History
The Lady of The Golden Veil - (Fiammeta's Story)
((Alrighty. Short note, I began writing this a long while ago now so the intro involves people that have sense moved on. ))
Fiammeta watched the iris petals floating in small circles on the surface of her bath water. They scattered as she rose, droplets sending ripples. “Feth, hand me my robe.” An elven man in a well tailored tuxedo had been leaning against the wall, waiting patiently. He bowed politely before holding up the robe and helping her into it. The Mistress smiled in thanks to her butler as the cool golden silk met her skin.
She situated herself on a small stool in front of a large gilded mirror, turning her head this way and that before deciding to wind her long auburn hair into a neat knot at the nape of her neck. Feth had a pair of delicate fur-lined slippers set beside her within moments. “Ahw, good good. Thank you Feth. When you've drained the bath, bring some tea down hmm? Oh and, be sure not to wake Tethkin.” Her eyes flickered over the form of the sleeping Kal'dorei in her bed. His teal-green hair spread over the red satin bedding in bright contrast. With a soft smile she drew the robe about herself and descended the two flights of stairs that separated the House's parlor from the Companion's living quarters.
Another suited Kal'dorei met her at the foot of the stairs, bowing deeply and handing over a small stack of missives. “Today's mail...Mistress.” She smiled with a nod.
“Thank you Edgthorn.” She sifted through them idly as she continued to the parlor. Prospective clients, notes of payment, bills...
Brudinna sat in an overstuffed chair, head tilted to the side, hands folded neatly on her knee, attempting to hold completely still. Fiammeta didn't have to look to Lavalia to know what she was doing. The young draenei woman stood in front of a large canvas, pallet and brush in hand. “Just like that Brew, lift your chin a little.” Cynnaria lay on the large bearskin rug spread across the center of the parlor floor, reading what looked to be a book on the theory and study of lupine society and social grouping. Seated to her left was the medic Grithorn, behind him the sayaad Nimwena braided his hair. Every so often she'd whisper something in his ear and giggle, swishing her tail as he turned an even darker shade of purple. Perched on the edge of the sofa was the other new medic, watching all the goings on. In her high-necked crimson vest and sparse leggings, Neylia really did look more like one of the Companions than a weary battle medic. And finally...at the table in the corner, sat a Kal'dorei with long midnight blue hair. Well groomed beard and tasteful clothing, he would be called handsome by most any standards. He leaned over a parchment with quill in hand. Master Rovanore Del'Toraine was always set to business.
The Mistress smiled to each in turn. The Golden Veil was alive these days. Perhaps not thriving just yet, but thrumming with a steady pulse. Oh how times had changed...
Fiammeta watched the iris petals floating in small circles on the surface of her bath water. They scattered as she rose, droplets sending ripples. “Feth, hand me my robe.” An elven man in a well tailored tuxedo had been leaning against the wall, waiting patiently. He bowed politely before holding up the robe and helping her into it. The Mistress smiled in thanks to her butler as the cool golden silk met her skin.
She situated herself on a small stool in front of a large gilded mirror, turning her head this way and that before deciding to wind her long auburn hair into a neat knot at the nape of her neck. Feth had a pair of delicate fur-lined slippers set beside her within moments. “Ahw, good good. Thank you Feth. When you've drained the bath, bring some tea down hmm? Oh and, be sure not to wake Tethkin.” Her eyes flickered over the form of the sleeping Kal'dorei in her bed. His teal-green hair spread over the red satin bedding in bright contrast. With a soft smile she drew the robe about herself and descended the two flights of stairs that separated the House's parlor from the Companion's living quarters.
Another suited Kal'dorei met her at the foot of the stairs, bowing deeply and handing over a small stack of missives. “Today's mail...Mistress.” She smiled with a nod.
“Thank you Edgthorn.” She sifted through them idly as she continued to the parlor. Prospective clients, notes of payment, bills...
Brudinna sat in an overstuffed chair, head tilted to the side, hands folded neatly on her knee, attempting to hold completely still. Fiammeta didn't have to look to Lavalia to know what she was doing. The young draenei woman stood in front of a large canvas, pallet and brush in hand. “Just like that Brew, lift your chin a little.” Cynnaria lay on the large bearskin rug spread across the center of the parlor floor, reading what looked to be a book on the theory and study of lupine society and social grouping. Seated to her left was the medic Grithorn, behind him the sayaad Nimwena braided his hair. Every so often she'd whisper something in his ear and giggle, swishing her tail as he turned an even darker shade of purple. Perched on the edge of the sofa was the other new medic, watching all the goings on. In her high-necked crimson vest and sparse leggings, Neylia really did look more like one of the Companions than a weary battle medic. And finally...at the table in the corner, sat a Kal'dorei with long midnight blue hair. Well groomed beard and tasteful clothing, he would be called handsome by most any standards. He leaned over a parchment with quill in hand. Master Rovanore Del'Toraine was always set to business.
The Mistress smiled to each in turn. The Golden Veil was alive these days. Perhaps not thriving just yet, but thrumming with a steady pulse. Oh how times had changed...
One
- 22 Years Earlier, Stromgarde, Arathi Highlands -
A young woman looked out from her position on the city wall. She sat precariously on the edge, swinging her feet, a rather worried looking soldier darted closer to her side. “Don't fall Miss Castelon!” She tipped back her head to smile up at him. Crimson lips parted with a peal of silver laughter. “It's not funny now, what would your father say if you were to fall?”
“Who knows? However, he might say much of my present company. I don't think he'd approve of my consorting with the likes of such a soldier...Officer Harakay... you know, the sorts that make attempts at a poor maiden's virtue.” She giggled as he flushed bright red.
“I've done no such thing.”
“Oh?” She paused, full lips pulling into a pout. “What a pity. I think this poor naive soul would have succumbed.”
“Such scandalous things from a lady.”
“A lady, my darling Harakay? Is that what you take me for? A pity to sorely disappoint. For I am but a dove...and Stromgarde my gilded cage. Ahw, were I but to be free.” With which statement she flung her arms wide and leaned forward over the wall.
“Fiammeta!” The soldier grabbed her about the waist as she promptly leaned back against him, smiling coyly.
“I was in no danger. Though now perhaps...you are.”
“Danger?”
“Oh indeed for now I have you just where I want you.” Her body was warm and welcome against his own...the scent of her perfume intoxicating.
“Miss Castelon...” His voice was low and thick in his throat. “You should be elsewhere...we shouldn't.” She turned, pressing a finger to his lips.
“Shhhh....”
That had been easier than she had expected. Fiammeta began to dress, turning to observe the slumbering form of Officer Joseph Harakay. She wondered if men were always so simply lead along. He wasn't much to look at really...but that concerned her little. No, he was chosen because she knew his position in Stromgarde was temporary. He was part of a regiment from Southshore, and soon enough....he would return there. Yes, he would do perfectly.
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General Castelon's face flashed red, the veins in his neck straining, his jaw set tight. “What did you say?!” Rough hands gripped the arms of a chair in which, withdrawn and shivering, sat Fiammeta. Tears stained her pale cheeks and her large amethyst eyes welled as she threatened to break down again.
“It's true Papa.” Her voice shook almost as much as her shoulders. An elderly woman in modest black robes that covered from chin to ankle stood behind the General. Her hands folded neatly in front of herself.
“She speaks the truth, sir. I took her to see father Tippins myself this morning, whom confirmed it. Young Miss Castelon is with child.” General Castelon turned to her. Mrs. Truer had never been one given to falsehood, as sincere as her surname it would seem. The aging servant had always looked out for young Miss Castelon's best interest...and yet. He looked at his daughter with a pained expression, she was only sixteen. Old enough to start considering suitors, but this?! Drawing a measured breath he knelt beside the chair.
“Who is it Fia? Who's the father?” She looked past long lashes.
“He told me he loved me, he...I thought, he was telling the truth, but than he...he took advantage of me.” Her lip quivered.
“Please, his name?” She knew her father was restraining himself. She almost pitied the object of his current wrath...almost.
“One of the soldiers from Southshore...Officer Harakay.”
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The ceremony was a hurried one. The sooner it was made known Fiammeta was wed, the fewer questions could be asked about her condition, and the less the shame brought on the Castelon name. To his credit, Joseph Harakay did not balk at what he was informed was his “duty.” After all, she was a beautiful, vibrant young thing. He could have done much worse for himself. It was likely, also, that he loved Fiammeta...even then.
They were moved to Southshore within a week. Life was quaint, but comfortable. Joseph had his work for the military to busy him and Fiammeta was taken on at the local inn as a cook and clean girl. She enjoyed being around the people and having something to set her hands to. Not that they needed the extra work, Joseph provided well. He truly was a good husband...
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It was a cold October evening. Fiammeta sat in a rocking chair pulled up close to the hearth and wrapped in furs. Idly rocking back and forth, back and forth, flames casting a ruby glow on her face as she watched them...rather lost in thought.
The door creaked as it opened and Joseph entered, shaking the snow from his cloak. His armor rattled and groaned as he knelt before her, kissing her hands. “I missed you two today.” He beamed, removing his gauntlets and laying chilly hands on either side of her swollen belly. He was rewarded with a small kick from within. Fiammeta offered a gentle smile, resting a delicate hand on his head. “I wonder, shall it be a boy or a girl? I almost hope for the latter. Someone to share her mother's beauty.”
“But a son could carry on his father's name.” Fiammeta rose to her feet carefully, shaking her head. “There is really no use worrying over such now, we'll be finding out soon enough.”
“We will?”
“Two weeks at most by the midwife's estimates.”
It was precisely eight days later that a son was born to Joseph and Fiammeta Harakay. They named him Daniel.
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It was a wretched time to bring new life into the world. Winter had come early and harsh to the Eastern Kingdoms. Sickness was spreading almost as quickly as frost and freezing gales. It was no suprise really, that the new born and his mother, still weary and weak, fell ill.
For months Fiammeta was bed ridden, though eventually her strong spirit outlasted the fever. She awoke to Joseph sitting beside their bed. Dark stubble on his jaw, he must not have moved for days. His face brightened as he realized her eyes had opened, and he lifted her frail hands to his lips. “Praise the Light.”
Instinctively she looked to Daniel's cradle, expecting to hear him cry in hunger or want. Joseph caught her gaze and his own fell. “He...he's gone Fia.” The soldier's voice cracked. Her eyes went wide and lip trembled.
“Gone?”
“Doctor said he had a good spirit, like his mother, but he was just too young yet...it's a miracle enough it didn't take both of you.” A long wail escaped Fiammeta's throat before she broke into heavy sobs.
“What have I done...”
“Shhh,” Joseph wrapped his arms about her, rocking her gently. “It's nothing either of us could have prevented. Please darling...don't cry...don't...” His voice wavered near breaking.
That night both wept for their loss. The next day a solemn faced officer Harakay had to report back to his post, leaving Fiammeta with a nurse should her fever return. Whispers soon spread of how Mrs. Harakay recovered well, and had yet to shed another tear.
That was January, it had taken only four months for life to turn about so dramatically. The remainder of the bitterly cold season passed slowly. It was not until late April that the world again began to turn green and start anew....
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- 22 Years Earlier, Stromgarde, Arathi Highlands -
A young woman looked out from her position on the city wall. She sat precariously on the edge, swinging her feet, a rather worried looking soldier darted closer to her side. “Don't fall Miss Castelon!” She tipped back her head to smile up at him. Crimson lips parted with a peal of silver laughter. “It's not funny now, what would your father say if you were to fall?”
“Who knows? However, he might say much of my present company. I don't think he'd approve of my consorting with the likes of such a soldier...Officer Harakay... you know, the sorts that make attempts at a poor maiden's virtue.” She giggled as he flushed bright red.
“I've done no such thing.”
“Oh?” She paused, full lips pulling into a pout. “What a pity. I think this poor naive soul would have succumbed.”
“Such scandalous things from a lady.”
“A lady, my darling Harakay? Is that what you take me for? A pity to sorely disappoint. For I am but a dove...and Stromgarde my gilded cage. Ahw, were I but to be free.” With which statement she flung her arms wide and leaned forward over the wall.
“Fiammeta!” The soldier grabbed her about the waist as she promptly leaned back against him, smiling coyly.
“I was in no danger. Though now perhaps...you are.”
“Danger?”
“Oh indeed for now I have you just where I want you.” Her body was warm and welcome against his own...the scent of her perfume intoxicating.
“Miss Castelon...” His voice was low and thick in his throat. “You should be elsewhere...we shouldn't.” She turned, pressing a finger to his lips.
“Shhhh....”
That had been easier than she had expected. Fiammeta began to dress, turning to observe the slumbering form of Officer Joseph Harakay. She wondered if men were always so simply lead along. He wasn't much to look at really...but that concerned her little. No, he was chosen because she knew his position in Stromgarde was temporary. He was part of a regiment from Southshore, and soon enough....he would return there. Yes, he would do perfectly.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
General Castelon's face flashed red, the veins in his neck straining, his jaw set tight. “What did you say?!” Rough hands gripped the arms of a chair in which, withdrawn and shivering, sat Fiammeta. Tears stained her pale cheeks and her large amethyst eyes welled as she threatened to break down again.
“It's true Papa.” Her voice shook almost as much as her shoulders. An elderly woman in modest black robes that covered from chin to ankle stood behind the General. Her hands folded neatly in front of herself.
“She speaks the truth, sir. I took her to see father Tippins myself this morning, whom confirmed it. Young Miss Castelon is with child.” General Castelon turned to her. Mrs. Truer had never been one given to falsehood, as sincere as her surname it would seem. The aging servant had always looked out for young Miss Castelon's best interest...and yet. He looked at his daughter with a pained expression, she was only sixteen. Old enough to start considering suitors, but this?! Drawing a measured breath he knelt beside the chair.
“Who is it Fia? Who's the father?” She looked past long lashes.
“He told me he loved me, he...I thought, he was telling the truth, but than he...he took advantage of me.” Her lip quivered.
“Please, his name?” She knew her father was restraining himself. She almost pitied the object of his current wrath...almost.
“One of the soldiers from Southshore...Officer Harakay.”
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
The ceremony was a hurried one. The sooner it was made known Fiammeta was wed, the fewer questions could be asked about her condition, and the less the shame brought on the Castelon name. To his credit, Joseph Harakay did not balk at what he was informed was his “duty.” After all, she was a beautiful, vibrant young thing. He could have done much worse for himself. It was likely, also, that he loved Fiammeta...even then.
They were moved to Southshore within a week. Life was quaint, but comfortable. Joseph had his work for the military to busy him and Fiammeta was taken on at the local inn as a cook and clean girl. She enjoyed being around the people and having something to set her hands to. Not that they needed the extra work, Joseph provided well. He truly was a good husband...
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
It was a cold October evening. Fiammeta sat in a rocking chair pulled up close to the hearth and wrapped in furs. Idly rocking back and forth, back and forth, flames casting a ruby glow on her face as she watched them...rather lost in thought.
The door creaked as it opened and Joseph entered, shaking the snow from his cloak. His armor rattled and groaned as he knelt before her, kissing her hands. “I missed you two today.” He beamed, removing his gauntlets and laying chilly hands on either side of her swollen belly. He was rewarded with a small kick from within. Fiammeta offered a gentle smile, resting a delicate hand on his head. “I wonder, shall it be a boy or a girl? I almost hope for the latter. Someone to share her mother's beauty.”
“But a son could carry on his father's name.” Fiammeta rose to her feet carefully, shaking her head. “There is really no use worrying over such now, we'll be finding out soon enough.”
“We will?”
“Two weeks at most by the midwife's estimates.”
It was precisely eight days later that a son was born to Joseph and Fiammeta Harakay. They named him Daniel.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
It was a wretched time to bring new life into the world. Winter had come early and harsh to the Eastern Kingdoms. Sickness was spreading almost as quickly as frost and freezing gales. It was no suprise really, that the new born and his mother, still weary and weak, fell ill.
For months Fiammeta was bed ridden, though eventually her strong spirit outlasted the fever. She awoke to Joseph sitting beside their bed. Dark stubble on his jaw, he must not have moved for days. His face brightened as he realized her eyes had opened, and he lifted her frail hands to his lips. “Praise the Light.”
Instinctively she looked to Daniel's cradle, expecting to hear him cry in hunger or want. Joseph caught her gaze and his own fell. “He...he's gone Fia.” The soldier's voice cracked. Her eyes went wide and lip trembled.
“Gone?”
“Doctor said he had a good spirit, like his mother, but he was just too young yet...it's a miracle enough it didn't take both of you.” A long wail escaped Fiammeta's throat before she broke into heavy sobs.
“What have I done...”
“Shhh,” Joseph wrapped his arms about her, rocking her gently. “It's nothing either of us could have prevented. Please darling...don't cry...don't...” His voice wavered near breaking.
That night both wept for their loss. The next day a solemn faced officer Harakay had to report back to his post, leaving Fiammeta with a nurse should her fever return. Whispers soon spread of how Mrs. Harakay recovered well, and had yet to shed another tear.
That was January, it had taken only four months for life to turn about so dramatically. The remainder of the bitterly cold season passed slowly. It was not until late April that the world again began to turn green and start anew....
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
Two
Glasses clattered and voices rose over the din of the busy Southshore Inn. “Can I get an ale over here!” “How much is a room for the night?!” “Is that lamb roast I smell, bakin'!?” The exasperated innkeep wiped his hands on an apron and thrust a flagon of mead to one of his waitresses, with a sharp gesture to a table in the far corner.
The gentleman seated there was handsome and finely dressed in rich blue brocade. His well kept blond mane swept into a ponytail. She bowed as she approached and he surveyed her as well. Sharp blue eyes took in the loose white dress draped on her supple form, the green and gold corset that pulled the dress together accentuating her curves. Her amber hair was long, hanging almost to her rump, and amethyst eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Your drink sir.” He took it with a nod.
Just as quickly as she had come she was gone, bustling from table to table as she helped the innkeeper restore order. The gentleman turned to another patron, bent over his own table half-asleep. “Brother, can you give me the name of that girl?” The fellow sat up with a short mutter and curse.
“The waitress?”
“Aye, the fine one there.”
“That'un's our lil' Fia...Fiammeta iffin yer proper. Young wife o' Officer Harakay a'hm believin'. She ain' from these parts.” He turned a wary eye to the gentleman, “An' who's askin'?”
“Master Ethan Fogg, of Capital City.”
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Fiammeta was scrubbing out tankards and soaking serving trays. Betty stood beside her drying the dishes and placing them on the shelf. The other inn girl was likely near her own age, thought she ofte appeared older. The reason perhaps her plain, humble demeanor.
Betty seemed rather solemn tonight, turning to Fiammeta. “Word has is missus, that that noble that'us in here t'day were askin' about you.”
“Oh? I wonder why?”
“Who's t'tell, but be careful Missus Fia. I know them sorts. Think they can get away with near any'thin' when it comes to we “common” folks.” The other woman did not notice Fiammeta smirk as she replied.
“Such villains, hmm...”
“Villain indeed. Best t'mind where ya go alone while his like is about.”
“Of course, Betty. Thank you for the warning.”
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Fiammeta smiled to herself, the large basket swinging at her wrist was empty thus far, but would not remain so long. There were too many good things to find at the market on an early morning, especially when a trade ship was in port. She hummed to herself as, having bypassed the local goods for now, she looked over a large spread of the latest crops brought from Kalimdor. Some fruits she was certain she had not seen before. Alongside them was a pallet of rich fabrics which quickly stole her attention. One was a smooth red satin embroidered all over with intricate, nonsensical patters of orange and yellow. Another was rich velvet of the deepest violet hue she'd ever seen. The one that held her attention however...looked as if it had been spun of liquid gold. Sheer and iridescent, light but luxurious and so soft to the touch. “May I?” She looked to the merchant tending the counter, whom gave her a nod. With trembling fingers she draped the wonderful cloth over her hair and pulled it in front of her face.
The merchant smiled holding up a small silver hand-mirror. “It is very lovely indeed, the lady would like it?” Her lips parted with a soft gasp. Even back at home, when many would have deemed her “lady” she did not look the part. Her father was far too practical a man to pamper and spoil his child with that which was neither educational nor necessary. The woman in the mirror looked a stranger...one that Fiammeta would most like to be. A low voice woke her from her daydreaming.
“What might one do...to earn the favor of the Lady in the Golden Veil?” Crimson blush lighted her cheeks, how had she not heard him approach. She felt as if a child caught at playing dress up. Taking a quick breath she chose to turn this to her advantage.
“Master Fogg, is it not?”
“I am flattered the lady knows my name.” A small smile played at the corners of his perfect mouth.
“In a place such as Southshore, how could I not?” She shrugged one shoulder and his expression grew a mite perplexed.
“Explain.”
“In a town like ours one is either a local, or a traveler. We know all the locals, and most the shipmen that make us frequent port. Therefor you are on of the latter. And it is likely all have learnt your name.” He chuckled.
“Well then, perhaps all the more flattering. Is it only my name the fishwives are whispering?” Fiammeta smiled coyly.
“There may be those that suggest Master Fogg hails from Capital City, and is rather well to do there. But isn't every nobleman?”
“Oh aye, aye.” he nodded, “All well to do stuffy lots aren't they? Is that all?” He had managed to step closer to her as they spoke, watching each move. It seemed every tilt of the head, every delicate gesture of the hand, was made with purpose and held its own grace.
She leaned forward then, whispering through they gauzy cloth, “Some also may say he has taken interest in a woman that works at the local inn. But I could hardly believe such.”
“And why is that my lady?”
“Surely he had heard her to be married. To a brave soldier of the Alliance no less. And such a noble fellow as Master Ethan Fogg would not involve himself with scandal I daresay.” He shook his head, still smiling.
“Not even if he had been bewitched? And could then hardly be blamed. For such a magnificent creature had enthralled him.”
“And what would he do the, were he to in turn capture the lady?” She looked up at him through long lashes. He took the final step between them, raising a hand to brush the cloth from her face. It held loosely to her hair for a moment, shimmering in the early light, before falling.
“He would give her the world.” With a smile he offered out the cloth as he caught it, his other hand reaching to a small pouch and handing the merchant several golden coins. His gaze never left Fiammeta. “I hope, the lady would consider...”
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And so the affair had begun. Fiammeta would admit to some amount of guilt at first, Joseph had been good to her. But she didn't love him and had never planned to settle down here. Ethan could offer her much more...wealth, charm...a ticket into the high society of Capital City. It took her only a week to make up her mind.
Haste was important. Joseph had been away on a small mission to neighboring Hillsbrad Fields, but he would be back soon. What few belongings she had were packed into a worn cedar chest. She looked around the small home once, there was not much she would wish to commit to memory from this place. Setting a folded letter on the table she went to the door, where Ethan waited eagerly
“My dear Joseph,
Whatever you may think upon reading this, let it not be that any of it is fault of your own. You are a good man. Sadly, I am not nearly as good a woman...
I've left Southshore, and do not intend to return. There is one that has offered to care for me, and I believe his intent is true.
You must not be terribly surprised. After all, knowing my nature. I cannot be bound to a place and am always seeking to spread my wings.
I am sorry I am not a better creature, that I was not a better wife, or mother. And I pray that you will find one much more suited to you.
I know you will be angry, sad too. But if you can, think on me well, dear Joseph. As the silly child you first loved. And do not worry. I am safe, I am well, I am happy.
Sincere,
Fiammeta ”
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Glasses clattered and voices rose over the din of the busy Southshore Inn. “Can I get an ale over here!” “How much is a room for the night?!” “Is that lamb roast I smell, bakin'!?” The exasperated innkeep wiped his hands on an apron and thrust a flagon of mead to one of his waitresses, with a sharp gesture to a table in the far corner.
The gentleman seated there was handsome and finely dressed in rich blue brocade. His well kept blond mane swept into a ponytail. She bowed as she approached and he surveyed her as well. Sharp blue eyes took in the loose white dress draped on her supple form, the green and gold corset that pulled the dress together accentuating her curves. Her amber hair was long, hanging almost to her rump, and amethyst eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Your drink sir.” He took it with a nod.
Just as quickly as she had come she was gone, bustling from table to table as she helped the innkeeper restore order. The gentleman turned to another patron, bent over his own table half-asleep. “Brother, can you give me the name of that girl?” The fellow sat up with a short mutter and curse.
“The waitress?”
“Aye, the fine one there.”
“That'un's our lil' Fia...Fiammeta iffin yer proper. Young wife o' Officer Harakay a'hm believin'. She ain' from these parts.” He turned a wary eye to the gentleman, “An' who's askin'?”
“Master Ethan Fogg, of Capital City.”
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Fiammeta was scrubbing out tankards and soaking serving trays. Betty stood beside her drying the dishes and placing them on the shelf. The other inn girl was likely near her own age, thought she ofte appeared older. The reason perhaps her plain, humble demeanor.
Betty seemed rather solemn tonight, turning to Fiammeta. “Word has is missus, that that noble that'us in here t'day were askin' about you.”
“Oh? I wonder why?”
“Who's t'tell, but be careful Missus Fia. I know them sorts. Think they can get away with near any'thin' when it comes to we “common” folks.” The other woman did not notice Fiammeta smirk as she replied.
“Such villains, hmm...”
“Villain indeed. Best t'mind where ya go alone while his like is about.”
“Of course, Betty. Thank you for the warning.”
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Fiammeta smiled to herself, the large basket swinging at her wrist was empty thus far, but would not remain so long. There were too many good things to find at the market on an early morning, especially when a trade ship was in port. She hummed to herself as, having bypassed the local goods for now, she looked over a large spread of the latest crops brought from Kalimdor. Some fruits she was certain she had not seen before. Alongside them was a pallet of rich fabrics which quickly stole her attention. One was a smooth red satin embroidered all over with intricate, nonsensical patters of orange and yellow. Another was rich velvet of the deepest violet hue she'd ever seen. The one that held her attention however...looked as if it had been spun of liquid gold. Sheer and iridescent, light but luxurious and so soft to the touch. “May I?” She looked to the merchant tending the counter, whom gave her a nod. With trembling fingers she draped the wonderful cloth over her hair and pulled it in front of her face.
The merchant smiled holding up a small silver hand-mirror. “It is very lovely indeed, the lady would like it?” Her lips parted with a soft gasp. Even back at home, when many would have deemed her “lady” she did not look the part. Her father was far too practical a man to pamper and spoil his child with that which was neither educational nor necessary. The woman in the mirror looked a stranger...one that Fiammeta would most like to be. A low voice woke her from her daydreaming.
“What might one do...to earn the favor of the Lady in the Golden Veil?” Crimson blush lighted her cheeks, how had she not heard him approach. She felt as if a child caught at playing dress up. Taking a quick breath she chose to turn this to her advantage.
“Master Fogg, is it not?”
“I am flattered the lady knows my name.” A small smile played at the corners of his perfect mouth.
“In a place such as Southshore, how could I not?” She shrugged one shoulder and his expression grew a mite perplexed.
“Explain.”
“In a town like ours one is either a local, or a traveler. We know all the locals, and most the shipmen that make us frequent port. Therefor you are on of the latter. And it is likely all have learnt your name.” He chuckled.
“Well then, perhaps all the more flattering. Is it only my name the fishwives are whispering?” Fiammeta smiled coyly.
“There may be those that suggest Master Fogg hails from Capital City, and is rather well to do there. But isn't every nobleman?”
“Oh aye, aye.” he nodded, “All well to do stuffy lots aren't they? Is that all?” He had managed to step closer to her as they spoke, watching each move. It seemed every tilt of the head, every delicate gesture of the hand, was made with purpose and held its own grace.
She leaned forward then, whispering through they gauzy cloth, “Some also may say he has taken interest in a woman that works at the local inn. But I could hardly believe such.”
“And why is that my lady?”
“Surely he had heard her to be married. To a brave soldier of the Alliance no less. And such a noble fellow as Master Ethan Fogg would not involve himself with scandal I daresay.” He shook his head, still smiling.
“Not even if he had been bewitched? And could then hardly be blamed. For such a magnificent creature had enthralled him.”
“And what would he do the, were he to in turn capture the lady?” She looked up at him through long lashes. He took the final step between them, raising a hand to brush the cloth from her face. It held loosely to her hair for a moment, shimmering in the early light, before falling.
“He would give her the world.” With a smile he offered out the cloth as he caught it, his other hand reaching to a small pouch and handing the merchant several golden coins. His gaze never left Fiammeta. “I hope, the lady would consider...”
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And so the affair had begun. Fiammeta would admit to some amount of guilt at first, Joseph had been good to her. But she didn't love him and had never planned to settle down here. Ethan could offer her much more...wealth, charm...a ticket into the high society of Capital City. It took her only a week to make up her mind.
Haste was important. Joseph had been away on a small mission to neighboring Hillsbrad Fields, but he would be back soon. What few belongings she had were packed into a worn cedar chest. She looked around the small home once, there was not much she would wish to commit to memory from this place. Setting a folded letter on the table she went to the door, where Ethan waited eagerly
“My dear Joseph,
Whatever you may think upon reading this, let it not be that any of it is fault of your own. You are a good man. Sadly, I am not nearly as good a woman...
I've left Southshore, and do not intend to return. There is one that has offered to care for me, and I believe his intent is true.
You must not be terribly surprised. After all, knowing my nature. I cannot be bound to a place and am always seeking to spread my wings.
I am sorry I am not a better creature, that I was not a better wife, or mother. And I pray that you will find one much more suited to you.
I know you will be angry, sad too. But if you can, think on me well, dear Joseph. As the silly child you first loved. And do not worry. I am safe, I am well, I am happy.
Sincere,
Fiammeta ”
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Three
Fiammeta looked about the apartment wide eyed. It was bigger than most entire homes she'd seen in Southshore, and even than the quarters given her father in Stromgarde. Each inch displayed another enticing luxury. “You like it?” The voice broke her thoughts.
“It's marvelous Ethan!”
Master Ethan Fogg grinned to himself as he watched her. Mrs. Harakay was terribly young...and impressed with such rich possessions. But he wondered, how much was sincere expression and how much an act for him. She was much more clever a creature than she let on. Perhaps part of why he was so intrigued with her.
“Consider them a gift. You shall want for nothing while you are with me. For I will strive to give you all you desire.”
“I will do my best to return such generous favor.” She smiled, amethyst eyes looking up through long lashes.
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And Ethan held true to his word. Not a day passed that she didn't receive some new trinket. Dresses, jewelry, lavish furnishings for her apartments, at one point a beautiful white gelding so that she might enjoy riding outside the city. All that was expected in return was her loyalty and attention. Displayed night after night on his arm like some glittering trophy, one that Master Fogg could be proud to own. A prize that high society accepted and smiled upon. At least for the first year or two.
After three, there were those that began to whisper. It was strange to keep a woman so long. She must be very intriguing indeed. It caused men's eyes to linger a bit longer on the young woman, and their own wives' tongues to lash.
When it came down to it they all knew the girl had no future. Everyone, who was anyone at least, knew that Ethan Fogg had never worked a day in his life. He had his father's fortune to thank for his lifestyle. And if he didn't eventually settle down he might fall out of favor with the old man. And then what would he do? One most certainly did not marry courtesans. Which was really the most polite name for women like her wasn't it? It really was a shame, she was a creature to be pitied. Poor naïve girl.
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Fiammeta lay, hair cast across the golden bedsheets in a disheveled auburn wave. Ethan had a most smug look on his face as his eyes drifted over her. “Well, that was entertaining.”
He sat up reaching for his clothes, which were less than neatly heaped on the floor. She smiled at him. That half smile with the look of innocence he knew was most false, that always seemed to say she was hiding something. It was that mystery that so easily drew men in.
“I would have to agree.” She sat up, moving to help him find his things, and lacing his boots.
“Oh dear, you misunderstand me.” His tone was light, but it held a sharper edge beneath. Running a hand along her cheek he paused beneath her chin, tipping her face up to meet his. “I meant...this.” In one sweeping gesture he took in the apartments and herself.
“What?” She blinked.
“Well, surely you didn't think this would last, did you?”
“But, I left my husband for you, I - ”
The hand under her chin now reached to grasp, squeezing either side of her mouth, silencing her. “Don't be a stupid bitch, Fia.” His tone was still light as he dropped her face, she knelt before him, hands clasped.
“What am I to do? I have nothing.”
“Then you will be in the state I found you in, and have only yourself to blame.” He shook his head. “Suddenly you seem at a loss for words my pet. Well, let me help you. You have until tomorrow morning to get out. You may take what clothes you can fit in the chest you brought with you.”
“What of my horse?” He laughed.
“I'm throwing you out and that is what you think to ask? Always a clever serpent.” He smiled amusedly. “Anyway...I'm afraid he was delivered to the kennels. My hunting pack was growing hungry.” He watched her, waited, but she didn't rise to the bait. “I had thought, you had more spirit in you.” With which he turned, and left.
It was then that she took the time to hug her knees to her chest. Rocking slowly and crying softly. She had let herself grow too comfortable here. Had let herself hope. And now? Most in Capital City knew whom and what she was. What was left here then? Nothing, oh foolish child.
And so she dried her eyes with the edge of her skirt...and began to pack.
Fiammeta looked about the apartment wide eyed. It was bigger than most entire homes she'd seen in Southshore, and even than the quarters given her father in Stromgarde. Each inch displayed another enticing luxury. “You like it?” The voice broke her thoughts.
“It's marvelous Ethan!”
Master Ethan Fogg grinned to himself as he watched her. Mrs. Harakay was terribly young...and impressed with such rich possessions. But he wondered, how much was sincere expression and how much an act for him. She was much more clever a creature than she let on. Perhaps part of why he was so intrigued with her.
“Consider them a gift. You shall want for nothing while you are with me. For I will strive to give you all you desire.”
“I will do my best to return such generous favor.” She smiled, amethyst eyes looking up through long lashes.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
And Ethan held true to his word. Not a day passed that she didn't receive some new trinket. Dresses, jewelry, lavish furnishings for her apartments, at one point a beautiful white gelding so that she might enjoy riding outside the city. All that was expected in return was her loyalty and attention. Displayed night after night on his arm like some glittering trophy, one that Master Fogg could be proud to own. A prize that high society accepted and smiled upon. At least for the first year or two.
After three, there were those that began to whisper. It was strange to keep a woman so long. She must be very intriguing indeed. It caused men's eyes to linger a bit longer on the young woman, and their own wives' tongues to lash.
When it came down to it they all knew the girl had no future. Everyone, who was anyone at least, knew that Ethan Fogg had never worked a day in his life. He had his father's fortune to thank for his lifestyle. And if he didn't eventually settle down he might fall out of favor with the old man. And then what would he do? One most certainly did not marry courtesans. Which was really the most polite name for women like her wasn't it? It really was a shame, she was a creature to be pitied. Poor naïve girl.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
Fiammeta lay, hair cast across the golden bedsheets in a disheveled auburn wave. Ethan had a most smug look on his face as his eyes drifted over her. “Well, that was entertaining.”
He sat up reaching for his clothes, which were less than neatly heaped on the floor. She smiled at him. That half smile with the look of innocence he knew was most false, that always seemed to say she was hiding something. It was that mystery that so easily drew men in.
“I would have to agree.” She sat up, moving to help him find his things, and lacing his boots.
“Oh dear, you misunderstand me.” His tone was light, but it held a sharper edge beneath. Running a hand along her cheek he paused beneath her chin, tipping her face up to meet his. “I meant...this.” In one sweeping gesture he took in the apartments and herself.
“What?” She blinked.
“Well, surely you didn't think this would last, did you?”
“But, I left my husband for you, I - ”
The hand under her chin now reached to grasp, squeezing either side of her mouth, silencing her. “Don't be a stupid bitch, Fia.” His tone was still light as he dropped her face, she knelt before him, hands clasped.
“What am I to do? I have nothing.”
“Then you will be in the state I found you in, and have only yourself to blame.” He shook his head. “Suddenly you seem at a loss for words my pet. Well, let me help you. You have until tomorrow morning to get out. You may take what clothes you can fit in the chest you brought with you.”
“What of my horse?” He laughed.
“I'm throwing you out and that is what you think to ask? Always a clever serpent.” He smiled amusedly. “Anyway...I'm afraid he was delivered to the kennels. My hunting pack was growing hungry.” He watched her, waited, but she didn't rise to the bait. “I had thought, you had more spirit in you.” With which he turned, and left.
It was then that she took the time to hug her knees to her chest. Rocking slowly and crying softly. She had let herself grow too comfortable here. Had let herself hope. And now? Most in Capital City knew whom and what she was. What was left here then? Nothing, oh foolish child.
And so she dried her eyes with the edge of her skirt...and began to pack.
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