Chapter 9: Shadows in the Darkness

Ripples. Her fingers made ripples on the once still waters in her basin. Each dab she made on its glassy surface resulted in ripples, ripples that brought change. Her hand grazed the water's façade, creating gentle waves that caressed the basin's edge. She did it almost instinctually. Disturbing the calm, creating wrinkles of change. She did not want the waves to stop. She did not want the ripples to disappear. She did not want to see her reflection on the pristine face of the crystal waters.

It was not because she could resist the temptations of vanity. No. Everyone succumbed to its lures, even the most humble of people. She refused to look at her face, if only for the dark fear in her heart. She knew what she would see in her reflection. A guilt ridden face. Tear stained cheeks. A heavy brow. Haunted pale eyes. It was her eyes that she feared the most. They held all her secrets.

Suddenly, a knock came on the door. It was soft, hesitant. She was thankful for it. It ripped her gaze from what would be her clear reflection. She lifted her head from the ground and looked upon the heavy wooden door that shielded her from the prying eyes of many.

"Who is it?" She whispered into the darkness. Her light had been out a long time passed. The only light in her room now was that of the graceful moon's. It was her only source of illumination. It was her only companion on this fated night. She desired only her solitude for the evening. No small talk with people who would patronize her for her melancholy ways. No prying minds attempting to make sense of her erratic behavior. No. Tonight, all she needed was the comfort of her solitude.

"It is I." At an instant, she recognized the voice that came from behind the closed entrance. How could she have known her to be still in the land of the waking? She had left neither word nor signal that would lead to such an intrusion. Perhaps she had not been as clandestine as she would have hoped. Even her company was not desired this evening. No. She would much rather prefer to be unaccompanied in the shadows.

"Please leave be." She whispered quietly, returning to her silent motions in disturbing the water's serenity. Small splashes of it reached the floor from where she sat. Small spots of moist liquid momentarily stained the floor, but then quickly dried. But it did not stop her. Still the Lady perused into rippling the water, paying no head to the calls of the man who lay behind the door.

"Please my Lady. Allow me to enter." She pleaded with her. Such care she heard from within her voice. Such gentility unique only to her. She smiled slightly upon hearing it. It was as if she was being taken into a world lost within the sands of time. She brought back memories which would only lead to imminent tears.

"I beg you. Allow me my peace." She pleaded in return. It was not gentility that could be heard in her fervent request. It was more of desperation, a quiet, yet insatiable plea to be left in solitude. She did not want to burden her with her thoughts. Her thoughts were that of folly, none of which could be of interest in a woman of her stature and interests. She begged her leave, only for the fact that she desired not for her to be dragged to a matter which was far beyond her duties to her, if she indeed had any to speak of.

For a time being, all was silent. There were no further pleas or knocks or even footsteps leading away from her door. All that could be heard was the sound of the splashing water. She knew she stood still behind her door. She was adamant in her desire to help her, and yet she knew there was nothing for her to do. Her dear friend knew it all too well.

"I will not leave you Guinevere. I will not allow you to face the shadows alone."

The memories of that night flooded Guinevere's being. It was all vivid within her. Sitting calmly at the floor, creating ripples in a basin of water. That night, the night when Alyanne stood outside her door was not a memory easily forgotten. She could still feel the tears she had shed then, her grief freely flowing from the chasms of eyes. She cried then with wanton abandon. She cared not how long her tears fell, just as long as they kept flowing. She remembered then a desire to be numb, a desire to end all her pain. She was a different person in those days. It was her daily prayer that she had changed from what she was. The days of late were not ones for tears or solitude. They were days of happiness and unity.

The Moon shone from her bedroom window. It still provided the resolute light she craved in hours deep into the night. No longer was she on the floor, creating ripples in the clear waters. No. She was now comfortable positioned in her bed, in the arms of her husband. Her lay on his chest. Her arm, wrapped around him. She could feel Arthur's heart beating from within him. His heart was steadfast, calm. His face lacked any worry that it may have carried if he were indeed awake. She could feel him lose all tension and inhibition whenever he slept quietly though the night. He was at peace.

She, however, was still awake. Her consciousness had yet to surrender her to the land of dreams. She knew sleep was long from her mind. Her thoughts still ran rampant in her head. Though her eyes remained closed, she could everything with perfect clarity.

She knew not why sleep had not claimed her, but she did know that it was happening more often as the days and nights passed her by. The nearing of winter had an ominous feeling about her. It was not merely because of the impending arrival of the Saxon hordes. It was not because of the secrets Arthur had kept from her about winter's first frost. It was not because of her avid worry for her kin. No. The matter which plagued Guinevere day and night was nothing of those. The matter was of her own heart and her own sorrow.

One would not think the Lady Guinevere as a sorrowful lady. Many would deem her more than joyful. A blushing bride, a young Queen, there were many things in her life that called for jubilation. At the face of many, yes, she rejoiced, happily and openly. But within her solitude, in the late waking hours of the evenings, she would grieve. She hid her anguish all too well. No one need notice it. No one need know. But it was there, lurking in the deepest regions of her heart. She knew not why it was still present. She thought it buried long ago. But it was true, not all pain faded with time. There would forever be a piece of that ache residing in your heart for as long as you lived.

Guinevere stood up, careful not to wake her husband. He stirred but a little, sleep still overpowering him. She stood up and walked to her dressing table. She opened the bottom most drawer. There, hidden beneath silks and satins lay a trinket which held her saddest and happiest memories intact. She fingered the tiny stone at the middle. She sighed.

The stone shone not as the gems she had now. It was simply a stone like many others. Randomly selected from the grounds of the Northern forest, it held no special physical appearance. It had no luster, nor brightness, nor extraordinary color. It was merely a stone. What set it apart from all others was the fact that it was wrapped in twine to be molded into a make-shift necklace. The twine was twirled in no particular pattern either. It was simply wrapped with careless crudeness. Such a necklace would fail to fetch any price, except for the price she held for it in her heard. To Guinevere, it was a treasure beyond comparison.

Once again, she fingered the trinket. A lone tear fell from within her eyes. She whipped it away with her free hand and instantly remembered why she kept it hidden. It brought back too many unwanted memories. She quickly opened the drawer and hid it once more, shutting it abruptly. That chapter of her life was indeed…closed.

She stood up and slid carefully back to bed. Arthur once again wrapped his arms around her, making her feel safe and secure. The sound of the pitter patter of rain drops could be heard. The rain was coming to cleanse all. She closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be a better day.

-o-

The trees were whistling an eerie tune throughout the night. It was howling. Their leaves rattled incessantly. Their branches trembled rapidly. All was a stir amidst the storm that brawled outside of her window. She was terrified of all that was happening about her. Slowly, she tightened the linens around her. She shut her eyes, not wanting to see the lightning as it raced through the evening sky. Tears fell from her eyes. She was alone, and afraid.

She longed to call out, to be heard, but her voice abandoned her when she needed it the most. Help. She wanted to cry for help. Please. Someone find me. Someone rescue me. But no such plea came out of her dry mouth. She was too afraid to move, as if any action would curse her with the storm's wrath. Run! Her brain told her! Run! Go! But she was frozen. She could not move an inch out of her bed, let alone run outside the door. All she could do was keep silent and weep, helpless in the turmoil that surrounded her.

The door slowly creaked open. The light of a candle faintly lit her room. She could see a vague shadow though the linens. It was moving towards her. The visitor sat by her bedside. She could hear her move slightly about the room, positioning himself to suit comfort. Suddenly, but gradually, the linens were pulled from her face, revealing the smiling face of which she had desperately longed to see.

"Why so frightened my dear? Does the storm alarm you so?" He asked her, gently stroking her cheeks, wiping her tears away. His touch was warm on her face, like a silk grazing atop a delighted lady's skin. His smile told her that all was to be well. He would not let any harm come to her. He protected her. But still, the fear was fresh within her mind, for it still raged outside like an animal scraping on the doors, wanting to burst through.

"I am afraid." She said, barely audible. She was so frightened, she felt so alone. Even his presence helped little to calm her already shaken nerves. She tried to concentrate on his voice. She tried to look only to his eyes, forsaking the image of the storm outside her window. Tears never ceased falling from her eyes.

"Crystal rain from the bluest sky. That is what he always called her tears. To him, her tears were only to be shed out of happiness. Nothing was to be gained by spilling them for something as pointless as fear. Her tears were precious; he did not need to tell her that, for she knew, simply by looking into his eyes. He continued to wipe them away, one by one. He smoothened her hair, passing his callus fingers through her feathery locks. It relaxed her visibly, calming her fears. "You need not fear." He whispered to her. "All storms pass."

She moved to one side, giving him space to lie beside her. He laughed somewhat. They were never too old to sleep in one bed. He took his place beside her and wrapped her in his protective arms. She held him tighter as the thunder clapped and its booming noise resonated in their ears. But still, he ran his fingers through her hair, telling her, without words, that she need not fear as long as he was beside her. He cooed words of comfort in her ears, words that only a brother would say to a sister. He smiled. Though the years had passed, she was still his little sister, terrified of storms. "I promise that no storm will come without me by your side."

With that, her eyes fell in lethargic tranquility. This was his promise. Her brother kept his promises. She knew then that she need not fear storms as long as he kept his promise to her. He would always be there to smooth her hair when the lightning haunts her evenings.

That was all Elaine could think of as she idly stared an empty wall. That dark night when her dear brother rescued her from the raging tempest. She was a girl of eight back then, and her brother was at the age of seventeen. She was still fearful of storms and Bragdon would always manage to save her, as he had done all of his life. He never tired of calming her as she cried in helplessness. He was the only family she ever knew. He practically raised her. Never once did he complain. He accepted his duty as he would a privilege, with honor and dedication.

She never knew her mother. Some say Priestess Nimue died of an unknown disease, but all knew it was because she had lost too much blood in giving birth to her daughter. No one wanted Elaine to carry the burden of her mother's death upon her shoulders. Bragdon made sure that she knew that none of it was of her doing. Thus, she grew up, loved and free of any care or guilt. She lived her life as any child would have, in utter happiness. She did not even mourn her mother for she had her brother to take care of her.

When she reached the age of sixteen, she and her brother moved from the fertile lands of the west to the perilous territory of the Lake. They say that more men were needed to protect it's sacred waters, and to keep the Saxons out of Woad territory. Her brother went, reluctant to kill, but eager to protect. She always admired him for that, but at the same time, cursed him for such a decision. It would not even be a year before they were separated. She was called to duty by Merlin, her mother's brother, as well as a great wizard. He said she would be a Priestess as her mother before her. She followed hesitation heavy in her heart for leaving behind the only person she loved. She knew not that the next time she would see his face would be when he would be riding off to his end.

She mourned him with more pain and anguish than anyone thought her capable of. They knew not what it felt like to lose the only family you have ever known. Soon, her bereavement disappeared, only to be replaced by hatred. She directed all her torture to the one who she deemed responsible for the misery she was forced upon. Alyanne was to blame. She was the cause of it all. She was the one who deserved to die, not Bragdon.

She heard the drops on the roof. It was beginning to rain once more. The Priestess Elaine laid down on her bed, huddling the linens and furs closer to her. She was still afraid of storms.

"Bragdon…" She still needed her brother.

Tomorrow would be a better day.

-o-

There is always something about a child's tears. Listening to them as they fall is almost unbearable for anyone. Their resonating sobs, their supplications for comfort, all heart wrenching. Upon hearing them, it is as if your heart is being torn to shreds. To bear witness to such a sight is torture. One could only guess why we even allow them to feel such pain, when we as feel the pain for them as well.

Her tears stained the earth which she laid on. Like little drops of rain from the heavens, her tears graced the lands, dampening them with her cold fear. She did not know where to go. She knew not who to turn to. She wanted to scream, but her life depended on her silence. Her heart raced with each second that passed by. Her entire body shook with an irrepressible feeling of utter hopelessness. Her blood ran cold with the thought of being discovered. Her eyes were wide open, fearful of the thought of anyone approaching. Her breaths were uneven and haggard. She could not help but sob the tears she shed for she was merely a girl hiding in the forest from the proverbial wolf.

She kept her promise to her father. She ran to the woods as quickly as her feet could bring her. She hid behind a great cedar, curled herself in a nook within it's great roots and she kept quiet. She promised her father she would not make a single sound. In turn, he promised that he would come back for her. She would wait for him. She would wait for him to come back. Soon, she though. Soon, he would be coming pass the trees and she would be taken home to her mother. She would be safe after that. She would never need fear again. He would come.

Even from where she stood, behind a great cedar tree deep in the heart of the woods, she could hear them. They haunted her. Their screams, their pleas for dear life. She could hear them all, and yet she did nothing but keep still and silent. She could not help. How could she? She was too afraid to even more a finger to her mouth to keep her lips from trembling. She wanted to be found. She could take it no longer. She wanted to be found.

Alyanne never slept anymore. She just simply stared wide awake in her room until what few moments of rest came upon her. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking on the lit candle at her night stand. It's flame was flickering violently because of the wind the storm brought. Yes, a tempest raged about her, but she cared not. All she could put her focus on was the flickering light of the candle. Dancing in the wind.

Her mother. It had been a long time since she last thought of her dear mother. Viviane was the first to be truly called the Lady of the Lake. For her it was not a title of war or of obligation, simply a name. It was what her father Ieuan called her the first time they met. Viviane was dancing for the Night of Ilyaren. She had been chosen by the Priestess Nimue to offer the dance of gratitude. Ieuan could not keep his eyes off her. She moved with such passion and elegance that his eyes would not stray from the sight of her. He called her the Lady of the Lake for she moved like the Sacred Waters his family had been sworn to protect. Alyanne could remember her father saying that everything about Viviane reminded him of the Lake. Her eyes were like its clear waters. Her disposition reminded him of the Lake's serenity. Even her laughter reminded him of the sound of the Lake as ripples appear on it. For some reason or another, the name caught on. The people of the Lake called her that in the truest of respect. The people said that it was only fitting that their leader fall in love with the very embodiment of he had dedicated his life to protecting.

Still the candle's light shimmered though out her dimly lit room. It's light drew her as a moth to a flame. It pulled her in closer and closer, deeper and deeper.

It was so dark then, almost pitch black were it not for the fires that raged…fires that burned her village to the ground. She remembered the flames. It was a sight of immense beauty, and yet it caused the destruction of all her father strived to build. What took decades to build only took but moments to destroy. She was only a child then, but she could remember. She remembered.

The moment Ieuan realized the danger that surrounded them, he immediately sent his seven year old daughter to run to the woods and hide. She could remember crying, begging him to keep her close, to not leave her alone. But in the end she obeyed. She could remember him giving her a very tight embrace, one made by a father who knew he would never see his daughter again. But despite that he promised that he would come back for her, that he would find her in the woods and bring her home. She remembered her mother's wet cheeks as she kissed her one last time. Viviane was smiling at the last time Alyanne caught a glance of her face, she hid her fears and sorrow with that smile. Alyanne knew that she didn't want her child to worry. Her mother was such a brave woman to reassure her daughter with such conviction, in spite of the deafening screams that enveloped them. She did not have to say anything, her smile reassured little Alyanne, no matter how small a measure it was.

The attack raged for what seemed like forever. All she wanted to be then was found. She just wanted her father to come and find her. She was so frightened of it all. Thankfully, the great Earth found pity for her and sent her little form into a deep slumber.

Ieuan found her sleeping inside a nook within the roots of a cedar tree. She fell asleep waiting for him. Alyanne could remember the absolute happiness she felt upon seeing her father's face as she woke from her slumber. Her eyes lit up with an unfathomable glee which drove her to quickly spring from her makeshift bed and give her father a big hug. She felt relieved and revived. She felt safe. It was as is her father's presence promised her that she would be alright, no matter what the danger. It took a decent amount of time before she discovered that there were tears in his eyes. They were not tears of happiness. All the happiness she felt was abruptly wrenched from her upon hearing of her mother's death. Viviane died the night of the attack. A sword was trust in her body by a Saxon whose body was burning for his crimes. She felt her world crumbling above her and crushing her with its weight. She did not even get to say goodbye.

The past seemed like a blur to her now, but she could remember that night and the morning after. It was the day her father lost a part of what joy there was once in him. It was the day that Alyanne began to abhor the sight of a sword, but reluctantly learned how to use it if only for the necessity. The loss of her mother was unbearable, but she and Ieuan carried each other on their shoulders. They would not let the other carry the burden alone. She took care of her father from then on. She cared for the house, cooked, cleaned, did all the things her mother used to do for them. It was as if even in that young age, Alyanne understood that her father was the only family she had now, and she was even then afraid to lose him. Little did the both know that he would die eight years later in the exact same way his wife did.

In the stillness of the night, Alyanne offered a prayer to Viviane, to Ieuan. She prayed that they no longer watch her from their clandestine position within the Earth's arms. She didn't want them to see her as she was…alone.

She laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. She couldn't feel sleep come any closer to her, but she could feel peace at the effort of trying to find it. Tomorrow would be a better day.

We all keep hoping that tommorow will bring something better, something worth living for. We hope that tommorow, our mistakes will be erased or that we wont be afraid anymore. However, shadows lurk in every corner, even in the darkness.

Here we can see that all have shadows in their past, even Guinevere. Her sadness clings to her. What could be the cause of such pain for her, and will she really ever burry them forever.

Elaine must learn to live without anyone to rely upon. Since her brother's death, she has had to live despite her self admitted helplessness. She is still afraid of the storms, but now there is no one to comfort her.

Alyanne's past has been filled with death. Her parents' deaths are one of the most vivid in her mind. It was a pivotal moment in her past when she decided that she would no longer be helpless, despite her reluctance.

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