed in defeat, deciding that if Badger wasn't worried about it there was no point in him fretting about it. It's not like he could get the old man to change his ways, especially once he'd made up his mind about something. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 10th, 2006|11:07 pm] |
The boy stood with the mid-wife outside of old Badgers home. It was less a house and more an animals den, dug into the flat side of a hill. He might have appreciated the novelty of such a home, strange as it was, had his thoughts not been solely focussed on how cold he felt. As the mid-wife banged on a crude door he kept his thoughts bearably blank as they waited for a response. He began to idly wonder where the stranger the mid-wife had been talking about was. Thoughts wandering dangerously close to what had happened earlier in the morning ,he was startled by a deep and coarse voice behind him demanding an explanation to their presence.
The boy looked on blankly once his panic had passed at the mid-wife and the old man as they spoke. He was mostly unaware as to what was said, more intent on watching their gestures. Her gestures were shape and jerking, where as his were slower and more deliberate. He decided that he liked the old man better. He seemed calmer and less threatening somehow, despite the small axe in his hand and the un-strung bow on his back. As their conversation ended, their attention was abruptly turned towards him and he was confused as to what was expected of him. "Go on boy, tell him your name" the mid-wife said impatiently. He looked back and forth between the two, trying to rein in his thoughts a find his tongue. "What do they call you boy?" old Badger asked.
Relieved at the easy question, he replied "t-the b-bastard" hoping it would satisfy them. Unfortunately this seemed to displease them as the mid-wife threw her arms in the air in disgust and the old mans frown deepened. "No fool boy, not what the villagers call you, your name!". The boy was confused and not sure what to do, looking to Badger for some hint of what they wanted from him. The old man frowned at him when he failed to reply. "What did your mother call you boy?" He asked in a tired voice. The boy thought for a moment about how his mother talked to him, but his thoughts couldn't move from how the shack looked as it burnt down. He felt cold and it was hard to breathe, his thoughts stuck on that one thought.
He felt himself being shaken and saw rather than heard Badger speaking to him. The large and gnarled hands felt too warm and too heavy through his threadbare tunic. He wanted to run away and find his mother. But she was gone. He could feel himself starting to shake violently and he wanted to curl up and go to sleep, overwhelmed with more emotion than he could deal with. He felt himself being picked up, and leaned into the unexpected warmth gratefully. He could feel the mans chest rumbling as he spoke to the mid-wife. What was said he was unsure, but it seemed enough for the woman and she left them at that. He was brought into the shelter and sat down on a hard wooden bench. He watched as Badger bussied about the room gathering a blanket.
Once he seemed satisfied with his labor Badger pointed to a meager pile of hay with a blanket on it in a corner. He understood what Badger meant and unsteadily made his way over to the coner, falling into a heap on the matted pile. He felt another blanket being draped over him and felt surprised at Badgers generosity. He curled up, gratefull for the comfort and watched as Badger set about making a fire. Again he knew that he was saying someting, but the words flowed through his mind and out again like slipery fishes, and he couldn't muster the energy to try and keep a hold on them. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Badger ask him a question. He lifted his heavy head to look at him with bleary eyes. "Illya. Any problem with that?" Badger repeated, knowing the boy hadn't heard him the first time. He nodded, thinking that it sounded just fine to him before he slipped into unconsciousness. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 6th, 2006|09:31 pm] |
| [ | Illya is... |
| | numb | ] |
The boy woke to a frigid morning and a cold, heavy arm around him. He turned to wake his mother and moved her arm off of him. He looked at her unusually pale face in confusion. She was always such a light sleeper and would rouse as soon as he did. She always seemed so tired to the boy, that he thought he'd let her alone for a while.
He decided to go about his morning chores so that she'd be pleased with him when she woke. He fed the single scrawny chicken they owned and gathered the firewood and kindling when his felt his stomach rumbling. Deciding that surely enough time had passed, he ran back in to wake his mother. As he shook her shoulder he noticed some blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. He stubled back a bit, frightened and unsure as to what to do. He remembered her telling him something about an old woman in the village and decided he should find her.
The boy didn't like going to the village, but was certain that the old woman should be able to fix his mother. He ran out the door and to the village as fast as he could. Even then the distance seemed to stretch on forever and he was startled when he finally reached the edge of the village.He was unsure as to the wisdom of running through the village and stopped abruptly.
His natural unease around people lent extra appeal to the idea of going around. He gave wide berth to the huts, trying to remember which one his mother said the old woman lived in. He heard before he saw crudly made windchimes and started to walk towards the particular hut they belonged to. As he crept out of the trees he saw an old woman chasing some birds from her garden, one of them flying in his direction.
He gave a startled gasp as the bird nearly crashed into him in it's haste. The old woman looked up sharply in his direction and held up her broom to defend herserlf. "Who's there?" she demanded in a wheezing and raspy voice. The boy nearly fled back into the woods when he rememberd his reason for trying to find this woman.
Gathering what little courage he had, Illya stepped out into view. Warilly he approached her, carefull to stay out of the brooms reach. "M-mid-w-wife?" he asked, his fear making his stuttering worse than it usually was. He peered at the old woman shyly from under a mop of dirty hair. "Ech! the bastard child!" she shook her head head and muttered to herself. "What do you want of me child?" she asked frowning, though a bit gentler than how most of the villagers talked to him.
"My mother...." he ventured hopping that she would understand what he ment. " What does that harlot want of me?" she asked impatiently. The boy cringed, not understanding what the words ment, only their intention. "Sh-she won't w-wake up" he said with a little hiccoup. "What do you mean boy?" she asked frowning in confusion. At a loss as to what was wrong with his mother, all the boy could do was look back and forth between the old woman and the direction of his home in increasing worry.
"Bah! Fine, I'll go have a look, but you'll recieve a sound thrashing if you're wasting my time child!" He nodded vigorously to show his seriousness before starting back to the woods. "Not that way boy!" She commanded sharply and he abruptly stopped and turned around, hoping that she wouldn't make him go through the village. " I'm too old to be skulking about like a bandit. We'll take the road like proper people." She ambled around to the front of the hut and gestured for him to follow.
He looked around, nervous and gave a start when he felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up, confused and she waved her hand at him. "Well come on then child, lets go". As they headed through the village, the boy kept his eyes on the ground as the old woman used him for support. The trip was surprisingly uneventful and he wondered what was keeping the villagers at bay. When he dared to look up he saw the old mid-wife giving a scathing glare to the blacksmith, whom had the good sense to be cowed. All of a sudden, he was glad to be serving as a cane, so that potent glare might not be directed at him.
The walk dragged on even longer than his first trip and the boy was worrying even more. Uppon reaching the shack, the mid-wife went in a head of him. As she was entering she stopped abruptly and Illya nearly walked right into her. She motioned for him to stay outside the hovel while she went further in. She sniffed a bit before hastily covering her face with a shawl. She cautiously went over to have a look but didn't get far before stopping.
"Start a fire in the pit outside boy" she commanded. Illya hesitated for a moment before a barked 'Now!' set him into motion. He had a modest fire going in a few minutes with the wood he had set aside earlier. He looked up expectantly as she came out, muttering and making warding gestures. She noticed him looking at her and looked about to say something before she stopped herself. She stood thinking for a few minutes before ordering him to go to the nearby pond, with a 'might the old gods help you if you move'.
He scamppered over to the pond several meters away from the shack and waited patiently. He watched as the old woman tossed out a few belongings and he wondered what that had to do with his mother being sick. He had a feeling of dread for his mother as he tried to understand what was happening. His worry turned into confusion as he saw the old woman pick up a branch full of dead leaves off the ground and dip it into the fire.
Confusion gave way redily to paralyzing shock as he saw her toss the branch onto the dry bark and sod roof. The old midwife stood back as the flames quickly spread over the roof and walls. He gave a strangled cry at the though of his mother inside the burning shack and ran towards it in panicked horror. Before he could reach the fire he was ensnared by boney but surprisingly strong arms.
"What do you think you're doing? fool child, do you mean to join your mother in death!?" She said. She trapped his arms to his side in a fierce bear hug as the thrashed, trying to escape. "Mother!" he screamed, trying to escape the old womans hold. "You're mother is dead child! Taken by the consuption, there's nothing to do for her now!" As the fire consumed the shack his struggles eventually became weaker and weaker. Eventually she let him go as the flames began to die down.
As he sat there the midwife gathered up the few belingings she'd deemed woth saving into a thin blanket and tied them up. She brought them over to the boy who sat staring at the blackend remains of the shack. She squatted down to look the boy in the eye but found nothing but a lost look in his eyes. "Boy.....Boy!" she shouted to get his attention after a few minutes. He looked up startled and in an unexpected moment of awkwardness the midwife was at a loss for words.
"There was nothing to do for your mother child. She was already gone." The boy could only look at the woman in confusion. "C'mon, up. You can't stay here. I'll take you to old Badgers. He's a hard man, but practical enough not to care about the parentage of an extra pair of hands." She waited patiently for the boy to drag himself to his feet and began to lead him away... |
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