shadowoftheheart
Dweller in Darkness
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2005
- Posts
- 3,975
Isabelle watched Rose ride away, tears streaming down her cheeks. She waved, and blew Rose a kiss, exaggerating her movements in the hopes that her Lady Knight would see the gesture.
"Fear not," a deep baritone voice behind her said, "Your suitors will return. In the meantime, dear, depend that I and my Black Knights shall see to your safety."
It was the Knight Lord Malcolm, her suitor and commander of the Black Knights. Isabelle did not turn around, did not take her eyes off of Rose.
"Yes, she will return."
"She?" He chuckles. "Fair Rose? How very interesting. Yes, She will return then."
Isabelle felt his mailled hand on the small of her back, but still she watched her knight ride off. She sighed, sobbed, and waived at her rapidly retreiting form.
It was many minutes before she could turn her eyes from Rose. She was a distant speck on the horizon before she left the rampart, and Malcolm had long since left her to herself.
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Isabelle read each one of her father's letters quietly, then aloud to her mother. It was the hardest time of her life, for between each letter she feared always the worst. She was unable to study, and even the books of magic in the wizard's old chambers seemed dry and lifeless to her.
Several times she had heard rumors that men had died passing through the mountains on their northern borders, and each time she feared that the "man" that died was her own Lady Knight, but each time it was prooved to be the same handfull of soldiers, whose deaths were reported each time by different messengers. Whenever a messenger was going back out, she would write a letter, even if just a quick note, to her dear Rose, wishing her well and safety.
Each day, she lit a candle in the castle's church, and prayed to all the gods that would listen, for Rose's safe journey, but also for success and glory to the expedition. She wanted to hear of Heroic Exploits by her Lady Knight Rose, how many men she slew, how many wounds she withstood. Yet ... at the same time, she wished her home without wounds, without the necessity of killing anyone. It was a rough time, a confusing time, and one that sorely tested her faith and resolve.
"Fear not," a deep baritone voice behind her said, "Your suitors will return. In the meantime, dear, depend that I and my Black Knights shall see to your safety."
It was the Knight Lord Malcolm, her suitor and commander of the Black Knights. Isabelle did not turn around, did not take her eyes off of Rose.
"Yes, she will return."
"She?" He chuckles. "Fair Rose? How very interesting. Yes, She will return then."
Isabelle felt his mailled hand on the small of her back, but still she watched her knight ride off. She sighed, sobbed, and waived at her rapidly retreiting form.
It was many minutes before she could turn her eyes from Rose. She was a distant speck on the horizon before she left the rampart, and Malcolm had long since left her to herself.
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Isabelle read each one of her father's letters quietly, then aloud to her mother. It was the hardest time of her life, for between each letter she feared always the worst. She was unable to study, and even the books of magic in the wizard's old chambers seemed dry and lifeless to her.
Several times she had heard rumors that men had died passing through the mountains on their northern borders, and each time she feared that the "man" that died was her own Lady Knight, but each time it was prooved to be the same handfull of soldiers, whose deaths were reported each time by different messengers. Whenever a messenger was going back out, she would write a letter, even if just a quick note, to her dear Rose, wishing her well and safety.
Each day, she lit a candle in the castle's church, and prayed to all the gods that would listen, for Rose's safe journey, but also for success and glory to the expedition. She wanted to hear of Heroic Exploits by her Lady Knight Rose, how many men she slew, how many wounds she withstood. Yet ... at the same time, she wished her home without wounds, without the necessity of killing anyone. It was a rough time, a confusing time, and one that sorely tested her faith and resolve.