Conflicted Adjective
1:Confused or worried because you cannot choose between very different ideas,feelings or beliefs, and do not know what to do or believe.
It had been some time since she had returned to the family estate. With the company of her fathers most senior guard, the journey was without incident, the conversation probing, as if the man sought answers without asking questions. He wasn't the most subtlest of men, rather clumsy with words yet excellent with a blade, and Jessiwick suspected the true nature of why they were undertaking such a journey. Yet all he claimed was that her father wished to speak to her on business matters. The purchase of a new mine? Establishing new trade routes? No, these things would indeed be discussed, though those were not the true reasons for her being summoned.
The sounds of the mines, metal being pried from stone. Dirty jokes, dirty bodies. She knew most of the men there, and they for the most part treated her as a long lost sister, returning to the fold. Some had seen her grow from a small child, a rare few even knew her mother before she had passed away. The ones she did not know though, were the guests her father had arranged to coincide with her return. Not only that, her father had prepared everything to the tiniest detail.
A new dress as if spun from silver itself, a jewelled necklace that would showcase the mines bounty and his daughter, fine scent of night blooming flowers. A feast of grouse and salmon, every fruit and vegetable in season, prepared in ways that would satisfy a kings appetite. Bread, cheese, cakes and copious amounts of wine and ale. Silverware, candlesticks, even an arrangement of flowers. Everything was perfection, except the invited company, at least to Jessiwicks mind. A fat, lordly man sat opposite her father, scant of hair and a thick chain of gold hanging from his neck, and resting atop of his swollen belly, a belly stuffed with the fine foods that filled the table. His form strained against a rich blue doublet, the garment enhanced with diamond patterned threads of gold. Beside him, a thin, pimply and plain looking man, his skin greasy, his ginger hair limp to his shoulders and he was half the age of the other guest, his father. Yet his clothes were equally impressive, in a lighter hue of blue, though no showy jewellery other than a silver brooch near his throat. His eyes disturbed her. Every forkful of food, he stared at her. As the fathers spoke, he watched her. When the wine was drunk, he consumed every visible inch of her with the gaze of two dull green eyes. She of course played the part, laughing at poor jokes, acting impressed at told accomplishments, offering compliments here and there. It was the longest dinner should could remember.
Arriving back to Bree town felt like the perfect escape, she could breathe again amidst the smoky chimneys and stench of farmland. Yet a weight was upon her mind, in the form of a proposal, a contract of several pages laying out the terms of a union between the two houses. A contract intended to ensure the continuous prosperity of both families. Each pages demands more preposterous than the last. Terms stating how she should perform her wifely duties raised a fire in the pit of her stomach, causing her to question any poor male who would listen, asking if they believed such terms reasonable. Perhaps it was the wild look in her eye or the tone of her voice, but they all agreed with her, that this indeed was an injustice, a mockery, a thing that no other man would propose.
Advice was given by some, though mostly from one whom she had become close to. To the casual observer, an insignificant man, another that wished to earn his keep by using his strength and blade. He was a comfort, unassuming, patient to her ramblings and worries, her irritations and humour. Her flaws. He rarely said much to others, yet at times spilled words like grain from a sack when they spoke alone. She felt safe, even happy, knowing that someone who seemed so familiar given her time growing up around similar men, was there. Neither knew what their path was, both feeling lost, yet curious to see where it might lead them. His own was expected to take him to the lands of her birth, and hers forked, branched in several directions. One toward honouring her family obligations and the horrendous contract. Another path to dismiss them, forsaking her inheritance and the life she was raised to believe she would have, once reaching a certain age. A third path took her toward a young man of Gondor, handsome, brave and rich, though incredibly eager and besotted with her. She cared for him, had affection for him, and in written form he had declared his intentions to her father, but her feelings were not as strong as his, perhaps they would blossom. She was conflicted. There was a fourth path.
