Mistakes happen. Lyra was one such of these mistakes and every single day she was reminded of that fact. There was no hiding from it, and it clung to her like her own skin. It ate at her, it burnt at her, and it absolutely ruled her existence, through no fault of her own at that.
Long ago, years ago before Lyra was even born was when it all began. Her mother and her father were a classic fairytale romance, one of a seamstress falling for the lord of the mesne and he in turn falling for her. It was a happy story, of sneaking out of home to meet under the cover of night, of romance and passion that could entrance and inspire many little girls to dream of their own prince charming. There were no hiccups throughout their story either, they loved one another, they proved their love to their parents, they were publicly adored as paragons of what could be for anyone with a pure heart and determination. Unfortunately for them, the world was unkind to good people. Or perhaps, Lyra’s mother and father were not good people in the first place.
The world changed as it is wanting to do, money came and money went, conflicts rose, and conflicts were quelled. Lyra’s father, Stuart Ward, was bedraggled by a time of strife and misery, a drought for starters brought famine to his holdings, then it was followed by raiders from neighboring lands, brutes who could not be reasoned with and had no civility to them whatsoever, and worst of all the plague that said raiders brought them which ravaged the public. All of it came together to sow discord in what was once a happy, prosperous county.
Perhaps long in the future scholars would debate what exactly was the breaking point for the lord of the mesne, but Lyra’s mother the lady Lily Ward, would say it was due to her husband’s impatience and unwilling to wait to have a child. Despite their romance a sire did not come easily to the lord and after countless attempts the lord was fed-up and sought to claim another mistress, at least for childbirth and nothing else he claimed. It’s easy to understand then why Lily and Stuart began to quarrel, there are few women who would easily give their beloved however many nights with another woman were needed to sire a child.
The escalation came hard and swift. His wife unwilling to accept that his lineage could not run the risk of ending in these tumultuous times, he sought to invoke prima nocta. If he could not have a mistress, he claimed that should he impregnate a woman who carried the child to healthy term, the woman would be well compensated, and he would accept the child as his own by all rights.
Now, it’s a common saying that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but Stuart having the gall to invoke prima nocta suddenly on his vassals, vassals who were starving, beaten, and diseased, was not taken well. The charming fairytale romance of a commoner and a noble was giving way to a noble who, to his people, failed them horribly and then sought to take their women despite all the happiness he was afforded. It was mere moments after the proclamation that he was struck with a rotten fruit.
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From there of course, the perpetrator was immediately arrested, and unrest only grew. Though the lord could not be so easily challenged, he made the grave mistake of retaliating against his vassals for their disapproval. Taxes were raised, struggles continued, and rebellion began to brew. The lord claimed prima nocta, the woman carried a child, and the pressure built and built, boiling in the pot. The child, bless their innocent soul, did not survive long after birth. Some say it was due to the unaddressed plague. Some say it was the lady of the mesne who killed the child in a fit of madness. Then of all things, Lily claimed that she was with child and Stuart claimed her unfaithful and adulterous, that the child was not his. There was no answer that satisfied anyone and eventually, things had to change.
Lily threw her lot in with the commonfolk and claimed that Stuart’s heart had fallen to corruption and villainy, that he was in league with the raiders and hoarded wealth. Stuart claimed that his wife had lost her mind with grief, incapable of bearing a child and spouting pure madness, and that his vassals were spitting in the face of the kindness he had shown them for so long. Unknown to either of them, the raiders had eventually turned from being raiders and instead offered themselves as blackhearted allies, lending their arms to this uprising, a masterful plot by rival nobility came to fruition.
The people stormed the lord’s manor, beat him black and blue, dragged him into the streets, and cut off his head to display in the public square. Lily was battered, beaten, and stripped of her wealth, she was after all no friend to the people when she was lording over them as Stuart’s wife, while they starved, she supped freely. Ultimately though, Lily’s life was spared as a last torturous mercy.
Months passed, the territory became embroiled in war, and Lily was a changed woman in all the worst ways. She was a laughingstock, an idol to everything the people came to hate about the former lord. Now she was old, what was once love had turned in the purest, vilest sort of hate, she had nothing to her name, no family, no friends. Her only saving grace was that the child in her belly survived, was delivered safely, and if anything despite how the world around her crumbled, thrived. Thrived, in the eyes of her broken mother who demanded perfection and then some so that she may redeem some of the prestige that she once had, that she may one day be beloved amongst the people once more, that maybe, just maybe, she could have a fairytale romance of her own. This time, one that lasted.
Needless to say, the world was unkind to Lyra. She was an outcast, filth that filth would not associate with, and a reminder of struggles. Her own mother taught her everything she could with a closed fist, perfection and nothing else, tidiness and cleanliness impossible for a young girl living in squalor. The world around Lyra was contemptuous in every way, from how other children were pulled away from her and told not to go near the murderous whore-daughter to an adulterous villainous witch, to how the alms given to her always seemed to be less than any other beggar.
Still, if there’s one thing that you cannot take away from children, it’s their dreams, and where there are dreams, there are struggles. Maybe, just maybe, Lyra No-Family could find happiness of some sort.