Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me in your memory
Remember, when your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
Just remember me
I am the one star that keeps burning, so brightly
It is the last light to fade into the rising sun
I'm with you
Whenever you tell my story
For I am all I've done…
-Josh Groban, "Remember"
She was silent.
The entire hall was listening, waiting for her voice.
But she had nothing to say.
Her fate was sealed, and there was nothing she could do to change it.
"Speak."
Her father spoke gently, but when the King gave an order, it had to be obeyed. She looked into his face. Searching.
"Why?"
His lip curled down, and his eyes flashed. Far away, a crackle of lightning struck the ground. "Because I will have peace. You will marry Victor, and war will be averted."
She glanced at Victor, standing to the King's right, her left. He was as unshakeable as ever. His red face impassive, his scanty beard dirty with ash. Even from where she stood she could smell the faint whiff of sulfur.
"Why him?" she asked defiantly. "There was more than one suitor. Surely you could give me the choice-"
"The choice?" He leaned forward on the throne. Behind her, she heard Beryl shifting in her seat. "If I gave you the choice, war would be a certainty! You know this," he pointed at her. "I will not have needless destruction because of your foolishness! It was a disaster when you were found with Marcas!"
She burned with humiliation, keenly aware of everyone's eyes. The event was past, but the memory still stung. "Yes, I was foolish. But now you bind me to a husband I do not choose, one who does not love me-"
"Love?" He laughed. "Love is fickle, it changes constantly. You know that more than anyone." He lowered his voice to a more tender tone. "Daughter, Victor respects you. He will come to cherish you."
Snorting, she tossed her head like a spirited horse. "He cherishes the work of his hands above everything else. Oh yes," she hissed, glaring at her father, "I know of his tastes. He will not change, not even after he marries me!"
Her intended gripped his hammer tighter, but said nothing. She resisted the urge to leap across the room and rip it from his hand.
He never goes anywhere without it.
The King sat back. He surveyed Victor then her, his finger on his temple. She knew he knew she was right.
"I cannot change him."
It was not a surprise that he said it. The King, more than anyone present, knew of the fixed nature of the court. No one changed unless it was of their own will, and those circumstances were rare.
She tossed her hands in the air. "So I am to live with a husband who does what he pleases, who does not love? Me?"
There was a general air of agreement around her, whispers and nods among the assembly. She ignored Marcas who smirked, off to her right.
No doubt he was enjoying her disgrace. She wished she could have been more temperate with him.
But temperance, when it came to matters of the heart, eluded her.
If not for Marcas, whispered a voice in her heart, you would not have your daughter.
That had been an unexpected result of her liaison with him. But she was sure marriage to Victor would have no good effect.
"All of you, leave us. We will talk alone." At the King's command, the hall emptied. Victor bowed before the throne and disappeared. He did not look at her.
No doubt he is eager to get back to work. That is all he ever does.
Beryl gave her one glance, mouthing caution as she left with her husband.
When they all had gone, the King rose, holding out his hand. "Come with me."
They walked out of the back of the hall, where mountains and valleys, plains and the sea were laid out before them. She took a deep breath, feeling the wind.
"What would you have me do?" he asked quietly. "You must be wed, it is past time. You know this."
Her eyes burned. She focused on a green valley in the distance. Thinking of who lived there, and the lives they led. Free to live as they chose. Free to love as they chose.
"It has always been your fate to give love," he reminded her. "Never to have it for yourself." He touched her hand resting on the wall.
"I know." The thought gave her no comfort. "Is it not strange? That the gift I give, I cannot keep for myself. Those who live in the plains, in the hills, by the sea, they have nothing compared with us, but they can choose who to love. To marry."
He squeezed her hand, smiling. "They have their own customs, as we do. And you would find more than one maiden upset with her father over his choice of husband."
"True," she said, "But most daughters at least have a choice. I have witnessed it when I walk among them, unseen."
The King stroked his beard. "If you were not hidden, if you lived among them as I and others have, you would see that choosing love can be as painful as living without it."
She turned her head sharply. "I do not need to live among them to know that!"
Too often the gift she gave was wasted, or withheld. Or became a source of pain. She never intended it to be that. But she could not control those who received it. A young woman, beautiful, but vain. How many men's hearts had she broken? A quiet and decent man, unable to show his love. A strong woman who deserved a good man, but had yet to meet the right one. A good and faithful man who toiled under the burden of his losses.
Love thwarted, love twisted, love denied.
"You have never wanted to live there," her father reminded her, bringing her out of her thoughts. "You never desired it."
The thought took root in her mind. To leave the palaces and great halls and high mountains. To walk the plains and hills. To dip her feet in the sea.
To live among them. As one of them, for a time.
Perhaps she could learn how to live without love from those who had already done so. Perhaps then her fate would not seem so dark.
Her heart raced, and her eyes shone.
"I desire it now," she said softly, watching the distant sea. The King looked at her fully.
"Do you? Truly? Well," he rubbed his full beard, the different hues of color glinting inside it. "Perhaps there is something I can do."
"What is that?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. "You do not need to do anything."
"If you wish to live among them, then you will have to be disguised," he explained. "They would recognize you immediately. You will have to be like them, not as you are here. You do not know them as I do," he said at her inquisitive look. "There is kindness, but also cruelty." He paused. "I will send you to a village in the north. They love you there." Lightly stroking her hair, he sighed. "How long will you be away? I must tell Victor."
She thought hard. Too long, and he would reject it. Too short, and she would not see enough. "A year?"
He laughed out loud, kissing her head. "That is not a long time. But I agree. Stay a year, and at the end of it, if you want more time, ask. But you will have to return eventually." He tilted her chin up to look at him. "And when you do, you will marry Victor. Do you understand?"
Nodding, she agreed. "I understand." She could not change that. But she would have some time, at least, to live and explore without the burden of marriage. She raised an eyebrow. "Father, you said they love me in the village. How do you know their feelings have not changed? Surely they are fickle," she teased.
"Not about you," he grinned. "That is all your doing. You gave them love, and they have not relinquished it towards you. They honor beauty as well. So you should be quite content there."
"I intend to be," she said, folding her arms together. His expression grew puzzled.
"You and I hardly ever come to an agreement so quickly…" he turned around. "I should have known."
Just inside of the door to the hall, her daughter watched them intently.
Her heart contracted as though someone had clenched a fist around it. "Harmony," she whispered, "You should not be here. The King ordered everyone to leave."
"I had to see you," the raven-haired beauty made her way across the terrace, into her welcoming arms. "When there is conflict between any of us, I must make my presence known. But especially when my mother is involved." She glanced up at the King. "I am truly sorry. I did not mean to disobey you."
"Oh, very well child," he said, defeated. "I would not keep you from your mother." He stood quietly aside while the two embraced.
She held her beloved daughter in her arms and kissed her head. It would be difficult to be away from her. But Harmony would not be alone. She laughed.
"Perhaps the King is right about it being past time for my marriage, if not about the choice of husband," She looked at her father, who merely raised an eyebrow. "Where I am going I doubt it is customary for daughters to be married before their mothers."
"Yes," Harmony fondly touched her hair. "But I did not find it necessary to live among the people before my husband and I wed. I will send him to visit you sometimes. Perhaps I will come and see you myself!"
She touched her child's face. "But not right away," she warned, as much as she would look forward to seeing her daughter and son-in-law. "I wish to be as one of the people, and I can hardly do that if I have regular visitors." She gently took Harmony's hands from around her neck.
"There is something else you must know before you leave," the King said. "If you reveal yourself as you are here, you must return at once. Whether you have been there one hour, or one year, or ten. So do not do it lightly. Only if your life would be in mortal danger, or someone close to you. Then show yourself. But only then."
"I won't show myself," she said stoutly. "I want to stay for a while. And not just to avoid marriage," she gave him a pointed glance. "I want to see how the people live, especially without love."
"Then go," he embraced her. "Go with my blessing. Live among them. Learn." He gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. "There is a small hut on a hill south of the village, beneath my tree. Everything you need will be there. And be mindful," he cautioned. "I cannot say for certain, but once you have lived there for a time, your fate may become entwined with theirs." He put an arm around Harmony. Her daughter raised her hand in farewell.
She raised her hands at the moment of their parting. "I will miss you, my sweet child. Thank you, Father." The air around them shimmered, and her vision grew blurry. "Wait!" she called suddenly, remembering. "Will you tell Beryl where I've gone?" It would not do to forget her oldest friend.
"Yes," The King answered, his voice distant. "She will miss you. As will I." They vanished. The very air turned gold, then white.
A moment later, she blinked at the view before her.
It was a new world.
A small lake woke under the gray dawn. The sun was not yet up.
She peered into the water. Her own reflection was a comfort. "Not much has changed, I see," she smiled at herself before splashing the surface. It was cold.
Several purple posies grew along the edge of the lake, barely pushed through the earth. Smiling, she picked a few and continued walking along the path through the trees. The morning fog was heavy.
"It is beautiful here," she murmured to herself. Ahead of her, the path led out of the trees and down a hill. The fog cleared somewhat as she left the lake behind. She looked to her right, and saw a hut farther up the hill. It rested under the mighty boughs of a gigantic oak tree.
Her home.
Deciding to explore the small house later, she continued on. She passed several huts where the inhabitants still seemed to be asleep. A boy milking a cow did wave at her as she passed by, and she enthusiastically waved back.
She didn't notice him gawking at her, forgetting his animal, as she ascended another hill.
The path divided at the top, the one to the left leading down to the village, its buildings just visible. The path to the right continued up the hill. She followed it as it dipped slightly through two rows of pines. Ahead was a circle of pillars. Two were crowned with flaming torches, marking an entrance through the lessening fog.
Charles slumped against his shepherd's crook. He yawned, shaking his head, fighting off sleep.
Only a little while longer. Then I can go home and rest.
He forced himself to stand at attention, breathing deeply. Not every man was asked by the priestesses to stand watch at Eala's shrine. It was a distinct honor, a mark of his piety to the goddess.
Of course, he mused, not every man was able. His friend John, after being wounded fighting for Robert the king, could not walk without a limp. But John was not the best example. Charles knew even if his friend was able to stand watch all night, he would never be asked to serve. Everyone knew of his doubt. His lack of faith.
Not like Charles.
Nothing could shake him.
Of course, none of his friends could see into his inner thoughts, either. Or see his tears when he wept in front of the burning candles in the evening.
He did not doubt Eala's existence, or any of the other gods and goddesses who ruled over them. But he did think they either enjoyed wrecking his life, or did not care at all.
He did not find either possibility comforting.
I have been faithful to you. I have prayed, given you sacrifice, worshipped you as I ought from my birth. And how have all of you repaid me?
By taking away nearly everyone he ever loved.
Father, taken by the Sea-God in a storm. Mother, weakened by grief, gone to Elysium before I became a man. My sister, dead giving birth, her child with her.
He felt tears coming, but didn't stop them. The sky brightened from black to a dull gray. As soon as the sun hit the first pillar, he would extinguish the torches and go home.
James, Robert's cousin and heir. Speared through the heart right in front of me in battle. Alice, my wife, mother of our children, wasted away by a fever. She died in my arms.
It was easy for Eala, he thought. She dispensed love and beauty where she saw fit, but didn't have to live with the consequences of her actions.
Love was not always a beautiful gift. When it was taken away, the pain was unbearable.
Do you hear when Daisy cries for her mother?
It's no wonder Thomas hates you.
He could not blame his son for his anger. He did worry about his impiety. The youth had openly mocked the priestesses at the last Harvest Festival. Charles had had to appeal to them personally to keep them from sentencing Thomas to exile. He suspected it was that, as well as Robert's plea, that had persuaded them not to deal a heavy punishment.
His son was away now, serving in the king's house. Charles hoped he was learning much. And that he was keeping his more extreme views to himself.
Daisy was gone from home as well. She lived with the weaver and his wife, learning and working under their care.
Charles missed them both desperately. Often lonely, his apprentices were not with him all the time. And Alfred and Andrew, good lads that they were, were not his children. He thought ruefully that perhaps the sheep and goats were his children. But they couldn't talk to him.
He was sure his loneliness deepened his pain.
Taking another wife had been suggested to him. But the process was fraught with complications.
The first time it had all been straightforward. His parents, with the matchmaker, had found him Alice. They had been happy enough. It had not been a great love match, but they had grown very fond of each other. He missed her company, and had genuinely mourned her death.
He had put off the matchmaker's offer for the first year, claiming a broken heart. But the last two years, Martha had been more and more vehement. He sighed. He could not put marriage off forever. As much as he wanted to.
The wars, both the one in his youth as well as the next one ten years ago, had buried many men. There were many more women in the country. He knew it was likely he would end up with a widow. Or even worse, a young girl. He knew neither Daisy nor especially Thomas, were keen to have a stepmother.
The thought of another woman in his bed was tempting, he had to admit. But-and he felt guilty even thinking of it-he wanted more than just a wife. As sweet as Alice was, she had never challenged him. He could be intimidating, he knew. But he also knew he needed someone who could check his more stubborn impulses.
As foolish as it felt, he had begun to pray to Eala to send him a mate who not only would fulfill his wish, but also be someone he could openly love. And who would love him, and Thomas and Daisy.
And it would be nice if she were pretty, too.
It felt ridiculous to ask the goddess of love for even half of it. But he did, despite the fact that he was no longer young. The growing silver hairs he glimpsed in his reflection in the lake told him that.
Eala probably thought him far too bold for his own good. He was sure he was better off alone with his children, anyway.
Charles was proud of them. His daughter was the light of his life, a sweet little nymph. And as much as his son perplexed him, he loved him dearly.
Headstrong. Certain he's right almost all the time.
He sniffed, laughing, and wiped his eyes. Yes, Thomas was undoubtedly his. When the new moon arrived, his boy would be home for a few days. Perhaps he should talk to him, tell him of his own questions about the gods. Take him to the temple.
Even the priestesses agreed that merely asking questions was not a sign of blasphemy. Only curiosity.
They were divided the last time they argued about it.
Better to talk to Isobel.
Violet might want to banish both of us.
He shivered slightly, pulling his cloak around him tighter. The long rest of autumn was nearing its end, and the colors of spring had started to show. Everyone looked forward to the sun, and warmer days.
The continuous cycle of seasons, the sun and moon, were a comfort to him. They were symbols of the gods. They meant that all was right in the world. He prayed he would never see a red moon like the one that appeared before the wars. Or the sea in full froth.
His life was difficult enough, let alone when the gods warred with each other.
The sky in the east was beginning to lighten. He shifted his cold feet, enjoying the sounds of the birds waking up. There would be rain later in the day. He could tell by the scent in the air.
Flickering, the flames from the torches cast shaking shadows through the fog. He squinted at the far side of the circle. He could almost glimpse the tall pillars.
A movement by the one on the right woke him up completely. He shifted the crook into his hand.
Someone was by the entrance.
His eyes narrowed. They wouldn't dare. Not on the sacred soil.
Only on the holy days did anyone go in, and only by the entrance. And with great reverence. He leaned forward, his left hand on a pillar. He was careful to not let even a strand of hair on his head penetrate the circle.
No matter what questions he had, he would abide by the rituals.
Not so the intruder.
It was a woman.
She blithely walked through two pillars as though they meant nothing. Turning in a circle, she surveyed the entire setting with interest.
His mouth was agape at her brazenness. Not even through the way in.
At least, that was what he told himself.
The sight before him made his knees buckle. He clutched the pillar for support.
Her shapely figure moved as gracefully as if she were in a dance. When her back was facing him, he could not stop himself from staring at the curve of her hips, her strong legs. She hummed and turned her head slightly, making the angle of her neck more prominent.
He was nearly overcome with desire to take her into his arms and kiss her.
Never before had his restraint been so elusive.
Eala herself would be jealous of her beauty.
He was shaken out of his reverie at the thought of the goddess, remembering his duty. "YOU!" he bellowed at the stranger. "What are you doing in there!? Get OUT! NOW!"
She started, completely surprised by his presence. Behind her, the sky glowed orange as the sun rose. The fog faded away.
The morning light illumined the rich red tones of her hair. Her straight nose and piercing eyes. Her parted lips. His breath caught, and he stood still, half-dropping his crook. Her eyes widened, and she gasped. A rosy blush spread over her creamy skin.
The sight of the color in her cheeks made his heart skip several beats. He did his best to ignore it. "Don't you know," he called, his voice unsteady, "you're not supposed to be in there!" He swallowed. "I have to take you to the temple for violating the shrine!"
No matter how magnificent you are.
She tilted her head, almost as though she did not understand him.
But then she smiled at him.
He stopped breathing entirely. His mind was enveloped in a haze.
Then she whirled around, stumbling a bit on the dewy grass, and ran through the pillared entrance. His mind cleared an instant later.
"STOP!" He shouted. "Come back here!" Losing sight of her, he ran around the perimeter of the circle. She was barely visible through the trees, dashing away down the hill as fast as she could.
He chased after her.