Only the educated are free.
~Epictetus
Four days later, I’m sick of being bedridden and demand to be allowed up. Ethlenden shakes his head and refuses again and again, the (in)famous Elven patience remaining unruffled. Finally, when he leaves the room, I decide to take action on my own.
After removing the sling from my left arm, I carefully maneuver myself out of bed, and pick up the crutches the physician left for me. I get to my feet, a bit wobbly at first, and then slowly (and very carefully) make my way out of the room, getting the hang of walking with crutches as I go. Everything goes fine...until I get to the top of the stairs.
Suddenly, the steep, carpeted flight looks much higher than it was, and I can just picture myself falling down again. Shaking off the fear, I slowly begin the trek downstairs. It seems to take an eternity, and several times, I becomes light-headed with exertion and have to rest. Finally, though, I make it to the floor and breathe a sigh of relief.
The house is lovely, there’s no doubt about that. Delicate vases, fine paintings, and precious tapestries line the walls, and the carpets under my feet are thick and luxurious. The colors are warm and rich, but muted, and soothing to the eye. My musing are interrupted as the Elflord steps out of a room (a study or library, I assume, catching a glimpse of book-lined walls before the door shuts) and looks up to see me. He frowns, clearly quite displeased.
“You were to stay in bed for a week,” he says, his voice sharp with disapproval.
I shrug as best I can while leaning on crutches. “It’s dull up there. And I’m fine.” I left my chin proudly, and stubbornly.
“You may think so,” he chides, “but Sandiss gave strict orders for you to stay in bed for no less than a week. Come now, back up with you.”
I back up a half step, quite a feat with these awkward crutches. “No,” I reply, a bit amazed at my own audacity. Talk back to an Elflord? Unthinkable. But I don’t budge another inch.
His eyes narrow, then he laughs softly, a wry smile on his face. “I child with more obstinacy than an Elf. What a rare find.” He laughs again, then casts a critical eye over me. “You could make it down those stairs, but you couldn’t change into your new clothes, could you?”
I snort, remembering the tidy heap of clothing on a chair back in the room. “I don’t wear skirts,” I reply, wrinkling my nose. “Ever.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really now? We shall see about that.”
I glare back, unabashed. “No way. Never. I don’t wear skirts or dresses and I’m not going to start now. No.”
The wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth again, and he nods. “Very well. I shall see what can be done to remedy that situation. He starts to turn, then looks back at me. “You have full run of the house,” he says. “But take nothing,” he adds with a low chuckle as he leaves.
I make a face at his back and set off to explore.