Post by Morreion on Dec 6, 2008 0:11:16 GMT -5
One of my personal favorites.
He stood by the trellis in the Palace Garden, holding a delicate
bloom in his hand. His care-worn face looked lost in thought, as if
he were elsewhere. He had donned one of his finer outfits; one he
had worn off-duty when he was a Frontier Captain. He was clad
all in black, finely-cut material, with a light gray fur-trimmed cloak.
He heard a soft footfall, and turned to see her. His eyes lit up,
looking upon the woman who was not his wife.
~~~
He rode through the Frontier, his mind heavy with thought, brow
furrowed. The day had finally come.
He had resigned his post as Frontier Captain...after several good
years of doing what he had loved to do best: lead men in battle.
He had not done it lightly. Many had tried to dissuade him; they
had all failed. Even though they were his companions, with close
friendships formed in battle, there was one thing more important
to him then the life he was born to live for as an Officer of
Hibernia.
He was going home to her now.
As he rode, deep in thought, he never saw the Scout draw an
arrow as he passed his hidden blind. And yet the Scout paused,
staring at the man, and slowly unbent his bow.
The man continued to ride, never knowing just how close he came
to death, on this, his last day in the Frontier.
~~~
His name was well-known to professional fighters in Hibernia.
Teran the Bold, Captain of the Hibernian Raiders. He was a Celt,
lean and spare, who was in his early middle age, and he was a
good swordsman, but even better, he was an excellent leader. He
knew how to inspire others, knew how to think on his feet, change
plans at a moment's notice to give his troops the maximum chance
to win a fight. And win many fights he did.
Less well-known to the fighting community was his wife, Deliana.
She came from Connla, of a good family, and was known far and
wide as the most beautiful maiden south of the Silvermine
Mountains at the time. All expected her to marry into another
good family, to do the predictable thing, but she had other plans,
plans that had included a young, gallant Officer in the Army.
There was quite a scandal when they were married, her family
essentially disowning her. But that mattered not to her, nor her
husband. They were happy, and following their hearts.
~~~
Teran rode up to the East Gate of Tir na Nog; he hailed the
guardsmen there, who knew him on sight.
"Captain! Good to see you!"
"Greetings, Anrad! How is your wife and son?"
The guard stood straighter, smiling. "Doin' well, Sir. And thank ye
fer askin."
He continued on through the Gate, turning his horse in at the
stables. He slung a satchel over his shoulder, and walked the main
avenue, sloping upwards, following a street that branched off to the
left. The crowd thinned out in this part of the city; he soon came
to the familiar house, looking at the upstairs window.
He knocked, and after a while, the door opened.
"Marra!" He bent to kiss the elderly Lurikeen woman on the top of
her head. "You look good as ever!" The woman smiled sadly.
"Would that I felt that way, good Sire...I cannot get around much
at all these days. But you knew that, and I am most regretful-"
Teran shushed her. "Take this, Marra. I saw it in a shop in
Howth, and thought it just the thing for you."
He had pulled a parcel from his satchel, and unwrapped it. He
unfolded a little Lurikeen dress, dark purple in color, holding it up
to her.
Marra smiled in delight and held the garment against her. A tear
gleamed on her cheek, and she hugged Teran as best she could
around his waist. He smiled. "Thank you for all you've done for
us, Marra. If there's anything I can help you with, you need but
call on me."
"I'll be going to stay with my relations in Bri Leith, Sire...perhaps I
kin make it back for a visit sometime..."
He talked with her a little more, then he ascended the stairs, up to
his wife's room.
She lay just as he had left her, weeks before, in her bed, her head
turned towards the window. She looked pale and drawn. He
forced a smile to his lips, walked in, and sat on the bed next to
her, leaning over to kiss her brow, and then holding her hand
tightly.
When she saw him, she smiled brightly, her eyes alight. Teran felt
a stab of memory, of happier times; his insides were wrenched by
the past.
"My husband, you are back."
"I am back for good, Delia. Marra is too old to look after you now,
and I resigned my post on the Frontier."
She reached out her arms feebly to him, and he lay next to her as
she embraced him; her arms trembled, she had barely the strength
to move them now, he noted.
He buried his face in her hair. Remembering.
"But what of your career? And-"
"We've discussed this, love. I'll seek a position with the City
Guard, and will doubtless find something to do. And I'll be here
with you, finally, after all these years."
He sat up again, and his hand caressed her cheek.
"You look well," he lied.
She smiled again. "I've felt like sitting up and reading lately, not for
very long, but sometimes for a few hours."
He smiled down at her in return; he kept his voice carefully bright,
forcing himself to be cheerful.
"That i wonderful! I shall go to the booksellers soon, to find you
more titles." A butterfly, brilliant yellow and black, fluttered in
through the window.
"Oh, look!" she said, seeing it. "It reminds me of the Connla
countryside..."
"Perhaps the countryside will come to you, my love." He smiled
down at her.
~~~
The Guard Captain was a petty man.
He'd seen his type before, especially in the city posts, vindictive,
resentful of those who actually did the fighting.
But he was given a position of Guard Sargent; he was too
well-known, had served too well to be denied.
The men he worked with wanted to hear stories from the Frontier;
he finally gave in and would tell a story here and there. He could
also see the looks some of them gave him- what was he doing here?
Why give up what you had?
It irritated him.
~~~
He went into the fields outside the East Gate, and searched .
He looked carefully at the plants along the edge of the woodland,
and found, more often than not, what he was looking for.
He would bring the cocoons back to her room, still hanging from
the foliage they had attached to. She was delighted; when not
reading, she would watch the cocoons, and every now and then a
butterfly would emerge, wet and feeble, gradually gaining strength,
flexing its beautiful wings, and would flutter away.
He sat by her bed often, talking to her, watching the butterflies.
She was unfailingly bright, determined not to let her illness drag
her down, or, more importantly to her, not to let her drag him
down. She knew how much he had given up to be with her, and
when he was not around, tears would course down her cheeks,
tears of love, of pain, and remembrance of days past.
The days went by. Teran grew restive, missing his command, the
Frontier, the fighting. She knew he tried to hide it, but saw it
anyway. That was who he was. He, like many men, felt that he
was what he did, what he had accomplished; she, like many
women, loved him for who he was, the person inside, the man that
would bring her handfuls of butterfly cocoons, red-faced from
having people gawk at him as he carried them home to her.
Teran dozed by her bed one evening; he remembered:
They were young, passionately in love. She had left her home and
family, running away with him, riding across Hibernia, seeing
fantastic sites on the far side of the Silvermine Mountains that she
had never seen; she marveled at it all. He knew how much she
had given up to be with him- a life of great wealth and ease. He
loved her with an intensity that amazed him when he thought
about it. The things they shared between one another, the
laughter, the lovemaking under the stars at night. Often she would
dance around him, for the sheer joy of it, and he would join in the
dance, until they collapsed, laughing, into each others arms.
One day, as they rested against a large tree-trunk in the wilds of
the Cliffs of Moher, she kissed him tenderly. It was about time for
him to go to the Frontier, resume his career after his leave of
absence. He had been somewhat distant from her, thinking of it.
"I know you have to go, and I'll be here for you when you can
return to me," she said, looking in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, "will you marry me?"
She smiled and nodded, then curled up in his arms.
"I give you the gift of my love, what you do with it is yours to
choose," she said, murmuring into his chest.
He stroked her hair gently.
"You make me want to be the man that you think I am."
She smiled up at him.
"We take the gifts we are given and we do the best with them, it's
really all we can do..."
They embraced, held each other for a long time.
Teran awoke from his sleep; Delia was asleep as well, her book
laying upon her chest, her face looking troubled. She could not
hide her thoughts while asleep, he thought, even though she
always is bright and cheerful when I am with her.
He caressed her cheek softly.
"It is really all we can do," he echoed her words from that long-ago
sunny afternoon.
~~~
He had gone on to win fame on the Frontier, and rise to the rank
of Captain. Delia had become unsteady on her feet, and had
shrugged it off for a long time; then came the day when she had
fallen down, and had to struggle to get up. She begged for word
not to reach her husband, knowing it would distress him greatly,
just when he was at the height of his career. Eventually, when he
had returned home on leave, he had discovered that she could get
out of her bed only with great difficulty. None of the physicians or
the learned men he consulted could find an answer to her illness.
He arranged for Marra, an old soldier's widow, to look after her.
~~~
Teran drank.
He had taken to drinking after his guard duty, at one of the various
inns in the city, before returning to Delia. He would sit in the
corner, thinking of the past.
One day, a soldier came into the common room, and noticed him
in the corner.
"Teran the Bold?"
Teran looked up, and nodded. He recognized the man.
"Let me buy you a drink! God's Fury, it's been ages since I served
with you!"
The man talked of the current fighting in the Frontier, which Teran
was greatly interested in. Then the talk turned to past battles,
back when Teran was in command. Teran grew silent, irritable,
got up and excused himself.
"You were the best Captain on the Frontier, friend," the soldier
said. Teran walked through the door, and out into the dark. As
he walked home, he brooded.
Nothing! He was nothing now! He smashed his hand against the
doorpost to his house.
He went inside, and walked up the stairs to see his wife, his hand
throbbing with pain. She lay there as always, head turned to face
the wall.
"I missed you today" she said, head still turned away from him.
"I am sorry, Delia. I met an old friend."
He stood there for a while, looking at the cocoons upon her
dresser, and then came over to attend her.
"No, I'm fine, really," she said.
He went into his room.
~~~
He led his men in single-file down the steep goat path through the
hills, towards the encampment of Mids. All of their gear was
muffled, bound with strips of cloth to keep the noise of metal
against metal from alerting the foe; they walked deliberately, slowly.
He held up his hand, and all gathered around him at the boulders
at the bottom of the hill. The Rangers were sent to the far side of
the encampment, and the Heroes and Champions, along with the
occasional Warden, gathered on the near side.
He felt the rush of adrenaline as he filled his lungs and yelled out,
"Hibernia!" and the arrows flew, taking the sentries by surprise,
and as the men in the encampment fled into his men, he drew his
sword and laughed, rushing ahead of his men to get in the first
blow as they cheered him on-
Teran awoke. He sat up in bed, and stared at the wall for the
longest time.
~~~
He was out in the fields, looking for more cocoons. It was getting
late in the season, and they were harder to find; autumn was
approaching. He went to his knees, searching through a small
tangle of plants...
He glanced up from his search, to see her.
She was beautiful.
She stood nearby, watching him. Her long golden hair hung down
her back; she was dressed in elegant clothing, with a richly-dyed
golden cloak. He tried to think of something to say.
"Hello," he said, coming to his feet, conscious of the cocoons in his
hand. She had a golden pin on her cloak, wrought in the shape of
a butterfly.
"It is easier to find butterflies after they have flown," she said,
smiling. Her voice sounded musical; her eyes...
"...though not as easy to catch."
Afterwards, he could not remember the conversation they had,
only that it felt very familiar, easy, very natural, as if they'd known
each other for a long time. They walked along the field, stopping
here and there, looking for cocoons. She never asked why, it was
as if she knew. He did not bring it up.
It has been ages since I walked with a woman, he thought.
Finally, they stood in front of the East Gate.
He started to say something.
She reached up and placed her fingertips over his lips. He froze.
"I can be found at the Palace Garden at times." Her eyes held his.
"If you come there, you can tell me what you need...your need is
written upon your face, Milord." She turned and walked through
the gates; he stood there, watching her go.
He stood there for the longest time.
When he returned home, he found his wife half-asleep and weak;
she couldn't speak much. He gave her a sip of water, moved her
gently to one side to prevent bedsores, and used a damp
washcloth to wipe the sweat from her brow. He looked at the
cocoons upon the dresser, and then selected a book from a shelf.
He then read to her from The Histories of Atlantis , one of her
favorite books; the light left the room, and he lit the oil lamp on
the table next to her bedside, and he sat there, watching her, until
he fell asleep in his chair.
~~~
He stood by the trellis in the Palace Garden, holding a delicate
bloom in his hand. His care-worn face looked lost in thought, as if
he were elsewhere. He had donned one of his finer outfits; one he
had worn off-duty when he was a Frontier Captain. He was clad
all in black, finely-cut material, with a light gray fur-trimmed cloak.
He heard a soft footfall, and turned to see her. His eyes lit up,
looking upon the woman with the golden hair and the butterfly
brooch.
He walked up to her, his hand going out instinctively to touch her
hand; suddenly, she was in his arms, the fragrance of her hair, the
warmth of her skin, filling his senses. He looked into her eyes, they
had a golden gleam to them...
"What do you need, Milord?" she asked, her voice sounding distant
in his ears. His eyes never left hers.
The bloom slipped and fell from his hand.
His mind suddenly took him back to the night when he and Delia
ran off together, to start their life together. They sat near a small
campfire, beneath the Silvermine Mountains, and everything lay
ahead of them, all of the laughter and the sorrow to come.
Suddenly Delia leaped up and danced around him, and he
laughed...
...he leaned in close to her, held her to him, she felt alive, so alive...
...and he stood and took her hand, and he bowed to her, and she
curtsied in return, and they danced a courtly dance in the
flickering firelight as the stars came out...
...and he brought his lips to her ear, and whispered to her what he
needed, the only thing that he could have said, and the Palace
Gardens grew hazy, indistinct around him as he raised his head,
and looked into her eyes of liquid gold.
"We take the gifts we are given," she said in an unearthly voice,
"and we do the best with them, it's really all we can do."
The world washed out around him, as he found himself standing in the road, and through the gray mists, thicker than he had ever seen, he could see his house at the end of the road, and though he thought it strange that the streets were silent and deserted, he walked slowly towards his home, his heart beating in his chest...
...and then he was outside of her door; the fog pervaded the house
too, yet underneath the door, a golden light shone, and he threw
open the door to see her standing there, laughing, dressed in a
golden gown, and she laughed; the air was filled with butterflies, all
of the cocoons had hatched, and he ran to her as she held out her
arms to him, and they embraced, and then he took a step back and
bowed, a smile upon his face along with his tears, and she curtsied,
and took his hand, and they danced, danced in the golden glow,
with the butterflies floating through the air around them.
They danced forever.
He stood by the trellis in the Palace Garden, holding a delicate
bloom in his hand. His care-worn face looked lost in thought, as if
he were elsewhere. He had donned one of his finer outfits; one he
had worn off-duty when he was a Frontier Captain. He was clad
all in black, finely-cut material, with a light gray fur-trimmed cloak.
He heard a soft footfall, and turned to see her. His eyes lit up,
looking upon the woman who was not his wife.
~~~
He rode through the Frontier, his mind heavy with thought, brow
furrowed. The day had finally come.
He had resigned his post as Frontier Captain...after several good
years of doing what he had loved to do best: lead men in battle.
He had not done it lightly. Many had tried to dissuade him; they
had all failed. Even though they were his companions, with close
friendships formed in battle, there was one thing more important
to him then the life he was born to live for as an Officer of
Hibernia.
He was going home to her now.
As he rode, deep in thought, he never saw the Scout draw an
arrow as he passed his hidden blind. And yet the Scout paused,
staring at the man, and slowly unbent his bow.
The man continued to ride, never knowing just how close he came
to death, on this, his last day in the Frontier.
~~~
His name was well-known to professional fighters in Hibernia.
Teran the Bold, Captain of the Hibernian Raiders. He was a Celt,
lean and spare, who was in his early middle age, and he was a
good swordsman, but even better, he was an excellent leader. He
knew how to inspire others, knew how to think on his feet, change
plans at a moment's notice to give his troops the maximum chance
to win a fight. And win many fights he did.
Less well-known to the fighting community was his wife, Deliana.
She came from Connla, of a good family, and was known far and
wide as the most beautiful maiden south of the Silvermine
Mountains at the time. All expected her to marry into another
good family, to do the predictable thing, but she had other plans,
plans that had included a young, gallant Officer in the Army.
There was quite a scandal when they were married, her family
essentially disowning her. But that mattered not to her, nor her
husband. They were happy, and following their hearts.
~~~
Teran rode up to the East Gate of Tir na Nog; he hailed the
guardsmen there, who knew him on sight.
"Captain! Good to see you!"
"Greetings, Anrad! How is your wife and son?"
The guard stood straighter, smiling. "Doin' well, Sir. And thank ye
fer askin."
He continued on through the Gate, turning his horse in at the
stables. He slung a satchel over his shoulder, and walked the main
avenue, sloping upwards, following a street that branched off to the
left. The crowd thinned out in this part of the city; he soon came
to the familiar house, looking at the upstairs window.
He knocked, and after a while, the door opened.
"Marra!" He bent to kiss the elderly Lurikeen woman on the top of
her head. "You look good as ever!" The woman smiled sadly.
"Would that I felt that way, good Sire...I cannot get around much
at all these days. But you knew that, and I am most regretful-"
Teran shushed her. "Take this, Marra. I saw it in a shop in
Howth, and thought it just the thing for you."
He had pulled a parcel from his satchel, and unwrapped it. He
unfolded a little Lurikeen dress, dark purple in color, holding it up
to her.
Marra smiled in delight and held the garment against her. A tear
gleamed on her cheek, and she hugged Teran as best she could
around his waist. He smiled. "Thank you for all you've done for
us, Marra. If there's anything I can help you with, you need but
call on me."
"I'll be going to stay with my relations in Bri Leith, Sire...perhaps I
kin make it back for a visit sometime..."
He talked with her a little more, then he ascended the stairs, up to
his wife's room.
She lay just as he had left her, weeks before, in her bed, her head
turned towards the window. She looked pale and drawn. He
forced a smile to his lips, walked in, and sat on the bed next to
her, leaning over to kiss her brow, and then holding her hand
tightly.
When she saw him, she smiled brightly, her eyes alight. Teran felt
a stab of memory, of happier times; his insides were wrenched by
the past.
"My husband, you are back."
"I am back for good, Delia. Marra is too old to look after you now,
and I resigned my post on the Frontier."
She reached out her arms feebly to him, and he lay next to her as
she embraced him; her arms trembled, she had barely the strength
to move them now, he noted.
He buried his face in her hair. Remembering.
"But what of your career? And-"
"We've discussed this, love. I'll seek a position with the City
Guard, and will doubtless find something to do. And I'll be here
with you, finally, after all these years."
He sat up again, and his hand caressed her cheek.
"You look well," he lied.
She smiled again. "I've felt like sitting up and reading lately, not for
very long, but sometimes for a few hours."
He smiled down at her in return; he kept his voice carefully bright,
forcing himself to be cheerful.
"That i wonderful! I shall go to the booksellers soon, to find you
more titles." A butterfly, brilliant yellow and black, fluttered in
through the window.
"Oh, look!" she said, seeing it. "It reminds me of the Connla
countryside..."
"Perhaps the countryside will come to you, my love." He smiled
down at her.
~~~
The Guard Captain was a petty man.
He'd seen his type before, especially in the city posts, vindictive,
resentful of those who actually did the fighting.
But he was given a position of Guard Sargent; he was too
well-known, had served too well to be denied.
The men he worked with wanted to hear stories from the Frontier;
he finally gave in and would tell a story here and there. He could
also see the looks some of them gave him- what was he doing here?
Why give up what you had?
It irritated him.
~~~
He went into the fields outside the East Gate, and searched .
He looked carefully at the plants along the edge of the woodland,
and found, more often than not, what he was looking for.
He would bring the cocoons back to her room, still hanging from
the foliage they had attached to. She was delighted; when not
reading, she would watch the cocoons, and every now and then a
butterfly would emerge, wet and feeble, gradually gaining strength,
flexing its beautiful wings, and would flutter away.
He sat by her bed often, talking to her, watching the butterflies.
She was unfailingly bright, determined not to let her illness drag
her down, or, more importantly to her, not to let her drag him
down. She knew how much he had given up to be with her, and
when he was not around, tears would course down her cheeks,
tears of love, of pain, and remembrance of days past.
The days went by. Teran grew restive, missing his command, the
Frontier, the fighting. She knew he tried to hide it, but saw it
anyway. That was who he was. He, like many men, felt that he
was what he did, what he had accomplished; she, like many
women, loved him for who he was, the person inside, the man that
would bring her handfuls of butterfly cocoons, red-faced from
having people gawk at him as he carried them home to her.
Teran dozed by her bed one evening; he remembered:
They were young, passionately in love. She had left her home and
family, running away with him, riding across Hibernia, seeing
fantastic sites on the far side of the Silvermine Mountains that she
had never seen; she marveled at it all. He knew how much she
had given up to be with him- a life of great wealth and ease. He
loved her with an intensity that amazed him when he thought
about it. The things they shared between one another, the
laughter, the lovemaking under the stars at night. Often she would
dance around him, for the sheer joy of it, and he would join in the
dance, until they collapsed, laughing, into each others arms.
One day, as they rested against a large tree-trunk in the wilds of
the Cliffs of Moher, she kissed him tenderly. It was about time for
him to go to the Frontier, resume his career after his leave of
absence. He had been somewhat distant from her, thinking of it.
"I know you have to go, and I'll be here for you when you can
return to me," she said, looking in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, "will you marry me?"
She smiled and nodded, then curled up in his arms.
"I give you the gift of my love, what you do with it is yours to
choose," she said, murmuring into his chest.
He stroked her hair gently.
"You make me want to be the man that you think I am."
She smiled up at him.
"We take the gifts we are given and we do the best with them, it's
really all we can do..."
They embraced, held each other for a long time.
Teran awoke from his sleep; Delia was asleep as well, her book
laying upon her chest, her face looking troubled. She could not
hide her thoughts while asleep, he thought, even though she
always is bright and cheerful when I am with her.
He caressed her cheek softly.
"It is really all we can do," he echoed her words from that long-ago
sunny afternoon.
~~~
He had gone on to win fame on the Frontier, and rise to the rank
of Captain. Delia had become unsteady on her feet, and had
shrugged it off for a long time; then came the day when she had
fallen down, and had to struggle to get up. She begged for word
not to reach her husband, knowing it would distress him greatly,
just when he was at the height of his career. Eventually, when he
had returned home on leave, he had discovered that she could get
out of her bed only with great difficulty. None of the physicians or
the learned men he consulted could find an answer to her illness.
He arranged for Marra, an old soldier's widow, to look after her.
~~~
Teran drank.
He had taken to drinking after his guard duty, at one of the various
inns in the city, before returning to Delia. He would sit in the
corner, thinking of the past.
One day, a soldier came into the common room, and noticed him
in the corner.
"Teran the Bold?"
Teran looked up, and nodded. He recognized the man.
"Let me buy you a drink! God's Fury, it's been ages since I served
with you!"
The man talked of the current fighting in the Frontier, which Teran
was greatly interested in. Then the talk turned to past battles,
back when Teran was in command. Teran grew silent, irritable,
got up and excused himself.
"You were the best Captain on the Frontier, friend," the soldier
said. Teran walked through the door, and out into the dark. As
he walked home, he brooded.
Nothing! He was nothing now! He smashed his hand against the
doorpost to his house.
He went inside, and walked up the stairs to see his wife, his hand
throbbing with pain. She lay there as always, head turned to face
the wall.
"I missed you today" she said, head still turned away from him.
"I am sorry, Delia. I met an old friend."
He stood there for a while, looking at the cocoons upon her
dresser, and then came over to attend her.
"No, I'm fine, really," she said.
He went into his room.
~~~
He led his men in single-file down the steep goat path through the
hills, towards the encampment of Mids. All of their gear was
muffled, bound with strips of cloth to keep the noise of metal
against metal from alerting the foe; they walked deliberately, slowly.
He held up his hand, and all gathered around him at the boulders
at the bottom of the hill. The Rangers were sent to the far side of
the encampment, and the Heroes and Champions, along with the
occasional Warden, gathered on the near side.
He felt the rush of adrenaline as he filled his lungs and yelled out,
"Hibernia!" and the arrows flew, taking the sentries by surprise,
and as the men in the encampment fled into his men, he drew his
sword and laughed, rushing ahead of his men to get in the first
blow as they cheered him on-
Teran awoke. He sat up in bed, and stared at the wall for the
longest time.
~~~
He was out in the fields, looking for more cocoons. It was getting
late in the season, and they were harder to find; autumn was
approaching. He went to his knees, searching through a small
tangle of plants...
He glanced up from his search, to see her.
She was beautiful.
She stood nearby, watching him. Her long golden hair hung down
her back; she was dressed in elegant clothing, with a richly-dyed
golden cloak. He tried to think of something to say.
"Hello," he said, coming to his feet, conscious of the cocoons in his
hand. She had a golden pin on her cloak, wrought in the shape of
a butterfly.
"It is easier to find butterflies after they have flown," she said,
smiling. Her voice sounded musical; her eyes...
"...though not as easy to catch."
Afterwards, he could not remember the conversation they had,
only that it felt very familiar, easy, very natural, as if they'd known
each other for a long time. They walked along the field, stopping
here and there, looking for cocoons. She never asked why, it was
as if she knew. He did not bring it up.
It has been ages since I walked with a woman, he thought.
Finally, they stood in front of the East Gate.
He started to say something.
She reached up and placed her fingertips over his lips. He froze.
"I can be found at the Palace Garden at times." Her eyes held his.
"If you come there, you can tell me what you need...your need is
written upon your face, Milord." She turned and walked through
the gates; he stood there, watching her go.
He stood there for the longest time.
When he returned home, he found his wife half-asleep and weak;
she couldn't speak much. He gave her a sip of water, moved her
gently to one side to prevent bedsores, and used a damp
washcloth to wipe the sweat from her brow. He looked at the
cocoons upon the dresser, and then selected a book from a shelf.
He then read to her from The Histories of Atlantis , one of her
favorite books; the light left the room, and he lit the oil lamp on
the table next to her bedside, and he sat there, watching her, until
he fell asleep in his chair.
~~~
He stood by the trellis in the Palace Garden, holding a delicate
bloom in his hand. His care-worn face looked lost in thought, as if
he were elsewhere. He had donned one of his finer outfits; one he
had worn off-duty when he was a Frontier Captain. He was clad
all in black, finely-cut material, with a light gray fur-trimmed cloak.
He heard a soft footfall, and turned to see her. His eyes lit up,
looking upon the woman with the golden hair and the butterfly
brooch.
He walked up to her, his hand going out instinctively to touch her
hand; suddenly, she was in his arms, the fragrance of her hair, the
warmth of her skin, filling his senses. He looked into her eyes, they
had a golden gleam to them...
"What do you need, Milord?" she asked, her voice sounding distant
in his ears. His eyes never left hers.
The bloom slipped and fell from his hand.
His mind suddenly took him back to the night when he and Delia
ran off together, to start their life together. They sat near a small
campfire, beneath the Silvermine Mountains, and everything lay
ahead of them, all of the laughter and the sorrow to come.
Suddenly Delia leaped up and danced around him, and he
laughed...
...he leaned in close to her, held her to him, she felt alive, so alive...
...and he stood and took her hand, and he bowed to her, and she
curtsied in return, and they danced a courtly dance in the
flickering firelight as the stars came out...
...and he brought his lips to her ear, and whispered to her what he
needed, the only thing that he could have said, and the Palace
Gardens grew hazy, indistinct around him as he raised his head,
and looked into her eyes of liquid gold.
"We take the gifts we are given," she said in an unearthly voice,
"and we do the best with them, it's really all we can do."
The world washed out around him, as he found himself standing in the road, and through the gray mists, thicker than he had ever seen, he could see his house at the end of the road, and though he thought it strange that the streets were silent and deserted, he walked slowly towards his home, his heart beating in his chest...
...and then he was outside of her door; the fog pervaded the house
too, yet underneath the door, a golden light shone, and he threw
open the door to see her standing there, laughing, dressed in a
golden gown, and she laughed; the air was filled with butterflies, all
of the cocoons had hatched, and he ran to her as she held out her
arms to him, and they embraced, and then he took a step back and
bowed, a smile upon his face along with his tears, and she curtsied,
and took his hand, and they danced, danced in the golden glow,
with the butterflies floating through the air around them.
They danced forever.
