by R. J. Grieve
Celedorn’s resolve was rapidly being worn down but his conscience was fighting a valiant rearguard action. “I am trapped by what I am. I cannot change now.”
“Of course you can! You have already changed. The bitterness that was so strong in you has already diminished. The hatred that you bore yourself is fading. I can see it clearly. Elorin has done that and will do much more if you let her. Do you not have the faith to believe that love can overcome any obstacle?”
Celedorn did not reply, but Andarion sensed his determination faltering. He arose and silently left, well satisfied with his progress and went in search of Elorin. When he found her he grasped her shoulder urgently.
“Go to him, Elorin. Use all your powers of persuasion upon him and I have a feeling that all will be well. You will find him in the orchard.”
Elorin discovered him just as Andarion had described, and quietly she occupied the Prince’s vacated place. Her quarry had been leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, contemplating the ground between his feet and did not look up when she arrived, instead he remarked in a dry voice: “The Prince wastes no time.”
Elorin’s eyes twinkled. “You feel perhaps that you are the victim of a conspiracy?”
But Celedorn did not smile. “What would he have me do?” he asked bitterly. “Take you to Ravenshold to live amongst that rabble? Does he think that my ring on your finger would ensure they would respect you? The only way I could protect you from them the last time, was to lock you away in a disused part of the tower, and even so, there was the incident with Hydar.”
“We do not have to return to Ravenshold. Sometimes I think you are more its prisoner that I ever was. We could travel again. Perhaps find some place where you are not known.”
“There will always be the possibility that I will be recognised,” he said despairingly. “Besides, before I am free, there is something I must do.”
“The Great-turog?”
“Yes.”
She looked at her hands resting in her lap and said sorrowfully: “You will fight it and it will kill you, and what will that achieve? Let it go, Celedorn, let the past go. Stop blaming yourself for what was not your fault. You were only a boy, there was nothing you could have done, and this obsession with revenge will not bring your parents back, or right the terrible wrong that was done. All it will do is destroy you, and now it will also destroy me. You once said that you envied me for having no past, but the truth is that you will not let your past stay where it should - as something that is over and done with. We must both look to the future and try to find what happiness we can. You so much deserve some happiness in your life after all you have been though. We must think of each other.”
He had lifted his head as she spoke and listened intently to her with a far-away look in his eyes.
Very quietly he said: “You are right. Vengeance has planted in me the seed of my own destruction. I will not destroy you as well.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I begin to understand how the Prince feels. You are the most incredibly stubborn man! Well, you may make a sacrifice of yourself if you wish, but you are not making a sacrifice of me. If it goes against your sense of honour to ask me to marry you, then the only thing for it, is for me to ask you.”
He began to protest but she cut him short. “And another thing, please stop deciding what will make me happy and permit me to tell you that there is only one thing that will make me happy, and that is to marry a mountain brigand - and as you are the only one available, you will have to do.”
Totally incapable of resisting such blandishments, he began to laugh. Scenting victory, she slid off the bench onto one knee and took his hands in hers. Then clearing her throat she said formally: “Dearest Celedorn, would you do me the great honour of becoming my husband.”
His shoulders were shaking. “Elorin......”
“Don’t laugh, I am perfectly serious - and please don’t say that you have to think about it, because these stones are killing me.”
But suddenly his smile vanished and he leaned towards her intensely, his fingers tightening their grip on hers.
“Elorin, you may live to regret this day’s work.”
Realising that he was deadly serious, the mischief faded from her face and with utter gravity she asked: “Will you ever love anyone other than me?”
“Never. I have only ever loved you, and I will always love only you, as long as I live.”
“Then I will never regret today.”
As they looked into each other’s eyes in utter silence, some strange power seemed to pass between them forcing them to finally accept that they were part of something too great, too immense to be denied.
He made to kiss her but she leaned back. “Do you mind if I get up first? This proposing business is hard on the knees.”
He laughed and helping her up onto the bench, promptly carried out his original purpose.
After some time, she finally said: “Shall we tell the others? The Prince will be pleased to know that all his efforts have not been in vain.”
Celedorn drew her against him again and said callously: “Let him suffer a while longer.”
When at last they went in search of their companions, they found them in the common room. When they entered, one glance at them was enough to cause a smile of satisfaction to spread over Andarion’s face. He addressed Celedorn: “I take it from the smug look on your face and your arm around Elorin’s waist, that you have finally got round to proposing to her.”
But Celedorn was triumphant. “No, you are quite wrong. She proposed to me.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the Prince, hugely pleased. “Typical Elorin! You are well suited!”
Elorin looked in puzzlement at her betrothed. “What did he mean by ‘typical Elorin’?”
“He means you are a bold piece of work.”
She seemed relieved. “Oh, is that all.”
Everyone burst out laughing and then began to congratulate them. The common room rang to the sound of chatter and merriment. Relisar embraced Elorin, and Triana, screwing up her courage, did the same to Celedorn. The Prince loudly claimed the credit for the whole affair but suddenly halted when he found himself confronted by Celedorn.
“You meddled, cousin,” Celedorn accused forbiddingly.
Andarion looked guilty. “I know. Forgive me.”
His cousin’s eyebrows shot up. “Forgive you? On the contrary, I am in your debt.”
He held out his hand and after a moment’s astonishment, the Prince warmly grasped it.
One of the brothers, looking in to see what all the noise was about, found himself dispatched to tell Master Galendar that his services were needed to perform a ceremony that had not been performed in the monastery in a thousand years.
Celedorn and Elorin were married the following afternoon in the sunny orchard that sheltered within the embrace of the monastery walls. All the brothers attended, sitting on the grass beneath the shade of the apple trees in their white robes, scattered randomly like fallen apple blossom.
The ceremony was performed by Master Galendar, who smiled benignly at them and spoke the ancient and beautiful words in the old language. Elorin looked more lovely that day than she had ever looked. She wore the lavender-blue gown that Celedorn had bought her and nestling at her throat was the little pearl from Skerris-morl. Triana had woven for her a wreath of pure white roses that crowned her chestnut hair.
Celedorn, ably supported by the Prince, stood beside her, tall, and to her eyes, handsome. He spoke his responses in a firm voice without faltering, Elorin’s hand resting lightly on his. The only slight hitch in proceedings was when the Master came to the part of the ceremony for the symbolic placing of the ring, and neither Elorin nor Celedorn possessed such an item. Acting with great presence of mind, Andarion came to their rescue and instantly tugged off his signet.
When the ceremony was over and the married couple turned from the Master to face the assembled crowd, a clear voice from amongst the throng called out in r
inging tones:
“Behold the Lord and Lady of Westrin!”
Before Celedorn could protest, the entire company had taken up the cry until the walls of the old monastery rang to it. Relisar overcome by pride in them, and remembering his friend who had died in the forest twenty years before, quietly dried his eyes with the tail of his beard. “The line of Westrin has not ended,” he murmured to himself. “If you could see your son this day, my old friend, you would be proud of him.”
Everyone then repaired to the great hall, a setting reserved only for state occasions. The monks had excelled themselves. The long tables groaned under the produce from the kitchens. Tall silver candlesticks glittered in the light and every pillar was hung with a garland of flowers.
“An auspicious beginning,” said Relisar, who to everyone’s alarm showed every inclination to make a speech. “There are four people in this world,” he told the assembled brothers, “who mean more to me than my own life, and it fills me with inexpressible joy to see two of them so happy. Their path had not been easy and seldom smooth but they have found together the love and happiness they deserve. May it stay with them their entire lives.” He raised his glass and the assembled company did likewise. “I propose a toast - to the happiness of the bride and groom.”
The words, repeated by two hundred voices, echoed up to the rafters of the great hall.
Elorin was radiant with happiness and when she looked at Celedorn, for the first time she saw him unhaunted by shadows. He smiled back at her, the grey eyes that she had come to love so much, clear, untroubled, filled with deep joy.
There were more toasts and speeches, laughter and gaiety but as the afternoon wore on, and gently as strands of gossamer twilight began to fall, Elorin grew conscious of a desire to be alone with Celedorn, away from all the noise and chatter, in a place so quiet that one could hear a heartbeat.
Triana sensed her slight withdrawal and touched her hand. “Come, Elorin, we will leave the men to their wine.”
Elorin quietly arose to leave and as she did so, for a brief moment her eyes met Celedorn’s in a look that made her catch her breath. He did not speak but she was aware that his gaze followed her from the hall.
When they reached the door leading to Celedorn’s room, Triana halted and said: “I will never forget that dreadful day when we brought him into this very room, covered in blood and looking on the verge of death. I spent that entire night on my knees pleading for his life to be spared and yet if only a few weeks previously, someone had predicted that I would do such a thing, I would have thought they were mad. I did not think either that I would be leading you to this very door as his bride. How strange and unpredictable is fate.”
“You are no longer afraid of him, I hope.”
“No. I have come to realise that if Celedorn cares for one, then there is nothing to fear. I am so glad this has happened for him, after all the years he has suffered, after all his loneliness and pain. You will heal him, Elorin, I know you will. You will heal the hurt left by that day twenty years ago and set him free.”
“I will try,” replied Elorin, deeply moved.
“I will not come in with you, but I hope you will like how I have arranged the room.” She reached up and kissed her tall friend on the cheek. “Good night, Elorin.” Then with a flash of mischief she added: “I will not say ‘sleep well’.”
The room was lit by a single candle standing on the dresser by the door. Its soft light revealed the extent of Triana’s thoughtfulness. All Elorin’s possessions had been neatly arranged in the room. Vases of flowers stood not only on the dresser but on the broad window-ledges, filling the room with fragrance. The two tiny windows on either side of the bed stood open to the orchard, admitting the occasional breath of mild night air. The moon, peeping down from its serene height, cast twin pools of silver-blue light on the floor. The bed where Celedorn had been so ill, was now clad in fresh, white linen sheets with a deep blue blanket folded across its foot. Resting on the blanket was a white silk petticoat with a note pinned to it.
Dearest Elorin,
I know that we cannot produce a nightdress between the two of us, so I thought this might do instead. I’ve let it down as far as it will go but it will still be too short for you - not that Celedorn will notice.
Love
Triana.
Elorin smiled and ran the soft silk through her fingers.
When Celedorn quietly entered the room some time later, he found her seated by the open window, gazing out into the moonlit orchard. She was wearing the silk petticoat and her rich hair lay loose upon her shoulders. She did not appear to hear him come in, for she continued with contemplation of the scene, until she heard the slight click of the lock being turned in the door.
“Triana has made the room so beautiful” she said.
“Yes,” he replied, not taking his eyes off her. She arose and silently crossed to him.
“This is the point where I always wake up,” he said, taking her hands. “I have dreamed this dream many times. You would tell me that you loved me and would cross a room like this to me and then I would wake up and you would be asleep across some forest glade from me, and it felt to me as if the distance between us was a million miles.”
“You once said to me that you thought the Father of Light had forgotten you. Do you still think that?”
“No. What I believe is that I do not deserve such kindness.”
She gently shook her head in disagreement. “Look,” she said softly, pointing to her throat. “I wear the heart you gave me.”
He lightly touched the little necklace and his voice sank very low: “Do you not know that you have possessed it since Ravenshold?”
He bent towards her but she checked him by lightly placing her fingers against his lips.
“There is something I wish to do,” she said and standing on tiptoe, she began to press lingering, sensuous kisses against the scars on his cheek. He flinched, as always, and would have stepped back but she held him with surprising strength. At first his shoulders were tense under her hands, but gradually she felt the muscles relax and saw his eyes close. When she had kissed each of the three scars in turn, she said: “They are all healed now. Finally they are healed. When you look in the mirror from now on, you must remember only this night and no other.”
Unable to reply, he caught her hard against him and smothered her face in kisses, finally taking all restraint off his emotions. He was exhilarated by her response, feeling an immense need for him flare up in her. His hands caressingly travelled down the smooth skin of her neck, then gently he drew the straps of the petticoat off her shoulders. The silk slid to the floor with scarcely a sound.
When Elorin awoke, for the second time she saw the room aglow with the youthful blush of sunrise - only this time, unlike the last, there was no fear in her heart. She lay within her husband’s arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder and had never felt safer or more at peace in her life. He was still asleep, his chest lightly rising and falling in time to his steady breathing, his dark lashes lying quiescent.
She stretched her arm across him and gently touched the shiny red diamond that marked the site of the wound on his shoulder, letting her mind travel back to that fateful night when she had discovered she loved him. Further back her mind travelled, on a sea of fragmented memories, all floating like driftwood in a current. The cliffs near Sirkris in the rain when he had refused to leave her. The spray breaking over him as he struggled with the tiller of the boat. Standing alone with his sword poised in both hands as that terrifying black cloud rose higher and higher above him. The broken bridge at the Serpent’s Throat as he had tried to save her. Even now she could hear his voice calling to her ‘Elorin, Elorin’.
She had often wondered when it was that she had first loved him and all at once she realised that it had been then. When she had journeyed alone through the Great Forest, unaware that he was following her, she had been unable to get his voice out of her mind, or the vision of him poised dange
rously above that dreadful gulf intent only on saving her, oblivious to his own peril.
Her thoughts shifted to more recent memories and a little tingle of remembered pleasure echoed through her body as she recalled his touch. Such powerful emotions, yet always tempered by tenderness.
“What are you thinking of?” he asked softly.
She started out of her reflections, surprised to find that he was awake.
She tilted her head back and smiled at him. “You.”
He drew a strand of her hair back from her cheek. “No regrets?”
“None. I was remembering those evenings that we spent together at Ravenshold. You would be sitting by the fire, your ankles crossed, a glass of wine in your hand and you’d be staring into the flames as if you were miles away. Do you remember?”
“Yes. I also remember that I was not by any means miles away. I was watching you, aware of you, wondering what it was about you that fascinated me so much.”
She adopted the demure look which he had come to recognise as meaning mischief. “Did you ever find out?”
“No, but I’m willing to spend my life trying. It defies definition. I admired the courage with which you faced me. I appreciated your quick wit and directness. I thought you beautiful even then. It was all of those things and yet none of those things. I can’t explain it.”
She chuckled. “If anyone had said to me at that stage, that the dark and moody person by the fire would become my husband, I would have thought they had been over-indulging with the wine bottle. Yet here I am and there is nowhere else on earth that I would rather be.”
Celedorn sighed and his gaze returned to the ceiling. “We must be moving on soon. We have delayed the Prince yet again and although he has been very generous about it, I sense a great anxiety in him, a great urgency to be gone. Time has just slipped through our fingers. Do you realise that in a very short time it will be a full year since you were sent as hostage to Ravenshold? The Prince has been so long away from Eskendria that anything could have happened there.”