Hey people! This is my very first fanfic, and is based on On Fortune's Wheel, by Cynthia Voight. It can be considered a fairy tale, if not what you would think of as a classic fairy tale, and anyway I couldn't figure out how to suggest a catagory. Please Review!
Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.
Lyss's Turn
There are some who say that the Lady Fortune
has a wheel, and all men are fixed upon it.
The wheel turns, and the men rise, or fall,
with the turning of the wheel.
Years have passed since Birle ran away from her beloved Orien, finding herself both unhappy with the courtly life he gave her, and pregnant with his child. Birle rarely thought of him anymore, having given her heart to her daughter, Lyss, named for her own mother. She now lives happily in her grandparent's cottage with Lyss, caring for her herb and flower garden, sometimes making money by reading to one of the villagers, or writing for them. It was good money, and she had no competition, being the only commoner who knew how. She did have to be careful with who she helped though, it technically being against the law for her to read.
She had at one point tried to find Yul, and had found the man she had left him with. But Yul was no longer there. She was told that someone else had come for him, and then she had been ignored. Having no more hope of finding him, Birle had returned home to her family. She secretly imagined sometimes that it had been Orien who had come for him, though that was unlikely seeing as she had never told him what had become of the simpleminded Yul.
Her beautiful Lyss was now fourteen years old, and could read as well, Birle having taught her a few years ago. One day, they were gathering herbs from their garden, and Lyss began to ask the questions Birle had hoped never to hear from her.
"Mama?"
"Hmm?"
"May I ask you a question?"
"You always can- you know that."
"It's just… I've just been wondering… about you..." Birle put down the plants in her hands as Lyss trailed off and stoop up, brushing off her skirts. She thought she could see where this was going, and vehemently hoped she was wrong.
"Something is bothering you, Lyss, so please just come out and say it. We've never kept secrets."
"Actually, you have been keeping secrets, my whole life you have. You've never told me… you've never told me anything… anything about… your life or… my father… where your grandparents learned to read… why you ran away when you were my age… or…"
Birle sighed and said, "I guess I always knew you would start asking those questions someday." She paused and looked up at the sky, where dark clouds were shading he noon sun, slowly growing thicker. "Let's just finish this before the storm comes, or we'll have nothing to offer those who buy our herbs. I promise you, tonight we'll talk." They then finished what they were doing in silence; Lyss giving her mother quick glances from time to time. After carrying the baskets of herbs into the small shed to protect them from hungry animals as well as the elements, they then hurried indoors, as the rain was beginning to fall. Lyss built up a fire while Birle poured some leftover stew into a pot for their supper.
The two then sat down on the bench by the hearth while the stew heated. Birle sighed again as she looked at her daughter. "You know," she said, "nobody else has ever asked me anything about any of this. When I finally came home I thought that they would for some reason- I guess I was away for too long. I'd forgotten how people are here; mind your own business, it doesn't matter what happened. All that matters is that Birle is back and she's pregnant and she's going to stay. Knowing what happened wouldn't change anything, there's nothing we might do with the information, so why waste time finding out."
"But Mama," said Lyss, looking at her, "you didn't raise me like that. You taught me to ask questions, and care, and not to be afraid to be different. You always said that just because something isn't necessary doesn't mean it doesn't matter. You brought me up so I would ask this."
Birle smiled. "I guess I did, didn't I. What do you want me to tell you first?"
"I want to know about my father."
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