3rd Chapter
How many Saturdays would be spent in this place? The library was crawling with students settling down into armchairs or rugs; some were pulling in pillows from their dorms and curled up on the tables! Ron was once again in the large wooded room, about to tell another one of the demon's tales. He didn't understand what was so interesting about the life the demon led.
"Harry, I've known these stories all my life. I grew up on them, so to speak. It's kind of, er, unnerving that so many people are so interested. These stories mean a lot to me, to see people gossip about them almost constantly the day after make me feel as though it's just someone's Saturday night television show! Dear lord...Harry! How did this get so big?" Ron asked the excited Potter.
"Ron, the way you tell them...well, it's amazing. I for one, feel as though I've been sucked into another world. If you saw your face while telling the stories you'd love them too. That fight scene between Faska and Irlen, for example," Harry said, referring to two men from two weeks before, "Did you notice that you'd jumped up on the table when Faska was thrown against the cliff rock? You leapt off and onto another table as they jumped from pier to pier. You looked like a sword fighter, mate! And when Irlen fell to his death you jumped back to the floor and landed in a roll. A roll, mate! Next thing we knew, you had crawled to two inches in front of that first year, and you were telling the next part of the story when Alronohare was galloping atop nightshade to try and find the dueling pair, unaware that one was already standing victor over the other! It's no wonder as to why we listen, to us anyway."
Ron stared at his friend. Did he do all that? Rushed pictures were all he really saw when he told the tales, old moving pictures in his minds eye were the only things he really paid much mind to. He squashed that thought down quickly and turned to the waiting crowd. Ginny had left out the chair this time, so little had he used it...but she held a glass of water in her hands still. Ron had promised them for a good story this time, being the last story he would be able to tell until after holiday break, as both he and Ginny were going to have the holidays at the burrow.
Ron looked out to the filled room and sighed.
"I really, really never expected such a big crowd to come out of this. Ever. As you all know, this is the 7th major tale of Alronohare, as I'm sure Ginny has told you a few tidbits of smaller stories I haven't the time to tell you. I'm also sure you'll be wanting something good to sustain you over the break. Well, I hope this tale is good for you, because it happens to be very important." Ron's face turned downward, eyes glinting behind longish red bangs. "Very important.
"Alronohare had done many things since he'd come to earth. How couldn't he? He'd been there almost 3,000 years. Now, though, with his 7th tale, he'd do something he'd never imagined one of his kind could ever do. No, he could have never come to see what was about to take place."
All of those sitting among the library's dusty shelves were swept away into the earlier world, slowly evolving as the tales progressed through time, but still so alien to their own modern ways. Alronohare was with Givalda, the 53rd generation after Felitalda, and the young girl was dragging him to market. She had dark hair herself, like Felitalda ages past, but her eyes couldn't have been more different from those of the woman he had admired so very long ago.
Givalda chattered quickly about this and that to her guardian. She would fill the spaces he left during his long drawn silences with dated gossip over many things. This day was no different. She pulled him into the crowded pass ways that made up her favorite section of the business quarter. The area focused on dress-shops.
She was by no means a rich girl, nor were her parents very wealthy. They refused Alronohare to share his hoards of time gathered goods with them out of pride, as had so many before. But Givalda enjoyed looking at the dresses anyway, window-shopping sometimes to an unbearable level. She said is was so she knew how when she'd be grown and married to a suitable rich man. Alronohare chucked at her inwardly, and told her that maybe he would just not let her marry..."
Such was the way the story unfolded with Givalda. When she had grown, Alronohare became just as bad with her suitors as her father. No one could be good enough for her. She was too precious. But Alronohare stayed as close to manageable as he could given his strong feeling for the woman. He did not understand it!
Why was he so...protective? Sure, he was sworn towards her safety, but it felt, different this time. It made no sense to the fox demon. It became hard to let her off alone.
It was...not the same. He couldn't describe. He watched her out with many men, and grew increasingly agitated with their presence. One day, he calmed himself enough to go speak with his previous charge, Givalda's mother, Sicine.
As he told her what he'd bottled up for years, her mouth squeezed into a pained line.
"What is this, black eyes? What am I feeling? How do I control it? How do I make it go away? I have answered so many questions you've had over you life. Will you please tell me the answers to the ones I ask you now? I do not understand this! Please, little dear one, tell me why I sway so." Ron spoke in the disdained voice of Alronohare. "Slowly she rose, and Sicine spoke in a calm, reassuring voice to her daughter's demonic protector. 'Alronohare, what you describe to me cannot be. You told me yourself demons do not have the capacity to love, but what you describe to me can be no other. The only thing you can know for sure is that you care for her deeply, maybe more so than any other you've ever known to care.' Alronohare was shocked. He crouched like a statue for many minutes contemplating the statements Sicine had made.
"It seemed so obvious, really. But he'd not seen it. He! Who could track, hunt, and fight better than any other on that physical plane, could not see past his own delusions of apathy. He'd fallen in love. With his charge, no less! In an instant, he was outside and running, away from Sicine, away from the knowledge he'd gained.
"Away he sprinted trying to outrun the wind itself, it seemed. Appalled at himself for ever getting attached to someone in such a precarious way, he ran himself to exhaustion in futile attempt to forget. Now, secluded in a forest many leagues from the girl and her mother he allowed himself to collapse."
When the story had finished, Alronohare had spent a month away from the girl and her mother. When he'd returned, she'd agreed to engagement with her current suitor. Alronohare had felt the tearing of his heart, bigger than any demon's was supposed to be, but held back choked words that his heart screamed at him to shout. When she'd died, it was six months after her husband during an inflaming epidemic, during childbirth. She only lived long enough to name the little girl, Marina.
The little girl had her father's hair. Bright in hue, but it held a deep boldness that she'd received of her mother. Alronohare hated the child, for what it had come from. That man he'd never found ground with, that with only a few words had what he never could hope to attain. But the little girl, Marina, looked at him, and saw him for all he was. He could see her old ones eyes. Eyes that held great knowledge, despite being new from the womb. No, this girl he would bear no grudge on, for no matter how he'd despised her father for jealousy, he'd loved her mother. And that was all it took. He took her away in the night, to a different land. Away from the epidemic sweeping the areas around them.
He raised her away from others, as if she were his daughter, and no one else's. And such was the lesson of humanity he'd learned. Do not bear grudges on those who've no control over their life's situation. You had no right to, because you couldn't control yours, either.
Many sat in the library that night, far past when Ron had finished speaking. Tear tracks dried and many refused to move from their positions so deep were they in thought. The first one to move was a Slytherin. Blaze Zambini stood, and with all eyes on him, walked up to Ron, and bowed.
"Damn bloody good story...mate." He said, quiet, but echoing in the still air.
"Thank you." Ron answered.
How many Saturdays would be spent in this place? The library was crawling with students settling down into armchairs or rugs; some were pulling in pillows from their dorms and curled up on the tables! Ron was once again in the large wooded room, about to tell another one of the demon's tales. He didn't understand what was so interesting about the life the demon led.
"Harry, I've known these stories all my life. I grew up on them, so to speak. It's kind of, er, unnerving that so many people are so interested. These stories mean a lot to me, to see people gossip about them almost constantly the day after make me feel as though it's just someone's Saturday night television show! Dear lord...Harry! How did this get so big?" Ron asked the excited Potter.
"Ron, the way you tell them...well, it's amazing. I for one, feel as though I've been sucked into another world. If you saw your face while telling the stories you'd love them too. That fight scene between Faska and Irlen, for example," Harry said, referring to two men from two weeks before, "Did you notice that you'd jumped up on the table when Faska was thrown against the cliff rock? You leapt off and onto another table as they jumped from pier to pier. You looked like a sword fighter, mate! And when Irlen fell to his death you jumped back to the floor and landed in a roll. A roll, mate! Next thing we knew, you had crawled to two inches in front of that first year, and you were telling the next part of the story when Alronohare was galloping atop nightshade to try and find the dueling pair, unaware that one was already standing victor over the other! It's no wonder as to why we listen, to us anyway."
Ron stared at his friend. Did he do all that? Rushed pictures were all he really saw when he told the tales, old moving pictures in his minds eye were the only things he really paid much mind to. He squashed that thought down quickly and turned to the waiting crowd. Ginny had left out the chair this time, so little had he used it...but she held a glass of water in her hands still. Ron had promised them for a good story this time, being the last story he would be able to tell until after holiday break, as both he and Ginny were going to have the holidays at the burrow.
Ron looked out to the filled room and sighed.
"I really, really never expected such a big crowd to come out of this. Ever. As you all know, this is the 7th major tale of Alronohare, as I'm sure Ginny has told you a few tidbits of smaller stories I haven't the time to tell you. I'm also sure you'll be wanting something good to sustain you over the break. Well, I hope this tale is good for you, because it happens to be very important." Ron's face turned downward, eyes glinting behind longish red bangs. "Very important.
"Alronohare had done many things since he'd come to earth. How couldn't he? He'd been there almost 3,000 years. Now, though, with his 7th tale, he'd do something he'd never imagined one of his kind could ever do. No, he could have never come to see what was about to take place."
All of those sitting among the library's dusty shelves were swept away into the earlier world, slowly evolving as the tales progressed through time, but still so alien to their own modern ways. Alronohare was with Givalda, the 53rd generation after Felitalda, and the young girl was dragging him to market. She had dark hair herself, like Felitalda ages past, but her eyes couldn't have been more different from those of the woman he had admired so very long ago.
Givalda chattered quickly about this and that to her guardian. She would fill the spaces he left during his long drawn silences with dated gossip over many things. This day was no different. She pulled him into the crowded pass ways that made up her favorite section of the business quarter. The area focused on dress-shops.
She was by no means a rich girl, nor were her parents very wealthy. They refused Alronohare to share his hoards of time gathered goods with them out of pride, as had so many before. But Givalda enjoyed looking at the dresses anyway, window-shopping sometimes to an unbearable level. She said is was so she knew how when she'd be grown and married to a suitable rich man. Alronohare chucked at her inwardly, and told her that maybe he would just not let her marry..."
Such was the way the story unfolded with Givalda. When she had grown, Alronohare became just as bad with her suitors as her father. No one could be good enough for her. She was too precious. But Alronohare stayed as close to manageable as he could given his strong feeling for the woman. He did not understand it!
Why was he so...protective? Sure, he was sworn towards her safety, but it felt, different this time. It made no sense to the fox demon. It became hard to let her off alone.
It was...not the same. He couldn't describe. He watched her out with many men, and grew increasingly agitated with their presence. One day, he calmed himself enough to go speak with his previous charge, Givalda's mother, Sicine.
As he told her what he'd bottled up for years, her mouth squeezed into a pained line.
"What is this, black eyes? What am I feeling? How do I control it? How do I make it go away? I have answered so many questions you've had over you life. Will you please tell me the answers to the ones I ask you now? I do not understand this! Please, little dear one, tell me why I sway so." Ron spoke in the disdained voice of Alronohare. "Slowly she rose, and Sicine spoke in a calm, reassuring voice to her daughter's demonic protector. 'Alronohare, what you describe to me cannot be. You told me yourself demons do not have the capacity to love, but what you describe to me can be no other. The only thing you can know for sure is that you care for her deeply, maybe more so than any other you've ever known to care.' Alronohare was shocked. He crouched like a statue for many minutes contemplating the statements Sicine had made.
"It seemed so obvious, really. But he'd not seen it. He! Who could track, hunt, and fight better than any other on that physical plane, could not see past his own delusions of apathy. He'd fallen in love. With his charge, no less! In an instant, he was outside and running, away from Sicine, away from the knowledge he'd gained.
"Away he sprinted trying to outrun the wind itself, it seemed. Appalled at himself for ever getting attached to someone in such a precarious way, he ran himself to exhaustion in futile attempt to forget. Now, secluded in a forest many leagues from the girl and her mother he allowed himself to collapse."
When the story had finished, Alronohare had spent a month away from the girl and her mother. When he'd returned, she'd agreed to engagement with her current suitor. Alronohare had felt the tearing of his heart, bigger than any demon's was supposed to be, but held back choked words that his heart screamed at him to shout. When she'd died, it was six months after her husband during an inflaming epidemic, during childbirth. She only lived long enough to name the little girl, Marina.
The little girl had her father's hair. Bright in hue, but it held a deep boldness that she'd received of her mother. Alronohare hated the child, for what it had come from. That man he'd never found ground with, that with only a few words had what he never could hope to attain. But the little girl, Marina, looked at him, and saw him for all he was. He could see her old ones eyes. Eyes that held great knowledge, despite being new from the womb. No, this girl he would bear no grudge on, for no matter how he'd despised her father for jealousy, he'd loved her mother. And that was all it took. He took her away in the night, to a different land. Away from the epidemic sweeping the areas around them.
He raised her away from others, as if she were his daughter, and no one else's. And such was the lesson of humanity he'd learned. Do not bear grudges on those who've no control over their life's situation. You had no right to, because you couldn't control yours, either.
Many sat in the library that night, far past when Ron had finished speaking. Tear tracks dried and many refused to move from their positions so deep were they in thought. The first one to move was a Slytherin. Blaze Zambini stood, and with all eyes on him, walked up to Ron, and bowed.
"Damn bloody good story...mate." He said, quiet, but echoing in the still air.
"Thank you." Ron answered.