Catelyn Winona
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Being Villagers (second person)
🕑 Added 2022-04-22 23:50:24 +0000 UTCSummary: You are a Villager. You aren't the Hero, but when danger comes to your town, you're ready.
This takes place in the same universe as this prompt fill (X) where people are assigned Destinies at birth and have to meet them in various ways.
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You are sixteen and it is your first day at school.
Your first lesson is that Villagers are the only ones who start so late.
“Because there’s not much to be taught,” a boy says. His clothes are made of finer cloth than your mother’s wedding dress and his hair is as shiny as the brass buckles on his shoes. He grins at you, as proud as a peacock in front of half the class. “Don’t need to ask what your Destiny is, do I?”
You don’t know why he’s singling you out. A quick glance back into the classroom shows the rest of the students sitting at their desks with their heads low. They’re Villagers too. Most of you are. That’s why there isn’t anything special enough to justify the way he's singling you out. You look back at the boy. “…are you going to ask me something else?”
“What?”
“If you don’t need to ask me my Destiny,” you say slowly, “do you need to ask me something else?”
“I don’t need to ask anything from a Villager!” the boy cries. He jabs a finger at his own bicep where his mark lies under cloth. “I’m a Lord!”
“Okay,” you say. The other kids behind him are frowning at you. Some of them are Villagers too, but different from you. They’re the children of merchants which is a different sort of destiny altogether. “I need to run some errands for my mother. Will you let me pass?”
That seems to satisfy the boy. He draws himself up to his full height, perhaps a half an inch more than you, and straightens his shiny vest. “Yes, I will allow you to pass.”
You aren’t stupid. You understand what he’s saying by emphasizing the word allow. You study him and think he looks an awful lot like the new rooster you just got, the one the hens aren’t very fond of yet. “…thanks.”
You hurry past them and towards the market. You need to pick up some cloth your mother needs for curtains and some nails your father commissioned from the blacksmith. If you complete both tasks, you might have enough time to go by the general store and look at the new books Mr. Arthur said were coming in before you need to hurry home.
You don’t think of the Lord the rest of the day. But you don’t forget.
No, you don’t forget.
----------------------------.
You are born as a Villager. When you turned 15, your parents touch the mark on your upper arm with relief and, maybe, a bit of disappointment.
“Better to be a villager,” your father says. He looks out over the field you just helped him sow, leaning on his hoe. “My grandpa was a Guard. A good life, but a dangerous one.” He nods to himself and then turns to clap you on the shoulder. “Yes, being a villager is a good thing, Dolly. Your mother and I will show you the ropes.”
And they do. They teach you how to fix the thatched roof before winter, how to mind the fields, how to keep the well water clean and pure. They send you to school with the other teens because it’s important you know how to barter when the merchants pass through town. They mind your stitchwork and watch over you as you raise your first chickens from eggs.
“Our Dolly,” your mother says with warmth in her voice. She presses a kiss to the top of your head when she passes the table. The early morning sun catches on her high cheekbones, the laugh lines deepening around her eyes. “Always up so early! Don’t study too hard.”
Your mother learned to read, but never took to it like you have. Your eyes dart down to the book lying open on the table, quick and guilty. Caretaking and Defense. “I’ll be out in the fields in a bit. The radishes are ready.”
Your mother hums and goes to set the kettle above the fire.
-----------------.
The boy in your class is named Felton. He is the son of the Baronet who oversees the three towns this side of the mountain range. He is two months older than you, born in spring rather than winter, and he favors the pastel eggs from your chickens (though he doesn’t know that they’re yours) over the normal white ones in the market. He is a smart boy (though he insists on being called a man) and the teacher always calls on him to answer difficult problems when the rest of the class is stumped.
(The truth is that she calls on him because she refuses to call on a Villager. There are three children in the class that she is actively teaching. A Lord, a Knight, and a Teacher, like her.)
Felton does not know your name.
The spring blooms into summer and then summer simmers into fall. Felton does not hesitate to give you orders during those few hours you attend school. Things like pick up my pencil or stand for the rest of class. Easy and simple orders that cost nothing for you to follow.
You lean against the back wall of the classroom and watch him laugh with the Knight at the front. The other Villagers don’t attempt to talk to you beyond simple pleasantries when he’s around. But, when he leaves, it is a different story.
“You should tell your dad,” Benny says. He’s inherited the flaming red hair of his blacksmith mother and the matching temper from his father, Mr. Arthur at the general store. He glares at the door Felton just left through. “It’s not right. I heard his dad owes your dad a favor from their days as adventurers. If your dad talked to Felton’s—”
You raise a hand and Benny falls silent. The other Villagers shift behind him as you look for the right words. You don’t know when you earned their interest, but it soothes one of Felton’s many hurts to have people listen to you for once. “This is just a schoolyard matter. I plan to wait it out.”
“Wait for what though?” Benny asks. He runs a hand through his hair, the motion jerky. “We have a year and a third left with him. Are you waiting to go back to your family’s land where you can trust it too far for him to travel?” His eyes harden. “Not all of us have the same luxury.”
Then do something, you want to say. But you know they can’t. Most of their families are dependent on the Baronet’s good grace to keep running their stores and businesses. Your family is the only one living on gifted land – gifted by the Baronet to your father for those adventuring days.
“I’ll do something before we graduate,” you say. “But I need to wait a little longer.”
You stop leaning off the wall and turn to head for the door. Benny catches your arm, his hand nearly as strong as his blacksmith mother’s.
“Waiting for what?” he asks again.
“To see if our Lord will grow up,” you say. You shake off his hand and do your best not to slam the door on the way out.
Judging by the way you startle the doves on top of the school building, you fail.
--------------------.
There aren’t enough Knights and Guards and Fighters. That’s what your dad told you when he gifts you your first wooden sword on your fifth birthday.
“Those with the Destiny to protect are strong,” your dad tells you, “but they tend to be slow to arrive. That’s why our town sponsors adventurers. If you can wield a plow, you’re strong enough to wield a sword that will keep us safe until the fighters come.”
But you’re five and starstruck and don’t understand what he’s saying. Your dad an adventurer! Your mother the Adventurer’s Guild employee sending him out on missions! “I want to learn!”
“You have to learn,” your dad corrects. He adjusts your grip on the hilt. “With any luck, Darren—I mean, the Baronet finds a Hero before you’re old enough to fight.”
“I’m old enough,” you say and promptly bash your sword against a fence post so hard that you lose your footing. You fall backwards with a cry, expecting to fall into the flowerbed behind you.
Your dad steadies you with one hand against your back. “No, you aren’t. But, one day, you’ll grow up. That’s when you’ll be ready to protect what must be protected.”
The front door opens, revealing your mother standing there with a frown on her face. “A sword? Really?”
“It’s wood!”
You stare down at the sword in your hands. You’ll be ready to protect what must be protected. You swing at the fencepost again and, this time, your father is too distracted defending himself to catch you.
----------------------.
There’s no school in winter even though it looks to be a mild one this year. It’s so mild that the road from your family’s land into town is only under an inch or two of powder at any one time.
That’s why it’s so easy to see exactly where this year’s lot of demon beasts walk.
Your father kneels at the edge of the woods. His sword is strapped to his back, but he’s got his bow in hand. His eyes flick over the wolf print you found on your morning patrol and his lips thin.
“That,” he says, “is going to be a problem.”
You adjust your grip on your sword. It’s your first real weapon, one with an edge sharpened by your mother. You’ve handled real blades before, but this is your first time scouting the area with yours. “It looks like it’s heading towards town.”
Your father swears and sits back on his heels. “The river is already frozen.” His face is pale and tight. “Your mother is still ill. She can’t be left alone for too long…”
“You stay with her,” you say. You’re seventeen now. You’re a year away from being “grown” but you are also pragmatic. “Keep the fire burning for her. I’ll find the beast.”
“Absolutely not,” your father says. He jerks to his feet and scowls down at you. “You are not to be hunting alone, you know this.”
“And I won’t be,” you snap back. “The town’s Guard will fight, but someone needs to help him track it. I won’t engage the thing on my own. I’m not suicidal.”
Still your father hesitates. “The size of it isn’t normal…”
You can tell. The footprint left behind by the beast leads you to believe the wolf is taller than your father. The truth is that you’re terrified. But it scares you more to think of your mother, coughing and alone, while both you and your dad are away.
“I’ll be back in two days,” you promise. It is a stupid promise. You both know that hunting demonic beasts can’t be rushed. “Maybe three. If I’m not back in three days, you’ll come after me.”
Your father finally nods. “Three days.” He swears again and closes his eyes. “Be safe.”
“I will.” You take the small pack of jerky and water from him, his portion of the rations for the day. Combined with your own rations, it’ll be enough to last you two days in town. “Take care of Mom.”
He checks your bow and sword one last time and then presses a kiss to your forehead. “Go straight to the Guard. Or the Knight if he’s back in town. Make sure they’re with you when you start hunting for it. Understand?”
You nod and take off down the road.
-----------.
You are a Villager. That fact has never disappointed you, not like it disappointed your parents. When Felton sneered the word and looked down on you for it, you didn’t feel shame.
You felt pity.
You have been raised with an awareness of being part of a community. The eggs from your chickens go into the bellies of the hungry in town. Your labor in the orchard and the fields puts food in the markets. Your patrols with your father brings the town piece of mind when the sole Guard takes his day off.
Your clothes are made by your neighbors. The sword on your hip was forged by Benny’s mother and your arrows were whittled by a Villagerjust like you. When your mother fell ill, the owner of the apothecary did not need to be ordered to come tend her. She came of her own free will. The people in your town are your people, just as you are theirs.
How lonely must it be to be a Lord? How isolating to look around and see only those who you must govern and protect? How difficult must it be to remain impartial when surrounded by people who depend on you?
You are proud to be a Villager because you know and love so many that bear the same Destiny. That pride is why you aren’t willing to leave things to fate. You are grateful that there are people born to protect and to govern. But there aren’t enough of them.
Sometimes, it takes a Villager.
-----------------------------------------.
(The truth is that there is resentment too. Resentment when Felton orders you to pick up garbage, to allow him to leave ahead of you, to give him the best seat in class. There is so much you love and it is not your Destiny to protect it—it’s his. But he won’t. He can’t.
Not until he grows up.)
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The town is only an hour’s walk from your house but, with the snow, it’s a hard hour. You feel as if your head is on a swivel the entire way, eyes scanning the woods and fresh snow for tracks. You promised your father that you would get the Guard before you went hunting, but there is an unpleasant chill working its way down your spine.
There is something wrong. There aren’t any birds in the treetops, no winter hares bounding through the frozen foliage, no sound of the deer that come down from the mountains. The road to town is still and silent.
You keep your bow drawn even as you finally arrive at the bridge leading over the river that skirts the edge of town.
Like your father said, the water is already frozen. Snow dusts across the uneven ice, small mounds casting eerie shadows in the last light of day. The sun is nearly behind the mountains. Many of the townsfolk are behind locked doors, sitting down for dinner.
They’re inside, you remind yourself as you spot tracks leading to the river’s edge. Your heart is in your throat as you kneel next to them. Each pawprint is easily twice the size of your hand. Please, be inside.
The tracks don’t go across the river. They wind away and back into the forest. That doesn’t make sense. Demon beasts are intelligent and one doesn’t get to this size without being smarter than most. You swallow hard. It knows the river is frozen. It knows it can cross. You imagine you can feel the beast’s eyes on your back, watching. Waiting.
Waiting for night fall when it’s strongest.
You dart towards the bridge, sprinting across. It’s spelled with anti-demonic wards, but the river isn’t. If the demon beast realized that the river is frozen…
Unlike what you hoped, the townsfolk aren’t inside. The winter is mild so you find small groups of them on your sprint towards the guard’s station.
“Get inside,” you snarl at a group of children. They’re in the midst of building snowmen in front of the empty school. Their minder, a Villager from your class, goes pale at the sight of you. Is it your bow? Or your sword? “Tell everyone. Get inside and lock the doors.”
You see them turn but then you’re off again, running through town and shouting the same message to all you see. Get inside, lock the doors, don’t come out until morning—
“Dolly!”
Benny is standing in front of his mother’s forge, a hammer in his hand. He’s shirtless in winter so you can see that Benny isn’t a Villager like you thought. He’s a Blacksmith. He gapes at your appearance. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“Demons,” you gasp. “I need to get to the Guard but everyone is outside—”
Benny is already running in the opposite direction. “I’ll warn them! Go!”
Benny’s help gives you new strength. You skid to a halt in front of the guard station a minute later. The windows are dark, but you didn’t expect him to be here.
He will be soon.
You burst through the door as the first of the town’s mage lights flicker on. Night fall. You race up the stairs and, without hesitation, yank the rope to the town’s warning bell.
BONG. BONG. BONG.
The Guard arrives barely thirty seconds after the first ring. His house is next door. He’s older, like your father, with salt and pepper hair. He’s dressed for bed and has a thunderous expression on his face. The Knight from your class, James, is trailing after his father.
“Who is ringing the warning bell—” He finally registers you standing in the middle of the station, your bow still drawn. His rage shifts into worry. “Dolly. This isn’t a prank is it?”
“No.” You wish it was. “There are tracks leading to the river’s edge. A demon beast. A big one.”
“God help us.” The Guard clenches his hand. Unclenches them. “I told the Baronet I needed more guards. Even just a fighter.”
You don’t understand. “But you’re the—” You voice fails you as you follow his gaze down.
The Guard’s right leg is wrapped in bandages.
“It was my fault,” James says. He’s quicker than he is in class, understanding the horror on your and his father’s faces. “We were sparring and I didn’t know my strength--!”
“It was no one’s fault,” the Guard says. He limps over to the chest in the corner and unlocks it. “It is what it is.” He pulls out his sword.
“No!” James grabs his father’s wrist before he can fasten the sword belt around his waist. “If it’s a demon beast, you can’t go out there like that.”
“I have to.” His father shakes his son off gently. “I’m the Guard.” He looks at you and a muscle in his jaw jumps. “I’ll need your help finding it, Dolly. Where’s your pa?”
Your mouth is dry. You can’t look away from the naked terror on James’ face. “H-he’s not here. He’s at home with my mom.”
The Guard’s eyes flutter shut. “Which means it’s just—” He swears. “I told the Baronet I needed a replacement!” His hands are shaking as he fastens his sword belt around his waist. He takes a deep breath. “James, go home. Dolly, point me in the right direction. I’ll—”
“You’ll die!” James jumps in front of his dad. “Give me a sword, I’ll fight it—”
“You’ve never been in combat before,” the Guard snaps.
“I’ve beaten you in spars—”
“Because I let you—”
“I’ll have a better chance of surviving than you.”
“I have a duty—”
“I’m a Knight! If anything I have greater duty than you—"
“Calm down.” You aren’t sure how your voice is so steady and firm. But it’s enough that the Guard and his son both snap to look at you. “Here’s what we’re going to do. There’s no guarantee that the demon beast will come into town tonight.”
The Guard’s face twists. “We can’t take that chance—”
“No,” you say. “We can’t.” You look him over. Judging from the bandages, it’s a torn muscle rather than a wound. That’s good. “You aren’t in any condition to hunt so you will stand watch in town. If the demon beast comes, you’ll stop it. I’ll see if I can find it in the forest.”
The Guard is already shaking his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. Your father will have my hide if I let you go alone.”
“You can’t follow me,” you say, jerking your chin at his leg. “One of us needs eyes on it before it comes. If we’re lucky, I’ll spot it and see enough to judge what type it is. It won’t come to town and we can send for my father and the Baronet in the morning.”
The Guard meets your eyes. “If we’re unlucky, it spots you and a Villager under my charge gets ripped to pieces before the beast gets into town.”
“I’ll go with her,” James says. “I’m a Knight, I’m strong—”
“You’ve never fought a beast,” you say before his father can voice the protest on his face. The image of getting torn to pieces is not a pleasant one, but you’re pragmatic. There isn’t another option. “Nor have you tracked one. I stand a better chance alone.” You glance back at the door. It’s well and truly dark now, the only light coming from the mage-lamps lining the roads. “We need to go.”
“Don’t be a Hero, Dolly,” the Guard says. “Don’t make me tell your parents why you died under my watch.”
Obviously you can’t be a Hero. You’re a Villager.You nod and run out the door, back towards the forest.
----------------------------.
This is why you know you aren’t a Hero. A Hero would remember that night. They would be able to recount their search for the demonic beast with perfect clarity. But you are a Villager and you are afraid.
So this is what you remember.
You remember the stillness of the town. The way the shadows stretched from the corners of buildings like gaping maws. You remember your heart thundering in your chest so loudly that you were afraid the demon beast would be drawn to the sound.
You remember thinking of the demon beasts you’d fought before. Horned rabbits and screaming bats that lunged out of the small burrows just north of the fields. A few acidic slimes that tried to roll their way through your chicken coop and had to be washed away with purified water.
It did not prepare you for what you found in the forest.
You didn’t want to find the tracks, but you did. You didn’t want to follow them downriver where the shallows meant thicker ice, but you did.
You didn’t want to find the demon beast, but you did.
You were upwind and it smelled you. Easily seven foot in height, hundred of pounds with unnaturally large fangs, it turned to see you standing there.
You know you can remember it in detail. You know you can describe the way saliva dripped from its jaws, the way you saw madness in the red of its eyes, the sound of the snow crackling under its giant paws. You can remember, but you won’t.
(It growled and it was the sound of the earth crumbling under your feet. Your bones rattled when it bellowed. You felt your mind empty as it shifted its attention from the town to you, its great head lowering in preparation to charge.
You drew your bow. You lined up your shot. You thought, this is going to kill me.
And you released.)
---------------------.
The sound of crunching snow rouses you from unconsciousness. Your entire body aches. There’s a bleary moment where you can’t make sense of anything. Breathe. You flex your hands. You can feel fur underneath your aching back and the warmth of the sun against your face. There’s a muffled sob and the murmur of voices from a few dozen feet away.
You force your eyes open and blink up at the early morning sky. “Ouch.”
A shocked silence. Then, “Dolly?!”
Your vision fills with Benny’s face. It’s tear-streaked and there’s soot high on his cheek. He falls to his knees at your side. “She’s alive!”
You certainly don’t feel alive. You want to keep laying down, but Benny scoops a hand under your shoulders and helps you sit up. Your arms ache like the day you first plowed the field by yourself and there’s a tightness in your chest that speaks of hurt ribs. “Ouch,” you say again and look to where you can still hear muffled sobbing.
What seems like half the town is standing just by the river, careful not to step in the red puddles that have stained the snow by the bank. In front of them, the Guard is slumped against James, one hand over his eyes. James is staring at you like he’s seen a ghost. His eyes flick from your face to something just behind you.
You twist with Benny’s help and feel all the breath get punched out of your lungs. You weren’t lying on the ground. You were lying on the demon beast.
It’s huge.
You thought it big last night, but it seems bigger in the day. The fur is pure white except for where blood has stained it red. Its paws are the size of your head and the teeth gleaming in the early morning sun are as long as your forearm. The arrow sticking out of its eye looks like a toothpick in comparison and your sword, lodge just under its jaw, looks like a twig.
“You killed it,” Benny says. “I tried to come help, but there were horned rabbits in town—”
You hold up a hand and he falls silent. Slowly, painfully, you climb to your feet. “Is anyone hurt?”
“No,” the Guard says. He lowers his hand and you can see his eyes filled with tears. “No, everyone’s alright, Dolly.”
You smile and even that hurts. You say, “I need to get home. My parents are waiting.”
“We’ll take care of the beast,” Benny’s mom says. She is the only one using the same, normal tone as you. She props her hands on her hips, eyeing the demon beast with calculation. “Mellie, how long do you think it’ll take?”
The Villager you buy meat from steps forward. She holds her hand out in front of her and squints one eye, measuring the carcass. “’Bout a day. You looking to keep all the meat, Dolly?”
“No,” you say. There’s something bubbling in your chest that feels a lot like laughter. You let Benny help you find your footing and look down to hide it. “No, I don’t think my family could eat it all.”
The Guard snorts and looks surprised at the sound.
Mellie nods like she expected that. “I’ll package up the hide, bones, and demon crystal for you. I’ll buy most of the meat, if you’ll let me.”
“No. Share the meat,” you say. You can’t even begin to calculate how much this thing’s hide would be worth. That’s more than enough for you. “We all deserve some extra provisions after last night.”
James opens his mouth as if to protest but doesn’t get a chance. The other Villagers all seem to lose their tension. There’s laughing and joking about the silver lining of extra provisions in a mild winter like this.
James’ brow furrows.
“Benny, help me drag it to Mellie’s shop,” the blacksmith says. She rolls up her sleeves. “I’ll send him to yours with the extra bits later this week, Dolly.”
“It’s okay, I can come pick it up—”
Benny’s mom waves you off. “Consider it a small repayment for the meat. I have a feeling your dad’s not going to be letting you out of the house until school when he hears about this.”
Oh geez.
---------------.
Of course, going home takes longer than you’d like. The town fusses over you like you knew they would, feeding you and bandaging you until the sun is well in the sky.
“Just pulled muscles,” you keep telling the doctor. He’s the worst of the lot because he’s positive keel over if you try to walk home. “I feel fine.”
“You’ve got stitches,” the doctor says with narrowed eyes. Finally, he relents. “If you can’t be persuaded to stay another night—”
“My dad’s going to come looking for me if I’m not back by tomorrow,” you say. You stand and carefully hide the wince when your new stitches pull. The wolf-beast got a swipe in along your back. “Better to let him know sooner rather than later.”
“My boy will take her home,” the Guard says from the doorway. He’s not crying any more, but there’s something odd in the way he can’t seem to meet your eyes. “Come on, Dolly.”
You thank the doctor and follow him out into the street.
There’s evidence of battle here too. Horned rabbits are known for following the bigger beasts and this time wasn’t an exception. House doors are pitted and scarred from their attempts to get inside. You see traces of Benny’s battle with them in the cracked cobblestones and the smears of blood from where the bodies used to be. Did he hit them with his hammer?
“Thank you,” the Guard says. He’s still leading you towards the edge of town, his back stiff. “For what you did.”
It’s odd to be thanked by a man your dad’s age and especially weird to be thanked by James’ dad. “I didn’t do anything—”
“You did,” the Guard says. “Really I shouldn’t be saying thank you. I should be begging for your forgiveness.”
“What?”
He nods to the body of a horned rabbit. “Killing those things? That’s my job. I would have failed without you last night. I knew the town wasn’t defended, I knew that—”
“There’s one of you,” you interrupt. You hate interrupting, but the pain in the Guard’s voice is too much to bear. You pause. Do you even know his name? “Mister…”
“Call me John,” the Guard says.
Your face burns. Here you are judging Felton for never knowing your name and you’re guilty of the same thing. “Mr. John, nobody blames you. I don’t blame you. I was gonna thank you for coming to get me this morning. I don’t know if I woulda woken up in time to get back home.”
Mr. John laughs. You don’t think he feels comforted by your words, but he laughs. “Glad I could do something then.” His son is waiting just at the bridge, a pack on his shoulders. “James has got water and jerky if you need a snack on the way.”
“It’s only an hour,” you say. You take stock of your body. “Maybe two. He doesn’t have to come with me—”
“It’ll make me feel better,” Mr. John says. He pats your shoulder. “If you ever want sword lessons, come see me.”
That does interest you. You don’t remember much of your fight, but you do remember a lot of flailing. You want to be more prepared next time. “I will, thank you.”
You watch him limp back into town before turning your attention to James. “Thanks for walking me back.”
James grunts and leads the way across the bridge. “Dad’s scared you’ll pass out on the road.”
“Oh.” You look back over your shoulder, warmth unfurling in your chest. Like the other villagers, he’s looking out for you. “That’s nice of him.”
The walk back to your house isn’t comfortable. You don’t know James outside of school and he’s always with Felton when you do see him. He’s broader than the average kid, probably because of his Destiny, but still has the rounded cheeks of childhood. He’s careful to keep pace with you without looking like he’s trying to.
When you’re about ten minutes away from your house, just at the start of the orchard, James speaks.
“You’re really a Hero, right?”
You startle. You were thinking about how to tell your father what you did in the least scary way possible. “Um, no?”
James is looking at you. Has he been staring at you this entire time? He frowns. “You have to be after the fight you had last night.”
You roll up your sleeve to show him. “I’m a Villager.”
“But that’s impossible.” He stops walking, rounding on you with true venom in his voice. “Only Heroes and Knights can take down demon beasts that size.”
“I got lucky,” you say because that’s the truth. You feel an emotion unwinding in your chest. “Look, I need to get home—”
“Villagers get protected,” James says. He steps toward you and doesn’t notice when you reach for your sword. “That’s the way it is. You said I couldn’t come with you because I didn’t have combat experience, but did you? You should have let me—”
“I’ve been fighting demon beasts for years,” you say. That unwinding emotion is anger. A whole lot of it has built up over the school year as the ones who were meant to protect you bullied you instead. “Because there aren’t enough people with the Destiny to protect.”
“I was right there—”
“You have never been interested in protecting.” Your mouth twists. “You or our little Lord.”
James’ jaw shuts with an audible click. At least he isn’t denying his part in your treatment at school. “I—I—”
“I am a Villager,” you say. You step into his space, viciously pleased when he steps back. “This is my village. When there aren’t enough protectors, it’s my job to step up.”
“I’m a Knight,” James says, but with less strength.
“Okay,” you say. “No one is saying you aren’t.”
“I could have done it,” he says. Whining. Like a child.
And that’s the problem with these people, isn’t it? They think they’re owed positions in the village because of the mark on their arms. They don’t send medicine to your mother or offer to butcher animals for you or pat you on the shoulder when you help.
They, you think scathingly, are not Villagers.
“But you didn’t.” You step around him. You keep speaking as you walk away, so angry that you feel like you might draw your sword if you stay in this conversation. “See you at school.”
James doesn’t respond nor does he follow you.
You go home.
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Hey, y'all! Just wanted to add a quick note of thanks for supporting me on Patreon :) I'm somewhat overwhelmed with the support right now, but it makes me so happy to know that you're all reading my stories. I'm really, really grateful.
I hope you enjoyed this one :) I'm thinking of adding a few scenes to it, exclusively for Patreon next Wednesday! Thanks again.
Comments
Susan Gist
I’ve always enjoyed your stories on Tumblr. Having a little extra lets me show you my appreciation in a concrete way 👍🏼♥️
This is such a great continuation of the destinies universe! I'd love to read a bunch of short stories in this setting!
This was such a lovely thing to read, and I was surprised by how sad I was that it ended! I definitely would love it if you would return to Dolly and her story!
Arcanist Lupus
Hello Dolly!
This was a fabulous piece! <3
I would love more of this!! Your writing is as always amazing!
BubblySkootch
This is absolutely gorgeous. I just love Dolly’s steadfastness.
This is really good! I love how Dolly shows that you're not confined to your destiny, and how that can be beneficial because you can also be blinded by the bright promises that destiny makes. It shows how destiny is privilege. I also love how you've emphasised their destinies, because in this society that is all they are judged by
love this!!!
