Quinn Chapter 1
She opened the leather book. It's binding was impressive. The gilding very nice. She'd never spent so much money on a book before, especially on an empty one. She glared at the inside cover. The first page was asking for a title. She considered all the puns available in her repertoire.
QWIN? No.
God save the Quinn. Ha! No.
Quintessential Quinn.
Quinntakill. She laughed hard. Good one, but weird. I'm not exactly on the most wanted list.
Harlequinn. Quinnpossible.
Born to Quinn. PenQuinn.
In her head she saw an idea for a penguin drawing.
None of them seemed right. She penned in a nice calligraphy: Quinn in the top corner and then began to draw her own likeness. This is where she would start.
-------------------
She opened her journal and stared at the drawing. I guess I was feeling feminine that day, she thought to herself. She shrugged. All it needs is a sword on my back and some boots that I could actually walk, move or fight in. She laughed in spite of herself and took a deep sigh. Her past as a leader was gone. She'd lost countless friends to death and destruction. She wasn't sure she would even want to restore her old life, no matter how pleasant it had been. It was no longer an option. For the most part she was enjoying her quiet life, as much as she could anyway.
Dear Journal,
So I guess this is the start of something new. I'm expanding my horizons today. I have convinced two men to escort me to the town north of me, under the cover of night. I've not told them much more than my needs and that I was willing to pay handsomely for the trip. It took me a while but I believe I have found the most honest and most reliable of men in this town.
I have not heard a peep of information about anyone inquiring about the girl with the violet eyes. I'm glad. The only thing in this town is simple people and while I prefer it that way, I've also grown tired of not having anyone to talk to.
Instead of just traveling north I've decided that moving north would best serve my interests in the long term. The other town is more active and I hear it is richer. Both ideals are much more to my liking. Perhaps I can use my skills as a healer. Although, I'm not sure I'd like people to know that I have any skills. I've not encountered anyone this year that I have trusted enough to tell them about myself. Perhaps that's another reason for the move. No woman is an island.
While I've heard no chatter or whispers about me, I've also heard no word about him. Of course I have had to assume for quite some time that he's gone from this world. Still, I hold out that small hope that he's out there somewhere. If he is, I really hope he's in England. If he is then there is no doubt that I will find him, or he'll run into me. He's not a quiet man by any means. It's been no small task for me to remain quiet, but at least I have succeeded. I can remain secretive and uninteresting, which makes me nearly invisible. I doubt a single person in this town will remember me when I've gone. I consider this a huge accomplishment.
Q
She sat the quill down and shook her head. Sometimes when she let them, the bad memories of her past snuck into her head and haunted her still. She hated it when that happened. She rested her forehead on her spread out fingers in frustration. She wondered if the old saying was true: Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
No. Too many innocent had suffered, for nothing but an overwhelming greedy few. True evil is when you do that which is unthinkable, without thinking or caring about how it will affect others. True evil is true selfishness. She took a deep breath and stood up to stretch. She'd not done her exercises for the day. It must be affecting her mood. She closed the journal and looked upon it. Maybe starting this book wasn't the best idea.
No. Don't doubt yourself. It is a good thing. It will keep records on everything that happens to you that you care to record.. At least if things were written down she wouldn't have to think back as much to keep from forgetting it. You can never forget it. Why do you want to keep those memories so much? They didn't necessarily define her. She had stopped blaming herself. Still, those memories were still very important to her future. For how could she proceed ahead without reflecting on her past?
She wouldn't write the details of the fall. Those were unimportant. Her home was gone. Her friends were dead or scattered. She wasn't sure any of them would even want to talk to her if they could, and if so she had no need of friends like that.
------------------
The move had been pretty uneventful. She was thankful for it. She'd been enjoying her time in her new home town. Today she'd purchased her second field. She was very excited about it. She spent a great deal of time shopping in the market today. She now had some furniture, the most important of which was a new bed.
She was out shopping again today, but after that she hit the tavern. On her way home, the wind was whipping fiercely. Quinn had barely gotten the door closed when a knock came. She opened the door slowly to look out, the rain still dripping from her hat. It was a young messenger. "Are you Miss Quinn?"
She nodded. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter. She was surprised it was so dry, given the conditions outside. She went to her purse on the counter and gathered pence for him. She was generous because it was cold outside and yet he'd managed to protect her parcel so well.
Here you go, young man. Get a hot drink from the tavern up the street. You'll catch your death out there!
She scoffed as she closed the door behind him.
She turned toward her dining room table and sighed. She took off her hat and shook the water from her hair. She sat at the table and opened her letter.
--------------------
------------------
Quinn had to respond to this fellow. She was going to be gone for a week at least. She'd offered her service up for escort and now she was ready to do her duty. She had good reasons for going on the trip. She was really impressed by the group that was in town, specifically a rather good looking chap she'd not met before. She was incredibly interested in his joie de vivre attitude and his exuding confidence. He'd won her over because he was a good writer and that was something with which she always identified. Perhaps she'd show this mystery man a thing or two also.
She began her letter:
To whom it may concern,
My presence is a plus,
of which you should not fuss.
My intentions are pure,
and wholesome my good Sir.
I ask only for patience,
for it makes the best sense,
I enjoy your curiosity,
just like I enjoy this city.
I've found it fun and breezy,
so far the people seem easy.
I come from far away,
but you should not trifle today.
I've answered your questions,
but of you, I hear no mention.
Illuminate me oh brilliant denizen.
Or quiet down and take your medicine.
With Great Regards,
Quinn
--------------
Quinn walked in the door, threw her coat on the kitchen chair and then took off her beautiful new boots. Once she had done so, she collapsed in her large easy chair. She let out an exaggerated sigh. She was so relieved to be home.
After having some hot tea, she sat to write in her journal about the adventure she'd just undertaken.
Dear Journal,
I am more relieved than ever before to be home and in this location in the world at this moment in time. This is the perfect place to be: north. The only person who confuses my life is now traveling: south. Thank Jah Almighty for this.
The man in question was indeed the only man I've met recently that I was ever interested in. And well, there are many great men here, but none of them single. As we all know I have morals, and so I am only truly interested in the single ones.
I think since arriving in Westmorland, I've met a lot more single boys than men. I'm not being cruel; that's just the way things are. I think I let my accent slip recently. The man in the tavern might have noticed. He was Scottish. Then again, perhaps because he's Scottish, he didn't notice? I'm unsure. Anyway, I've got to be a lot more careful in the future.
I mean I know I'm slipping up because I was flustered that day. I was having a really hard time letting go of the possibility of myself and this fellow getting along together. Getting to know him better made it more difficult to let him go. I don't even know what I'd do with a man like that. He'd probably drive me mad. My problem is that I always seem to fall for the bad boys, specifically the ones who charm me and make me laugh. Gah. He was just terrible. I couldn't handle it. I admit it. I started drinking a little too much that next night. I even let my nickname slip. This fellow I met was calling me by it and introducing me to people by it. "This is MiMi." Dear Jah! I must've had way too much to drink. Way too much. I've got to watch my whisky consumption.
So, I've a cuppa and I've settled in for the night. No more trouble with that fellow trying to confuse my life. My Word. He's got confusion on women written all over him. I hope he doesn't break too many hearts. Either way I'm glad he's left. If the good Lord Jah has mercy on me I'll never see that fool again.
Quinn
She shut the book hard and nodded to herself in a matter-of-fact way. She was indeed glad to be rid of him, even though he had warmed her heart, at least for a little while. In a way, she was feeling pretty spiteful. So, she was glad he was gone. She wouldn't be able to hurt him or his girl. This man had hurt her though, even though he probably hadn't meant to. He was with another and never should have let her think otherwise.
She stood up, turned on her heels and closed the curtains. Bastard.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tomas
The sun had just gone down and a dark figure walked slowly down the street. He threw his hood up and over his head. He was unsure if he would be spotted by the lady in question. If she was who he thought she was, this town was in trouble, and he wouldn't allow her to stay. Was she the widow? He had to know.
No one was looking. He picked up the pace and swung by her house. The mailbox had a single letter in it. No candles were lit inside. Now's my chance.
He grabbed the letter quickly and continued walking. He turned back to listen but he heard no sounds. There was no trace that the Lady was home. He hoped she was away tonight. If she was the Widow, she was a very dangerous woman. Rumor even had it she was a witch with enchanted weapons and dark magic tools. She was no one to trifle with.
As he continued walking he was extremely curious about what she had replied back, but he dared not open it. He had to wait until he was back at his camp. Only then could he be sure that no one had followed him.
---------------------------------------------------
The Boxes
Quinn had three boxes. One smaller one made from iron, and two larger ones made of bronze. The second one was her favorite. She kept it on her dresser. It looked somewhat like a jewelry box and she kept the most important of her treasures in it. It was very heavy and therefore difficult to steal. Regardless, she kept her home locked up tight and had hidden these treasures in the ground at some point just to hide them from the world.
Now, in this home she didn't fear their safety. She had purchased the land directly in between a group of very strong gentleman for this reason. Even if someone somehow had broken into her home, her neighbors would no doubt see them. This made her feel very safe, for she trusted her surrounding neighbors. Men like Kei and Morat were very alert and observant - sometimes to a fault. She chuckled to herself. She knew well their family history, even though they did not know hers. She knew they were trustworthy and she had come to Kendal for that very reason.
Each box had a different floral or scroll design. In each she kept something precious to her, but the contents of each were extremely different. Some had no value but symbolism and sentiment. They had no lock, but each appeared to have a keyhole - to fool those who would attempt to open them. Robbers could steal them if they wished, but they'd never get them open without destroying the box and in some cases, all of the contents. Only she could open them. Each box could be manipulated to open if pressed, pulled or popped in the right direction. Chopan was a genius and he had only ever told her how to do it. Other people would never figure it out.
She stared at the box on her dresser as she slipped on her hose. She remembered what led to the boxes creation. Months after the fall, she had finally picked herself up and swore revenge. She remembered the best revenge was "to live well". That would be the first step of any revenge. She had no ability to feel emotions at the time, so she did what any insightful woman would do in that situation. She had written a list of goals. Boxes were her first goal. The contents wouldn't define her, but inspire her.
So, before continuing on her journey, she took the possessions that she cherished and buried them in a secret place, a spot near her home on the coast. She buried them under a huge tree right next to the very cliff-side she had lamented at time and time again. This was hard to accomplish in secret so she had to do much of it at night and with very little moonlight to guide her.
So, while these items hid in the ground, all wrapped up in blankets, she went off on her first journey. Luckily she had one friend that she could depend on. He would tell no one she was still alive. Even upon being tortured she knew he would never sell her out.
The Boxes. She needed three of them. They weren't just material objects. They were symbolic and important. In each she would keep a different piece of herself. In each she would hold onto that which she both cherished and hated. About two years ago, she had commissioned a very old smith to make these boxes. It hadn't been easy, but her goals never were.
She had to travel to the depths of a forest in the East. In the hills she sought a man named Chopan. This town in the hills was not a place where many Europeans had ever seen and she was sure that none of her native people had ever been there. This accomplished one of her goals: To boldly go where no Celt had gone before.
She remembered arriving and finally meeting the legend. Chopan, the husk of a man was just as she expected. He was old, grumpy, pessimistic, and unceremonious about everything. After convincing him to take on her job, she watched him work. The amount of gold she had to pay had been more than she expected, but money was no object in this task. The man was meticulous and detailed. She watched him work by cursing at his selected project. Day by day she watched, frequenting taverns sparingly, so as not to bother the town folk too much. She sat and sipped her tea. She wrote. She listened to his voice raising and lowering as he spoke of things which were both poignant and pointless. Some of it was very philosophical and she listened to more of his words than she had expected to. He told her as he worked why he lived here. I'm not long for this world Mistress, but if I were in the islands, I wouldn't live to see one day after the other.
She remembered he had spoken those words while he worked on the last of the boxes. Her trip had been more than just a quest. It had opened her eyes to the manner of which people hid themselves from the world. The brightest and most brilliant of people were also often those who did not seek fame, fortune or politics. They were smart to work for self preservation. For even though this man showed brilliance in topics of philosophy, mechanisms and the science of things, he would never be a proper, well-spoken gentleman. He was too bold and too sarcastic. He was no doubt in the small town because people kept to themselves and none of his ridiculous mumblings would bother the natives. In England, Ireland or Scotland his mumblings would have had him stabbed at the very first evening of his stay in an inn. Very clever fellow, she thought. I understand now Chopan. You're much wiser than you seem. I'm sure if I were to stay, I would learn much from you,, she said in Slovak. But as you know, life is fast and my days are numbered as well. I must set about to create a new life and succeed at it.
She got off the bed and put her hand on the jeweled box. She pressed in the sequence and opened it. She smiled. Her goals, letters, notes. They were all here. She updated her goals anytime she heard news, and today she had something to write. She always wrote her notes in French: Jan 29; 1463:: One of them nearby. Funny. I am always informed of what I need to know, which I enjoy. Opportunity will come, but even with it I do not have any blood lust. Very curious indeed!
She closed the box. She remembered the day that she returned to her old home to fetch the possessions buried and put them in her boxes. She stepped foot into the house and realized that it had not been touched after months. For a moment she was very impressed by that. Then she realized that everyone knew that it held no valuables. It wasn't out of respect, but rather a lack of interest.
Also upon returning to her homeland she had learned about the gossip. The people that she had called friends had stolen everything from the people, the treasury and even burned their lands to the ground. They had stolen women and killed children,
They did this without remorse. Instead they threw small excuses of rationalization at people who asked opinion from them. They still lived in the land and tried to live a normal life there, as if nothing had happened. This news flared her temper. A man who is afraid of nothing should be afraid of everything, she thought to herself. This took her back to the memory she had of the gentleman who had just romanced her in the recent past. He too was afraid of nothing, but it took every bit of strength in her to keep from killing him or his courtier.
Ijots, she mumbled to herself. They surround me, do they not? She remembered the rumors. They blamed the victim and people bought it, perhaps to rationalize their own sense of guilt. For no one was blameless in it except the victims themselves. She remembered hearing of a few suicides after the fall. Surprisingly, they were not victims, but relatives of the culprits. Still, with their victory in hand, they ignored the lamenting of their own family members. For their "cause was just" or so they told the people.
So unbelievable it all was and yet it was so. She remembered standing in her foyer and thinking that none of this was believable. For a human being could not help but to feel guilty eventually. But these people; they were maybe not really human. Only then did she realize what a human being was truly capable of.
She would take a while to come up with the entire plan for revenge, but she would exact it some day. She was sure of it. She would outlive them and out-think them. Some of this justice had already been served, but she had no hand in it. In some cases, the culprits had been killed by their own, after betraying a confidence. People that betray friends are likely to do again. The most cold-hearted were already dead. Quinn somewhat lamented that. She crossed them off on her list with a frown. Not only did she not want them dead, but she was disappointed it left her with no options regarding their lives.If revenge is a dish best served cold, maybe I just want to give them brain freeze. . .
She knew that her idea of "revenge" did not include death. No. Never. Not death. For that limited options. She would never have let them get off that easy. Instead she would make them understand what had been done to her people. In that way maybe it wasn't really revenge at all, but justice that she sought. She didn't want them in some foreign prison and she didn't want them dead. Well, perhaps it keeps others from being subjugated. In that way, it might be a good thing that these evil people were no longer roaming the Earth and finding victims. Personally, she just wanted them to get it. Maybe she'd even take an apology. I doubt it, she chuckled. Well, t'would be a start.
The creation of these boxes was only the first of her many quests. Some of the things on her list were things that she thought she might never accomplish, but she had to strive for them anyway. Many of the things on her list were not so difficult. She would accomplish some of them pretty quickly. Others would probably take the rest of her lifetime.
The objects in these boxes would help her, both to accomplish the tasks and to keep her sanity while doing so.
Quinn got out of the carriage and practically fluttered through the door like a butterfly. She'd been spending many late nights in the tavern with Sythe. It was odd because the usually activity in Kendal had died down as of late. It was almost as if the town was silent for the first time in it's life. It was just her and Sythe nearly every night. She didn't know what everyone else was doing, but she did hope it was temporary.
She didn't altogether hate it. She didn't have a hard time finding him and there was plenty of time to spend with each other away from prying eyes... It was a fine time in her life for this. She put her other goals on hold, just for the moment.
Well, not all of her goals. She had just been placed third on an election list in Westmorland's castle. She did expect a council seat when the results were in. She was nervous about the outcome and wondered if Sythe would actually make the cut. It would be close.
Quinn grabbed her journal, and plopped down on the bed with a smile.
Dear Journal,
I'm so excited to sit down with you to tell you all about this date. Sythe has arranged a trip. I don't know where exactly, but he's taking me on an adventure. I can't wait . . It is exciting to think about dating again.
He's also extremely attractive. I'd better keep my wits about me. No. Really.
To be continued . . .
Q
--Continued from: Glassy Shores --
Her very long date, possibly the longest she'd ever been on, was almost over. Riding with Sythe wasn't a difficult experience. He was very fit and knew horses quite well. She trusted his strong arms to keep her safe, on horseback and off. It had been a while since she had trusted anyone, but with him things had been different. She appreciated the fact that he was so honest, so charming, so attractive. Their outing was definitely memorable. He was a knight - literally. She grinned to herself. Her husband never had titles, but he had been just as chivalrous, daring and dashing. She wondered how she managed to find two of these men in her lifetime.
It had been long enough since his death, that thinking of her husband no longer brought tears instantly. Instead whenever she thought of him, she felt lucky, to have been his wife. She was fortunate. Their life together had been fun, colourful, and full of love. It had been short, but it had been the best part of her life. She was long convinced that nothing would ever top it. Inside a very harsh world, she had lived in heaven. Short or long, true love is so worth it. 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. How true that was. She had been resigned to that truth for a long time. Sythe had been the first person ever to make her think that she could possibly be that happy again. She sighed and gave Sythe a quick squeeze.
As they came over the hill and saw Kendal, Quinn felt refreshed, and excited, but also tired. Camping and traveling was always a little wearing on her. They'd also done extensive tandem horseback riding too, which was going to add some soreness. Being alone on a horse was easier. You have control over what's happening. Riding behind or in front of someone was just not the same. Still, she relished the entire experience. They hadn't known each other that long when Sythe proposed this outing. It was something unusual for her. She thought it would be good to get out of her comfort zone.
She did appreciate all the time that Sythe had put into things. However, she longed for her bed. And a bath perhaps. She wasn't a pampered woman by any means, but she did love sleeping in her comfortable bed. It called to her . . . . As did her town. She had once lived in a castle with servants and assistants, but she didn't long for that. All she really wanted was that bed.
When they had finally arrived at her door, Sythe helped her from the horse and unloaded her bag. She immediately saw that her flowers hadn't been watered. She was glad. It meant that no one had been lurking at her residence. She gave Sythe a knowing glance as he waited for her to unlock her door. She did look for a note or a letter around the entrance to her cottage, but she saw none. Good. Maybe that stranger won't bother me now, she thought. She was curious who he had been, and why he'd been so interested in her. She hoped he didn't know her.
Why would he know you? You're dead. She nodded to herself and motioned Sythe to put her things on the chair inside. Thank you, My Dear, she said earnestly. I had a wonderful time. She smiled as he reached to kiss her. She accepted, giving him some sweetness in return.
He took her hand and kissed it before he went out the door. She sighed, an almost swoon escaping her lips. She chuckled. She still didn't know how he did that. She didn't even know how much she loved him. They had just met, but there was something about him. He bid her adieu with a wink and a wave. Then he mounted his horse and quickly rode off. She rose a single eyebrow as she closed the door. He was quite a character.
No doubt he has things to do today, she told herself, as she turned toward her bedroom.
She opened her journal first. She wrote quickly:
Journal,
It was so amazing. Well, I think . . . let's start at the beginning. Hee hee! He wrote me a song. He told me he loved me in the song with the prose of it. How original is that? He played his lute. He's a good singer. The song was deep and expressive, and you know how I love a good surprise.
For the first time in a long, long time, I was speechless. And then he kissed me. He kissed me so well. He has this understated brilliance. I . . . just didn't expect it. We kissed a few times in the days we were gone. I'm not sure it was supposed to be that long of a trip, but we were lost in the joy of it. A connection like that isn't soon forgotten.
I think he really loves me . . . He certainly thinks he does. Maybe my bum's out of the window? Oh well. What's for ya, no go bye ya.
Quinn
The morning sun and birds that Quinn usually hated didn't seem so terrible this morning. She awoke with a large yawn and rolled over to sleep some more. Her mind quickly thought over the things she had to do this morning. Did she have to get up?
Yes. Yes, she did. She'd been gone for a few days and needed to do many, many things. Her cows had waited patiently for her, and she hoped that her farmhands had taken good care of them. Still, they'd need attention. Fine, she rolled over again to get up, but it was still slow going. Her back was still sore and she hadn't taken a bath last night. She had just cleaned herself off, and then gone to sleep. Maybe she'd have a hot soak after visiting the cows.
She jumped up and headed to the kitchen. She gathered oranges for some juice in a bowl, and began singing the Highest Apple. She brought the oranges to her juicer when she noticed that she had a little more kick in her step. Comhla rium. A tha thu an drasd ... *
Just then she heard a knock. It was a loud, stern knock, and it stopped the singing instantly. Curious, she said. Who'd knock like that?.
She shook her head as she headed for the door. She was quite curious, and then suddenly nervous.
As she opened the door, she saw a handsome dark green cloak and the hands of a gentleman younger than she. His face was stern, but worn. His clothes had definitely been on the road. Maybe he camped. Perhaps a soldier, or a mercenary. She studied his face for memories of Kendal residents, but he did not live here. She would know it.
She just stood there for a moment, looking at his face. Suddenly it came to her. Her eyes grew wide with discovery and shock. Ach naw! She was frozen. Tears filled her eyes and in moments she began to hyperventilate. No, no. She covered her eyes with her hands and then wept into them.
Her past was here and despite all the hard work she had done to hide everything about her, he had found her . . . . someone she never, ever expected. She tried to catch her breath. She couldn't have predicted.
* With me, as you now . . .
---------------
He had been ready for many things to happen, but this was not one of the things he had anticipated. A man of war, stealth and killing, he had not prepared for the true assault of a woman. Crying. He now remembered that it was a weakness, but with her, it had always been.
The woman he knew and loved was still here, and she needed him. With no thought of his previous apprehension or anger, he took her in his arms. No. Tis' alright. There, there.
My bonnie lass. Is no need te . . . He used to call her that. He couldn't finish his sentence. He was stifled by the emotions he felt. He wouldn't cry though. Never in front of her. He wouldn't let it happen. His mind raced with all the memories they shared, and the fall and everything that had happened.
Why was she here, he wondered. She wasn't evil or heartless, as he had let himself think all these years. She was broken, just like him. Why is she here? He wanted answers. He would love to blame her, but now he wasn't sure that he could do it anymore. He needed someone to blame. He'd killed so many in revenge. Surely, he could blame more people? Someone left to kill? Someone left to blame. He had to have something left. He would still try to blame her, if he had the strength.
Ye left.
Luv, ye left.
-------
He embraced her?! How could he? After all she had done. She didn't deserve any . . . love. Nothing. It made her cry more to be embraced, and comforted. She tried to fight her way away from him, but he held her and called her a Bonnie Lass. That was when she couldn't handle it any more.
No. Tomas, I don't. I can't. I don't deserve . . , she studdered and began to sniffle. The crying was taking a toll. Surely she could cry for weeks if she wanted to. She chose not to. She would try to stop. She tried the best she could to calm herself down.
She took deep breaths and then realized how much she missed her long, lost friend. She hugged him tight.
Tomas.
-------------
------------
She watched him, clearly emotional, as she would have thought he would feel, but he didn't hate her? How could he not? So many people had blamed her and hated her for everything. She knew that for some it was easier to blame her than to realize that nothing could have been predicted. Their allies had taken advantage of them all. Her guilt was deep-seated though, and she'd alienated herself, instead of ever having to deal with it fully. Maybe she couldn't have dealt with it. She did try to kill herself once. Perhaps she faked her death because she was afraid she'd keep trying until she was successful.
How could she possibly explain this to one of those hit hardest by the ordeal? She couldn't. I . . . had no choice. Tears filled her eyes, and she didn't think he would understand. He knew her, and even he was perplexed by her actions. If this is how a dear friend reacted, how could she explain it to someone who didn't know or care about her? Part of her wished that he would just strike her down and be done with it. Then, perhaps the pain would end, and she wouldn't have to live like this.
The joy she'd felt only minutes earlier was completely overshadowed in this moment. All that she and Tomas were feeling was grief, to an exponential degree, and it was always this way when she tried to think back to it.
She began to dry her tears again, while he listened. Ye could just strike me down - and then it could be over.
Jah knows I tried.
---------------
------------
He missed her. He still cared for her. Looking at him, she knew it, but she didn't know if she wanted to know it. While he'd always been there for her, the moment that she needed him, he was absent. Everyone was. The problem with shared grief is that everyone else is too busy grieving to help you with your grief. With life experience she now knew this, but years ago she hadn't understood. Umm.
Ye should come in. She swung the door open and went to find a good handkerchief. Wiping away the tears, she found some makeup left on her eyes. Oh my. She must look a fright! She laughed at this thought. What did Tomas care for her run eye makeup? He probably wouldn't. This situation was one that was much deeper than the simple attraction of the opposite gender. They had to talk, and it was going to be a very serious discussion.
She knew Tomas had always had a crush on her, and she had never discouraged it. When they were young, she found it helpful to both of them to nurture the idea. She had been his first date, and his first kiss? She didn't remember. Had she ever kissed him? If so, she'd remember. Wouldn't she?
She knew that it must have hurt him when she married. At the time he was just a stick of a boy, with no maturity and no meat on his bones. Meanwhile, she'd been swept off her feet by a very charming, fit, and clever gentleman. He knew how to court a woman. Oh, how she had loved him. She sniffled and sat down in a chair next to the kitchen. For the time being, she wouldn't mention her loss. She would focus on Tomas. More wiping and her eyes were possibly looking better. They were probably as red as cherries, but there was nothing that she could do about it.
She watched him close the door, and she waited patiently for the hundreds of questions that she assumed he would be asking her. She would get up to make him tea, but she was just too emotional, and already drained from their short encounter. She shook her head and then chuckled, Toe - mass. I can nae believe it's you.
---------------
He chuckled, Neither can I. He never really thought that he would find her, and he never imagined that he would be in her home. He had thought about her often over the years. He had no idea what to expect when he traveled here to explore Westmorland. It was surreal. For years he chased shadows of her, and here she was, in the flesh. He watched her sit in the chair. She looked much the same as she did years ago.
He looked at her home, and it's layout as he removed his cloak. He hung the cloak on a hook near the door, and closed the door slowly. He now realized that there would be no more hunting her. Instead, he was a guest in her home. He shook his head at this reality, for it was uncomfortable.
For some reason he still wanted to make a good impression on her. He was still angry, both at her and the world, but his anger had subsided for now. For now, he had questions.
Ye have a nice place here. Honest words. He saw a chair facing her. His face was expressionless as he sat. She had flowers on the windowsill. More flowers, and murals in the kitchen. He saw crafts she'd done, things she had made. A smirk appeared but then quickly disappeared again. He cleared his throat. She was still Sarah. As much as he'd like to believe this was a different woman; someone harsh, thoughtless and cruel, this environment showed the opposite. He'd always admired how feminine, artistic and put together she had been, back in Scotland. Here she had made a home from nothing.
Part of him was disappointed that she lived so well. Part of him was glad. He didn't have a home. He didn't have any place. He had camps, bases, bunks and ship cabins. He had traveled, camped, hunted, and been a soldier for hire. He'd been on the move for years. Every night spent at an inn was a luxury, and he didn't get many of those.
His fingers gripped the chair's arm. Leather. She must have squirreled away some of her fortune. Their fortune. She once had a husband, and a family. He also knew she had a good work ethic. She worked hard, and never asked people to do something that she wouldn't do herself. It was odd, the things that he remembered now.
Alone though, still? He'd have thought she'd be remarried with children - if she were alive. She was alive. He hoped, but he had never convinced himself it could be true, until now.
He rose a single eyebrow as he studied her face. Would it be too much ta simply ask fer everything?
---------------
Quinn laughed, a low, simple chuckle, and sighed. M'laird Tomas . . . Well, tis a tall order.
She rubbed her eyes again with her fingers, and then rested her head on her hand, on the arm of the chair. She knew it would be uncomfortable, but really - where would she start?Aye. I can try Tomas. I really can.
She gave him a smirk, fer you. She already knew he last saw her when her husband was alive. Ye remember the last days? The fall was harsh, and Jaeson was dead. An' family members from many families had fallen. Ye remember what it felt like?
He nodded. No one forgot that kind of pain. I was grief stricken. Well, I think ye know. I was - I tried so hard to be there for the people. There were, graves, dead crops, dead cattle... I blamed myself, above all others. I tried to kill the guilt by giving people things. I ended up giving up most of my possessions. They weren't worth anything without Jaeson anyway.
People couldn't move forward. Many of us were stuck in those first parts of grief, and we couldn't get out. While I did paperwork and settled accounts, and tried to put things back together, I didn't allow myself to feel it. I tried as best I could to be rock hard. An' ye know that's not me, so it was difficult. I don't know how to describe it. In hindsight, I must have seemed cold, hard, but at times - angry, and then nearly catatonic.
When I was at my lowest was when I was ready to pack Jaeson's things up. I couldn't do it. I didn't see it coming. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't fix any of it. He was in so much pain... and died so terribly.
She burst into tears again, the memory of her husband, and his pain. He died not knowing that she would have given anything for him. After a brief moment, she tried to clear up her tears. She wasn't sure why she would be so emotional in front of Tomas. She was surprised. After years, she had cried so many, many times. She really had thought she would never cry over it again, I'm sorry.
(VERSION II of this post:)Quinn laughed, a low, simple chuckle, and sighed. M'laird Tomas . . . Well, tis a tall order.
She rubbed her eyes again with her fingers, and then rested her head on her hand, on the arm of the chair. She knew it would be uncomfortable, but really - where would she start?Aye. I can try Tomas. I really can.
She gave him a smirk, fer you. She already knew he last saw her when her husband was alive. Ye remember the last days? The fall was harsh, and Jaeson was wounded. An' family members from many families had fallen. Ye remember what it felt like?
He nodded. No one forgot that kind of pain. I was grief stricken. Well, I think ye know. I was - I tried so hard to be there for the people. I laid out every plan fer them. I helped them do what needed to be done for their dead, graves, dead crops, dead cattle, and their lands. I gave everything left that I personally had. Twas not their fault this had happened. I felt I should give them everything. So I did. I blamed myself, above all others. I tried to kill the guilt by giving them things, and by fixing things. I tried to make people feel better. I still do. I give too much sometimes. It's a sickness, but I digress.
She sighed, It twas only in that next month after, that I really sat down, and spoke with people. I spoke to many people in order to help them, and to apologize to them. Many of them - they wouldn't let me apologize. Instead they apologized to me. And in talking with them, I slowly learned that nearly every person in our entire community somehow managed to blame themselves, too. The mayor blamed herself for not having enough militia, the soldiers were not guarding well enough, the generals weren't commanding in the right place, the council blamed themselves for not hiding the treasury, the citizens who did not defend that day felt just as guilty. Everyone had some reason to blame themselves, and that made it really hard to grieve.
We couldn't move forward. Many of us were stuck in those first parts of grief, and we couldn't get out. While I did paperwork and settled accounts, and tried to put things back together, I didn't allow myself to feel it. I tried as best I could to be rock hard. An' ye know that's not me, so it was difficult. I don't know how to describe it. People told me that I was resilient, but that wasn't it. I was stuck in some kind of weird denial. I could do paperwork, and speak, but I could not relate to people. In hindsight, I must have seemed cold, hard, but at times - angry, and then nearly catatonic.
That's what took Jaeson from me. The grief. He couldn't recover. I blame meself for it. I was so wrapped up in my own grief that I couldn't help him. I was so mad, at myself, that I didn't see his guilt was so extreme. I was not listening to him. At least, I don't think I was. I was probably cold to him, and I don't even remember how bad I was. I just wasn't myself. Once he realized that I was not coming out of me own self pity, that was when he faded and he died so quickly. I didn't see it coming. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't fix any of it. He was in so much pain...
She burst into tears again, the memory of her husband, and his pain. He died not knowing that she would have given everything to make him happy again. He just gave up.
After a brief moment, she tried to clear up her tears. She wasn't sure why she would be so emotional in front of Tomas. She was surprised. After years, she had cried so many, many times. She really had thought she would never cry over it again, I'm sorry.
--------------
As she spoke and told the story, all the horrors of the war came back to him, memories he had tried hard to bury. He remembered the sights he saw in the war, and his friends and family that fell. He didn't need her to remind him.
He glared at her in anger, but then she began to cry, and he couldn't be mad at her.
This was the most uncomfortable Tomas remembered being in recent years. His heart felt her pain, but he couldn't reach her from his chair. They didn't have any kind of relationship anymore. Did they? He didn't know. It was extremely awkward. Why'd ye have ta go and ask her fer everything? Look what ye did. He folded his arms, and watched her.
Finally he spoke, No. No. Tis ok! Dun cry. . I'm sorry, too.
I'm nae mad. Twas no one's fault.
A light went off in his head after he said this. Are ye mad at her or not?! He took a deep breath as his brows furrowed. He hadn't had to deal with this for a long time. As she pulled herself back together, he was silent. Every one had suffered, and everyone had blamed themselves. However, the only people that were to blame were the invaders from Europe that had taken their lands and pillaged it.
Only the invaders were truly to blame, Sarah. Only now did he realize this fact. How it had escaped him all this time, he wasn't sure. I already told ye. I tried ta hate ye.
So, dun cry... It dun suit ya.
-----------
QWIN? No.
God save the Quinn. Ha! No.
Quintessential Quinn.
Quinntakill. She laughed hard. Good one, but weird. I'm not exactly on the most wanted list.
Harlequinn. Quinnpossible.
Born to Quinn. PenQuinn.
In her head she saw an idea for a penguin drawing.
None of them seemed right. She penned in a nice calligraphy: Quinn in the top corner and then began to draw her own likeness. This is where she would start.
-------------------
She opened her journal and stared at the drawing. I guess I was feeling feminine that day, she thought to herself. She shrugged. All it needs is a sword on my back and some boots that I could actually walk, move or fight in. She laughed in spite of herself and took a deep sigh. Her past as a leader was gone. She'd lost countless friends to death and destruction. She wasn't sure she would even want to restore her old life, no matter how pleasant it had been. It was no longer an option. For the most part she was enjoying her quiet life, as much as she could anyway.
Dear Journal,
So I guess this is the start of something new. I'm expanding my horizons today. I have convinced two men to escort me to the town north of me, under the cover of night. I've not told them much more than my needs and that I was willing to pay handsomely for the trip. It took me a while but I believe I have found the most honest and most reliable of men in this town.
I have not heard a peep of information about anyone inquiring about the girl with the violet eyes. I'm glad. The only thing in this town is simple people and while I prefer it that way, I've also grown tired of not having anyone to talk to.
Instead of just traveling north I've decided that moving north would best serve my interests in the long term. The other town is more active and I hear it is richer. Both ideals are much more to my liking. Perhaps I can use my skills as a healer. Although, I'm not sure I'd like people to know that I have any skills. I've not encountered anyone this year that I have trusted enough to tell them about myself. Perhaps that's another reason for the move. No woman is an island.
While I've heard no chatter or whispers about me, I've also heard no word about him. Of course I have had to assume for quite some time that he's gone from this world. Still, I hold out that small hope that he's out there somewhere. If he is, I really hope he's in England. If he is then there is no doubt that I will find him, or he'll run into me. He's not a quiet man by any means. It's been no small task for me to remain quiet, but at least I have succeeded. I can remain secretive and uninteresting, which makes me nearly invisible. I doubt a single person in this town will remember me when I've gone. I consider this a huge accomplishment.
Q
She sat the quill down and shook her head. Sometimes when she let them, the bad memories of her past snuck into her head and haunted her still. She hated it when that happened. She rested her forehead on her spread out fingers in frustration. She wondered if the old saying was true: Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
No. Too many innocent had suffered, for nothing but an overwhelming greedy few. True evil is when you do that which is unthinkable, without thinking or caring about how it will affect others. True evil is true selfishness. She took a deep breath and stood up to stretch. She'd not done her exercises for the day. It must be affecting her mood. She closed the journal and looked upon it. Maybe starting this book wasn't the best idea.
No. Don't doubt yourself. It is a good thing. It will keep records on everything that happens to you that you care to record.. At least if things were written down she wouldn't have to think back as much to keep from forgetting it. You can never forget it. Why do you want to keep those memories so much? They didn't necessarily define her. She had stopped blaming herself. Still, those memories were still very important to her future. For how could she proceed ahead without reflecting on her past?
She wouldn't write the details of the fall. Those were unimportant. Her home was gone. Her friends were dead or scattered. She wasn't sure any of them would even want to talk to her if they could, and if so she had no need of friends like that.
------------------
The move had been pretty uneventful. She was thankful for it. She'd been enjoying her time in her new home town. Today she'd purchased her second field. She was very excited about it. She spent a great deal of time shopping in the market today. She now had some furniture, the most important of which was a new bed.
She was out shopping again today, but after that she hit the tavern. On her way home, the wind was whipping fiercely. Quinn had barely gotten the door closed when a knock came. She opened the door slowly to look out, the rain still dripping from her hat. It was a young messenger. "Are you Miss Quinn?"
She nodded. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter. She was surprised it was so dry, given the conditions outside. She went to her purse on the counter and gathered pence for him. She was generous because it was cold outside and yet he'd managed to protect her parcel so well.
Here you go, young man. Get a hot drink from the tavern up the street. You'll catch your death out there!
She scoffed as she closed the door behind him.
She turned toward her dining room table and sighed. She took off her hat and shook the water from her hair. She sat at the table and opened her letter.
--------------------
Dear Miss, Since your arrival, I've been intrigued about you. I must admit, I'm also suspicious. A beautiful, cultured woman like yourself doesn't just appear out of no where. Tell me where you're from. What's your story? Leave your reply in your mailbox. I will come by and pick it up on Saturday. An Admirer.
She decided to clean herself up and get ready for bed. She would contemplate this answer in the morning. She sat down and pulled off her boots. After taking off her dress she put on a comfortable night dress and a robe. She sat down to look at bills and her journal. She eyed it from across the room. Mmm. I'll write in you later.
------------------------
Quinn arose to the bright sunshine in her window. Uughh. Sun. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to get back to slumber-land, but after a few minutes it was no use. She was indeed awake.
She hopped up and grabbed her fuzzy robe and slippers. Her cottage was pretty empty but she always seemed to have the clothing necessary for any occasion. She read a few letters from friends and then laughed as she went to make some fruit juice in the kitchen. The drama. The drama. Finally with juice in hand she sat to write: Dear Journal, Today I learned some information. I'm not happy about it, but I did predict the unpleasantness of it all. Why do people never listen to me? I gave VERY sound advice to a woman. I told her not to get too serious with this fellow. Not only did she run off with him. She married him! I just really can't believe it. I guess if people warn you away from someone, you should marry them as soon as possible? Is that how life is supposed to work. Now she's alone in the middle of nowhere and the man is missing. He is possibly dead or retreated in the church . . . . Some people just are not stable. They never will be and they can not be depended on. I would send my old friend a note and ask if she needs help, but she hates me with such relish that I can't fathom she would receive any assistance from me. When I warned people against this fellow, she thought I was attacking her relationship. You just can't save people from themselves. On another front, I got a letter from some mystery person in town. I still don't know what to write back to my stalker. I'm going to have to contemplate it for some time. Quinn |
Quinn had to respond to this fellow. She was going to be gone for a week at least. She'd offered her service up for escort and now she was ready to do her duty. She had good reasons for going on the trip. She was really impressed by the group that was in town, specifically a rather good looking chap she'd not met before. She was incredibly interested in his joie de vivre attitude and his exuding confidence. He'd won her over because he was a good writer and that was something with which she always identified. Perhaps she'd show this mystery man a thing or two also.
She began her letter:
To whom it may concern,
My presence is a plus,
of which you should not fuss.
My intentions are pure,
and wholesome my good Sir.
I ask only for patience,
for it makes the best sense,
I enjoy your curiosity,
just like I enjoy this city.
I've found it fun and breezy,
so far the people seem easy.
I come from far away,
but you should not trifle today.
I've answered your questions,
but of you, I hear no mention.
Illuminate me oh brilliant denizen.
Or quiet down and take your medicine.
With Great Regards,
Quinn
--------------
Quinn walked in the door, threw her coat on the kitchen chair and then took off her beautiful new boots. Once she had done so, she collapsed in her large easy chair. She let out an exaggerated sigh. She was so relieved to be home.
After having some hot tea, she sat to write in her journal about the adventure she'd just undertaken.
Dear Journal,
I am more relieved than ever before to be home and in this location in the world at this moment in time. This is the perfect place to be: north. The only person who confuses my life is now traveling: south. Thank Jah Almighty for this.
The man in question was indeed the only man I've met recently that I was ever interested in. And well, there are many great men here, but none of them single. As we all know I have morals, and so I am only truly interested in the single ones.
I think since arriving in Westmorland, I've met a lot more single boys than men. I'm not being cruel; that's just the way things are. I think I let my accent slip recently. The man in the tavern might have noticed. He was Scottish. Then again, perhaps because he's Scottish, he didn't notice? I'm unsure. Anyway, I've got to be a lot more careful in the future.
I mean I know I'm slipping up because I was flustered that day. I was having a really hard time letting go of the possibility of myself and this fellow getting along together. Getting to know him better made it more difficult to let him go. I don't even know what I'd do with a man like that. He'd probably drive me mad. My problem is that I always seem to fall for the bad boys, specifically the ones who charm me and make me laugh. Gah. He was just terrible. I couldn't handle it. I admit it. I started drinking a little too much that next night. I even let my nickname slip. This fellow I met was calling me by it and introducing me to people by it. "This is MiMi." Dear Jah! I must've had way too much to drink. Way too much. I've got to watch my whisky consumption.
So, I've a cuppa and I've settled in for the night. No more trouble with that fellow trying to confuse my life. My Word. He's got confusion on women written all over him. I hope he doesn't break too many hearts. Either way I'm glad he's left. If the good Lord Jah has mercy on me I'll never see that fool again.
Quinn
She shut the book hard and nodded to herself in a matter-of-fact way. She was indeed glad to be rid of him, even though he had warmed her heart, at least for a little while. In a way, she was feeling pretty spiteful. So, she was glad he was gone. She wouldn't be able to hurt him or his girl. This man had hurt her though, even though he probably hadn't meant to. He was with another and never should have let her think otherwise.
She stood up, turned on her heels and closed the curtains. Bastard.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tomas
The sun had just gone down and a dark figure walked slowly down the street. He threw his hood up and over his head. He was unsure if he would be spotted by the lady in question. If she was who he thought she was, this town was in trouble, and he wouldn't allow her to stay. Was she the widow? He had to know.
No one was looking. He picked up the pace and swung by her house. The mailbox had a single letter in it. No candles were lit inside. Now's my chance.
He grabbed the letter quickly and continued walking. He turned back to listen but he heard no sounds. There was no trace that the Lady was home. He hoped she was away tonight. If she was the Widow, she was a very dangerous woman. Rumor even had it she was a witch with enchanted weapons and dark magic tools. She was no one to trifle with.
As he continued walking he was extremely curious about what she had replied back, but he dared not open it. He had to wait until he was back at his camp. Only then could he be sure that no one had followed him.
---------------------------------------------------
The Boxes
Quinn had three boxes. One smaller one made from iron, and two larger ones made of bronze. The second one was her favorite. She kept it on her dresser. It looked somewhat like a jewelry box and she kept the most important of her treasures in it. It was very heavy and therefore difficult to steal. Regardless, she kept her home locked up tight and had hidden these treasures in the ground at some point just to hide them from the world.
Now, in this home she didn't fear their safety. She had purchased the land directly in between a group of very strong gentleman for this reason. Even if someone somehow had broken into her home, her neighbors would no doubt see them. This made her feel very safe, for she trusted her surrounding neighbors. Men like Kei and Morat were very alert and observant - sometimes to a fault. She chuckled to herself. She knew well their family history, even though they did not know hers. She knew they were trustworthy and she had come to Kendal for that very reason.
Each box had a different floral or scroll design. In each she kept something precious to her, but the contents of each were extremely different. Some had no value but symbolism and sentiment. They had no lock, but each appeared to have a keyhole - to fool those who would attempt to open them. Robbers could steal them if they wished, but they'd never get them open without destroying the box and in some cases, all of the contents. Only she could open them. Each box could be manipulated to open if pressed, pulled or popped in the right direction. Chopan was a genius and he had only ever told her how to do it. Other people would never figure it out.
She stared at the box on her dresser as she slipped on her hose. She remembered what led to the boxes creation. Months after the fall, she had finally picked herself up and swore revenge. She remembered the best revenge was "to live well". That would be the first step of any revenge. She had no ability to feel emotions at the time, so she did what any insightful woman would do in that situation. She had written a list of goals. Boxes were her first goal. The contents wouldn't define her, but inspire her.
So, before continuing on her journey, she took the possessions that she cherished and buried them in a secret place, a spot near her home on the coast. She buried them under a huge tree right next to the very cliff-side she had lamented at time and time again. This was hard to accomplish in secret so she had to do much of it at night and with very little moonlight to guide her.
So, while these items hid in the ground, all wrapped up in blankets, she went off on her first journey. Luckily she had one friend that she could depend on. He would tell no one she was still alive. Even upon being tortured she knew he would never sell her out.
The Boxes. She needed three of them. They weren't just material objects. They were symbolic and important. In each she would keep a different piece of herself. In each she would hold onto that which she both cherished and hated. About two years ago, she had commissioned a very old smith to make these boxes. It hadn't been easy, but her goals never were.
She had to travel to the depths of a forest in the East. In the hills she sought a man named Chopan. This town in the hills was not a place where many Europeans had ever seen and she was sure that none of her native people had ever been there. This accomplished one of her goals: To boldly go where no Celt had gone before.
She remembered arriving and finally meeting the legend. Chopan, the husk of a man was just as she expected. He was old, grumpy, pessimistic, and unceremonious about everything. After convincing him to take on her job, she watched him work. The amount of gold she had to pay had been more than she expected, but money was no object in this task. The man was meticulous and detailed. She watched him work by cursing at his selected project. Day by day she watched, frequenting taverns sparingly, so as not to bother the town folk too much. She sat and sipped her tea. She wrote. She listened to his voice raising and lowering as he spoke of things which were both poignant and pointless. Some of it was very philosophical and she listened to more of his words than she had expected to. He told her as he worked why he lived here. I'm not long for this world Mistress, but if I were in the islands, I wouldn't live to see one day after the other.
She remembered he had spoken those words while he worked on the last of the boxes. Her trip had been more than just a quest. It had opened her eyes to the manner of which people hid themselves from the world. The brightest and most brilliant of people were also often those who did not seek fame, fortune or politics. They were smart to work for self preservation. For even though this man showed brilliance in topics of philosophy, mechanisms and the science of things, he would never be a proper, well-spoken gentleman. He was too bold and too sarcastic. He was no doubt in the small town because people kept to themselves and none of his ridiculous mumblings would bother the natives. In England, Ireland or Scotland his mumblings would have had him stabbed at the very first evening of his stay in an inn. Very clever fellow, she thought. I understand now Chopan. You're much wiser than you seem. I'm sure if I were to stay, I would learn much from you,, she said in Slovak. But as you know, life is fast and my days are numbered as well. I must set about to create a new life and succeed at it.
She got off the bed and put her hand on the jeweled box. She pressed in the sequence and opened it. She smiled. Her goals, letters, notes. They were all here. She updated her goals anytime she heard news, and today she had something to write. She always wrote her notes in French: Jan 29; 1463:: One of them nearby. Funny. I am always informed of what I need to know, which I enjoy. Opportunity will come, but even with it I do not have any blood lust. Very curious indeed!
She closed the box. She remembered the day that she returned to her old home to fetch the possessions buried and put them in her boxes. She stepped foot into the house and realized that it had not been touched after months. For a moment she was very impressed by that. Then she realized that everyone knew that it held no valuables. It wasn't out of respect, but rather a lack of interest.
Also upon returning to her homeland she had learned about the gossip. The people that she had called friends had stolen everything from the people, the treasury and even burned their lands to the ground. They had stolen women and killed children,
They did this without remorse. Instead they threw small excuses of rationalization at people who asked opinion from them. They still lived in the land and tried to live a normal life there, as if nothing had happened. This news flared her temper. A man who is afraid of nothing should be afraid of everything, she thought to herself. This took her back to the memory she had of the gentleman who had just romanced her in the recent past. He too was afraid of nothing, but it took every bit of strength in her to keep from killing him or his courtier.
Ijots, she mumbled to herself. They surround me, do they not? She remembered the rumors. They blamed the victim and people bought it, perhaps to rationalize their own sense of guilt. For no one was blameless in it except the victims themselves. She remembered hearing of a few suicides after the fall. Surprisingly, they were not victims, but relatives of the culprits. Still, with their victory in hand, they ignored the lamenting of their own family members. For their "cause was just" or so they told the people.
So unbelievable it all was and yet it was so. She remembered standing in her foyer and thinking that none of this was believable. For a human being could not help but to feel guilty eventually. But these people; they were maybe not really human. Only then did she realize what a human being was truly capable of.
She would take a while to come up with the entire plan for revenge, but she would exact it some day. She was sure of it. She would outlive them and out-think them. Some of this justice had already been served, but she had no hand in it. In some cases, the culprits had been killed by their own, after betraying a confidence. People that betray friends are likely to do again. The most cold-hearted were already dead. Quinn somewhat lamented that. She crossed them off on her list with a frown. Not only did she not want them dead, but she was disappointed it left her with no options regarding their lives.If revenge is a dish best served cold, maybe I just want to give them brain freeze. . .
She knew that her idea of "revenge" did not include death. No. Never. Not death. For that limited options. She would never have let them get off that easy. Instead she would make them understand what had been done to her people. In that way maybe it wasn't really revenge at all, but justice that she sought. She didn't want them in some foreign prison and she didn't want them dead. Well, perhaps it keeps others from being subjugated. In that way, it might be a good thing that these evil people were no longer roaming the Earth and finding victims. Personally, she just wanted them to get it. Maybe she'd even take an apology. I doubt it, she chuckled. Well, t'would be a start.
The creation of these boxes was only the first of her many quests. Some of the things on her list were things that she thought she might never accomplish, but she had to strive for them anyway. Many of the things on her list were not so difficult. She would accomplish some of them pretty quickly. Others would probably take the rest of her lifetime.
The objects in these boxes would help her, both to accomplish the tasks and to keep her sanity while doing so.
Dear Journal, So here I am standing in my cottage and starting at my beautiful roses. I know I should feel flattered but the man just frustrates me... I think I would have much preferred that he forget me - than to send me gifts. He is with another and there's nothing I can do about it. Even if I could, I wouldn't. I don't steal men. Why must he tease me with his affections? His note said: "Short met. Well remembered." It is in essence how I think of him. I struggle to forget his rough brough during a hard laugh and those wrinkle lines that form around his eyes when he smiles. Blast his romantic temperament and his desire for me. If I can not have him, what is the point in romantic gifts? Needless to say I was ecstatic to receive them on Valentine's Day, even blushing brightly; as red as the red roses in the bouquet. The scent so sweet that I nearly lost my other senses. Blast him?!! That clever bastard. All I can hope is that my memory of him fades while I meet other people . . . and maybe in time he will forget me also. The thought of him forgetting me hurts, but I'd rather "they" be happy. Somehow I doubt it. He honestly doesn't seem like he ever wants to be a one woman man - and me - I must possess a man completely or there is no true meaning to an intimate relationship. The most passion and pleasure is achieved when two people can honestly be together alone and know that there are the only two on the planet that matter. Any other kind of love - to me - is mediocre. Quinn |
Dear Journal, I have two exciting things to talk about. The first is of course that I have reached 100 posts in the boards. Very exciting and shocking. I can't believe that I post so many bulletins. Hhmm. Second is that I have a date. An official date. I haven't had an actual real date for . . . so many years. I can't even remember. I met this gentleman named Sythe the other night. He was just talking in the tavern and I have only maybe seen him once, but he stopped and talked to me. The next night I saw him again and then of course . . I found out more about him. After getting to know more about him, I flirted with him. He seems incredibly bright to me. I'm intrigued. I am very pleased to be asked. I believe we are going to picnic on the beach? . I shall keep you updated. Quinn |
Quinn got out of the carriage and practically fluttered through the door like a butterfly. She'd been spending many late nights in the tavern with Sythe. It was odd because the usually activity in Kendal had died down as of late. It was almost as if the town was silent for the first time in it's life. It was just her and Sythe nearly every night. She didn't know what everyone else was doing, but she did hope it was temporary.
She didn't altogether hate it. She didn't have a hard time finding him and there was plenty of time to spend with each other away from prying eyes... It was a fine time in her life for this. She put her other goals on hold, just for the moment.
Well, not all of her goals. She had just been placed third on an election list in Westmorland's castle. She did expect a council seat when the results were in. She was nervous about the outcome and wondered if Sythe would actually make the cut. It would be close.
Quinn grabbed her journal, and plopped down on the bed with a smile.
Dear Journal,
I'm so excited to sit down with you to tell you all about this date. Sythe has arranged a trip. I don't know where exactly, but he's taking me on an adventure. I can't wait . . It is exciting to think about dating again.
He's also extremely attractive. I'd better keep my wits about me. No. Really.
To be continued . . .
Q
| In a carriage in the eastern side of Scotland, Tomas roared with laughter. Joining along in the cacophony of hoots, hollers, chuckles and giggles were his best friend, Revelin and Revelin's sister, Sarah. Long had the three been inseparable. Though Rev's sister, Sarah had been away at school and then abroad for courting and social activities, she had always returned. This time she'd been here through the entire year. When her father died, she convinced her mother that she wanted to skip the courting season. Despite the death of Pat MacKenzie, it was the very best of times for them all. Tomas, Rev and Sarah had all grown up together, and this was the most time they'd spent together since they were children. They'd been next door neighbors all of their lives. Therefore, the MacKenzie household was always a welcome place for Tomas. Although his family was less affluent, holding much less land and titles than their family, Rev and Sarah were his best friends. Being of a lesser value in the eyes of nobility, was only on Tomas' mind. Rev and sarah never paid attention it. He cherished his friendship with the two even more due to this lower opinion of himself. They assured him more than once, that it didn't matter. He was like a brother to them. He was always invited to their lavish parties. He shared their love of debating politics, and mocking the nobility. He was known to tell a joke or two, always in good taste, of course. Sarah once called him, "the best entertainment in the room". The chuckles died down as their carriage rode into town. It was an old city, full of history, ruins and stories. Tomas had long wanted to see it. We're here! Tomas offered one more swig of the flask to Sarah before putting it away in his jacket pocket. Rev tucked his away and laughed. Tomas offered them each a small spice ball. Our parents don't need to know what we do on these trips! They all chuckled a little more quietly. If he'd ever been confronted, Tom would have to admit that he was probably the troublemaker of the group. He had enjoyed the long ride to Edinburgh. Sarah had chewed the spice ball and then grinned at him. She laughed with glee. Most likely, she thought she'd have mint on her teeth to show him. That wasn't what he actually saw. What Tomas experienced was a smile so radiant that it made him nearly freeze in place. He tried to smile back, but he always felt that his reactions were delayed. Damn. His chest rose with a sigh, and he suddenly felt very frustrated. He hated it when this happened. He enjoyed their company, but every once in a while things bubbled to the surface. He leaned back in his seat. His chest felt heavy and his mind clouded. He watched her, silently, as she laughed with her cousin. The longer he watched her, the more he felt uneasy. Sometimes he'd get butterflies. It was never pleasant when it got like this. Or maybe it was? He only knew that he couldn't stop seeing her, whenever he had a chance. He suddenly realized that he was staring at them both. He laughed it off, pretending to know what they were talking about. She never called him on it when he stared at her. Maybe she knew that she had captivated his attention? Maybe she didn't notice that it was inappropriate. He was just glad that she didn't mind. He distracted them both by pointing,Oh look! Those tower must be hundreds of years old. Long had he known that he had feelings for her, but it was getting worse since she returned last year. She was slender, petite and very feminine. She was always kind to people. He'd long known her traits of loyalty and honesty. Somehow, when she had smiled at him, he felt like her smile was just for him. He looked out of the carriage window, unable to face her any more than he already had on this trip. Don't look, he told himself. You can never have her. - - - - - - - - - Tomas poked the fire at his campsite, deep in thought. It had been seven years since that day. Aye, but it seems like yesterday, he told himself. The Lady had been missing from her house for days. He began to grow concerned... for her welfare? He found this sentiment alarming. After all, she was a risk to him, and to everyone he had once held dear. He had come here to make sure that she was dead. To say she had been trouble - was a massive understatement. Maybe, despite all these years, he still cared about her. He grimaced, upset by it. Loving her had never done him, or anyone any good. Every person that had surrounded her from their old life was dead and buried. He sighed deeply, contemplating his next move. Where had she gone? Did someone abduct her? It wasn't very likely but he wanted to think she could take care of herself. He opened the letter again; lit by the pale moonlight and the flames of his campfire, he studied it. She flattered him and yet showed confidence. This wasn't the writing of a peasant girl. The brush strokes were defined. Perhaps she doesn't know how to hide her skills? Perhaps she doesn't care? No. She changed her name and is obviously lying to people about her past. It's interesting that she chose MacKenzie as her surname. He studied the writing. It was very similar to a letter he once held onto for many years. Once he had heard about her death though, he had thrown it into a fire. He'd regretted that. This rhyming was thoughtful, yet done in the heat of the moment. He couldn't help but look at it once about every hour. He kept asking himself, Is it her? He'd not set eyes on her close up, but even from a distance, she was unmistakable. After many years, he told himself she couldn't be alive. He had convinced himself years ago. His eyes had told him otherwise. He wasn't sure which was stronger, his anger or his craving to see her, again. Her stature; her walk; the raven hair and light skin. Even with no proof, and only far away glances, his gut told him that it was her. This time, when she returned to town, he wouldn't wait any longer. No more games. He would find out for himself if she was Sarah or not. Then, he could perhaps make decisions about her future in this town. Part of him was afraid that it wasn't her. He wasn't sure which would be more painful. In either case, he was convinced that he could handle it. |
--Continued from: Glassy Shores --
Her very long date, possibly the longest she'd ever been on, was almost over. Riding with Sythe wasn't a difficult experience. He was very fit and knew horses quite well. She trusted his strong arms to keep her safe, on horseback and off. It had been a while since she had trusted anyone, but with him things had been different. She appreciated the fact that he was so honest, so charming, so attractive. Their outing was definitely memorable. He was a knight - literally. She grinned to herself. Her husband never had titles, but he had been just as chivalrous, daring and dashing. She wondered how she managed to find two of these men in her lifetime.
It had been long enough since his death, that thinking of her husband no longer brought tears instantly. Instead whenever she thought of him, she felt lucky, to have been his wife. She was fortunate. Their life together had been fun, colourful, and full of love. It had been short, but it had been the best part of her life. She was long convinced that nothing would ever top it. Inside a very harsh world, she had lived in heaven. Short or long, true love is so worth it. 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. How true that was. She had been resigned to that truth for a long time. Sythe had been the first person ever to make her think that she could possibly be that happy again. She sighed and gave Sythe a quick squeeze.
As they came over the hill and saw Kendal, Quinn felt refreshed, and excited, but also tired. Camping and traveling was always a little wearing on her. They'd also done extensive tandem horseback riding too, which was going to add some soreness. Being alone on a horse was easier. You have control over what's happening. Riding behind or in front of someone was just not the same. Still, she relished the entire experience. They hadn't known each other that long when Sythe proposed this outing. It was something unusual for her. She thought it would be good to get out of her comfort zone.
She did appreciate all the time that Sythe had put into things. However, she longed for her bed. And a bath perhaps. She wasn't a pampered woman by any means, but she did love sleeping in her comfortable bed. It called to her . . . . As did her town. She had once lived in a castle with servants and assistants, but she didn't long for that. All she really wanted was that bed.
When they had finally arrived at her door, Sythe helped her from the horse and unloaded her bag. She immediately saw that her flowers hadn't been watered. She was glad. It meant that no one had been lurking at her residence. She gave Sythe a knowing glance as he waited for her to unlock her door. She did look for a note or a letter around the entrance to her cottage, but she saw none. Good. Maybe that stranger won't bother me now, she thought. She was curious who he had been, and why he'd been so interested in her. She hoped he didn't know her.
Why would he know you? You're dead. She nodded to herself and motioned Sythe to put her things on the chair inside. Thank you, My Dear, she said earnestly. I had a wonderful time. She smiled as he reached to kiss her. She accepted, giving him some sweetness in return.
He took her hand and kissed it before he went out the door. She sighed, an almost swoon escaping her lips. She chuckled. She still didn't know how he did that. She didn't even know how much she loved him. They had just met, but there was something about him. He bid her adieu with a wink and a wave. Then he mounted his horse and quickly rode off. She rose a single eyebrow as she closed the door. He was quite a character.
No doubt he has things to do today, she told herself, as she turned toward her bedroom.
She opened her journal first. She wrote quickly:
Journal,
It was so amazing. Well, I think . . . let's start at the beginning. Hee hee! He wrote me a song. He told me he loved me in the song with the prose of it. How original is that? He played his lute. He's a good singer. The song was deep and expressive, and you know how I love a good surprise.
For the first time in a long, long time, I was speechless. And then he kissed me. He kissed me so well. He has this understated brilliance. I . . . just didn't expect it. We kissed a few times in the days we were gone. I'm not sure it was supposed to be that long of a trip, but we were lost in the joy of it. A connection like that isn't soon forgotten.
I think he really loves me . . . He certainly thinks he does. Maybe my bum's out of the window? Oh well. What's for ya, no go bye ya.
Quinn
The next morning Tom came by her place and watched it. He ate breakfast while he waited. His opinions from last night came back to him. Why exactly are you waiting? Don't you want to know if it's her?
He laughed at himself, You just don't want to wake her up. Right? Ya dumb bastard. What kinda bloke you turned out to be.
No wait. He realized that he was assaulting himself, and had to make a decision.
Mmm.We'll just finish this scone. It seemed the best way to procrastinate, but then he saw a shadow in her curtain. She is home . . an she's gonna like seeing you again.
He shook his head to rattle out the dumber love-sick kid that lived inside him. They all died, ya idiot, and she's why. He took a deep breath and blew it out hard. Yer right.
He threw the scone he was eating back in it's bag and cleared his throat. He picked up his things, and took his hood off. She would see who he was the instant she came to the door.
It seemed to be a long way to the door. Suddenly, he was apprehensive. He took another breath and knocked.
He laughed at himself, You just don't want to wake her up. Right? Ya dumb bastard. What kinda bloke you turned out to be.
No wait. He realized that he was assaulting himself, and had to make a decision.
Mmm.We'll just finish this scone. It seemed the best way to procrastinate, but then he saw a shadow in her curtain. She is home . . an she's gonna like seeing you again.
He shook his head to rattle out the dumber love-sick kid that lived inside him. They all died, ya idiot, and she's why. He took a deep breath and blew it out hard. Yer right.
He threw the scone he was eating back in it's bag and cleared his throat. He picked up his things, and took his hood off. She would see who he was the instant she came to the door.
It seemed to be a long way to the door. Suddenly, he was apprehensive. He took another breath and knocked.
The morning sun and birds that Quinn usually hated didn't seem so terrible this morning. She awoke with a large yawn and rolled over to sleep some more. Her mind quickly thought over the things she had to do this morning. Did she have to get up?
Yes. Yes, she did. She'd been gone for a few days and needed to do many, many things. Her cows had waited patiently for her, and she hoped that her farmhands had taken good care of them. Still, they'd need attention. Fine, she rolled over again to get up, but it was still slow going. Her back was still sore and she hadn't taken a bath last night. She had just cleaned herself off, and then gone to sleep. Maybe she'd have a hot soak after visiting the cows.
She jumped up and headed to the kitchen. She gathered oranges for some juice in a bowl, and began singing the Highest Apple. She brought the oranges to her juicer when she noticed that she had a little more kick in her step. Comhla rium. A tha thu an drasd ... *
Just then she heard a knock. It was a loud, stern knock, and it stopped the singing instantly. Curious, she said. Who'd knock like that?.
She shook her head as she headed for the door. She was quite curious, and then suddenly nervous.
As she opened the door, she saw a handsome dark green cloak and the hands of a gentleman younger than she. His face was stern, but worn. His clothes had definitely been on the road. Maybe he camped. Perhaps a soldier, or a mercenary. She studied his face for memories of Kendal residents, but he did not live here. She would know it.
She just stood there for a moment, looking at his face. Suddenly it came to her. Her eyes grew wide with discovery and shock. Ach naw! She was frozen. Tears filled her eyes and in moments she began to hyperventilate. No, no. She covered her eyes with her hands and then wept into them.
Her past was here and despite all the hard work she had done to hide everything about her, he had found her . . . . someone she never, ever expected. She tried to catch her breath. She couldn't have predicted.
* With me, as you now . . .
---------------
He had been ready for many things to happen, but this was not one of the things he had anticipated. A man of war, stealth and killing, he had not prepared for the true assault of a woman. Crying. He now remembered that it was a weakness, but with her, it had always been.
The woman he knew and loved was still here, and she needed him. With no thought of his previous apprehension or anger, he took her in his arms. No. Tis' alright. There, there.
My bonnie lass. Is no need te . . . He used to call her that. He couldn't finish his sentence. He was stifled by the emotions he felt. He wouldn't cry though. Never in front of her. He wouldn't let it happen. His mind raced with all the memories they shared, and the fall and everything that had happened.
Why was she here, he wondered. She wasn't evil or heartless, as he had let himself think all these years. She was broken, just like him. Why is she here? He wanted answers. He would love to blame her, but now he wasn't sure that he could do it anymore. He needed someone to blame. He'd killed so many in revenge. Surely, he could blame more people? Someone left to kill? Someone left to blame. He had to have something left. He would still try to blame her, if he had the strength.
Ye left.
Luv, ye left.
-------
He embraced her?! How could he? After all she had done. She didn't deserve any . . . love. Nothing. It made her cry more to be embraced, and comforted. She tried to fight her way away from him, but he held her and called her a Bonnie Lass. That was when she couldn't handle it any more.
No. Tomas, I don't. I can't. I don't deserve . . , she studdered and began to sniffle. The crying was taking a toll. Surely she could cry for weeks if she wanted to. She chose not to. She would try to stop. She tried the best she could to calm herself down.
She took deep breaths and then realized how much she missed her long, lost friend. She hugged him tight.
Tomas.
-------------
| Finally she hugged him and he broke down. His iron will was fractured, and he sighed deeply, avoiding tears - luckily. Jah knew. Over the years he'd shed enough. Maybe he couldn't produce them anymore. Aye. Ye know I'm sorry Luv. While his eyes didn't shed a tear, his voice was less than steady. He knew what she lost. She had lost just as much - but it was no excuse for the level of his built-up anger. He had to tell her. He let go of her embrace, and looked in her eyes, Ye bloomin' . . . I cannae hate ye. An' I know! He looked up at the morning sky in frustration. Quietly he said, I have tried. He shook his head, knowing that with her reaction, she'd not intended to be the chip in their castle's armor. I . . want'd to. He looked back at her; his face forlorn. Haunting his mind were all the men he lost, the families he fought to save. He couldn't save them all. Ye know I did. We all did. Don't ye? Is that why yer here? In jolly ole' England?! He was nearly shouting, something else he hadn't foreseen happening. |
------------
She watched him, clearly emotional, as she would have thought he would feel, but he didn't hate her? How could he not? So many people had blamed her and hated her for everything. She knew that for some it was easier to blame her than to realize that nothing could have been predicted. Their allies had taken advantage of them all. Her guilt was deep-seated though, and she'd alienated herself, instead of ever having to deal with it fully. Maybe she couldn't have dealt with it. She did try to kill herself once. Perhaps she faked her death because she was afraid she'd keep trying until she was successful.
How could she possibly explain this to one of those hit hardest by the ordeal? She couldn't. I . . . had no choice. Tears filled her eyes, and she didn't think he would understand. He knew her, and even he was perplexed by her actions. If this is how a dear friend reacted, how could she explain it to someone who didn't know or care about her? Part of her wished that he would just strike her down and be done with it. Then, perhaps the pain would end, and she wouldn't have to live like this.
The joy she'd felt only minutes earlier was completely overshadowed in this moment. All that she and Tomas were feeling was grief, to an exponential degree, and it was always this way when she tried to think back to it.
She began to dry her tears again, while he listened. Ye could just strike me down - and then it could be over.
Jah knows I tried.
---------------
| She'd tried? How many times had she tried? Was she hurt? What happened? he asked. We heard ye died. People looked fer you, but there was no body. Ye were pronounced lost at sea. He shook his head. How could people have fallen for that when it happened? In hindsight, it seemed too easy. But he saw now. She never came back. She didn't know how their home was, or how people had survived. She didn't know that the people who moved were surviving, and living lives. She had survived too, but not in the same way. She had tried to shield herself from pain. He knew she was there after the fall for a while, and that she tried to keep herself strong for people, but it was never enough. The kingdom was taken, burned and scarred, and it literally fell with the castle. Ye could never do anything right again? He knew what that was like. Those that blamed her were extremely good at it, and those that didn't, were not defending her. At the time, he was more silent than he should have been. Her husband and family were dead. Her extended cousins moved away. At the time, he had lost his faith in her too. He stepped away from her as he realized it. No wonder she left. You had no one. Not even me, he whispered to himself. How do you apologize for that? He nearly let the town lynch a woman because they needed a scapegoat. He hadn't, but he hadn't realized that protecting her physically hadn't helped her. In her mind, she was lower than dirt and she didn't deserve life. The rumors of her evil deeds still continued to this day, and he had tried very hard to buy into them. But he knew her, and as such it took him years before he began to buy into it. Seeing her face to face though, he cleared all that up. He saw her again, for who she was. He came back toward her, holding his hand out. He looked down, I didn't . . . . I wish ye had come back. Tis not the same without ye. |
------------
He missed her. He still cared for her. Looking at him, she knew it, but she didn't know if she wanted to know it. While he'd always been there for her, the moment that she needed him, he was absent. Everyone was. The problem with shared grief is that everyone else is too busy grieving to help you with your grief. With life experience she now knew this, but years ago she hadn't understood. Umm.
Ye should come in. She swung the door open and went to find a good handkerchief. Wiping away the tears, she found some makeup left on her eyes. Oh my. She must look a fright! She laughed at this thought. What did Tomas care for her run eye makeup? He probably wouldn't. This situation was one that was much deeper than the simple attraction of the opposite gender. They had to talk, and it was going to be a very serious discussion.
She knew Tomas had always had a crush on her, and she had never discouraged it. When they were young, she found it helpful to both of them to nurture the idea. She had been his first date, and his first kiss? She didn't remember. Had she ever kissed him? If so, she'd remember. Wouldn't she?
She knew that it must have hurt him when she married. At the time he was just a stick of a boy, with no maturity and no meat on his bones. Meanwhile, she'd been swept off her feet by a very charming, fit, and clever gentleman. He knew how to court a woman. Oh, how she had loved him. She sniffled and sat down in a chair next to the kitchen. For the time being, she wouldn't mention her loss. She would focus on Tomas. More wiping and her eyes were possibly looking better. They were probably as red as cherries, but there was nothing that she could do about it.
She watched him close the door, and she waited patiently for the hundreds of questions that she assumed he would be asking her. She would get up to make him tea, but she was just too emotional, and already drained from their short encounter. She shook her head and then chuckled, Toe - mass. I can nae believe it's you.
---------------
He chuckled, Neither can I. He never really thought that he would find her, and he never imagined that he would be in her home. He had thought about her often over the years. He had no idea what to expect when he traveled here to explore Westmorland. It was surreal. For years he chased shadows of her, and here she was, in the flesh. He watched her sit in the chair. She looked much the same as she did years ago.
He looked at her home, and it's layout as he removed his cloak. He hung the cloak on a hook near the door, and closed the door slowly. He now realized that there would be no more hunting her. Instead, he was a guest in her home. He shook his head at this reality, for it was uncomfortable.
For some reason he still wanted to make a good impression on her. He was still angry, both at her and the world, but his anger had subsided for now. For now, he had questions.
Ye have a nice place here. Honest words. He saw a chair facing her. His face was expressionless as he sat. She had flowers on the windowsill. More flowers, and murals in the kitchen. He saw crafts she'd done, things she had made. A smirk appeared but then quickly disappeared again. He cleared his throat. She was still Sarah. As much as he'd like to believe this was a different woman; someone harsh, thoughtless and cruel, this environment showed the opposite. He'd always admired how feminine, artistic and put together she had been, back in Scotland. Here she had made a home from nothing.
Part of him was disappointed that she lived so well. Part of him was glad. He didn't have a home. He didn't have any place. He had camps, bases, bunks and ship cabins. He had traveled, camped, hunted, and been a soldier for hire. He'd been on the move for years. Every night spent at an inn was a luxury, and he didn't get many of those.
His fingers gripped the chair's arm. Leather. She must have squirreled away some of her fortune. Their fortune. She once had a husband, and a family. He also knew she had a good work ethic. She worked hard, and never asked people to do something that she wouldn't do herself. It was odd, the things that he remembered now.
Alone though, still? He'd have thought she'd be remarried with children - if she were alive. She was alive. He hoped, but he had never convinced himself it could be true, until now.
He rose a single eyebrow as he studied her face. Would it be too much ta simply ask fer everything?
---------------
Quinn laughed, a low, simple chuckle, and sighed. M'laird Tomas . . . Well, tis a tall order.
She rubbed her eyes again with her fingers, and then rested her head on her hand, on the arm of the chair. She knew it would be uncomfortable, but really - where would she start?Aye. I can try Tomas. I really can.
She gave him a smirk, fer you. She already knew he last saw her when her husband was alive. Ye remember the last days? The fall was harsh, and Jaeson was dead. An' family members from many families had fallen. Ye remember what it felt like?
He nodded. No one forgot that kind of pain. I was grief stricken. Well, I think ye know. I was - I tried so hard to be there for the people. There were, graves, dead crops, dead cattle... I blamed myself, above all others. I tried to kill the guilt by giving people things. I ended up giving up most of my possessions. They weren't worth anything without Jaeson anyway.
People couldn't move forward. Many of us were stuck in those first parts of grief, and we couldn't get out. While I did paperwork and settled accounts, and tried to put things back together, I didn't allow myself to feel it. I tried as best I could to be rock hard. An' ye know that's not me, so it was difficult. I don't know how to describe it. In hindsight, I must have seemed cold, hard, but at times - angry, and then nearly catatonic.
When I was at my lowest was when I was ready to pack Jaeson's things up. I couldn't do it. I didn't see it coming. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't fix any of it. He was in so much pain... and died so terribly.
She burst into tears again, the memory of her husband, and his pain. He died not knowing that she would have given anything for him. After a brief moment, she tried to clear up her tears. She wasn't sure why she would be so emotional in front of Tomas. She was surprised. After years, she had cried so many, many times. She really had thought she would never cry over it again, I'm sorry.
(VERSION II of this post:)Quinn laughed, a low, simple chuckle, and sighed. M'laird Tomas . . . Well, tis a tall order.
She rubbed her eyes again with her fingers, and then rested her head on her hand, on the arm of the chair. She knew it would be uncomfortable, but really - where would she start?Aye. I can try Tomas. I really can.
She gave him a smirk, fer you. She already knew he last saw her when her husband was alive. Ye remember the last days? The fall was harsh, and Jaeson was wounded. An' family members from many families had fallen. Ye remember what it felt like?
He nodded. No one forgot that kind of pain. I was grief stricken. Well, I think ye know. I was - I tried so hard to be there for the people. I laid out every plan fer them. I helped them do what needed to be done for their dead, graves, dead crops, dead cattle, and their lands. I gave everything left that I personally had. Twas not their fault this had happened. I felt I should give them everything. So I did. I blamed myself, above all others. I tried to kill the guilt by giving them things, and by fixing things. I tried to make people feel better. I still do. I give too much sometimes. It's a sickness, but I digress.
She sighed, It twas only in that next month after, that I really sat down, and spoke with people. I spoke to many people in order to help them, and to apologize to them. Many of them - they wouldn't let me apologize. Instead they apologized to me. And in talking with them, I slowly learned that nearly every person in our entire community somehow managed to blame themselves, too. The mayor blamed herself for not having enough militia, the soldiers were not guarding well enough, the generals weren't commanding in the right place, the council blamed themselves for not hiding the treasury, the citizens who did not defend that day felt just as guilty. Everyone had some reason to blame themselves, and that made it really hard to grieve.
We couldn't move forward. Many of us were stuck in those first parts of grief, and we couldn't get out. While I did paperwork and settled accounts, and tried to put things back together, I didn't allow myself to feel it. I tried as best I could to be rock hard. An' ye know that's not me, so it was difficult. I don't know how to describe it. People told me that I was resilient, but that wasn't it. I was stuck in some kind of weird denial. I could do paperwork, and speak, but I could not relate to people. In hindsight, I must have seemed cold, hard, but at times - angry, and then nearly catatonic.
That's what took Jaeson from me. The grief. He couldn't recover. I blame meself for it. I was so wrapped up in my own grief that I couldn't help him. I was so mad, at myself, that I didn't see his guilt was so extreme. I was not listening to him. At least, I don't think I was. I was probably cold to him, and I don't even remember how bad I was. I just wasn't myself. Once he realized that I was not coming out of me own self pity, that was when he faded and he died so quickly. I didn't see it coming. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't fix any of it. He was in so much pain...
She burst into tears again, the memory of her husband, and his pain. He died not knowing that she would have given everything to make him happy again. He just gave up.
After a brief moment, she tried to clear up her tears. She wasn't sure why she would be so emotional in front of Tomas. She was surprised. After years, she had cried so many, many times. She really had thought she would never cry over it again, I'm sorry.
--------------
As she spoke and told the story, all the horrors of the war came back to him, memories he had tried hard to bury. He remembered the sights he saw in the war, and his friends and family that fell. He didn't need her to remind him.
He glared at her in anger, but then she began to cry, and he couldn't be mad at her.
This was the most uncomfortable Tomas remembered being in recent years. His heart felt her pain, but he couldn't reach her from his chair. They didn't have any kind of relationship anymore. Did they? He didn't know. It was extremely awkward. Why'd ye have ta go and ask her fer everything? Look what ye did. He folded his arms, and watched her.
Finally he spoke, No. No. Tis ok! Dun cry. . I'm sorry, too.
I'm nae mad. Twas no one's fault.
A light went off in his head after he said this. Are ye mad at her or not?! He took a deep breath as his brows furrowed. He hadn't had to deal with this for a long time. As she pulled herself back together, he was silent. Every one had suffered, and everyone had blamed themselves. However, the only people that were to blame were the invaders from Europe that had taken their lands and pillaged it.
Only the invaders were truly to blame, Sarah. Only now did he realize this fact. How it had escaped him all this time, he wasn't sure. I already told ye. I tried ta hate ye.
So, dun cry... It dun suit ya.
-----------
Comments
Post a Comment