A few months passed as I tried to adjust to the new situation; in short, it was miserable. Being helpless is suffocating; there is no easy way to itch yourself. You feed when the nursemaid decides to stick her teat in your mouth, and you defecate on yourself constantly.
"How humbling this is." My thoughts linger on how to itch my foot, my limbs barely obey me, but I manage to kick the bottom of the crib until it goes away. Unfortunately, this draws the nurse's attention, who picks me up and walks around the room, attempting to make me fall asleep.
Despite my best efforts to fight it, I drift into a nap, cursing the maid for the embarrassment.
Sometime later, I am awake again, to my surprise, I don't lie in my uncomfortable wooden crib. Small feminine hands hold me against a warm, soft body. I don't cry as usual, content to be comforted.
Mother hums sweet songs as we walk around a small garden of winter vegetables. Winter was particularly brutal this year, according to the nurses' talk, which I have been trying to learn as best I can. Spring has almost started, thankfully so, for the half stone, half wood keep of my family is horrible at containing warmth. Even with layers of furs covering my crip, the chill of the cold still bites my toes and fingers.
The Keep of House Sonder, as we are known, sits atop a steep hill that overlooks a small village nestled along the curve of a winding river. Mother, in her nighttime stories that put me to sleep, mentioned a few times that our house got its name from the river, which is known as the Sonder. Generations ago, a young Knight known as Edwin Stone joined his lord in the conquest of the land. For his service, he was gifted the land adjacent to the small bend in the river and many acres besides. Centuries later, the current state of our house is pitiful to say the least. Once lords of multiple villages and three castles, poor rulers and worse decisions had left the house destitute and reduced in prestige. River barges occasionally traverse the river, allowing some tax revenue, but most now use different waterways, leading to more fertile land richer for trade. Subsistence farming makes up the rest of our family's wealth, a tax in harvest crops and fish from the river fills our stomachs but not our pockets.
Much more isn't spoken to me, who would talk to a baby still squirming on the ground about affairs of state?
Every day I attempt to exercise my arms and legs; with so much free time, it only seems right to attempt to walk well before I am expected. At eight months, I started walking in a way that astounded both my nurses and parents. My vocal cords took longer to develop, but by nine months, I was muttering gibberish or individual words. During this first year, I became obsessed with learning all I could about my new family. My mother was named Elizabeth. She was small compared to other women, but she made up for that with a sharp mind. Father was harder to learn about; he rarely visited me. On the days he did come to my crib, I could tell he was stressed. I also noticed the age gap between my parents. Elizabeth was only twenty years old, a daughter from another impoverished barony on the opposite side of the river Sonder. Robert, as my father was called, was forty years old, grey hair replaced much of his black hair, but some base color still remained. The marriage was a diplomatic one after his previous wife, Anna, died from a winter plague.
Two elder brothers, Roger and William, were off squiring for a lord or knight somewhere closer to the Capital city of the Kingdom. A sister, Anna, served as a lady-in-waiting to the queen, Mary herself, which was a prestigious position. According to Stuart, the local priest of the village church (in reality, it is little more than a shack), Robert had played an important role in ending a recent rebellion and had leveraged the spoils of war and newfound prestige to get his children into these important mentorships.
Mother, who still held me in the garden, made her way through the keep until she reached my crib. Before leaving, she whispered a prayer and then signed the symbol of their faith, a quick motion in the shape of a Y.