The Great House

The Lord Archen stepped from his coach and gazed up at the Great House. He was grateful to see it, but there were so many other things on his mind that any relief he felt at the sight was outweighed by his struggles.

The room was dark, and lit by a warm fire. He advanced to the mantle, leaning upon it for support. His hands reached for his head, and he held it as though he felt it would burst.

“My lord?”

A delicate hand touched his, and he lowered it to observe a lovely maiden. The maid was distressed for her master, for he seemed to be in great pain.

“Dost thine head trouble thee, my lord?” she asked.

He smiled tenderly towards her and sighed. “Indeed, I shall be well, with you to nurse me.”

She smiled, leading him towards a couch before the fire. When she had served him food and drink, the maiden seated herself upon her master’s footstool and observed his activity.

This young woman, purchased by the Lord Archen seven years prior, is a worthy study. The buried pain in her eyes is rivaled only by the love she holds for her master; a love that often contemplates whether it is reciprocated, or even observed.

“Thou hast long been absent, my lord.”

She gathered the saucer and cup and placed them on the low table.

Lord Archen laughed quietly. “I beg thy pardon, Zenath. But here now I am, daughter.”

He smiled fondly at her, but she did not return the gesture.

“I referred to the absence of thy spirit, lord.”

Zenath sat upon the couch beside her master and gazed into his eyes.

“Thou art far away,” she said; and, placing her hand upon his brow, said, “here.”

The Lord Archen sighed.

“‘Tis truth, my dear. The Lords have not yet chosen the fate of the lad.”

Zenath’s countenance fell.

“Is he to die, then?”

“Aye, lest I can provide for them a suitable punishment for him.”

“Didst thou heed the counsel of the Lord Prisma? Surely he would not stand for the brutality of the others’ propositions?”

Lord Archen sighed once more.

“E’en the Lord Prisma could not sway them. The Lord Vallorim would banish him to the Waste, and the others were no better.”

Zenath gasped and stood, trembling.

“He is but a youth! Certainly his crime has not merited a fate such as this!”

“But what am I to do?”

“It is then thy decision?”

“The Lords were at odds at my departure about how to punish the lad. I have spared him death, at least, but the fate awaiting him may be worse still.”

The troubled man stood and strode to the mantle, and there assumed the pose in which the young woman had discovered him earlier that evening. Zenath still stood beside the couch, watching Lord Archen closely.

“What am I to do?” Archen muttered again under his breath; then, to Zenath, “What am I to do in order to fulfill the need for justice, yet also extend mercy to this lad who needs it so much?”

Zenath stood quietly, waiting expectantly.

The Lord Archen turned and looked at her.

“What counsel would thou that I take?”

The woman started in surprise.

“I, my lord?”

“What counsel would thou that I take?” he asked again. “I would know thine advice.”

“You ask counsel of me, my lord, that am a woman and a slave?”

He gazed into her eyes, seeking he knew not what.

“Of a truth, thou art a woman. But thou art the wisest woman I know. And thou art loving and kind, as only a woman can be. Thou would show the lad more mercy than all the counsel of my lords. As to being a slave…”

He paused, still gazing into her eyes. But Zenath perceived that no longer was her master looking at her. Now, he gazed upon his own heart, searching his own soul.

“As to being a slave,” he continued after several silent moments, in which she allowed him to reflect, “I purchased you long ago when I saw your miserable state and pitied you. But for seven years I have witnessed your tenderness, your generosity, and your selflessness. You are no longer my slave.”

He turned his back to her, and she caught her breath. Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked to the ground, confused and expectant.

“You are so much more. My daughter and my friend. Nay, more than a daughter. More than a friend.”

He turned back to her.

She drew in a shaky breath, and answered him the question he had posed.

“The lad must be punished, my lord. But death, even banishment, is too great a trial for a first offence, for a young man with his entire life ahead of him. I would propose that you give him twenty days in a cell. He is young and impressionable, and this will be a warning to him. After the twenty days are through, allow him the choice to live with you as a servant, or to move on to a different region of the kingdom. Whatever his choice, I am certain it will be a wise one.”

Lord Archen smiled and sent a page to order a carriage. He took Zenath’s hands in his, and they stood silently for some time, gazing into each other’s eyes.

When the page returned, Lord Archen turned towards the door. As he reached it, he turned again to the beautiful Zenath.

He loved her. She could see it in his eyes. He loved her, and they both knew it now. Zenath was no longer a slave.

The Lord Archen smiled, then turned away and left the Great House.

Hope you liked the story of Zenath's redemption! If you'd like to hear more, click the subscribe button, or leave me a heart! Tips are also appreciated! God bless!

More of my stories below!