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OOM - Delia's family pay her a vist
Jun. 29th, 2005 01:46 pmIt isn’t that bad, as far as cells go. A simple bed, a chair and even a small, half-circle window (in winter, this seeming kindness will be a curse; she doesn’t plan to stay here that long). Not that bad, but Delia is still slowly going insane. At least in the convent there had been something constantly to do, if only embroidery. It wasn’t like…
This. Four bare walls, a window to let in sun and air and a constant reminder that she could be outside right now if she hadn’t been stupid. (Delia would prefer a cell without a window, but it’s not up to her.) So, when the door is unlocked and slowly open, she gets to her feet quickly, like a little girl.
Then freezes.
“Papa? Jem?”
She takes a step forward, remembers herself, and sinks into a curtsey.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, girl!” And with that, Delia is enveloped in her father’s embrace. “I haven’t seen you for a gods-cursed year and all you do is curtsey?”
Weakly, her voice muffled and choked, “Sorry, Papa.” Letting go of her father, Delia takes a step back and then hugs Jem. Her brother stumbles backwards, his walking stick only just keeping them both upright.
“Oh, Jem, I’m sorry…here, sit down on the bed, your leg still playing up?” Jem eyes his younger sister with a raised eyebrow. They look similar, but not the same: he is stocky where she is slender, brown-skinned where she is pale. But the eyes, wide and bright-green, are the same. Their mother’s eyes.
Their father, grey-haired for all his only in his forties and hazel-eyed, coughs. Delia flushes, looking awkward for a moment.
The silence stretches.
They gaze at her.
She shifts, biting her lip.
They just gaze some more.
Softly, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Delia whispers, trying not to cry, “I’m so sorry, Papa, Jem…please…forgive me, I’m so sorry.”
Hallam clears his throat.
“Delia, girl, I think the time’s long since past when I was angry with you. And I won’t pretend that I wasn’t. But…gods curse it, girl, why did you come back? Where ever you went, vanished…”
She lifts her chin high. “I was tired of running.”
“Guilt? You?”
With a sharp glare at his son, Hallam waves that comment away.
“They’ll execute you, Delia. If they are feeling merciful, it’ll just be beheading. More likely then not,” he gestures vaguely towards Traitors’ Hill. Delia shrugs, hugging her arms around herself.
“I know. But, I’m so tired of running, of having that judgment hang over my head. Either the King will judge me, or the gods will, and I prefer the King.” She looks at them, first her father and then her brother and then back.
“And…I wanted to see you two again before I was judged.”
(when the time runs out and the guard comes back, he finds Delia of Eldorne sitting on the bed between her brother and father, hugging them both as if she will never let go)
(the guard makes her. It's part of his job)
This. Four bare walls, a window to let in sun and air and a constant reminder that she could be outside right now if she hadn’t been stupid. (Delia would prefer a cell without a window, but it’s not up to her.) So, when the door is unlocked and slowly open, she gets to her feet quickly, like a little girl.
Then freezes.
“Papa? Jem?”
She takes a step forward, remembers herself, and sinks into a curtsey.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, girl!” And with that, Delia is enveloped in her father’s embrace. “I haven’t seen you for a gods-cursed year and all you do is curtsey?”
Weakly, her voice muffled and choked, “Sorry, Papa.” Letting go of her father, Delia takes a step back and then hugs Jem. Her brother stumbles backwards, his walking stick only just keeping them both upright.
“Oh, Jem, I’m sorry…here, sit down on the bed, your leg still playing up?” Jem eyes his younger sister with a raised eyebrow. They look similar, but not the same: he is stocky where she is slender, brown-skinned where she is pale. But the eyes, wide and bright-green, are the same. Their mother’s eyes.
Their father, grey-haired for all his only in his forties and hazel-eyed, coughs. Delia flushes, looking awkward for a moment.
The silence stretches.
They gaze at her.
She shifts, biting her lip.
They just gaze some more.
Softly, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Delia whispers, trying not to cry, “I’m so sorry, Papa, Jem…please…forgive me, I’m so sorry.”
Hallam clears his throat.
“Delia, girl, I think the time’s long since past when I was angry with you. And I won’t pretend that I wasn’t. But…gods curse it, girl, why did you come back? Where ever you went, vanished…”
She lifts her chin high. “I was tired of running.”
“Guilt? You?”
With a sharp glare at his son, Hallam waves that comment away.
“They’ll execute you, Delia. If they are feeling merciful, it’ll just be beheading. More likely then not,” he gestures vaguely towards Traitors’ Hill. Delia shrugs, hugging her arms around herself.
“I know. But, I’m so tired of running, of having that judgment hang over my head. Either the King will judge me, or the gods will, and I prefer the King.” She looks at them, first her father and then her brother and then back.
“And…I wanted to see you two again before I was judged.”
(when the time runs out and the guard comes back, he finds Delia of Eldorne sitting on the bed between her brother and father, hugging them both as if she will never let go)
(the guard makes her. It's part of his job)
