Letter by Courier Chapter 1: Listerblossom, a sherwood smith fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Crown Duel or Crown Duel/Court Duel- they belong to Sherwood Smith- but I do own Neriar the healer and Kidra, a resident of Tlanth.

This is supposed to be a companion to "Jerrol, If It Pleases You, My Lady." You will still understand this fanfiction if you haven't read the other one, but I still encourage you to read both! I really love Crown Duel; I think I've read it more than any other fantasy book ever. In fact, it's sitting here beside me right now.

The letter arrived by courier this fresh winter morning. I was in the kitchen with Mother helping knead dough for the evening's rolls and enjoying the feel of young sunlight streaming in through the windowpanes. Sharp scents of crushed herbs and spices lingered around my nose, my cheeks flushed from the heat of the fires. As I squelched the pale goopy dough between my fingers with great satisfaction, my mind wandered to Meliara, who was off in Athanarel. I missed having my friend here beside me, making bread and talking idly as my mother scolded us both for our inattentiveness.

Before last year, our talk had been more or less gossip and cheery bantering; after she had returned from her harrowing escapades, she was…changed. Whenever I tried to talk to her about it, she would just sew up her mouth and give me a half-hearted smile. But she needn't have said anything; the black eye and blood-crusted wounds were testimony enough. Whenever she banged her ankle unexpectedly, Meliara would always bite back her curses and grimly continue on, pretending that she wasn't in pain. Pretending that she didn't have to limp when she walked. And I, in turn, pretended not to see the horrific scars across her ankle, as if a madman had taken a knife to her skin.

I still remembered the time I had first read her diary. I had felt awful about it afterwards, but it was just…lying around and oh, well I had no idea! I should have stopped reading it after realizing what it was, but it was her fault for keeping things from me!

Before last year, Mel had never kept anything from me.

Now, it felt like she was increasingly shutting me out.

I did not want to do it but it was necessary.

I had been dusting the library shelves and study tables as usual, when my cleaning cloth disturbed some pages of a dark green book that had been lying open on Mel's usual window seat. As I smoothed out the sheaves of delicate cream paper, my eyes recognized Mel's blobby hesitant letters. Admittedly, she had been practicing, for the handwriting was more elegant and legible, but I recognized her hand, nonetheless.

Tuesday of November the eleventh, it said. And then my eyes fell upon the words underneath. I had known that soldiers and old war veterans sometimes suffered from flashback and went into post-war shock but I had never thought that it would happen to Mel. No, never Mel. Sickened, I read. I read about her past, how she was caught by Debegri and taken to Chovilun. I read about how she had wakened screaming in her sleep, only a few scattering of days ago.

In my dream, Shevraeth never came. He never arrived in time to wield his dagger and save me.

And so, they tortured me.

First, the two torturers had fun with me, the beaten scrawny dockside beggar countess. The countess they branded, just to hear her grunt as she tried to fight off the pain. They grew bored of that because I refused to scream so they gave my black eye company. The fist across my face that nearly dislocated my jaw. The punch to the stomach that left me gasping for air.

After a time, I tensed up as I realized that their blows were not falling; wondering why they had finally stopped, I looked up to see a gloved hand held up to cease their actions. Hope rose within me until the light glinted off the gems sewn into the honey-leather cuffs. It was Debegri. In my dream, I could still see him as clearly as when he had been standing there, gloating at me in the park. The drooping mustache, the cruel smile. And worst of all, the bright hard eyes. Whatever I may say about him, Shevraeth's eyes were never like that. Blank and apathetic, yes. Sharp and acute, very much so. Narrowed with suppressed laughter at my expense, more times than I can count.

But he had never looked at me like this.

'So, little countess,' Debegri sneered and forced my head up so hard that my neck twinged. The back of my skull slammed against the chair's low headboard with an unpleasant thunk. 'Tell me now; what is your army's plan?'

'If you think I would tell you, you're a lot stupider than I thought you were,' I croaked. I had never been good at piercing retorts but I got some satisfaction from seeing Debegri's eyes glitter with anger. That had been my initial plan, hadn't it? To anger him so much that he killed me outright.

Kill me…I was going to die. I thought I had conquered this feeling, but it rose up again in my stomach, like a dragon rearing it's ugly head from a swamp. I was going to die. There were no 'if's or 'maybe's; there was no hope, there was no escape. I was really and truly going to be snuffed out like a candle, alone with no one else to be with me but the two torturers and Debegri. The realization made me dizzy. And suddenly from memory, I saw Shevraeth glancing down at me tucked against him as we rode towards the capital. And again, when I glared at him through an invalid's eyes as he stood before me in Galdran's dungeon, grey eyes focused on my sickly face.

Why should I be thinking of him at a time like this? An uneasy familiar feeling bubbled in my middle and I pinned it on anger. Just so, I glared at Debegri as I had glared at Shevraeth. Let death take me; I shall die with honour, I thought and raised my head like a queen. But that did not stop the tiny picks driven under my fingernails, the heavy dirty tongs that broke my joints, or the light flexible whip that licked my back, leaving ribbons of blood.

And as I endured, sometimes thrashing with agony, I knew that I would never see him again.

Shevraeth.

I woke at first-gold, screaming from phantom pain, phantom torture. As I muffled ragged breaths, I pricked up my ears for any footsteps but they did not come.

I won't tell Oria. I can't bear to tell Oria; I won't sully her with my stories.

I'll carry this burden alone.

Sometimes, I can feel her looking at me, wishing that I would open up to her, like I used to.

I can't.

Breathing quickly, I had pushed the slim tome away from me and closed my eyes, willing the vertigo to go away. This was not the same girl who had danced so gracefully to the ancient music of the Hills nor was she the same one who had grinned and presented me with a bouquet on my Flower Day. These nightmares, they were new. That grim expression that now frequently flitted across her face, that was new too. How could she bear all of this and not fall apart, like a ragged doll slowly splits at the seams?

"'Ria?" Meliara's voice had sounded from the other side of the tapestry. In a flash, I was at the nearest bookshelf.

"Yes, Mel?" I had looked up innocently from my industrious task. She had smiled faintly and remarked that the equerry had just brought in another stack of books for running great houses suggested that we go have a look at them. I had agreed and left my duster where it was but I was not so busy that my eyes skipped over the green-bound book on its place by the window. I would open it again.

Over the past weeks, I read snippets of the diary. Dreams, thoughts, pieces of history, I absorbed it all like a sponge.

Thursday, November thirteenth,

I dreamt of him again. It was when Bran and I had been riding back to Tlanth from Renselaeus. The arrow pierced my back instead of my brother's and Bran was the one that got away.

When he finally reached me with his regiment of blue-black-and-white soldiers, I was already dead and left for the crows to feast on. Just as he had held me when I had attempted to change my bandage for the first time and almost fainted, likewise did he now hold me close in the crook of his elbow. That accursed low brimmed hat shaded his face too well, but somehow, I knew that he was crying.

And again, I woke up, clutching my pillow in a death embrace, nose prickling. His proximity had triggered some strange emotion in me, like I had been put together all wrong and nothing fit. From he day we first met, he's made me feel this way.

And to this day, I know not why.

I did not have to stop and wonder who 'he' was. The next entry was short.

Saturday, November fifteenth,

Someone told the new healer, Neriar, about the dark circles under my eyes and she's given me some herbs to stew into tea, to help my sleep. But I don't want to sleep. Still, I've been dutifully gulping it down under Julen's watchful eye, but I skip my dose whenever she's too busy to notice.

I don't want this. My dreams scare me.

I gripped the diary guiltily; I was the one that had told Neriar.

Wednesday, November nineteenth,

I had another dream of last year, from when I had stopped by the lakeside town and stolen Debegri's horse. I was in the warehouse, shivering with dread and praying that none of the Renselaeus soldiers caught whiff of me. And I heard his voice, calm and cool as always. 'I'll search this house; spread out to the other storehouses."

My heart stopped right then and there as if it were frozen in a bead of amber. I prayed, I prayed, that no familiar blonde heads would stick themselves through the very door I was watching with baited breath. Seconds ticked by. Or were they seconds? Mayhap they were minutes. Years. Centuries. Yet…

Nothing.

I relaxed a fraction of a centimeter and back up a step…into something warm and breathing. I spun around to catch his trademark assessing glance, which slowly melted into indifference with just a shade of amusement. I did not stop to think how he got there; People and places can emerge whenever you least expect it, for that is the nature of dreams.

'Found you,' he said with a frosty smile, as if we were playing hide-and-hunt like children.

Ready to sling back a prickly reply, I opened my mouth and then closed it with a surprised snap as he backed away, smiling inscrutably. As he reached the other door from whence he came, he gave me a graceful ironic bow. 'It's been a while since we've seen each other,' he remarked.

'You mean to say, 'since we've quarreled with each other' don't you?' I fired back.

'As you like it,' he replied, trying to suppress a broad grin. His head jerked up as he heard the clattering of Merindar horses and soldiers outside. He donned his famous low-brimmed hat before nodding to me. 'Maybe I shall chance to come upon your hiding place another time, when we may speak without being interrupted,' he said dryly.

'What is that supposed to mean?' I demanded, trying to puzzle out what he was trying to say. Burn it, those court-toadies and their stupid double words.

He did not answer, only ironed out any traces of expression. 'Until next time…'

Countess, is what he always called me, I remember.

'…Meliara,' he said instead and I shivered. For some reason, I was scared. Scared, confused, angry, and disoriented: not a new feeling. Especially when I was around him.

The entry stopped there. I had shut it and slid it back to the table. Who was this Marquis of Shevraeth really and why did Meliara hate him?

Why did she always dream of him?

The next day, I saw Jerrol waiting for me in the kitchen, eyes bright but smudged underneath with dark circles, nonetheless. "Ri," he said, smiling at me. "I thought you might be here."

"Back so soon from the capitol?" I asked, giving him a kiss.

"Lord Branaric took pity on me; said that I had no business running about in this chill and snow, no matter that it was my job."

"Lord Branaric said that?" I asked, surprised. As long as his servants assured him that they were content, Branaric believed them. He did not have the ability to look past the smiling face and see into their eyes, like Mel did.

"His words exactly," Jerrol confirmed. "Took me by surprise too; I think that Lady Nimiar is good for him…while I'm thinking of it, how did Milady Meliara react to Lord Branaric's engagement?"

I felt my face heat up. "Er, I haven't…exactly…told her about that yet." Jerrol raised an eyebrow at me. "What?" I snapped. "It's not something lightly brought up in conversation and you know how Mel feels about the people at Court."

"Ri," said Jerrol in a soft reprimanding voice. I sighed; I knew I was just making excuses.

"Fine," I muttered then remembered something, "Oh! I've been meaning to ask you; what think you of the Marquis of Shevraeth?"

"Interesting question," Jerrol answered. "What does one think of the Marquis of Shevraeth? Well…for one thing, he's not at all like we were expected to believe."

"An extravagant Court flunkie with only a mind for horseracing and gambling," I recited and rolled my eyes. How many times had that been drilled into our heads, last year?

Jerrol smiled. "Nothing of the sort. He is…well, he's popular with everyone, save the Merindars; when he's not at Petitioner's Court he's holed up in the library most of the time."

Sounds like Meliara, I thought to myself.

"All his friends thought they knew him, that is, until the events of last year. Now, I don't think anyone really knows who he really is. He's certainly never shown his true self to anybody, that much I know."

I smiled as I remembered Meliara's diary detailing his infuriating calm and drawling voice. The imperturbable indecipherable Marquis of Shevraeth.

"He's to be the next king," Jerrol added. "That's what public opinion says."

"And do you go to Athanarel to serve Lord Branaric, or to listen to the latest gossip?" I teased him. We both laughed and then I sobered. "Do you think he will make a good king?" I asked him.

"He is a mystery," Jerrol said, "but from what I do know about him, yes. Yes, I think he would be a good king for Remalna."

Friday, November twenty-first,

Jerrol arrived in Tlanth, from the capitol today; it is good to see Oria so cheery and bright. I think those two never left each other's side, the entire day today. I'll never understand twoing, I swear I never will.

Saturday, November twenty-second,

Bran arrived unexpectedly today. He's brought that Shevraeth with him and a lady, whom he is apparently going to marry. Did he think to inform his sister, his next of kin, the only family he has left in this world! Of course not.

And I showed up to meet her in my old tunic and skirt, raggedy and uncouth. Shevraeth saw me in my shabby state too. Not that I care, mind you. I don't care at all; he's seen me looking a lot worse than that, last year. Except once, when he was in the cavalcade in Thoresk.

I had been sitting on the grassy bank as he rode past. I remember what I had been wearing; that beautiful blue dress of Ara's, my hair covered with the enchanting scarf decorated with dancing animals and birds. He was in front of me, I remembered, and he looked right in my eyes. I don't think I've ever been so scared. But then, I'm not sure he recognized me. I did have a clean face…and a dress, instead of a dirty tunic and gore-spattered trousers. I wonder what he thought of me then, as he saw me sitting at the bank. Ara had said that I was beautiful, graceful like a bird, but of course I didn't believe her. But what about Shevraeth? Did he think me beauti-

No! I don't know what's come over me! It's all Bran's fault for showing up like that and not even telling me about Nimiar and bringing that damned marquis! Oh, burn it all!

I shut the diary and tried to suppress my laughter. Oh, poor Mel; she didn't even understand what was happening to her. And she was attributing all these pent-up feelings to anger and hatred. I wish I could help her, but that would mean telling her about snooping in her diary and I could never do that. She hadn't noticed how I secretly watched her meetings with the marquis. She didn't realize how much she blushed, how many times she blindly reached for words that would have come to her easily enough in other situations.

And she didn't know what that meant.

Monday, March eight,

I haven't been able to write in so long; Nee has been teaching me how to be a Court lady. It's ironic that I'm actually trying to become what I've despised for so long, but the longer I get to know people like Nee, the more I realize I've painted them all wrong.

I can see why Bran likes her; I don't think it would be so bad, having her here at Tlanth as family. She plays the Mandarel, and I've grown fond of listening to her play Mama's old harp. It brings back old memories, but these are not unpleasant ones.

Having Shevraeth near me is not as trying as I thought it would be. Though I still seem to harbour my old anger against him, I've surprised myself with the amiable conversation I've managed to hold with him. That is, of course, until we are both alone; then, I keep bringing up last year and begin squabbling. I'm ashamed with myself. Whatever meager respect and admiration I've gained with him, my attitude towards him even now has probably banished those sentiments permanently.

My nightmares have slowed to a trickle; maybe it's from having company here. Or maybe it's from having him near me. I don't know. I think I shall have to deal with these nightmares my entire life until I come to terms with them. And I think I shall dream of Shevraeth until I come to terms with him. But life, I can't do it; I've had more than one person tell me that I need to make my peace (Oria, Nee, and Bran, just to get started) but I just can't face him. All I feel when I see him is anger, confusion, and embarrassment.

I'm going to Athanarel with Bran when the three of them go back; ostensibly, I'm there to attend my brother and Nee's wedding, but I'm driven by my own personal reasons as well. I want to know what will happen to Remalna with the trading of powers from Merindar to Renselaeus. I want to visit Athanarel's great library and read and think and learn about everything that I was ignorant of for all these years.

As for the matter of Shevraeth, the royal palace is large enough so that we will not have to see each other from one day to the next, although our tendency to run into each other all the time argues otherwise.

I don't dare bring my diary to Athanarel with me; with my luck, it will be discovered and blabbed to all of Remalna and I will be riding back in disgrace to Tlanth in a fortnight. Instead, I shall keep this in a safe place.

Indeed, did she keep it in a safe place; one day, when Mel was busy tending to her mother's garden, I swear I emptied out the whole castle looking for the blasted thing but I never found it. I never read anything else written down after that last entry.

The night before the four of them were to leave, Mel tromped past me in her old comfortable riding gear and out to the stables; I knew she was going to ride out along the mountain trails for the last time before she left. I was setting out ingredients for my mother's special pie when I heard hoof beats in the courtyard gallop steadily away towards the hills.

How will Mel hold up in Athanarel? I wondered as I beat together berries and milk for the filling. She was admirably quick-witted and sharp, but also prone to flashes of anger. The words that she used to charm and befriend were also the ones she lashed out with, disregarding the consequences of he actions. She would either enchant the courtiers with her wry humour and steady wit or they would break her as easily as a clay doll.

I did not want to think of that.

I was halfway through making the pie crust when the Marquis of Shevraeth rang for coffee. I was the only one in the kitchen so late at night, so I brought a cup and a steaming pot with a saucer of lemons, milk, sugar, and a small crock of honey up to his rooms. Quietly, I knocked at the tapestry door.

"Enter please," said a calm voice, weary but polite. I pushed aside the tapestry to find him kneeling at the windowseat in his rooms, reading. It reminded me so much of Meliara that my breath caught for a second.

"Your coffee, milord," I said, placing the tray near him and curtseying.

"Tell me," he said as I turned to leave. I looked back and he indicated the hills that loomed outside his window. "Is there any vantage point in this castle from which I may be able to see these hills better?"

"The…the north tower, milord," I answered. He nodded slightly and I knew that it was not what he really wanted to ask me. "Is there anything else, milord?"

"Yes…the- the countess…does she do this often?"

"Do what? Oh, you mean gallivant off to the hills in the dead of night whenever she pleases? Yes, milord, she does." He smiled slightly so I continued. "Lady Meliara loves these hills; she loves Tlanth. I don't think she could want anything more than this; I don't think she could imagine anything more than this as home…milord, may I speak plainly?"

"You may," he answered, curious.

"I'm worried about her; I'm worried about what will happen to her in Athanarel. And…she dreams, milord." I wasn't intending on saying it but it had just slipped out; I could have bitten my tongue off.

His eyes sharpened. "Dreams?"

"Yes, er…she has nightmares…about last year. The war," I said reluctantly. "Sh-she doesn't know it, but I can hear her screaming in her sleep."

I swear I saw him wince; it might have seemed like an involuntary blink of an eye or a fidget, but I know what I saw.

"I did not want such a thing to happen to her but…we can't prevent everything."

"No, milord, we can't," I agreed, thinking about Meliara's diary entries. He had tried to keep her as safe and protected as possible, though Mel hadn't seen that yet.

He really does care about her, I thought and realized that Meliara's feelings (no matter what she called it or mistook it for, she did have feelings for the marquis) were not one-sided. He might even love her.

The absolute complexity between the two of them was enough to send me off into bouts of laughter again, though I contained myself as best I could in the marquis's presence.

I looked back out the window again. "Are you waiting for her to come back?" I asked him.

"No," he said a bit too quickly. "No, thank you…and do not worry unnecessarily, I will make sure her visit to Athanarel is a pleasant one." Of course he would; I wasn't expecting anything less of him.

As I was leaving, he made a semblance of reading but the book was upside down and I wasn't fooled. Indeed, as I was making my way down the stairwell, I listened for the whisper of his tapestry door closing and the sound of boots making their way up to the north tower.

The kitchen smelled of baking dough and berries when Mel finally came in, sweaty and happy from her ride. "Mm, that smells good 'Ria," she said as she walked past. Suddenly, she stopped. "Hey, was anybody up in the towers?"

"The towers?" I tried to look confused.

"Yeah, I thought…I could have sworn…ah, nothing."

"You need sleep, Mel," I said helpfully. "It's a long trip to the capitol tomorrow."

"Yes," she nodded. "Yes, you're right. Good night, 'Ria."

"Good night, Mel."

It's been months since she left for Athanarel. I was remembering how much she loved her mother's garden as I walked past it today, smiling as I thought of the beauty it would flower into when spring came. I was hoping that Mel would come back to Tlanth in time to see everything that she had worked on bloom in shades of blue, red, violet, and buttery yellow. I made my way to the kitchens to help my mother bake bread. And then, the letter came by courier.

It was a fat envelope, written in Mel's hand and sealed with the Astiar crest; as I broke the seal and shook the envelope, two things fell out: a letter and another envelope, which looked mighty expensive.

I decided to read the letter first.

Dear Oria,

I hope you, Julen, Caleb, and Jerrol are doing well. How is everyone doing in Tlanth? I've received your monthly posts but I still miss Tlanth fiercely. What I wouldn't give to be riding underneath the stars, through the mountain trails around Mount Elios again.

I'm sorry I haven't written back in a while. We've had a tricky time at the capitol, ourselves. The Merindars launched an attack against us, but thanks to the Hill Folk, we were all saved. Think of that! The Hill Folk came to Athanarel!

If you've already opened the envelope…well, I really don't know what to say! I can just hear you trumpeting about how 'you knew it all along' and then jab me with embarrassing questions. I can't begin to tell you everything; I wish I could write it all out for you, but you know I'm no good at that. I promise to answer all your questions and tell you everything from beginning to end if you are able to come to Athanarel. Vidanric wants all my friends from Tlanth to attend, so I really do hope you and everyone else can come.

I hope I'll see you soon.

And the letter ended. Well, reading it had already brought up questions to my mind. Who was Vidanric and why did Mel want us all to come to Athanarel? Puzzled, I looked towards the other object. The envelope was starchy white, sealed with the royal gold seal. I slid out a card, pale green and blank, save for a bit of gold curlicues at the corners. I opened the card and was immediately assaulted with a mass of uniform golden script. Skipping by the "The esteemed royal palace of Athanarel hereby" and "with joyous celebration and pomp" my eyes caught something and automatically dropped down to a set of gold letters in the middle.

"…announce the wedding of Lord Vidanric Renselaus, marquis of Shevraeth, and chosen king of Remalna to Lady Meliara Astiar of Erkan-Astiar, former countess of Tlanth, future queen of Remalna."

It named the dates, time, and place and then carried on for a time about joy and celebration.

I didn't read on; I had dropped the card in shock. Mel…our dear barefoot, prickly, ingenuous Mel… was getting married, and to the marquis of Shevraeth, nonetheless!

"What is it, Oria?" Julen asked me. I looked at her blankly, then broke into helpless giggles. I laughed so hard that I would have fallen to the floor, if Jerrol had not been there to catch me.

"Ri?" he asked me anxiously and I looked up at my husband, still laughing. His brow wrinkled.

"Mother, round everyone up and tell them to pack their bags," I wheezed. "Mel's getting married."

"What?"

But I couldn't go on. Giggling, I brandished the card and let her snatch it from my fingers.

"Come on, Jer," I said when I finally caught my breath. "We're going to Athanarel."

Notes from me: Many people told me Vidanric's last name was Renselaus, so I changed it. Erkan-Astiar is the castle in Tlanth, I seem to remember.

Chapter 1- Listerblossom- used as a painkiller in Tlanth. You're intelligent people; you can figure out why I named this chapter 'Listerblossom.'

Chapter 2- Moonflower- Meliara's favourite flower. It blooms white in Tlanth but blue in Athanarel. It's ironic how Meliara finds love (while staying in Athanarel) in the heir to Renselaeus, whose House color is blue.

I live for coincidences and ironies like this. It's my sole purpose in life.