Theo

I always do my best to stay out of their reach, so that I never quite meet their eyes or their gazes. I know what will come if I do something wrong -- a palm against my face, the sharp crack of the whip, spending a night out in the stables, my hands tied to the post.

That is always as it has been. I do my best to stay just out of their reach, never meeting their gaze. I rarely say a word; no one hears my voice.

That was always how it was until his daughters came from the land far away, where he lives.

I admired them; their laughs, their melodic voices, their joy. One was older, and her name tasted like a flower. The other was younger, and her name was like a tiny pinprick of light as the dawn steals the night away.

They asked me my name when they first came here. I was kneeling behind the baker, because he protected my from most new guests, and sometimes he gave me food when I had lost the privilege of it. I did not expect them to see me, and when they asked about me, I did not answer, for I did not think they meant me. When I didn't, the tailor hit me hard enough to send me sprawling, but I did not make a sound. I try not to make sounds unless I need to.

At first I thought that I had screamed, but it was the older daughter instead. She rushed forward to help me up, holding my head, asking if I was all right. I made the mistake of looking at her, and then remembered myself and twisted away from her gentle touch. I raised myself to a kneel again, trying not to flinch.

"Boy!" snapped the tailor. "The lady asked you for your name."
My name? No -- you may not have my name -- you will only use it against me -- you will only hurt me with it -- call me Boy, call me Lad, call me Servant, anything, but I will not allow you the trust it would take to give you my name.
"You'll spend a week in the stables if you don't answer, boy," warns the tailor, in a low voice.
My name. "My name is Theo," I say in my quietest voice.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't catch that?" asks the daughter.
"My name is Theo, my lady," I say louder, directing my words to the wooden floor.

She catches me off-balance as she grasps my hand and pulls me upwards to my feet. I flinch in expectation of a blow, but it's not anything like that. She brushes the hair back from my forehead and kisses where I was hit tenderly. "I'm pleased to meet you, Theo." she says, and in her voice, I almost find hope.

.&.

My life has been better since the daughters came. The older one is called Clover, because of her dark green eyes, and the younger one is called Eirian. They don't hit me or whip me or lock me in the stables, and when they notice they make sure that no one else does.

One day I went picking apples, and the tailor caught me and tied my hands and gave me a good whipping and then he left me hanging there, and Eirian found me and took me down and tended to my wounds. When I tried to stop my screaming she told me that it was okay to cry.

So I cried.

For some reason, it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

.&.

The tailor wanted to get a slave trainer, because he said that my behavior as of late was unacceptable. Then Clover said 'No.'

When the tailor asked why, she said "Because my sister is going to marry him."

The tailor spluttered. "You -- can't --!"

Eirian said from the doorway. "But I love him. Isn't that enough?"

It doesn't hurt to love. And it doesn't hurt to love anymore.

And I can tell the world that.

Author's Note

Written while listening to Coldplay at a dangerously loud volume.

Reviews

[Greystone]

Lordie Lou. What happened to their daughters? I can't see their grandfather too happy about this match on E's side.