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I.
Merel’s door was locked and bolted.
Barak raised his hand to knock—then dropped it to his side, sighed, and left.
II.
There was a banging on the door, and Merel refused to answer. It was late, and she was tired; the Earl of Trellheim could seek another’s bed, as he would have done if she were not present in Val Alorn.
There was a wrenching sound of wood, and the light of the hall torches cast a dim light in front of her eyelids. Clearly, he would demand his rights as he always did, and there was no point in saying no—because when had it ever mattered?
Still she feigned sleep, even as he whispered her name; ignored his touch on her shoulder, the rough kiss that stank of beer, the crushing pressure on her chest as his hulking frame collapsed onto her, the too-hard grip on her wrist. Do what you came to do, then leave me in peace! She thought; then the grip tightened, and she couldn’t help the cry of pain.
He paused, raising himself up slightly—she took a few deep breaths before speaking, her voice dripping with pain and venom.
“My lord may take his rights as he pleases, of course, if even my locked and bolted door is not enough to dissuade him; I will do my duty as he requires. But I would request that he cease bruising my wrist and get his bestial rutting over with, so I may return to sleep.”
The hand released her like it burned; the suffocating weight left her body, and Barak’s voice was heavy with regret. “I—I’m sorry. I thought—it doesn't matter. Goodnight, Merel.”
With heavy, staggering footsteps, he left her chambers; again the flash of torchlight before her eyes, before the door was shoved back into the damaged doorframe, leaving her in blessed silence and darkness once again.
Merel blinked, surprised; as she rubbed her aching wrist, she wondered what had caused the change; though she was grateful for it.
She rolled over and returned to sleep, and did not see her husband for the rest of her sojourn.
III.
There was a banging on the door.
Merel wearily opened her eyes, pulling herself out of bed; the floor was cold, despite the thick rugs strewn about, and it did not improve her temper.
Now did the sight of her husband, reeking of beer, and with something clearly on his mind. “It is late, my lord. I am sure there is a brothel worker who needs coin more than I desire your company.” Caustic and contemptuous, “though my lord can of course do what he likes with his property. If he insists upon me upholding my responsibilities--”
He stared at her, looking...hurt, suddenly, and vulnerable; like the first time he had come to her bed, thinking that she would welcome him there, and had been bitterly disappointed.
“….What would it take, Merel?” he pleaded, his voice slurred with drink. “I gave you everything I had—what would it take for you to want it?”
He had never asked, before. Merel found herself startled into honesty.
“Nothing. I never wanted anything you had, my lord—that is why I told you no, until my father told you yes. I had no choice, and I have never had a choice, and when I have the audacity to be upset by this, I am scorned and shamed and told to be more grateful, because a warrior of Cherek wanted me—and what I wanted did not matter.” Gods, she was tired. “I will adhere to my responsibilities as required, and I ask that that be enough for you—as it has ever had to be enough for me.”
“...I would have you happy.”
“I am a woman of Cherek, my lord. Happiness was never something I was raised to expect.” She looked back to her bed. “It is late, and you have much to do in the coming days. Either do as you came to do, or go.”
Barak turned from her, still looking wounded; but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had been bleeding for years—now he might understand how it felt.
IV.
Barak lay snoring beside her, still reeking of drink; his arm draped over her like a vice across her chest, the bruises on her wrists and her thighs aching like shackles. A brute and a monster, like she had always known. Her only comfort was the knowledge that the world would know too; and the Earl of Trellhiem would finally understand what it meant to be chained.
Carefully, she extracted herself from the bed, to dress in the dying glow of the embers. She would get no more sleep tonight, and the thought of remaining there, with him, made her stomach churn.
The halls were quiet, only servants and guards awake; none disturbed her as she meandered aimlessly, pointlessly, around the meandering, aimless, pointless palace of Val Alorn, an aimless, pointless city--
She had thought she had accepted her lot in life. Had wrapped duty and pride around her shoulders, stood strong in the face of the world’s cruelty to her, for daring to not be the devoted wife the Earl of Trellheim had seemed so desperately to want. His ideals were nought to her—his dreams were not hers, now more than ever.
Merel stared out into the dark, snow falling thick and heavy in the winter night.
She had her duty to her husband; it had been her shield against a world that reviled and despised her. But perhaps she had a greater one to herself, and the two girl-children who relied on her to ensure they would not suffer their mother’s fate.
A fox would gnaw off its own paw to escape a trap.
It was easy to escape Val Alorn; a mere plea to the queens of Aloria about a headache in the afternoon while the menfolk were in council, and she was gone within scant hours. None missed her till dinner, and most thought little of it, if they thought of it at all. There were greater events at hand than Lady Merel’s bitterness, her pride, and her devotion to her duty; for Aloria had failed in hers.
Merel was as indifferent to prophecy as it was to her. Her care was instead given to sneaking her children and their dowries out of Trellheim, and heading south to a place that asked no questions, so long no questions were asked of them. It was difficult, but she was resourceful, and there were those in Trellheim that felt their lady was owed more loyalty than their oft-absent lord.
And so it was not for many months that Barak, Earl of Trellheim, learned that his wife had vanished with their daughters; and it would be many years before he learned of his son.