Just a short drabble for now. I've missed these two.
At night, she comes to the river.
For as long as she can remember, the river has been a place of comfort; a place of solitude where she is allowed to close her eyes, relax her relief and ponder the things that she dare not speak aloud: the grief of losing a mother, the blush of a first love, a grief again at the loss of her heart.
The river is an old, consistent friend. It does not judge her thoughts, merely offers choices that can not be found anywhere else. The raging rapids offer excitement and adventure; an escape in the form of a wild ride down its waves and leaves her laughing in a blissful release at it's end. Other times, it offers a slow and steady pace. The journey takes longer, but it also provides an opportunity to search the confines of her heart, to discover the secrets that have been long buried there and realize that, quite possibly, the answer that she seeks has been inside of her all along. Sometimes, the river need only to provide the journey necessary to discover it.
The river in London is different. It is vast and mighty like the one she knows, but this river also boasts a business that her river does not. Many days she passed the hours counting the massive ships that sailed up and down the river, carrying an astonishing combination of goods and people bound for far off lands. Idly, she wonders if any of those ships are bound for her land. How many will cross the vast sea and sail up her river to her village? Did any carry old friends or acquaintances from Jamestown who were too homesick to remain? A final thought that she wishes would never enter her mind, but always does.
Do any of the ship carry him with them?
She closes her eyes and remembers meeting him at the river's edge all those years before. She been younger than, as had he. In another times and place, she had fallen in love with a man as wild as her river. With eyes the color of the sea and hair the color of the sun, he had made her heart come alive as it never had before. She allows a sad smile to curl at her lips. In that moment, she had never been more grateful to the river had for bringing him to her.
But the river had also taken him away. She had stood on the cliff and watched as he slowly became part of the horizon, taking a part of her soul with him and feeling her heart break ever so slightly. If his departure broke her heart, his death delivered the final shattering blow. In the years that followed, she had tried to pick of the shards, tried everything to piece her life and her heart together again. While she was never able to completely do so, eventually, she managed a valiant facade.
Perhaps she was too good of an actress. After all, she had fooled herself enough to believe she could love again, love another. Now, here at the edge of another river, amidst a village so unlike her own, she is finally able to admit the truth of it all: she is a liar.
She lied to Smith when she declined his declarations of love and offer of a future together,
She lied to Rolfe when she accepted his marriage proposal, only to break it off not an hour before.
Mostly, she has lied to herself for years about everything.
Unable to escape her brokenness, she has broken the hearts of those she cares deeply about. Though the type of love she feels for each man is vastly different, her heart still hurts for each one and guilt weights on her soul at the knowledge that two hearts are broken at her hand. Each accepted her decision with grace, one as she expected her would, for he always behaved as a gentleman even as his dreams shattered with her good-bye.
The other, however...
The one who has haunted her dream for years. His calm acceptance of her rejection unnerved her, although she would never admit it to him. Was his love for her that fragile that he would allow himself to be dismissed so easily? Perhaps it hurt her more that he neglected to fight for her, to fight for the love they had once shared. Then again, she, more than anyone else should know: a broken soul did things that not even it can always understand.
Perhaps that is why she finds herself at the river again tonight. While it does not offer the same comforts of home, it is the only place she can think of to seek solace after leaving Rolfe's townhouse. Instead of the soft grass, she find herself standing on the hard cobblestones, leaning on the bridge overlooking the water. Rofle once told her the river here is called "Thames". The name feels strange on her tongue, but the name of the river is not her concern.
Somewhere in the distance, she can hear the echo of horses's hooves on the streets, but she cares little if she is seen. In the back of her mind, she knows that no woman considered to be respectable should be out at this late hour, much less alone. But she has never been one to conform to propriety, especially the propriety a land that she knows virtually nothing about. Vaguely, she senses someone approach and her instincts immediately become alert.
Yet when she opens her eyes, she sees only him, leaning casually against the railing of the bridge a few feet down. Her breath hitches and she wonders how he knew to find her here.
He sees her questions and offers a lopsided attempt at a smile. "I come here sometimes. To think," he supplies, then admits. "and to pray."
She had forgotten how much she loved the way his blonde hair falls over his eyes when he tilts his head like that. She averts her eyes away then and tries to clear the swirling mess of thoughts congregating in her brain. So he did not follow her here. Was Fate that cruel to torture her when her soul was already shattered? "I..." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "I never thought I would see you again. Your ship-"
"I leave in a week," he commented, absently gazing out at the water. "Shouldn't you be with him?"
She hears the bitterness in his tone, despite his attempts to hide it. "I can not be where my heart does not lie."
She hears his quick intake of breath as the realization of her words sinks in. Footsteps follow and when she looks up again, he is standing at her side, a thousand questions held within those blue eyes. "And where does your heart lie, Pocahontas?"
The sounds of her name on his lips is her undoing. Bravely, she meets his gaze and answers, "Do you even have to ask?" He blinks, drawing slightly back and looks aways then, steps away, one foot and then the other until he is walking away from her again and she remains, alone at the rivers edge. Her eyes squeeze shut and she feels her heart crack until she can no longer hold back the tears that stream down her face. She can not blame him for leaving her. After all, had she not done the same to him just months before?
She does not sob, but her shoulders shake as her soul breaks in two. How she wishes she were home, among the father and the people that she loves. At least there, she can hide away and pretend she will one day be whole again.
Suddenly, she hears approaching footsteps again. She knows them, always has and this time she feels no fear. She feels his presence at her side and her eyes remain closed as she murmurs "I'm so sorry." in a choked whisper. She hears him exhale, but it is only in the moment his fingers curl around hers, that she knows he hears her. When she feels his nose nuzzle her throat, she knows he forgives her and when his lips press softly to hers, she knows he loves her still.
She knows he always will.
He is still broken and so is she. Perhaps they always will be.
But later, when he takes her to his bed and they are wrapped up in one another, she thinks, hopes, prays, that in loving each other, it will be enough to fuse the pieces back together.
She hopes that, in their individual brokenness, together they will find completion.