Author's Note – Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. This story will get happier... eventually. For now, please tolerate the darkness! Enjoy.
Chapter 4 – The Ghost That Haunts Us
It was early morning when the bells rang. Snow fell and blew in carefree swirls outside and Aranwen's breath hung in the air even as she lay in her bed.
She could not weep – not now. No longer was there any dread or any fear. What was done was done and though she could have done something more to prevent it from happening, she had not. Guinevere was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.
Aranwen went to her mother's room where the knights had gathered round her bed. Lucan stood like a stranger at the door, head down so no one would see his tears. Aranwen knelt at her mother's side and pressed Guinevere's cold hand against her warm tears. "I hardly knew you," she whispered. "But you were my mother." She reached out and took the feather that was entangled in Guinevere's hair.
"Little Arthes," Arthur said softly, putting a hand on her shaking shoulders. His voice was not a comfort, just a reminder of the things that could have been. Aranwen did not look up with the fear that she would catch Morgaine's eye. She did not want to see Morgaine. If she did, even unwittingly, Aranwen was sure she would cut her throat and throw her to the dogs.
"Guinevere is dead. Long live Aranwen," Bors murmured, a drink in one hand and a tear on his cheek. "Long live our Lady Arthes."
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The moon was shrouded by the dismal clouds of winter. The snow remained on the hills and a cold, bitter air crept into the castle. Even Aranwen did not mind it this time. She lie in her bed with her blankets crumpled on the floor, hoping that the cold would numb her.
"A queen of two lands, it is your right," Guinevere had told her. "Never forget that." But Aranwen wanted to.
"What are you doing, Wen?" a familiar voice asked from the shadows in a tone barely higher than that of a crackling fire – a fire that seemed so far, far away. Lucan bent down to retireve the blanket and drew it over Aranwen's shivering body.
"Why are you here?" she asked even though she knew. Lucan was alone.
"I... I must let you sleep,' he said, turning to leave but Aranwen grasped hold of his hand.
"No! No – do not go... do not leave me here, alone," she pleaded. "Stay here with me, brother." She began to sob again, calling his name in a pathetic voice. Lucan nodded and sat himself down on the edge of her bed. He pinched her cheek, solemnly teasing her.
"I am here," he assured her.
"Why can things not be as they used to be?" Aranwen asked. "Why is it that everything that I say and do must be used against me? Lucan, I see her sometimes – Morgaine – standing in my doorway and watching me as I sleep. She is a ghost... of the unfriendly sort that haunts until we are driven mad – or until we have died." There was a silence.
"My mother was beautiful too," he said, his words plucked from the air in front of him it seemed. "She was dark haired and free-spirited – just like your own mother. I did not think I would have to lose her a second time. Never." In the silent dark was heaved a weary sigh. Lucan lay himself down beside Aranwen and took her – his little sister – into his arms, resting her head upon his chest and holding her clasped hands in his own.
"I missed you," Aranwen said quietly.
"I was not far," he responded, somewhat puzzled.
"It seemed as if you were for quite some time..." Aranwen looked up at him, barely recognizing his features in the dim light of the hearth. She traced them delicately with a trembling hand, stopping at his lips and then pulling her hand away. "Will you recite a bard's tale?" she requested suddenly.
"I... cannot," Lucan said, his tone uncomfortable.
"Then... tell me of all the knights, one by one – like you used to." Aranwen closed her eyes and suddenly, she was aware of the circumstanced. The man who held her in his arms was not her brother – not anymore.
"You have heard all my stories, Wen... you must sleep." Another silence.
"Why can things not be as they used to be?" Aranwen asked again. "These are not simple tears." And you, Lucan, are but a stranger to be now.