Hello, dear readers! First and foremost, I would like to say that I'm SO SORRY for being months overdue with this story! I promised an update sometime over the summer, but I didn't have much time to follow through with that promise. So, I finally had time(and the ambition) to write this chapter! Yay! Once more I apologize for the long wait, and I hope you enjoy!
The scent in incense faintly lofted through the air of the Christian Church, brought upon by the soft glow of candles set aflame. The faded shadows danced upon the stone walls, casting images that appeared to be birthed from a dream. The soft flames reflected upon the gold cross at the head of the altar, causing its carefully crafted embroidery to shine unrivaled.
Yet while the holy room remained still and quiet, there was one sound that had broken through the silence, and had birthed the faintest of noises.
Quietly, save for the softest of sobs did Arella kneel before the altar, deep in prayer, deep in thought, deep in somber mind. The young woman's hands were so tightly intertwined that her flesh had turned pale, her once strongly hued golden hair now lacking the luster it once did, strands messily spilling around her head that had rested just above her folded hands. Arella's eyes were red and puffed, though she could no longer cry, for her tears were long dried, and she had none left to spare.
Slowly, almost in pitiful defeat, the young blonde had raised her oceanic gaze to meet the empowering symbol of Christianity, nose red and dried lips trembling. Weak and weary she had gazed upon the golden cross with brilliant diamonds embroidered into the metal, yet within her eyes there was little for her to see, for the rays of the sun had cascaded down upon the Holy Cross, harming her vision.
Arella had wiped her eyes with her sleeve, not daring to break apart her trembling hands-which had begun to bleed at the intensity of her own nails digging into her flesh. She did not turn her gaze away from the cross, from the gold, from the light, yet instead had kept her sight, waiting. Silence was her only answer.
"I do not understand..." Arella whispered softly, blue orbs flicking around the cross, as if searching. Only the dancing shadows had met her gaze when she dared to stray her eyes far enough from the golden cross, shrouded in natural light from cathedral window.
"I do not understand..." She repeated, voice barely a whisper as she raised her gaze, looking upon the tall ceiling, which was lined with tapestries, "Why do you not answer me?"
The woman's eyes had searched, her ears had listened, yet she had heard nothing. She had seen nothing. No answer was given.
Arella had remained there, in quiet contemplation, though her hands did not unfurled from one another. She had continued to pray, to dwell, hoping for an answer, a sign. So much was Arella consumed by her task that she did not see-nor hear-the opening of the chapels' great doors, soft footfalls moving down the rugged corredor.
The Leper had slowly approached, stride calm, almost thoughtful as he approached the altar, though upon spying the woman had kept his distance. Even as a King chosen by God, he did not have the right to interfere in one's private speakings with God-or so he had believed. Rather, the young man had patiently waited, choosing to sit upon a chair that had cast shadows into plays with its candle aflame.
Arella had remained at the altar for quite some time, the woman throwing her hands up in dismay, and a cry escaped her throat as she rose in a huff. The young woman had turned, though her knees had buckled and faltered from being still for so very long. Crying in surprise, Arella had fell upon her knees, shoulders heaving in rage and sorrow as her soft hands began to pound into the cobblestone floor.
Taking a moment to collect herself, Arella had slowly rose to the to her feet despite their weakness, pausing as her eyes had locked upon the glimmer of silver, cast with both light and shadow of the tiny candle. Slowly, she had righted herself, face flushing out of rage and embarrassment, "I apologize for keeping you, as for my actions, my Lord. I appear to play the fool when I believe others do not look upon me."
"There is no need." Baldwin replied, slowly rising-if a bit stiffly, "I would have waited. It is not my place to intervene between God and his followers. That intimacy can never be interrupted." The young man had slowly approached, though confidence was in his stride, head softly bobbing as he spoke, "Yet I am crestfallen to see that not all is well."
"God does not answer my prayers." Arella stated, shaking her head slightly as she tucked a blonde strand behind her ear, "I have prayed, and prayed, and prayed for Him to give an answer as to why He has taken my father, but I have not gotten an answer-nothing at all! I do not understand how God could be so cruel. I have asked myself why numerous times, trying to think of ways I could have saved him, or if I would have tried harder to save him...but I come up with nothing. So I pray to God to give me an answer, and He does not listen to my prayers!"
"God listens to all prayers, I assure you that. Time, however, if different in the eyes of the Lord. It is not our place to judge for what He Wills and what He does not. He shall answer your prayers when he deems you ready. I have faith in that. You have my sympathies for your father's passing." Baldwin spoke, Arella nodding as her gaze fell to the ground before swiftly shooting to look upon the masked man.
"I apologize for being so brazen...but you mentioned that your father had passed, did he not?" Arella questioned, the man ever so gently cocking his head upon her, as if studying the woman before him, or amused.
"Yes, my father did pass when I was but a boy. Almeric the First of Jerusalem."
"Oh...I see. I am sorry. I can only imagine what it is like to lose a father at such a young age. Thank you, my Liege, for your condolences." Arella spoke, posture becoming submissive as the man's breath wheezed slightly.
"You have my thanks, and are most welcome." He then had paused, as if trying to think upon what to say, the air pregnent, "I...do not mean to pry, but with your father gone, will you not return to your home country?"
Arella looked upon the man, curious, yet thoughtful, "Back to France? I truly do not know. While the thought of returning to home is pleasing, I do not have the coin to travel safely with a caravan or enough to supplies to have the voyage back. So, I do not think I will return to France, no."
"That is a shame. My bloodline is traced from France, though I have never set foot upon the country. What is it like there? In France? I have only ever read about France in books or seen its lands in paintings." The Leper questioned, the young woman slightly taken aback by his curiosity.
"France? Well...I have not seen all of France, but the landscape is flat, though filled with many gently rolling hills, lush with blooming flowers and farms. The mountains are capped with snow that you can sometimes see. It is very odd to describe, since it is so different from this land. The heat is far too hot, and the nights are very cold. And there is not much plant life that I have seen-no flowers, no dandelions..."
"Excuse me, but...dandelions? Are they a flower?" The man prodded, the woman nodding in response.
"Yes. Well, they are seen as nuisances to some, but I like dandelions. I assume you have never seen one? At first, when they grow, they grow like any tiny plant. They grow into tiny, little, yellow flowers, though they are all thin, fragile petals, like the fingers of a child. They are such a cheery yellow, as bright as the sun! My father used to pick them, and he would ask if I loved him very, very much. But I would not answer, for it was a game we played. He would then put the dandelion under my chin, and the petals would make my chin turn yellow! The flower knew I loved my father, and it would show that I loved him! Father told me that dandelions could never lie, and I think he was right. I miss those little flowers. They bring back so many memories." She had paused, as if trying to remember those little weeds, "Oh, but if you left the dandelions be, they would turn into...into...almost like cotton! Soft, and fuzzy, and tickly. If you picked a dandelion when it looked fuzzy, like gentle cotton, and blew on the dandelion, the little cottons with their seeds would be blown into the wind. Father told me I was always supposed to make a wish before I blew on the flower. I would always make wishes. Oh, I apologize. I am rambling."
Baldwin chuckled softly, a thin hand waving her concern away, "Please, do not be. This talk of these dandelions is rather refreshing compared to the conversations I normally hold. I find this pleasant. But that is interesting-to hear of a plant that does not lie, and apparently makes wishes. Tell me, did any ever come true?" Baldwin questioned, an almost youthful optimism displayed within his voice, jovial and foolish.
Arella remained quiet before chuckling gently, "Oh, no. I am not telling you any of my wishes. They may not come true then-if they have not yet. My lips are sealed. I did not think Kings could jest."
"I am a young man with an aged mind and decaying body. Sometimes I slip, and remember my true age." He replied, a soft chuckle escaping, though was quieted by the silver mask, "Perhaps I shall be lucky enough to see this dandelion for myself? That would be interesting, I think. Thank you for informing me of such an...innocent, hopeful existence."
"You are welcome. Maybe you shall go to France one day, and see dandelions and other flowers by the hundreds? That is what I would want to see again, a dandelion. Not that there are not many interesting plants here, but I just miss home." She smiled sullenly.
"And God does not bring you comfort?"
"No." Arella stated, firmly, swiftly, "No, He does not. Not now. Does He, you?"
"I believe that I am serving Him to the best of my abilities. That, my friend, brings me comfort." Baldwin replied after a short pause, having digested her words.
"I see. At least something brings you peace." Arella muttered softly, "Farewell, my Lord. I shall not tarry you any longer than I already have." The woman spoke her goodbyes, yet paused as The Leper raised a thin hand, as if to pause her.
"Just one moment, please. I have been meaning ask: Was your father the only male relative?" Balwin questioned, Arella looking towards his raised hand, before bringing her gaze to meet the mask.
"Yes. My father was. May I ask why? Why does my King pry so?" The blonde questioned, a thin brow raised in response.
"My dear sister, the Princess of Jerusalem...Sibylla has just lost one of her handmaidens, who has just been with child. Perhaps you would be tempted into taking that position?" The King stated, head once more cocking ever so slightly, as if trying to gage her response.
Arella remained quiet for several seconds, a laugh suddenly tearing from her throat at the jest. However, as the young man remained silent, she began to realize that he was not jesting.
"You...you jest? Clearly you jest? I-to serve royalty when I myself am not noble?"
"Yet how many handmaidens are of low stock?" The man challenged, the woman's brow furrowing.
"I would not know, for I am not noble. It is as simple as that. But...still, I...I will think upon it, if your gesture is genuine. I need time to collect my thoughts, if you do not mind. I will...I will have my decision my tomorrow eve." Arella stated, "May I ask why you require my services?"
"Why?" Baldwin echoed, "Why, good woman, because you are in need of aid. That is why. But I shall not press you any farther upon the matter. You need to grieve and ponder, and I understand and respect your decision. If you accept my sister's need of a maid, please inform a guard at the palace, and he shall lead you to her."
"I thank you. Farewell, my King. God bless." Arella smiled gently, the woman bowing respectably.
"And I, you. Thank you for an intriguing conversation about dandelions. May He watch over you and answer your prayer." The Leper spoke, nodding one once.
The blonde smiled, walking out of the shadows of the chapel and into the blistering sun of the Holy Land.
I'm sorry about the length of this chapter; it's not as long as I would like it to be. But it has Baldwin! I hope I wrote him fine. It's been too long. But I do feel like saying that it's at most been two-three days after Jordan's death, and Arella is going through the stages of grief, so she's a bit...I want to say irrational? Not sure. But I added the dandelion conversation cause I thought it would be interesting. I don't think there are any dandelions in the Middle East, so that little weed might sound magical to someone who has never heard of it. Either way, thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think! :)
PS: The next chapter will most likely have Arella's thoughts on the matter, her answer, and bonding, nostalgic moments with her furry friend, Kafka the pack mule.