Title: King Edward, Part IX
Author: Anonymous
IsNaughty: False
Price: 300
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Content:


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[/center]King Edward, Chapter IX



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[/center]King Edward, Chapter IX:

[/center]Luck 



[/center] Edward knelt behind Moraelyn, leaning over his shoulder so that he could see the cards
the elf held. He was sitting away from the fire, so it was dark
for human eyes, but Moraelyn was the only one of the group
who would allow Edward to see his hand. The other players,
Beech, Mith and Mats said Edward brought them bad luck.
Moraelyn said that it was not really a question of luck, but that their hands were reflected in Edward's face for
those that had the eyes to see such images. It was too dark for
Beech and Mats to see Edward now, and Moraelyn blocked him
from Mith's view. And yet, the pile of coins in front of
Moraelyn had grown smaller since Edward had taken a place
behind him. But this time he had been dealt a good hand.
Edward could see that. It was Mats' turn. He was cogitating.

 "You're shivering, son," Moraelyn said, "Have you no
warmer clothing? We must find something for you. Here, come
share my cloak, then. You can hold the cards if you like."
The wind was chill; there was a bite to it now that they were
farther north and the year had grown older. Edward accepted
the shelter of Moraelyn's arm and warm fur cloak and sat
close against his side.

 "I think I'll just play the cards I hold," Mats said at last,
and pushed a pile of coins into the pot, then with sudden
resolve, added a few more. "There."

 "Throw the hand down, Edward, we're through."

 "But there aren't many better hands than what we've got!"
Edward protested.

 "Edward!" Moraelyn growled. 

 "Well, how'm I s'posed to learn?" Mats didn't have to show
his cards unless they matched his bet.

 "By watching. Silently. Oh, very well. No one ever told
me that fatherhood came cheaply." He shoved most of his coins
into the pot to match Mats' bet and Edward laid the hand
down. 

 "Ah," Mats said, "you needn't do that, my friend. I'll show 
the boy my cards for
free."

 "You filthy Nord," Moraelyn said in disgust, "put down
your cards and take my gold, if you can beat my hand. Let's
see if I'm the one who needs educating on how to play this
game."

 "You don't," Mats grinned. "Except that you could have
accepted my generous offer instead of throwing an insult at
me." Mats laid down the perfect hand called The Ladies.

 "A taunt like that rates an insult. Mats, that hand is
almost worth the viewing price. Five beautiful Ladies! You
don't see them together every day; they're not that fond of one another's
company."

 "How'd you know?" Edward demanded.

 "Ah, that'd be telling," Moraelyn grinned. "Some things you're supposed to learn for
yourself. That's part of the game. But remember that a good
he boy my cards for
free."

 "You filthy Nord," Moraelyn said in disgust, "put down
your cards and take my gold, if you can beat my hand. Let's
see if I'm the one who needs educating on how to play this
game."

 "You don't," Mats grinned. "Except that you could have
accepted my generous offer instead of throwing an insult at
me." Mats laid down the perfect hand called The Ladies.

 "A taunt like that rates an insult. Mats, that hand is
almost worth the viewing price. Five beautiful Ladies! You
don't see them together every day; they're not that fond of one another's
company."

 "How'd you know?" Edward demanded.

 "Ah, that'd be telling," Moraelyn grinned. "Some things you're supposed to learn for
yourself. That's part of the game. But remember that a good
hand's worthless if someone else holds a better."

 "I'm sorry." Edward looked ruefully at the few remaining coins.

 "No matter. It's foolish to play with Mats on those nights
when the God of Luck himself stands at his shoulder and all I
have at mine is a runaway Breton prince who should be in his
bed. He'd have had that money off me i' the end. This way we'll
get a bit of sleep."

 "Spoilsport," Mats grumped. "It's not every night Sai
visits me and I do enjoy his presence."

 "He can leave as quickly as he comes. Sai's not someone you
want to get overfond of, Mats."

 "Who should know that better than I? Nay, do not apologize.
I appreciate your concern for me, my friend. It's not
altogether unwarranted, but I am mindful of the temptation.
I know how undependable Sai's favor is, and how capricious.
I play only among my friends, whom I do trust."

 "Goodnight, then." Moraelyn and Mith went off to join those who were already
asleep, leaving Mats and Beech and Edward by the fire. The
dark elves' natural sleep pattern was a period of five or six hours during the day, and a short nap of two
or three hours after midnight. Now that they were travelling, they were sleeping only at night,
which was a difficult adjustment for Mith and Moraelyn,
who had to use spells to cope with it. Edward had slept a
bit as soon as they had stopped for the night, while the others
prepared supper. In consequence he was now wide awake. Beech was yawning. Mats seemed to require less sleep than the rest.

 "Tell me about Sai, Mats. I've never heard of him before. I
didn't know there was a god of luck. I thought luck just
happened."

 "Being as you're Breton, I can understand that. Bretons like things explained, clear and
reasonable, in sequence, so one thing follows from another,
and you know where you are. Most gods are like that. They lay down rules and
if you obey them and pay homage to the god, why then he or she grants you favor. And the better you
keep the rules and the more you worship the god, the higher you
rise in his favor. Those rules aren't always easy to keep,
and one god's rules may require you to violate another's
but you know where you are. Well, Sai's not like that. He's
not a daedra, but he's got a daedric side to him, for sure. One thing, if you worship him
too much, he'll abandon you altogether. They call it 'Sai's
Affliction'. It's an overwhelming desire for the god's
constant presence. My father suffered from it, poor man.
The disease is more than just a desire for the god's presence.
The sufferers require continual proof of the god's favor. So they
gamble incessantly. Not to win, for all they do with
winnings is keep on gambling until they lose. Then they do
what they must to raise a stake so they can gamble again.

 "Oh, it's a terrible thing. Terrible. My father sold me as a slave because
of it. Later he sold my oldest sister. Then, when he was in
debt yet again, he killed himself in one of his rare lucid mome
nts when he could see what was happening
to him. What he was doing to his family, himself. 'Course I
was just a kid when I was sold. I didn't understand. I
thought it was because of some fault of mine that I'd been
sent away, laziness or stupidity or disobedience, and that if I'd only been a better son it wouldn't a happened. That's Auriel's way. It's intended
that children should respect their parents and learn from
them, but some parents aren't deserving of respect. Well,
it was a sickness in him, so my mother says. I don't know that he
should be blamed for it, any more than if he had red plague or leprosy. I believe her, yet sometimes I still
feel it was my fault. Well, that was bad luck you might
say. But Sai sent me Moraelyn and that was a lucky day
indeed.

 "What other god would put it into his head to stop one human
from beating on another? Any other elf in Tamriel would
have turned away in disgust or stopped to watch and laugh
at the stupid humans. Two dark elf kids against four grown
Nords, and for all they knew I deserved what I was getting. I
could have been a thief or murderer. I suppose I was a thief. I'd stolen myself, so
ts when he could see what was happening
to him. What he was doing to his family, himself. 'Course I
was just a kid when I was sold. I didn't understand. I
thought it was because of some fault of mine that I'd been
sent away, laziness or stupidity or disobedience, and that if I'd only been a better son it wouldn't a happened. That's Auriel's way. It's intended
that children should respect their parents and learn from
them, but some parents aren't deserving of respect. Well,
it was a sickness in him, so my mother says. I don't know that he
should be blamed for it, any more than if he had red plague or leprosy. I believe her, yet sometimes I still
feel it was my fault. Well, that was bad luck you might
say. But Sai sent me Moraelyn and that was a lucky day
indeed.

 "What other god would put it into his head to stop one human
from beating on another? Any other elf in Tamriel would
have turned away in disgust or stopped to watch and laugh
at the stupid humans. Two dark elf kids against four grown
Nords, and for all they knew I deserved what I was getting. I
could have been a thief or murderer. I suppose I was a thief. I'd stolen myself, so
to speak."

 "Moraelyn can't say himself why he did it. He says he was
spoiling for a fight that day and seeing slavecatchers on
Morrowind soil did nothing to ease his temper. That's why I
say: it was Sai. But it was Moraelyn that listened to the
god.

 "There's no doubt it's a grand thing to feel Sai's hand on your
shoulder. It's like riding the finest horse, like love itself.
You're one with the world, and everything goes your way,
everything's on your side, instead of being the constant struggle that life really is. You don't have to be
smart or handsome or kind or witty. Things just go your
way. If you do something dumb it doesn't matter. It'll turn
out to be the right thing to have done. Lucky. Some folks do seem to be born lucky, others unlucky. I don't know
why. Most everyone feels Sai's presence sometimes, I guess.
You have, haven't you?"

 Edward shook his head. He'd no idea what Mats was talking
about.

 "Well, it's a kind of greed, I guess, this Sai's Affliction.
You see, there's only so much luck to spread around, and if a
few folks got it all, there'd be none left for the rest. Like
tonight, I won that last pot, but the others had to lose it.
Everyone can't win with Sai. That's not true with other gods,
not necessarily. You still don't understand, do you?
Would you like to hear a story about Sai?"

 Edward nodded. Mats was a good-natured fellow, but
usually quite silent. Edward had thought him rather stupid.
Mats' luck at cards seemed to have loosened his tongue, and now Edward saw that he thought a
lot more than he talked.

 *                              *                             *

 Long, long ago, when people were fewer and wolves more
numerous than now a young widow named Josea lived smack in
the middle of what is now the province of Skyrim. She was an ordinary sort of woman, neither plain nor
pretty. She had smooth brown hair, warm brown eyes, a short
nose, a full round face, and body to match. She'd been
born the only child of peasant farmers. Her parents had been
carried off by typhoid when she was seventeen. Shortly afterwards she had
married Tom, a strong young woodcutter with a cheerful
disposition and a roving eye. He'd gotten her pregnant
quickly, then turned his attentions elsewhere. Shortly
before the babe was due he'd been killed by the local
goldsmith who'd come home unexpectedly, found the handsome
woodcutter in bed with his wife, and stuck a knife in his back.

 Tom's death had occurred on Heart's Day. The babe, a boy,
was born four months later during Mid Year. Two neighbor
women came to help her birth him and one stayed a few days. After that she was left to cope with caring for child and
smallholding as best she could.

 One evening in the next Morningstar, Josea went out to the
small barn to do the evening chores, leaving the babe
asleep in his crib. The wind was howling. She had to clutch
her cloak tightly around her. She milked and fed the cow, fed
the pigs and chickens. When she left the barn she walked out
into a fierce blizzard. The wind had risen so that the barn
door was wrenched from her hand and slammed back against the
side of the barn. She couldn't even see the house, which was
near the road, and some little distance from the barn, but
she set off toward it with confidence.

 She'd lived here all her life and knew every inch of ground,
although she'd never seen a storm quite this fierce and
sudden. Already there were two inches of snow beneath her
feet. She struggled against the wind for some time, until at
last she realized that she must somehow have gone past the house. She turned back and tried to follow her own footprints,
reasoning that at least she'd warm herself in the barn before
setting out again. But the snow was falling so thickly that
her footprints vanished before her eyes, and she was quite lost, and cold.

 Josea struggled on, hoping to come across something
recognizable, a boulder or a tree or the road if not house
or barn. Her hands and feet were wet and numb. She hadn't dressed heavily and was now chilled to the bone, with ice
forming on her eyebrows and lashes.

 "Timmy! Tiimmmeee!" She cried her child's name, hoping
against hope that the babe would wake and cry and that she
might follow the sound to him. She stood and listened, gasping the cold air into her lungs, but there was only the
howling of the wind. The wind, or something more? A grey
shape took form in front of her, staring at her with slitted
yellow eyes. A great grey wolf.

 Her heart seemed to stop. Her eyes filled with tears as she
thought of her child lying helpless in the house alone, and
his mother dead outside. How unlucky, to die so close to
shelter! Unlucky. But she had always been unlucky, the
unluckiest woman she knew. It might be days before any thought
to visit her. She sank down to her knees, exhausted. The wolf sat before her, threw back
its head and voiced its dreadful howl.

 Her frozen hands scrabbled in the snow, looking for stone or
stick, anything with which to defend herself against the pack.
Another dark shadow appeared from the whirling white snow. She scrambled backwards
in a panic. This one was also gray, but tall and
two-legged, gray cloaked and hooded. Its gloved hand reached for the wolf's head and
patted it. Her scream died in her throat.

 "No need to fear, lass. We'll not bring you harm, nay
quite otherwise. Be you the mother of yon child?"

 She nodded dumbly. His voice was deep and kind, clear in the high whistling of the wind,
but her eyes went to his dread companion.

 "No need to fear," he repeated. "My friend Grellan here will lead us back to safety. Unless
you indeed do wish to spend the night here." His hands reached
for hers and pulled her up, and she leaned on his arm and
hobbled alongside him.

 When at last they reached her door, he said, "I stopped here
hoping for shelter from the storm. I hope you don't mind?"

 How could she refuse? Men too could be wolves, but if he
were it wasn't likely he'd take no for an answer anyway. "P-p-please come
in. I l-left the k-kettle on the boil but I expect it's empty
by now," she said inanely.

 "I did go in, when there was no response to my knock, and
found the babe asleep and alone, and the kettle boiling
away. I took the kettle from the fire, but left the babe be. I
knew his mother would not be far, and sent Grellan to find you. Lucky for you, but then I have
always brought luck to those around me."

 He threw back his hood and she saw that he was tall and pale,
with silver hair and eyes, but a young face. His countenance
was grim, but the silver eyes were kind and his mouth gentle.
"My horse too will want shelter on this night. Have you a shed
to offer him?"

 While he stabled his horse she changed out of her wet clothing
and fixed a bit of supper for them: soup and bread and
cheese, and elmroot tea. As she dished it up she apologized meekly for the meager fare.

 "Why, 'tis a feast compared to my efforts!" He smiled, and fell to,
hungrily. Grellan lay by the fire, his eyes fixed on his
master, who occasionally flung him a morsel. "He ate well
yesterday, luckily for your chickens, else I'd have to buy
one from you."

 "Nay, nay," she protested. "I'm deep in your debt and
glad to share anything I have with you." The babe stirred and cried then, and she picked him up, changed his wet diaper,
and put him to her breast.

 "Where's your husband, lady?"

 She hesitated a moment--the thought flashed that she should not tell this stranger how alone and unprotected she
was--then told him the truth.

 "A sad tale, truly," he said, "but he's left you a handsome
child, and you seem quite comfortable here." His eyes went
round the humble one room cottage, crib and feather bed at
one end, covered with a quilt of her mother's making, and
stone hearth at the other, table and chairs made by her father
in the middle. A ladder led to the loft where she'd slept as a child. Suddenly the simple room seemed a palace to her. They were warm and dry
and well fed, and indeed what could be better?

 "Why, you're right, stranger. I am lucky after all. Now,
will you tell me something of yourself?"

 "I am less fortunate than you in some ways. I am a
wanderer, and born to wanderers, a tinker by trade, though I
can turn my hand to most things. I have never been married
and have no children, nor have I ever had a home other than
the wagon my horse pulls. I've never stayed long in one place. My parents named me Sai,
but most folks call me Lucky."

 "Lucky is what I will call you then, for you have indeed
been lucky for me."

 He stood and stretched, and began clearing the remnants of
their meal from the table. He poured water from the copper
kettle into the basin and washed and dried the dishes, something she had never seen a man do before.
After the babe was fed they played with him on the hearthrug
while he told her of some of the odd and wonderful places
and peoples he had met with on his journeys, and once again
her life seemed very narrow and dull. After an hour or two
the babe grew tired and cranky, and she took him on her lap and
sang to him until he fell asleep. She laid him in his crib and wrapped him warmly in a rabbit
fur bunting.

 When she went back to the fire, Lucky reached for her hand and
held it for a moment, without a word, then they were in one
another's arms and kissing hungrily. They shed their clothing and lay together shamelessly, enjoying each others bodies
in the flickering rosy firelight. He loved the roundness of
her breasts and thighs, belly and buttocks, and said she was
as juicy as an apple. His bleached lean muscular body and
silken hair fascinated her as much. She had loved Tom and known pleasant
moments with him, but nothing like she felt with this
stranger. 

 She woke in bed in the morning, to the baby's crying as
usual. Lucky wasn't there and she thought he must have been a
vivid dream. Then the door opened and shut, and he was striding toward her, fully dressed, and motioning her to stay
where she was. He kissed her lips, then brought the babe to her and stood watching as he suckled. "What a pity that we
remember not the pleasure we once knew."

 "Yet we have pleasures still that we will remember," she said, and felt her cheeks redden at her boldness. What a wanton he must think her!

 "Indeed," he said, and laid his cold hand against her hot
cheek. 

 The storm had stopped during the night, but the snow was
deep on the road, and it was clear that it would be days
before the horse could pull Lucky's small wagon along the
road. That wagon was brightly painted with leaves and vines
and flowers in red and blue and green and yellow. The
wheels were red with yellow spokes. It had a canvas top,
also painted, blue with white fleecy clouds. Josea loved the
wagon but it sorted oddly with Lucky's quiet greyness.

 Lucky did small jobs for her, mending tools, hinges, and
utensils. He cut more wood for her, saying that if she did not need it
this year, there would be another. He stayed a week and a thaw
came and then a freeze, and the road was rutted but fit for
travel. They looked at one another in the morning light, and
he said that it couldn't hurt to stay another day, or maybe
two ... if she was not yet tired of him. She wasn't.

 After another week, Lucky asked her if she would come with him. Her heart leaped at the question, but she looked around the
little house where she'd spent all her life, thought of her
land and village and her babe, and said, "I can't go. I've
no desire to travel, and I don't want to bring my babe up
as a homeless waif."

 Pain flashed across Lucky's pale face, but he only nodded,
harnessed up his horse, and kissed her goodbye. Tears clouded her eyes and blurred the gay wagon colors.

 Sun's Dawn passed very slowly, with rain and sleet and
snow, but nothing like the storm that had brought Lucky to
her. Occasionally there was a knock at her door, which started
her heart pounding, but always it was just a villager,
come to buy the dried herbs she sold. Then, on the first night
of First Seed, she heard the creak of a wagon and knew. She
flew to the door, her face alight and flung herself into his
arms.

 "I can't stay," he said. "I'm just passing through--" and
that was all the talking they did for quite awhile. 

 Spring came and crocuses poked their noses up through the
snow. Lucky spaded up her garden. Curious neighbors came to
call, but found out no more about him than she knew. She sold
them eggs -- her chickens were laying very well -- and dried
herbs and an elixir she made from her grandmother's recipe,
which was sovereign for headache and rheumatism. They hired
Lucky for odd jobs, despite their suspicion of him. 

 Lucky continued to come and go, never saying where or when
he'd be back, but he seldom stayed away more than a few days.
He spoke no words of love, but loved her fiercely all the
same. Josea's round belly grew rounder, and she weaned
Timmy to cow's milk. Lucky's trips became shorter and less
frequent. All around the land prospered. Even the oldest
could not recall a better harvest. In Hearthfire Josea
birthed a beautiful baby girl with silver hair, but eyes of
cornflower blue. Lucky held his child and joy radiated from
him, so that he seemed to burn with a white fire.

  















   
