An Optimist's Dream in a Time of Darkness:
Chapter 9:
I apologize for the long wait, but I have been without internet for several months. We now have my internet up and running for good, hopefully. Please, if something like this should happen again read the note in my profile. I posted a note in there at the beginning of summer (while I was over a friend's house) that stated my internet was out, and apparently nobody read it. I received a lot of reviews (from other stories as well) asking and or telling me to update. So please check my profile next time. Thank you. Now on with the story!
Arthur sat impatiently in his bedchamber, his head buried within his callused palms, and his mind jogging over the predicament life had tossed him into. I'm seventeen and the Commander of this Garrison! I shouldn't be attending to minute problems such as these. I should be out scouring the lands for our enemies, and preparing for attack. I should be fighting and defending! He sighed gaining what seemed to be another ten pounds of guilt to his shoulders.
But then what of Aislin, I cannot simply abandon her. She is of my blood and among my companions. If anything were to happen to her I-I don't know what I would do. She's been with me since before the loss of my mother, since the loss of her mother. Her and I have a sworn duty to each other, this I know, it is not of a written treaty or pact. It is more like the agreement of our souls that we shall never let the other one despair in pain, and though she is strong, I fear she needs me the most now. Arthur slumped onto his bed, ruffling the silk throw. Ah, sleep. Pray, please fall over me.
A few hours later…"Arthur? Arthur, are you up?" Aislin stood just outside her cousin's bedchamber awaiting his answer. "Arthur, I can't sleep and I need someone to talk to! Please open up?"
She leaned against the door slightly and found herself stumbling into his unlocked room. "Well that was easy… Oh! He's asleep." She tiptoed around the room, watching him all the while.
He appeared to be laying in an uncomfortable fashion upon the bed, for he continually tossed and turned. Aislin found it quite amusing and reliving to know that the subconscious Arthur had just as many unnerving emotions as she had. Arthur had always appeared to her as calm and collected and to see him upset, even in his sleep, made her snicker with joy. Not paying attention in her efforts to sit down, she managed to slip straight to the floor and knock a basin of cold water from a stand onto her head. She let out a frigid scream as she shivered from the cold.
Arthur sat up immediately, one eye lazily half open as he surveyed his room for any problems. Now that both eyes were fully open he took measure of the door ajar then the young woman drenched and shivering behind a large metallic bowel. "Good Lord Aislin! What possessed you to do this?"
She lifted the rim of the bowel slightly so that she could peer out at her cousin. "I-I simply wan-anted to ta-alk with you izz all." Her words were slightly off due to her chills and shivering bottom lip.
Arthur laughed heartily as he strode over to the soaked nuisance that was his dearest companion. "You have a strange way of talking." He commented as he lifted the bowel from her head and tossed her a blanket. "Now what is it that is troubling you?"
"Everything!" Her speech was becoming better with every moment she became warmer. "What izz there not f-for me to bee worried about? I-I have three men due-dueling each other thizz morning. I can barely sleep, l-let alone th-think."
"Aislin," Arthur pulled her in his arms as they knelt beside each other on the floor. "You are not to blame for this, you must not pour all of this guilt onto yourself."
"I may not bee t-to blame, but I-I am the cause."
"Fine, you can be the cause and I'll be the blame. Problem solved. See how easy that works out?"
The young woman gave a swift jab to her companion's ribs in a playful manner. "That hasn't solved anything. I'm not a child Arthur; I'm only a year and three months younger than you. Do not play such games with me, not now at least. I'm too distraught."
"You were always the more mature one out of the two of us, always finding simplistic ways to solve the problem, and never truly relying on anyone else. Do not tell me you need me now, to aid you in a miniscule situation such as this?"
"I've always needed you Arthur, it just so happens that you got me into this mess, so you're going to help get me out."
"Ah, I see. We have finally rounded on the blame. The cause is no longer sufficient enough."
"Precisely," Aislin stood from the embrace, the blanket wrapped tightly around her. "Now get ready, the competition starts within the hour." Aislin smiled awkwardly before vacating the chilled room.
"What a haughty woman she will turn out to be."
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"Pick your opponent!" Shouted Bors, who volunteered for the occupation of ringleader to this circus of stupidity.
Marcus stood at the center of the courtyard, Bors to his side, and directly in front of him were his opponents, Tristan and Gawain. All around them a crowd of people had gathered to watch the exciting events of that morning, and at the very heart of it all was the decision of Marcus and Aislin's relationship. The young man stood with a noble air, his auburn hair waving in the wind whilst his legs were firmly set to the cobblestone. But what allowed his appearance to be so regal was in fact his sword. The silver metal glinted in the sun's rays, exposing on its hilt beautiful craftsmanship of vines that read Latin versus swirling and slinking its way around a single black jewel, an onyx.
Aislin couldn't help but marvel at his strong presence once faced with a challenge. She wondered if he served every obligation in his life with such passion and devotion. How can he grant so much love and honor to someone he hardly knows?
Marcus raised his sword, the tip extended out towards Gawain's neck. "I challenge you first."
"So be it," pronounced Gawain through a pompous visage.
"Tristan, back over to the crowd," Bors nodded to the numerous bodies that had turned up in chairs to see the spectacle with their own eyes.
Tristan sauntered carelessly toward Arthur and Aislin finding a suitable seat on the gravel. "He's afraid," his chuckle was more disturbing than Aislin had liked.
"At least he was intelligent enough not to choose you first. He'll play the crowd with Gawain, so that if he succeeds he wins their heart and somewhat of an approval from Arthur as a skilled soldier. Then he can challenge you, and if he loses-."
"He will," Tristan butted in.
"If he loses he will at least have gained our sympathy and perhaps our love." Aislin finished in a poetic voice, almost as if she was a prophet reporting her prophecy to the pope himself.
"You speak as though you intend to love him, do you?" Arthur pondered curiously.
"I intend nothing, dear cousin, only suspect. That is all a woman can do in these times is suspect and be a spectator." She sighed, "but I am also worried." What am I saying? I feel as though I've read a verse from God or something so poetically important. Why does he allow me to poses such feelings? Will I love?
"He is a coward," whined Galahad as he stepped up beside Aislin. "He would have challenged Tristan first if he was brave."
It only took a fraction of a moment for Aislin to smack him upside his head. "Did you not hear what I just said?" Galahad cowered to the side in fear of another offense.
"Weapons in hand!" Bors voice brought everyone's attention back toward the duel. Aislin found herself shaking slightly in the rush of excitement, Arthur took her hand to help calm her nerves and she thanked him for his kindness.
"It is only a playful challenge not a duel to the death. You have nothing to fear, my cousin." His voice had been lowered so that she was the only one who heard.
"I know, I just don't seem to know who I am lately," she confided her voice rigid with worry.
"You'll do fine. You are as strong as you are willful and not one of my knights could disagree with that." Arthur paused gripping her hand somewhat tighter, "Please do not fret. You are too good a person to let such a thing as this cause a flicker of fear to reside in your heart."
Aislin nodded and in biting her lip she let go of Arthur to stand on her own and watch the scene unfold. Her long strands of hair blew in and out of her face with the breeze though her gaze never faltered. She knew this whole fiasco had been conjured for her own person, though she did not feel honored nor did she dress as an honored person would. Instead she had donned a rather ragged garment that seemed not to have been worn in atleast six years. The black cloth was not flattering to her light complexion at all and looked almost deathly upon her body, but perhaps that is why she wore it.
The young woman's eyes flickered helplessly as Marcus' feet slid back in the gravel from the force of Gawain's blow upon his sword. Her heart raced to watch such grotesque violence between two men. How one could stand to battle as they did was beyond her comprehension at that time. She scaled along the crowd catching glimpses of the dark art through gaps in the audience, sometimes seeing a raised sword other times simply hearing the clanging. She had not wished to see much of it at all for fear her heart would burst with anticipation.
Then, as soon as it had begun it was over and parts of the crowd roared with glee while others were arguing about the debt they owed on their bet. "MAKE WAY PLEASE! MAKE WAY!" Aislin shoved herself through the mesh of people and into the center of the arena, so to speak.
Her breath quickened in her throat and she felt pressure build up and wrap itself around her chest, there was to be yet another duel. Aislin's eyes lowered to those of Gawain's whom had been lying with his back on the ground, a sword at his throat. He would later tell Aislin that it was not by skill he was defeated but by his clumsiness in tripping over a rock. Briefly the young woman's eyes met those of Marcus' and with a quick sigh, almost of relief, she turned and protruded back through the crowd.
Marcus removed the blade and helped Gawain to his feet, they shook hands and then Gawain disappeared into the mist of people. The young man was now alone and at the center of attention, he had a chance, or so he was allowed to suspect. His eyes became heavy as Tristan entered the ring that had formed around them, a single curved blade was gripped tightly within his hand, and he looked unmistakably fierce. Marcus unwillingly shuttered, but soon gained control of his nerves reminding himself that he was simply another man.
"READY?" Questioned Bors elatedly.
"If I should fall to your sword," whispered Marcus, "then finish the deed. For I shall have no other honorable obligation to another man if not to have a somewhat small but significant obligation to her."
"As you wish," muttered Tristan impassively.
"BEGIN!" Shouted Bors above all other commotion.
The fight began rather hastily; Tristan's movements were more defined and smooth as if one was writing a rhythmic poem, whereas Marcus' movements were more bold and choppy as if one was butchering a beast. Aislin squirmed uneasily at the sidelines following the battle with tense eyes. This would be the decider, she thought absently. Her heart thumped as she watched Marcus' take bruise after bruise from the sheer force of Tristan's impact. At one point Tristan caught Marcus off guard and pelted him with the hilt of his sword. It was obvious that Marcus was well out of his league and exhausted from the previous duel, there was no way he could win.
Aislin rung her hands anxiously as she stood just to Arthur's side. She couldn't help but struggle with her emotions; this man, this courageous man had done all of this, went through every obstacle imaginable purely for her love. Does he not deserve it after all of this?
Marcus found himself cornered, his grip weakening and his eyes becoming heavier with every passing moment, he was finished. He barely even noticed his sword being tossed from his hand, or the impact of the gravel upon his knees. What he did notice was Aislin; her caring eyes filling with tears, those willful and empowering eyes. He longed to hold her once more, to feel her sweet breath warm on his cheek once again, he took a final breath and tried his best to remember her as she was with him the other night. The moonlight glimmering on her face and shinning through drenched hair, allowing it to glisten. "Aislin," he murmured as he closed his eyes awaiting the final blow that was sure to come.
"STOP!" Marcus' eyes flew open amazed and astonished at what he was witnessing.
Aislin was breathless and shaking, her gown billowing around her rigid legs. She had seen Tristan's objective, had known his movements all too well enough to suspect his final decision. Her body was positioned directly in between Tristan and Marcus, her left hand unknowingly gripping the blade of Tristan's sword. Her blood ran down the length of the blade and dripped off the tip, staining the ground with its crimson ink.
"I was not aware that the rules had been changed," she vented exasperatedly, "to suit the demise of the defeated."
"He asked it of me," Tristan explained halfheartedly.
Aislin took a moment, now feeling the twinge of pain from the blade imbedded in her flesh. "I forbid it, and since I am the one for which you are fighting, you will obey it." Her eyes flashed with an indescribable harshness, one she hardly knew of herself. "Please Tristan," she pleaded softly.
The knight stretched out his free hand and gently removed her palm from his sword. He stuck the blade into he gravel and examined her hand, now with both of his. "It is not too deep," he paused, his voice low to match hers. "I can wrap it if you wish."
"Thank you, but I think I can manage it." She pulled her hand from his coldly, and formed a fist with it allowing more blood to seep out between her clenched fingers. Aislin then opened her palm and pressed her hand against his cheek, "so you always remember whose blood you split on this day." She smeared her blood on his flesh then sauntered off back through the awed crowd.
"Aislin!" Arthur called after her as he jogged away from the scene and through the winding corridors of the villa. "Aislin stop!" She was just in front of him, tripping and stumbling over her own gown.
The young woman flung herself behind a pilar, tears cascading down her red face. Arthur stepped into the shadow of the pilar, standing just in front of his cousin. "Arthur, I don't know what to do. I have nowhere to turn," she sobbed as she leaned her weight onto him, burying her face into his shoulder. "I feel so unbelievably helpless."
"Shh," he rubbed her back soothingly, "we'll find a way to work this out. Please do not worry yourself. You are too strong for this."
"Strong," she whimpered. "I am not strong at all. I fear so much, too much. I just… I just want it to end. Why is God so cruel? Why must my heart suffer so?" Her heated tears dripped onto his jerkin. Aislin spent most of the night standing there, pouring her mind out to Arthur's suggestions in hope that it might relieve some of her stress.
Dawn burned brightly the next morning, causing Arthur's eyes to sting from their lack of rest. He had learned so much about Aislin the night prior, so much he had never learned before. But what frightened him the most was her humanity that below the tough outer shell of her being was a timid little girl with fear buried deep within her heart. The one thing that he could always depend upon Aislin for was her potency and her valor. After all she was the one person he knew to have suffered as much as him, but now not even that allowed him to depend upon her.
He looked upon her for so long, too long as one of his companions, a knight even. But a knight she was not, she was indeed a woman and perhaps it was time Arthur began to treat her as one. Last night had simply proven this concept for him; he could not be the commanding officer of this garrison if he had to take responsibility for her willfulness as well. She would merely have to embrace her place as a woman now that she was officially sixteen. This seemed reasonable to him.
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Around mid-day Aislin had finally worked up the courage to speak with Marcus. His father and him were busy emptying their hut of their things and packing it into their caravan. Her hair was loose and drifting aimlessly around her shoulders, but she had not noticed for she was too consumed in her thoughts to care. As she turned the bend she stopped and starred out at them working diligently, one arguing with the other on why they should and shouldn't have come here. For a brief moment she though how much it would please her to see Marcus stay within reach, but then she came back to her reality that it merely was not possible for either of them.
She took small light steps towards the dwelling trying her best to appear as though she hadn't intended on heding this way but since she was here she might as well stop to chat, it didn't work. Marcus' father stood in the door frame, a clay pot clenched within his arms as he stared indignantly at her. "I was wondering if… if I could have a word with your son," Aislin murmured, "please."
The older man turned and shouted into the hut, "Marcus, you have a visitor!" He then headed down to the carriage and propped the clay pot in it.
Marcus appeared in the archway where his father had just stood. "Aislin," he spoke almost breathlessly. "What are you-."
"I thought you might want to walk with me," she jumped in, "that is, if it is fine with your father?"
"My father will not mind if I go on a walk," he jogged down to her his eyes fixed on hers. "Shall we?" She nodded curtly and started down the pathway with him.
After an hour of small talk about what their lives had been like before they met Marcus broke in a conversation about the day prior. "It took courage to do what you did yesterday."
"Courage," she laughed bitterly. "Courage to stand up for someone who has no right to be punished, a child has that kind of courage."
"But perhaps not the strength to use it," he jutted in. "You had no fear of that sword and barely even felt it when it had sliced your hand." He lifted her bandaged hand to her eye level.
"That is not courage; I have never fought in a battle against numerable odds, or spoke for a culture's freedom, or risked my life for another's. You might say that standing between you and Tristan was risking my life, but it was not. I refuse to fear my brother's sword; never have, never will." She noticed the perplexed look upon Marcus face and realized she had said something she should not have.
"Your brother?"
Aislin bit her lip, "well not exactly my brother. But he still referred to as the same." She gave Marcus a sympathetic look, "I know you don't understand. You see, six years ago I was brought to this fort by my aunt, I told you this. About a year later the knights arrived, you also know that. But what you don't know is the true relationship between Tristan and me. He was the only knight at that point in time who had dared to protect me from jests and the harsh insults created by the other knights. At first I hadn't understood why, but then he explained it to me. He had once had a sister, the same age as I, who died due to an ailment.
"He was very close to her, and so in meeting me he saw a bit of her as well. And thus goes our tale of kinship." Aislin laughed cheerfully, "no one around here dares insult me for fear of Tristan. He and Arthur are my sworn protectors, you see?" She had stopped walking and was now facing Marcus dead on, "his love for me is of a brotherly nature, that is why he protects me." She swallowed hard, "I can't deny that I…I care for you. But I cannot allow there to be love between us. I am too troubled and too independent, I fear, to ever be close to a man without giving up a part of who I am."
"I don't want you to change, Aislin. I love you for your spirit, for that wonderful spark you emit into peoples lives. You and your cousin, Arthur, have the power to change in people what they cannot change themselves, the ability to allow them to see their faults and to mend them. Do not change, my love, for that would certainly be the death of me." His hand warm on her cheek he leaned in and kissed her deeply. When their lips parted he took her hand in his and pulled her to the stable," here, there is something of which I intended on giving you."
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By sunset Marcus' caravan was leaving the garrison and Aislin was anxious to say her parting farewells. "Let us see how you fare at riding shall we?" She suggested to her newly acquired transport.
Aislin rode the beast hard up the length of the grassy hill, her hair and gown whipping in the wind. "Almost there," she whispered to the animal's ear as they neared the top. Gallop after gallop they came increasingly closer to the crest until it was finally upon them. "Now!" She screamed, as she pulled back hard on the creature's reigns causing it to nay and stand back on its hind legs.
Marcus turned around in his carriage as he watched Aislin with marveled eyes. His father, perched next to him, slapped Marcus on the back. "You gave her the horse anyway! That was to be solely for you wife! Now what are we going to do when we find you another bride?"
"There will not be another bride," muttered Marcus distractedly as he continued to stare back at the young woman.
Aislin patted the neck of the gallantly black horse as it became settled once more, "Shh, calm now Ladiah. It is done."
She thought back on the last conversation Marcus and her had had:
"She is for you. My father and I brought her here as a wedding present for my bride, but I couldn't think of giving to anyone else."
"Marcus, I… I couldn't. She's so beautiful and strong, but I can't accept her. She is meant for your bride and I am not that woman."
"There will never be another bride, not for me. Please, I want you to have something to remember me by. Look, she likes you." He pointed out the fact that the horse was nuzzling my neck, I couldn't help but oblige, and after all I was sincerely taken with the horse. "Thank you."
Aislin waved one last time and continued to sit atop her horse, Ladiah, and watch as Marcus' carriage slowly disappeared from view.
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AN: Ah, I love this chapter! It contains my favorite quote of the story so far: "If I should fall to your sword… then finish the deed. For I shall have no other honorable obligation to another man if not to have a somewhat small but significant obligation to her." I was so proud of that line, I thought of it all by myself… not that I haven't written this whole thing by myself… but hey what can I say? It makes me happy. I had so much fun writing Marcus' character, and to think originally I wanted the audience not to like him? I feel stupid because I actually fell for his character; it's such a pity he had to leave. Though I will mention he will have somewhat of a brief part to come later down the road. Not big so don't get too excited.
Also, some of you may think that Aislin is a tad too mature for her age based on the things she says. But I strongly disagree, for one reason: based on how her life has spanned so far (death and grief) I believe she deserves to be mature. Secondly: I am only sixteen and If I can write this story and think this maturely I think it is fair enough to say that she, who lives in a much harsher world, can be just as mature. So yeah, I wasn't arguing with anyone because no one has brought it up for me to argue about. But before you were given the chance to say anything about it I wanted to just point out those two factors to better help you understand her character.
With that said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry again for not updating that fast… my computer is driving me bonkers! I have other chapters that I am posting today as well.