Note: As little is currently known in canon lore about the Rivaini people, I am taking several liberties on their culture, names, and language for these stories when pertinent. Legam's parents are Rivaini immigrants, so the way they think and live is different from typical Fereldens.
Palwen heard the scrunch of small feet pounding against dirt seconds before the impact against his thigh.
Swearing in Elven, the vegetable merchant rubbed his leg before scanning his surroundings for the source of his discomfort. His search did not take long, spotting a small, russet skinned child by his feet. The boy rubbed his head, ruffling his dark, short hair. He looked up, emerald eyes locking with Palwen’s own hazel orbs, an apology already forming across the youth’s lips.
Recognizing the young human, Palwen grabbed the collar of the boy’s shirt, lifting him to his feet. The child sputtered a stream of several, “Sorry, so sorry ser!” before the elf managed to question him. Palwen smacked the top of the boy’s head – gently, but with enough force to startle the child into silence.
“Legam! Lad, where are you off to in such a hurry? And where is your mother?” Palwen folded his arms, looking down at the Rivaini human sternly.
“At home, ser.” The boy whimpered, rubbing the top of his head. Palwen sighed, his expression softening. Sometimes he forgot how timid the poor child was sometimes.
“I see. What are you doing in the market district, then? I’m fairly certain your mother doesn’t like you leaving the docks without supervision.”
“She doesn’t. I didn’t mean, but – ” Legam fumbled with his fingers, trying to find the right words. Palwen waited patiently, rearranging a few carrots in his cart while the boy tripped over his words. His awkwardness made the elf chuckle, shaking his head. It was hard to remain irritated at the lad, especially since the elf knew he never caused any mischief intentionally. One of the better behaved young ones in Denerim, and one of the few humans Palwen genuinely liked, along with the youth’s parents. Then again, the Rivaini were known for forming better relationships with nonhumans than other groups of their kind.
Shouts down the street yanked Palwen out of his musings, and sent Legam’s head jerking to the side.
A ruddy, mud-encrusted boy skid to a stop in the distance. He looked around the merchant square, until his gaze reached their corner of the bazaar. The filthy boy pointed, calling to his equally dirty comrades. “There’s the bugger!”
Legam’s pupils shrank, his oversized front teeth biting into his bottom lip, “Billy’s beard,” he muttered. Palwen arched an eyebrow at the Rivaini goat-referencing mild curse, but the boy dashed down into a nearby alleyway before the elf could question him further.
“Don’t let ‘im git away!” One of the boys from the crowd – a dirty-blond ruffian – screeched as he rushed past Palwen’s cart, half a dozen of his fellow troublemakers in tow.
“Andraste’s flaming knickers,” Palwen grumbled, watching them pursue the Rivaini boy. The elf checked an old, cracked pocket watch he kept in the back of his cart. Late afternoon. Most customers came in the early morning or midday. He frowned, scratching at his auburn locks. Finally, the merchant turned to his sister, a fruit vendor situated next to his stall.
“Watch the cart for me,” Palwen barked, reluctantly backpedaling from his wares. He caught his sister’s terse nod before turning about, running towards the docks district.
~*~*~
Legam wove through the back alleys, skirting around crates, ducking under barrels, and hopping over sacks of sundries. Though perhaps not as well versed in Denerim’s back allies as the local waifs, he knew them well enough by now to avoid most unwanted company.
Unfortunately, his body, already exhausted from his earlier sprinting into the market, barely met up with the demands required to flee his pursuers. Already his lungs burned for more air, his feet throbbed through his boots with each impact against the hard, unforgiving earth, and his legs tingled in agony – unable to hold even his feeble weight up much longer.
His toes caught on the corner of a box. Legam tripped, falling face first into the dirt. His endurance finally caved, legs and feet refusing to bring him further. Spitting the small amount of soil out of his mouth, Legam grunted, using his arms to shakily pull his exhausted form behind nearby barrels. The frightened child curled up into a ball, heat radiating from his flushed face, heart pounding so hard he felt his ears throb. Legam wiped the sweat from his brow, panting to regain his breath.
The muffled cries of his hunters grew louder, clearer. Legam felt his body tense, and he inhaled deeply before forcing his mouth closed, his wheezing breaths slipping quietly in and out through his nose.
Footsteps crunched against the stone and dirt, accompanied by frustrated, threatening voices. Their noise increased, until Legam easily caught the faint whispers of their own ragged breathing. They drew so close now that Legam suspected if he dared peek above his temporary shelter, he could count the freckles on the red haired leader’s face.
He didn’t dare risk such a fancy. Instead, he squeezed his nostrils shut, hoping the other boys would leave before he needed air again.
“Come out, you bat-eared chicken!” One of the boys taunted – he didn’t know who. All their voices sounded the same to him – shrill, malicious, mocking. A cacophony of unpleasantness. Ignoring the taunt, chest heaving painfully, and head swimming from early asphyxiation, the Rivaini child clamped his eyes shut.
Just wait a few moments, they’ll leave. He repeated in his head over and over, until his thoughts grew cluttered, his body begging for sweet oxygen.
Finally, the shuffling of steps faded. Legam waited several moments then finally relaxed his face, expelling his breath with a painful gasp. He leaned back against the barrels, panting softly once more, his vision adjusting to the light and shifting back into focus.
Legam hated days like these. Days when his mother insisted he go out and play with the other children. Unfortunately, though there were a few friendly faces on his street, inevitably the less agreeable sorts found their way out onto the docks district. They made sport out of bullying him, though Legam never gave them cause to trouble him so. The boy knew he and his parents were different than most Fereldens – the only other Rivaini he knew lived in the run-down apartments his family also resided in. Most other Denerimians, save perhaps the alienage elves, treated his kind with mild distain to outright contempt. At eight years old, Legam still pondered why on many occasions.
Suddenly, Legam felt the barrel behind him slide away, his source of support gone. He fell backwards with a startled yelp, slamming his back into the dusty, cracked patch of cobblestone. Before pain fully registered, a shadow loomed over Legam’s prostrated form. He blinked, squinting to first see a gaped-tooth grin, then the rest of the freckled boy’s sneering face.
The red head grabbed Legam’s shoulders, pulling him up into a headlock while the Rivaini boy squirmed weakly in protest, “Guys! I got ‘im!”
The rest of the gang scrambled back into the alley, cackling congratulations and expressions of glee amongst themselves.
Legam felt a fist contact with his cheek. His head jerked with the blow, the faint taste of copper seeping into his mouth.
“Give it back, Rivi.” he heard one of the other boys growl.
Legam licked the trickle of blood off his lip, “I didn’t take anything!”
Another punch, to the gut, forcing air out of his already sore lungs. Legam gasped in pain.
“Don’t lie. Rivi always steal stuff.” another boy – at least, he thought it was another boy – accused. “Me mum says yer all liars, heathens an’ cheats.”
“Yeah!” a third boy agreed, “And we know you stole my coin purse! Give it back!”
“I didn’t go near you until you started chasing me!” Legam grunted. A third punch, slamming into his nose. His vision exploded with white and yellow spots, warm and wet blood splattering across his face. More threats and wild claims assaulted his ears, but they were lost on the young boy, his ears ringing from the blows to his face. Their questions and threats fell on temporarily deaf ears.
Legam’s silence only goaded the boys on, fists and feet striking him again and again. His vision clouded again, then everything faded to black.
~*~*~
He woke to muttering voices and dull, aching pain all over. Legam groaned, blinking as his sight slowly returned. Belatedly, he felt the sensation of movement, and slowly realized someone was carrying him.
“Good, you are waking up,” a familiar, accented voice greeted him warmly.
“… Dad?”
“I’m sorry it took so long to find him, Brishan.” Palwen’s higher voice apologized from somewhere in the background, “I knew I should have followed the boys, instead of getting you first.”
“No, no… It is good, coming to me first.” Legam’s father placated. “An elf chasing human boys, in dark alley? Not looking good to guards. You get in a lot of trouble. Me coming in not much better, true… But safer than you alone.”
“I suppose…” Palwen sighed. “Still, I wish I could have done more…”
Legam felt his father’s arm move, likely patting Palwen’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do not blame yourself, friend. Much appreciation for your help. I can get Legam home from here.”
Palwen sighed, “Are you certain?”
“Yes, of course. You did good, now go back. Don’t want your sister to worry, no?”
“This is true. Be safe, Brishan. You too, Legam.” The boy felt a small pat on the top of his head. Though soft, the impact still made him wince, his entire body aching.
Brishan continued walking, his footsteps clopping against wood instead of stone or dirt, indicating to Legam they drew close to the docks. The distant drone of seagulls further affirmed his assessment. Legam felt his father sigh.
“You can’t let boys keep beating you up. Must start defending yourself, son.” He berated lightly. Legam felt his insides shrink with shame.
“But they’re bigger than me. It’s scary.” He protested.
“Fear is human. Not shameful to be scared,” his father reassured him, “But must not let it control you. Should stand up, bullies will not last if you do.”
“I don’t like hurting anybody,” Legam whimpered, still resistant. His father sighed again.
“Ah, you have much of your mother’s soft heart. Is not always a bad thing, but must learn to be tougher eventually.” He stroked Legam’s hair gently. “But nevermind. Your mother is worried. Always upset when you get hurt. We clean you up at Fordel’s place first. Quick, but get rid of blood and dirt, so your mom worry less when she sees you. Okay?”
Legam nodded slowly again Brishan’s chest, closing his eyes again. He felt drained in every conceivable manner. “Can we eat soon?” he muttered. His father’s chest rumbled in a soft chuckle.
“Yes, yes… You need food, but bath first.”
Legam felt his father’s lips lovingly brush against his forehead. Despite himself, the boy allowed a small smile to tug on the corners of his lips before succumbing to exhaustion once more.
~*~*~
This hasn't been fully proofread yet and it's late, so apologies in advance for any errors. I'll try to hammer out the kinks later.
If you couldn't tell, Legam's father doesn't have the strongest grasp of Ferelden language. As you'll see in the next parts, his mother speaks it far better.
Modifié par DalishRanger, 01 avril 2010 - 08:50 .
Am currently out of the house on a laptop, but I brought my Word document for the short stories with me, so I'm going to try writing more while I'm sitting around waiting for my brother's class to end.
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