Of Bears and Witches (BxB)

i. Prim Proper Not Princess

Prim. Proper. That's how I've always been expected to be.

My mother--Radelia Maicaertayn, also known as the Queen of Ikalisedh--beats that into my mind, day and night.

"Oh, Síthmaith! Do be a good little princess and bow to the nobles!"

"Síthmaith! Ladies don't practice archery!"

"Síthmaith! Ladies do not burp at the table!"

Day in, day out--it's the same mantra.

"Síthmaith! Síthmaith! Síthmaith! Síthmaith! Síthmaith! Síthmaith!"

Every single word out of my mother's mouth is: Síthmaith--in the most condescending tone too.

I swear, it's like she doesn't like me at all.

Everything she says about me seems to be negative!

Outside of the disaster of a relationship my mother and I have, family ties could never be stronger.

There's my little brother--Revalor--the Prince of Ikalisedh and my mother's favorite.
My mother takes all the time in the world to baby and take care of Revalor.

And what do I get?

Ignored.

Well, unless I'm wearing a tunic instead of a dress... Then I get scolded.

Then there's my dad--King Edyrm Maicaertayn of Ikalisedh.

My father and I have always been close.

He taught me everything I know about archery.

When I was just a wee lad, my father took me out to the forest, showing off his different arrows he collected.

Afterward, my father proceeded to show me how fast each of them were.

"Now," my father began sliding closer to me with the bow in hand. "I know this seems a little daunting on account of the bow's size in comparison to you..." My father slid the bow into my hands. "But, I think you can do it, Síthmaith."

I was young back then--probably only six-years-old.

I continued to bounce as my father tried to calm me.

"Steady," he told me.

I could feel myself slowly slipping away from the bouncing and into a pattern of rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet.

"Steady," my father repeated.

I looked over to my father.

My father reached forward, adjusting the way the bow sat in my tiny hands. Afterward, he pulled back, exhaling.

I steadied my stance on the ground.

My father held out an arrow to me. "Here," he breathed.

I took the arrow, allowing the end tips to slide between my index and middle finger.

"Clear your mind, Síthmaith," my father urged.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for the briefest moment before opening them once again. I took the bow string and let it glide backward. Then, I took another deep breath before letting go.

The arrow soared through the air, coming to pierce its way into a tree's trunk.

I stared forward, by green eyes wide with awe. "Did you see that?" I asked my father, starting to bounce again, bow still in hand.

My father laughed, clearly amused. "Yes. I did! Good job!" He adjusted the way he knelt next to me.

"What do you think mother would say?" I began to ask my father, before adding, "...if she could've seen what I just did."

"Well..." My father trailed off seemingly thinking on the question I had just asked. He laughed a little to himself, taking the bow back from me. "She's probably say..." He cleared his throat before raising his voice up an octave or so. "...Don't you know that ladies shouldn't be wielding a bow?"

I frowned a little.

My father placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Don't listen to her though... She doesn't know what she's saying... You can be whatever you want, Síthmaith. If you want to be an archer, then you're an archer."

Then, I slipped up, blurting out, "What about a boy?"

"Come again?" My father asked me.

"What if I wanted to be a boy?" I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet with my arms crossed behind my back.

My father's expression still didn't change. "If you wanted to be a boy, then I say you can be."

The faintest little smile trickled out upon my face.

My father stood. "Come on. It's getting late."

I remember that day quite fondly--it was one of my favorite days. Well... that was until later.

When my father and I were heading back home through the forest, we were ambushed by a big, scarred, ugly brute of a bear--Taasgaill.

The stories my kingdom has about him are plentiful--all ending with death and bloodshed.

I shudder as I think of Taasgaill's name.

Taasgaill attacked my father, ripping away at his flesh.

I remember hiding behind my hands, just wondering if Taasgaill would be after me next.

Then, everything changed--just like a flip of a coin.

Whether it was just sheer luck or a blessing from the gods, I'll never know.

My father's men rode in, hacking and slashing at Taasgaill, forcing the beast to flee back into the darkest depths of the forest.

My father had to spend two whole weeks back in the infirmary.

Taasgaill, I think once again.

"Síthmaith!" My mother's voice calls for me from outside the room.

That's not my name, I think, annoyed. It's Mordreyd.

"Yeah?" I respond to her.

"Dinner's ready!" She calls back to me before heading down the staircase.

I stand, letting my gaze peer through the window and out toward the forest. Once again, I find myself shuddering at the thought of Taasgaill. Then, I head downstairs.