A/N: I do intend to respond to all of your lovely reviews, providing the website behaves itself. *cough, cough*. I love all of your reviews, comments, reblogs, etc. They really do mean everything to me. Thank you!
I had a conversation earlier this week that made me want to tell you all who have stuck with this story so far - this is a long story. A very long story. In fact, we are not to the halfway point yet. So there's your warning. I hope I haven't scared any of you off.
This chapter is almost entirely Chelsie. I'll be getting back to other people (mostly Thomas) soon. And no, I haven't forgotten about certain people lurking about, though you probably wished I would.
Please leave a review if you have time! They give me life!
Charles woke from a sound sleep. From the little light coming through the window, he saw it was very early morning. Low grey clouds hung in the sky.
A low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.
Sitting up, he rubbed his face, feeling stubble on his chin. He had left the temple the afternoon before, after waiting for Isobel for a long time.
One of the temple girls had sent him away. The priestess was indisposed, he was told. It made him wonder why she had told him of the Revelation. He could think of no reason other than shock.
He had wandered for a long time, walking aimlessly to calm himself. He had returned home expecting to find Elsie there.
Instead, when he had reached the hut at dusk, it was empty. A meal was prepared, and laid out as if she had waited for him.
Guilt made eating difficult.
It had been his turn to take the first watch of the night, so he had then gone to the meadow. But the sight of Elsie with the flock, made his terror return with a vengeance. He had run home, hoping she had not seen him.
Sleep did not come soon, and when it did, his dreams were haunted by visions of lightning striking the temple, the hut ablaze with his children inside. Being chased by a figure of fire.
The last dream he had before waking was quieter, though no less eerie. He was surrounded by fog. Whether he searched for something, or something searched for him, he did not know. The sound of a woman crying kept him moving, calling out for an answer.
He sighed and stretched, feeling stiff. It was strange waking without feeling rested. Equally strange to wake with his tunic still on, though the day was a little cooler with the coming of rain.
Elsie lay nearby out of arm's reach. Her back was to him, and her shoulders rose and fell with her deep breathing. Charles did not know what to think.
Everything flooded through his mind from the day before – her honesty, the shock of comprehending the truth, the utter terror of her divinity, and the danger that came with it. What occurred to him then, that had eluded him before, was the candor she displayed.
"Yes, I am She."
She trusted you. As her husband.
But why was he her husband? A mix of dread and anger surged through him. He picked up the blue cloak still spread across his legs. The cloak that had once been his before he gave it to her. He threw it aside and stood up.
None of it made sense.
Did she think this was all a game? To play at being a mortal, pretending to be his wife? To see how they lived?
Maybe it is true. We are merely toys to be used by the gods. To do with us whatever they wish.
Charles raked his hands through his hair. The ache in his chest sharpened, as though he had been stabbed with a spear.
He had married Elsie with the full intention of keeping his vows. But what did they mean to her? Every word, every gesture, every kiss, every act of love between them since their marriage began ran through his mind.
Had she merely seduced him at Midsummer? No, the impetus to make her his wife had been his idea. Maybe.
Or maybe not.
She could have tricked me into it.
He dismissed the notion immediately. Why trick him into marrying her when she was already betrothed? It was not worth the risk, surely.
The sight of her naked form in the moonlight on their wedding night. She called me beautiful.
Me.
Next to her? Rubbish!
She doubtless says that to everyone she's bedded.
The thought that she had spoken the words to others before nearly made him ill. He turned abruptly, facing toward the window once more. Elsie lay in front of him, still in slumber.
The sharp edge of his anger melted away. A line was visible between her eyes, dried tearstains on her cheeks.
Why did she weep, if she was only using him for pleasure? His head ached, joining his heart. Picking up the cloak, he covered her with it.
He left a message on a scrap of papyrus before going to the meadow. The air seemed to be holding its breath, the clouds lurking overhead. His sheepdog Ve seemed skittish, whining, getting up, and circling the flock several times.
When the rain did come later in the morning, it was a relief. Though not to his troubled mind.
Elsie – Eala - was still his wife. His wife.
No matter what she thought, or did, or really felt. He would be true to his vows.
No matter what.
I did not think I would have a marriage, a life like this.
Not again.
In a way it was a little like his union with Alice.
It was an ordinary day, like most others. Thomas had gone to the lake with old Eric, one of the shepherds who had worked for Charles's father. The little boy had caught five fish.
"Well done, lad!" he pulled his son into a hug, kissing the top of his head. Alice gave Thomas a warm smile. Her pale blue eyes sparkled.
"He's a born fisherman." She gestured to the low table.
"That he is," he agreed.
Thomas wiggled out of his father's embrace. "Papa, we saved some for you! The two biggest ones!"
"Oh, thank you," Charles said, sitting down. Daisy gurgled from her basket, waving her hands. He leaned over and kissed her.
While he ate, Thomas chattered like a magpie about the fish, about chasing a deer across the meadow, about Eric letting him carry his crook.
"You've been quite busy," Charles said when he had a chance, grinning. He glanced at Alice, but she was not looking, intent instead on sewing a patch onto Thomas's tunic.
He told himself as the evening descended that he was reaching, searching for a problem that did not exist.
And yet contentment eluded him.
The children were settled for the night, the fire burned low. Lighting the candles, he began the nightly prayers. First to the God of the Sky, then to the others.
Eala, as ever, received his devotions last. It was not due to a lack of respect. He had had an affinity for the Goddess of Love since he was a youth, and preferred to end his prayers to her.
He felt (though he did not, of course, know for certain) that she listened to him. That she would always listen.
When he prayed to her it was like talking to a friend.
"Divine Lady," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. Alice was on the other side of the curtain, sweeping out the hut. "Thank you for the beauty that surrounds us, the children you have given us. My lovely wife. You have given me so much…" he trailed off, not finding words. He put a hand to his lips as he gazed at the figurine on the altar. She carried a rose.
Behind him, he heard Alice sweep out the door, then shut it. He knew she was going to the well to get water.
He sighed. "I don't want to sound ungrateful. Thomas and Daisy are beautiful, and strong, and Alice is a fine woman. Any man would be fortunate to have her, and you meant her for me. But," he bit his lip. "I can't help feeling as though there could be more between us." The figurine of Eala sat as smoke curled around it from the candle.
"She is content with the children, our home, the flocks. Yet we hardly speak of anything else."
Looking down, he tugged on the edge of the sheepskin, his hands on his knees. "Lately I've wondered if we are as close as we will ever be. I have told her I would like her to be more open with me. And she said in all honesty, that she thought she had been open, sharing herself with me. Maybe she has. Maybe I seek something in her that is not there."
"Or perhaps I am lacking something. Have I truly shared every part of myself with her? With anyone?" A small smile formed on his lips. "Alice and Richard have told me, in different ways, that you have more of me than either of them. If both my wife and my friend agree, then who am I to argue? I think they are right. In a way," he scratched his ear. "But I am who I am. I have been devoted to you since I was young, and I am not about to stop now. I know you won't abandon me."
Long-held pain caused tears to well in his eyes. His older sister, Daisy, who never got to meet her namesake. His parents who died before he was married.
"Help me," he whispered, "help me, Beautiful Lady, to not be afraid to reveal myself wholly to my family and friends. To show my love. You who are Love, guide me."
He had tried to be more open with Alice, to not hold back his own thoughts and fears. They had grown closer; he loved her, and had never doubted her love for him. Yet he resigned himself to feeling that they did not match, that this was the best that he could hope for.
His life with her was not a bad one.
Her death had ended any hope for a deeper bond. After, it was easier to close himself off. He knew Daisy, and especially Thomas, had suffered from his reticence. It was something that gnawed at his conscience.
The rain had receded to a fine mist. He laughed rather bitterly, without mirth, his thoughts returning to Elsie. Now he was yoked to someone who would never die. And who understood him better than anyone.
That was part of the terror he felt. He had never felt so exposed, his entire being laid bare. The knowledge that he would never fully know her as she did him hurt.
Their marriage would never be equal. Had never been equal.
And, he realized, feeling as though someone had punched him, prayers were no longer any comfort to him.
How could he kneel in front of the altar and talk to the Goddess? Knowing…she was there? Terror, mortification, and a strong mixture of injured pride made him groan aloud.
He stared unseeing at the meadow. The grey raiment of the mist. A movement over the crest of the hill drew his attention.
Elsie.
She wore the cloak, no doubt as a shield against the damp. As she approached him, he felt his heartbeat quicken, his palms begin to sweat, his breath coming short.
It all seemed so clear. Even in the dull light of the morning, the rain catching strands of her hair and plastering them against her face, she was a goddess. There was not a glow about her as the stories described, but she was perfect as no woman had ever been. Or ever would be.
He had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. Or more flawed. Unable to look her in the face, he watched her feet.
"Good morning, Charles." The soft caress of her voice speaking his name caused his heart to skip.
He nodded in reply, speech utterly failing him.
"Are you hungry?"
His belly rumbled in response. He wondered at his own body betraying him, yet could not keep a grin from his mouth. Of course you are.
They sat beneath the ash tree, not speaking as they ate bread.
He wanted to speak and felt he should. But what could he possibly say to her? How was he supposed to treat her? As the Goddess? That was his natural inclination. But she was his wife. His mate.
"I…suppose you know," she said when he had finished. He swallowed the last bite, feeling every bit of it go down his throat. "I am sorry it is such a shock, but I had to tell you. I could not keep such a secret, not from you…" her voice trailed off.
His eyes had remained fixed on the ground. When her speech failed, though, he looked up at her. At her face.
Her teeth biting her lip, her skin pale, unshed tears desperately clinging to her eyes. The shadows underneath them.
Instinctively, he reached out and touched her knee. "Don't…" He did not know what he meant to say, or what he wanted to say.
Elsie gasped, and tears flowed down her face. She wiped them off, trying to regain her breath. "Where did you go yesterday? I worried when you didn't come home."
"Nowhere," he said, a little surprised she did not know where he had gone, "I just wandered for a long time. I was at the temple a little while. Isobel was there." The memory of the Revelation made him take his hand from her.
"Isobel? What did she say?" she wondered what the priestess had said, what advice she had given.
"Nothing to me. I didn't tell her why I was there," he pressed his lips together, studying the wet grass. "She had just received a message of a Revelation. From Loftus," he stopped, thinking she could likely guess what it was.
She did. Straightening up, she pressed her hand against her forehead. "That was fast," she murmured, her eyes closed. "Sometimes it is years before news of the Hall reaches here. Victor must be very proud."
Her tone sounded bitter.
To hear her speak so casually staggered him. Of the Divine Halls, the mere flinging out of the Fire God's name! But then, it is only a place to her, like my home is to me. And the gods are her family. Friends. Companions.
He let out a breath he didn't know he held. "Does it surprise you? That he would be?"
She turned, a sharp glance in his direction. "Coming from him, yes. He takes pride in the work of his hands, the beauty of the things he has made. He sees little else."
"You do not think he would be affected by you?" Charles was incredulous.
"Only in terms of how the others will see him," she half-snorted, pushing her hood back. "The god who wed the mighty Eala! The greatest jewel in the heavens and earth! I am little more to him," she said, "than another trinket would be to Robert, to set on his belt."
He stared at her, uncomprehending. "Surely not." He could not believe it. How could she be seen only as an adornment? She is so much more than that!
His remark clearly stoked her ire. She got to her feet, her hands on her hips, facing away from him. "Yes," she hissed, "that is how he sees me! That is how my father sees me! As a pawn, a prize to be given! You don't understand," she turned to meet his eyes. "I came here to learn from mortals how to live without love. To grieve my fate. There will be no end to it." Sadness and not a little hint of anger flashed in the depths of her eyes. "Do not presume to know what the gods think. What you know is a drop of water in the sea!"
Her admonition hammered into his mind the futility of their marriage, if that was what it was. He, a drop of water. She, the sea. He was a speck of dirt. She was a towering mountain.
Anger coursed through him. He clenched his fists looking up at her, as thunder rumbled again in the distance. "Thank you for the reminder of my inferiority," he snapped. At that moment, if she had struck him down he would not have cared. His hurt was an open wound. "No doubt your desire to marry me was simply for your own amusement."
Something flickered in her eyes. "Charles, I-"
He gave her an exaggerated bow of his head. "Let me watch the flock in peace. I am surprised you do it – you likely find it beneath your dignity."
He would not be swayed. She stood still for a moment, then slowly turned and walked back across the meadow, not bothering to pull her hood up when the rain began again.
It was all wrong.
And she had not the first idea of how to fix it.
It was her fault he was angry, she knew. That moment in the meadow haunted her for days.
What were you thinking?
The reality of Victor and her father had so angered her she had forgotten almost everything else. When Charles contradicted her, her first instinct was to assert herself.
As was right. Next to her, a goddess, what was he? He, a mortal, knew little of the gods.
But what he said, the hurt he displayed, brought the truth to her.
He was her husband.
And in that moment, she was a goddess, when she should have been a wife. The goddess was not what he needed then. She should have corrected him, absolutely, but with the words she spoke, it was like stamping on his face.
It was no surprise he said nothing to her unless he had to.
Sometimes she raged to herself at his stubbornness, especially after she tried to apologize for insulting him. She cleaned his new cloak, scrubbing out the stains. Worked diligently on baking the bread. She left the finest loaves for him with honey.
He ignored her, saying nothing.
How did he not see her efforts? And why did he not apologize for leaving and worrying her? She could not fully blame him for not believing her, but she did blame him for his disrespect. Not towards her divinity, but towards her as his wife.
Of all men, she thought he would have taken his vows seriously.
Other times, she discerned his fear. His reluctance to be in the hut at the same time. His choosing to walk by the lake instead of sitting with her.
She no longer heard his voice in prayer, either. It was not a full surprise. No doubt he was all too aware of how much she knew of him.
Sometimes she would hear him call for her, for the goddess, but his voice would stop abruptly.
It signaled his distance from her, in more ways than one.
When they did sleep at the same time, they laid not touching, their backs to each other.
She missed him, her husband.
After she came back from watching the flock one hot morning, there was a large basin of cold water sitting in the hut. She knew the water came from the spring further up from the meadow, nearer its source. It was no small feat to haul water that far.
Another evening, she found her crook woven with pink roses, carefully snipped.
That night under the ash tree she cried. It was his way of asking her pardon. But why could he not just say so? He was not terrified of her all the time. She fingered the soft petals gently, and shook her head.
What am I going to do with this man?
This gentle, infuriating, kind, frustrating curmudgeon of a man.
They were forced by circumstances to portray a united couple when Daisy came home. She became aware of the tension between them almost immediately.
"Did you and Papa have a fight?" she asked the next morning as they made bread. Her eyes never left Elsie.
"No," Elsie replied, her hands pressing into the dough with perhaps a touch more force than necessary. She raised her eyebrows at her daughter's expression. "We had a misunderstanding. That's all."
"He can be very stubborn," the girl frowned. "I'll talk to him, make him apologize for whatever he did."
"We are both stubborn," Elsie said. "But the blame this time is mine. We will forgive each other, not to worry."
If we can ever talk to each other again.
We must.
He didn't want to admit it, but he missed her.
Is that even proper? To miss her as my wife?
Whether it was, or was not, he did. Especially at night. The feel of her in his arms.
He missed saying his prayers to Eala, too. There were times he would be watching the flocks, or walking by the lake, or lying awake and he would begin talking to her. He caught himself, and stopped before revealing his inner thoughts.
Sitting by the well one evening, he finished his meal, brushing the crumbs of bread off his fingers. Having Daisy home for a few days had been wonderful.
He didn't know what they would do when Thomas came home. He knew his son was not happy with the marriage, and he rather dreaded seeing his self-satisfied smile. Charles wanted to talk to Elsie about it, but they had not really spoken since that day in the meadow.
She walked towards the hut, weary despite not having moved much all afternoon. It's too hot. At least I don't wear a thick woolly cover like the sheep!
She saw Charles sitting by the well. To her surprise, he looked up and gestured at the bundle beside him. "Do you mind joining me?"
"Not at all," she sat next to him but not too close. As she ate, he sat quietly, his hands on his knees.
This is ridiculous, he thought. Say something!
Nothing came to mind that did not sound stupid. Or desperate. Or utterly inadequate. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. In the orange glow of the afternoon, her skin was flushed, almost red in places. Strands of her hair stuck to her temple.
Still, she was absolutely striking.
He let out a long breath. "At first I felt almost nothing but fear," he began. "The thought of the goddess, you-" it felt horribly awkward, "-in mortal form, speaking with me, knowing everything about me. And then knowing what we've done-" his voice caught, redness creeping into his own face, "our marriage…what it meant to Daisy and Thomas, my fear for them, for everyone here…I was angry. So angry. I thought you would probably tell me I had no right to be, that any man would be happy to be your lover, no matter the risk-"
"You have every right to be angry," she said, facing him. "To fear for the lives of your children, yourself, your friends. But I'm telling the truth when I say I did not set out from the Hall to place you all in danger. I am not wholly vain." She wiped her mouth. "I was once, but no more."
He swallowed, folding his hands together. He had ceased to be cynical when it came to her motives, but it was good hearing it from her. "I know," he said softly. "I believe you. When I thought about it, there were too many things that spoke of something else. You helped carry the burden of tending the flocks. You never shirked the watch. You saved Old Sally's lamb. The effort is not diminished," he emphasized, "because I now know you would not have been hurt." His eyes were soft. "You did not have to save it at all. But you did. You do not have to cherish my daughter as your own. But you do. You do not have to think well of my son, but you do. You treat my apprentices, and everyone you meet, with respect."
Elsie thought of several things to say, but sensed Charles was not finished.
"You married me," he said, "and that is what I cannot understand. If I could just-" he ran a hand through his hair in frustration- "-know why you did it, maybe I would understand. And we could go on. In some way. Not," a small smile turned up the corner of his mouth, "that I will ever forget who you are."
"I would not expect you to," she whispered. To have him talk to her again was more refreshing than cold water on a hot day. "But you see…" she licked her lips. "it is who I am, that maybe can help you understand."
"How so?" he asked. "I have not said any prayers lately. Is that what you mean?"
"No," she said, her voice firm. "Although it would be nice for you to confide in me as you have done for so long, that is not what I was referring to."
"Then what?" There was no anger in his voice, only curiosity. She ran a hand through her own hair, tossing it over her shoulder. A blush formed on her face.
"I…can't tell you face to face." She had been thinking about it for days. "May I move closer to you?"
He laughed. The sound tugged at her heart. "You are the Goddess of Love, and you ask me that? What could you possibly say that you cannot tell me to my face?"
"May I?" she persisted. Still laughing, he nodded. She scooted over on the ground from being next to him, until she was in front of him. "Closer than this, Charles?"
He suddenly knew what she wanted to do. "Yes," he murmured. She backed up until her back was against his chest. He leaned against the well, as far back as he could. It was not that the sensation was a bad one, it was simply that her nearness made it so very difficult for him to think about anything else.
"You're pulling up the grass," she said. He looked down and opened his hands, letting the green blades fall onto the ground. Sighing, she leaned against him. "Would you put your arms around me? Please."
He did so, half in joy at the feel of her, and half in terror that a hole would open up, swallowing him. He rested his hands against her belly.
"I never had to ask you before."
"I didn't know who you were before," he said into her hair. He resisted for a heartbeat, then gave in. He kissed her on the head. "That is what you were talking about? Who you are?"
"Yes," she said, sounding slightly breathless. "Maybe it would be easier to explain this way. Did you know that every woman has a little bit of me inside them?"
"A bit of you? I didn't know that," he replied. "Is that a secret the priestesses keep?" He tightened his arms around her a little. She fits so well here.
"Only from men," she laughed. "Every girl, when they go to the temple to present themselves as women, is told it during the ritual."
"So Daisy knows," he said, wondering what else his daughter knew that he did not. Elsie nodded.
"Daisy knows. Every woman has a bit of me, you see. A bit of goddess. That which gives them beauty, and love." She turned her head slightly. "But I never thought it went the other way."
The sound of her laughter softened his heart. He kissed her cheek. Then he ghosted his lips to her jawline and pulled back her hair to find that spot on her neck, below her ear.
If I am to be punished for this, I may as well enjoy myself.
"Charles," she said reproachfully, turning to look at him. His eyes were wide, innocent. Except for the gleam, and the little grin that played at the corner of his mouth. "The first time I saw you, I didn't understand why my reaction to you was so strong."
He wagged his eyebrows at her. "It was my natural charisma, of course." Dropping his head, he kissed her shoulder, smiling when he heard her sigh.
She touched his forehead, her fingers pulling his face up to look at her. Her thumb tracing his mouth. "Partly," her face took on an expression of wonder. "You brought out the woman in me," she whispered. "A part of me that was so hidden even I was not aware it was there. Until you."
He sat up further, his attention fixed.
"I have forever been a goddess," she continued. "To everyone. To my family, my friends, to mortals, and yes, to my lovers. And I always will be only that to them. But you," she stroked his temple, running her fingers over his ears, "you see all of me. You always have. The goddess, the lover, the woman. I am not only part of myself with you," her voice caught, "all of me is present with you."
He struggled for breath. "You make it sound like I brought something to you." As if I was equal.
"You did. I married you because there has never been anyone who sees me like you do." She rested a hand on his chest. "I am immortal, a goddess. Giver of Love, Beauty, Fertility. I am a lover," a wicked gleam appeared in her eye, making him groan. Her expression grew serious. "But I am your wife. Your mate. Your woman. And as long as you live, that is what I will be."
There was nothing he could say that could express his joy. He brought his mouth to hers and they kissed.
Once was not enough.
She turned around to face him, her arms around his broad shoulders. They kissed again, he opening his mouth to taste her.
Nothing, nothing, had ever felt so good. His hand on her back, pressing her closer; the other, in her hair. His mouth on hers. She opened her legs to wrap them around him, her hands on the sides of his face.
"I love you," he whispered in between ever-more heated kisses. Both of them gasping for breath. "I love you, El-what should I call you? Elsie? Or Eala?"
Her eyes were as dark as the midnight blue of the night sky, even as the evening glowed around them. "Call me Elsie," she breathed. "When you resume your prayers, present them to Eala."
"I don't think I will pray tonight," he gasped, his forehead against hers. "Maybe tomorrow. Will the goddess forgive me?"
She kissed him slowly, lingering, before pulling away from him. "She will. If you insisted on piety this evening, she would certainly understand…but your wife would have a hard time forgiving you." He pulled her hands from his face and drew them to his chest.
"Will you forgive me for ignoring you?" he asked. "For being angry and not speaking to you? I am sorry for that," he tilted his head, his eyes looking down.
"Yes," she curved her fingers a little, feeling his heartbeat beneath them. "Will you forgive me for not telling you sooner? And for forgetting that I am your wife first? I am sorry I spoke to you in anger."
He gazed at her for a long moment. "Yes, of course I will." He leaned closer, his head bent over hers. "I always will. Because that is what husbands-" he kissed her gently, "and wives-" his lips caressed the tip of her nose, "do."
They shared another kiss.
"I love you, Elsie," he murmured. For the first time in days, he felt happy. Deliriously, wildly, happy.
She got up, holding his hands as he stood. "And I you," she said quietly. "Now I don't mean to force you to do anything against your will," she let go of his hands and wound her arms around his waist, pulling at the belt there, "but your wife wants you, your mate craves your touch, and your woman absolutely aches for you."
That was true. The ache for him, her man, which had lain dormant for several days, nestled itself in her belly and spread to the rest of her.
He rested his hands on her hips. "And what of the goddess?"
The most seductive smile he had ever seen appeared on her face. "Oh, she's inside."
The husband, mate and man in him were thrilled.
As the light faded from day into night, they moved together. Her arms flung above her head, she cried out his name over and over. His scent, his touch, his voice intoxicated her.
Their shared pleasure was sweeter than it had ever been.
He reveled in the feel of her against him, the two of them in symmetry. The way she kissed him deeply, then whispered for him to come to her once more, were the most arousing taste, sight and sounds he had ever heard.
Outside the stars came out.
She succumbed to sleep before he did. But he was glad, because it gave him a chance to hold her in his arms and drink her in.
His lover, his mate, his woman, his wife.
His Elsie.