Trammeled

7/26/14
Mostly fiction-ish, maybe a little fiction-y.
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They'd failed at leaving her behind.

She'd slain the beast and finished off the fell creature.

And yet she lived.

This time, though, they'd succeeded in leaving her behind. If she hadn't been abed, unconscious, she would have found a way to follow them again, to follow him, to doom and death. To die in battle, most likely.

Killed in battle--seemingly the only glory and renown to be found in this life--and it was to be denied her. Yes, she'd gained renown, but that hadn't been what she sought. Still wasn't.

Granted, one did not have to live by the sword to die by them. Words could kill as easily as swords, except one kept on living. She was proof of that. That traitor's greasy words had slipped from his tongue, wormed their way into her heart as they had her uncle's mind. She'd watched him weave a net around her uncle, ensnaring him with poisonous lies. He'd watched her, too, stalked her steps and whispered frosty phrases. Her brother, honor-bound by the hall's laws, had been rankled at his inability to stop him from the traitor's evil deeds. Yet he had his deeds and his swords, his horses and his men. What had been her solace?

However, the man who had helped stop the traitor's wormy words had nary a glance for her. Had the traitor's words damaged her more than than stabbing the evil beast had? Was she not worth anything more than her position and her ability to run a household? What was wrong with her? Would no one love her as she was, and not as who they wished her to be? Could no one look past her circumstances and see her? She was the daughter of kings and could be a queen, if only given the chance. Though it seemed as if no chances would ever come her way.

She could not stay in this room any longer, with its windowless walls. How could she look East and wait for doom to fall, if she had no window? She resolved on asking the warden if she could leave. What harm could there be in asking? She was stuck, trapped in by other people's words, other people's actions, dying daily, bit by bit, long before the forces from the East swept out from the Black Gates and came to kill them all. Even winning wouldn't change the fact that she'd been trammeled in, as if she were some wild thing that garnered no pity nor love from anyone.

And if she couldn't get the warden to release her, she'd appeal to whomever commanded him. If she remembered correctly, that would be the Steward of the city. Meeting him would probably change nothing. Of that she was sure.
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