Aiden's Quest

by Dane Bagley

“Tira,” called one of the women attending to her. “We have a surprise for ye!” The sounds and the voices indicated pleasure and delight from the other room. Tira arose to join them.

  It had been a full week since Tira had arrived and last seen Terrence. She had been given assurances as to his wellbeing and that he was leading the Agedon military. It was both for the sake of her full recovery and to allow Terrence to stay focused that she was told that they were to be kept apart. While certainly feasible, and equally bought into by both Terrence and Tira, this was not the reason that they were kept apart.

  “She’s coming,” whispered one of the women. Tira heard her and smiled.

  Tira was indeed back to full strength. Since the day of her procedure she had progressed comfortably and nicely. She had been moved from the hall that she had first stayed to a beautiful home. No longer were monk-like bald men, in cream gowns, her caregivers. No, she was looked after by a group of women from the ages of fourteen to forty. Tira was treated as a celebrity by all of the women. She assumed that it was because of Terrence’s position in the military that she had been given such exquisite care and kindness. Again, she was not entirely correct. The reality was that Tira was strikingly beautiful. It may be true that in relation to the women with whom Tira associated within Cardsten that she was the least of the beauties. However, on the whole, Tira was among the most beautiful women in the world. Cardsten stood out, and indeed was well known for the beauty of their women. Tira, being among the top tier of those in Cardsten, was a sight nearly unimaginable to the people of Agedon. In fact, never had a portrait, a sculpture, or even the imagination of the people, compared to the actual beauty who was before them. Agedon, for all of its attributes, beauty was not among them. The people were good and kind, friendly and genuine, and generally as homely as could be.

  Terrence, for his part, was equally as striking compared to the men. But the men were much more impressed with his combat skills. The women of Agedon, well, they were impressed all around. The men of Agedon had not had a look at Tira, other than the medical monks, and the men in the king’s brigade. Tira being at her worst during this time had not fully impressed, just yet.

  So, Terrence and Tira were adored by all that knew them. There was both beauty and majesty about them. They were both celebrities within their circles and were destined to remain as such.

  “Close ye eyes,” they whispered. “Grab her arm, and bring her this way. Okay, open ye eyes!”

  Tira opened her eyes and beheld the most beautiful white wedding dress she could imagine. Each of the five women beamed as they moved their glance from the dress to Tira and back again.

  “Oh, my! Is it mine? For my wedding?”

  The women just laughed and cheered and then Tira hugged each of them lovingly. They all just stared at her with stars in their eyes, imagining how a beauty such as her could be made even more beautiful through adornment.

  “May I…”

  “Yes, do, please try it on!”

  Tira, who had become used to being cared for by these women allowed two of them to remove her clothing while the other three made ready the dress. In no time it was done up. The fit was perfection and there was not a dry eye amongst the women. Tira looked around for a mirror.

  “Let us do ye hair,” said one.

  “And make-up,” said another.

  “I’ll fetch a flower for her hairdo,” said a third.

  Another fetched a stool and soon Tira was being completely done up. Hair, make-up, and adornments had been done daily since she had arrived and each day enthusiastically, but never quite like today. An hour and a half passed and each of the women pronounced their blessing upon their accomplishment. Tira was taken to a full body mirror. Tira blushed with joy.

  It is true that in Cardsten she had been lavishly attired and attended to throughout her life. But she was always joined by Mirinda, or later Tasha and Myrtle. In comparison, something was always lacking. Though she was pronounced beautiful, she had always been looked past by others as they looked upon the four women. As she gazed at herself in the mirror, the reflections of the other women, good, kind, and loving as they were, provided such a stark contrast in beauty, with their simple attires and unmade-up homely faces, that Tira thought that she was more beautiful than ever. Her thoughts turned to Terrence.

  “This is not ye’re only surprise,” said a woman of about forty.

  “Oh.” Tira thought of Terrence and that perhaps he would be just outside awaiting her. Her heart began to beat faster. Perhaps, she thought, the wedding will take place presently!

  “Wait here.” Four of the women left, leaving Tira with a girl of sixteen. The girl stood there glowing and then grabbed Tira’s hand and held it.

  After a few minutes passed Tira turned to the girl, “you can’t tell me, can you?” The girl blushed and shook her head smiling with delight.

  Ten minutes passed and Tira’s heart continued to beat hard and fast. The downstairs door to the outside opened and she heard the sound of the women returning. A man’s voice was also there, but it was not that of Terrence’s. The group entered the room and a short man of fifty, with short grey hair and a goatee, entered the room. He had on a dark suit with a cravat. He looked at Tira’s face and then looked her up and down.

  “My dear,” he said softly. He took her hand and kissed it. “You are as beautiful…no, more beautiful than imaginable. I am Victor Crown, and am at your service.” He bowed gracefully towards Tira.

  Each of the women smiled and some bounced a little with delight. Tira looked at the man and then at each of the joyful faces around the room. Whatever the surprise was, she was still in the dark.

  “M’ lady, may I have the great honor of capturing your personage?”

  “What?” said Tira with a dreadful look on her face.

  “He wants to paint ye portrait,” said a woman of about twenty-eight.

  “No!” said Tira, horrified and directed towards the woman.

  Victor stepped back and the look on everyone’s faces was changed instantly.

  “My dear,” began Victor unsure how he would finish the statement. “My…dear, I would cause ye no discomfort at all. We may do the portrait sitting, inside or outside. Ye will be as comfortable as can be. It does not have to be now…or today even.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tira began. “I can’t…I…do…not…like my portrait made. I never…I just cannot. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you,” and looking around. “or any of you.” Every face in the room was crestfallen.

  The excitement and anticipation that she had felt, followed by the horror of the surprise, evoked tortuous emotions from within. She began to sob. She tried to stifle the cry and it only forced it out with greater urgency.

  “My dear, I am so sorry to have distur…” Tira ran from the room to where she had sat upon the stool to be made up. “Go to her, I shall escort myself out.” The women looked at him, horrified themselves. “Go!” he commanded, betraying the emotion he felt inside. And he left the room abruptly.

  The women looked at each other and then slowly walked into the room to join Tira.

  “I’m so sorry…” sob, sob, sob.

  The love that the women had for her overcame their frustration. They each patted her lovingly and offered, “Shh,” and “now dear,” as they tried to console her.

  “But what shall ye give to your betrothed?” asked the girl who had held her hand.

  “What?” sob, sob, sob.

  Tira was handed a handkerchief that was sorely needed.

  The sixteen-year-old girl was shushed.

  “I don’t understand. I…I just can’t sit for a portrait. They always turn out so horrible. They can’t paint me. No one can paint me. I never want another portrait painted of me.”

  “My dear, not Victor Crown. He is a master. It is a great honor to have a portrait done by him. The king commissioned it himself. Victor would capture yer beauty entirely.”

  Tira shook her head vigorously. �
�No one can. I’ve tried. Everyone has tried. I always look so…horrid!”

  The women looked at each other, stunned.

  “What did she mean, give to Terrence? I want to see Terrence. I am better, where is he? Let me see Terrence.”

  “Ye can’t.”

  “Why?” sob, sob, sob.

  “Ye are betrothed. Ye can’t see yer betrothed. Ye must have a gift for yer betrothed and ye have nothing to give. Ye can’t give a gift from another, ye have to give a gift from just yerself.”

  “But the portrait would be drawn by Victor, and paid for by the king. It wouldn’t be from me?”

  “My dear, it is not so. Ye are not giving yer betrothed the canvas, paint, and time paid for by the king. Nor are ye giving to Terrence the paint strokes and expertise provided for by Victor Crown. Ye are giving to Terrence an image of yer beauty; and that can only be given by yerself. The king’s, and the artist’s part are but small and minor. It is the part ye play, yer extraordinary beauty that ye provide to yer betrothed.”

  Sob, sob, sob, sob, sob. “That’s just it. They never capture my beauty. I look ugly in portraits and I just can’t…”