"However long the night, dawn will break."
-Proverb
Chapter Four - Strawberries And Tragedy
“Now ladies, feel free to mingle as we will begin today's activities shortly." With that, the masked man turned, walked off the platform and re-entered his tent.
"Is everyone unharmed?" Illyria turned to face the others, quickly taking control of the situation. Scanning a crowd of familiar women, she was surprised at how different and even unfamiliar each of them looked with the clothing of their homeland no longer adorning them. A sea of different shades of hair hung un-fashioned and undone. Its impropriety made each of them look younger – delicate even.
Each of them nodded politely in response to the question asked.
"In the physical sense," grumbled Rosaline.
"Cousins?" Illyria called out.
The crowd parted slightly to allow Edwina and Natalie to push through to the front.
"We are alright Illyria," Natalie reassured.
"But the tradeswoman...." wearied Edwina.
"Do you believe that she really is unharmed?"
"I have no choice otherwise." answered the princess bluntly.
"But from what I have seen, I believe these Morwicks do keep their word, at least they will until our King arrives to take us all safely home and back to proper civility."
"It’s unnerving that someone has failed this venture so soon. What are we to do?" Called out Lady Grace. Though the tall, auburn-haired maiden tried her best to remain composed, you could hear the urgency beneath her cool voice.
"We are going to play along, but remain vigilant. We simply must find out what this test entails so that we can figure out how to avoid failure." Illyria stated the fact before she turned her attention directly to Rosaline, the shorter, petite brunette was shaking like a leaf. She placed a hand firmly on her friend’s shoulder. Rosaline never had the stomach for court ways, and control for emotion, that is why she had left for the convent.
"Have faith old friend. We shall get through this."
Lord Gale emerged from the big tent and led the women to what looked like a crude dining area. Fifty sets of the same style of two place tables and chairs that were in the tents had been set up, and plates of food lay steaming atop half the settings.
"Enjoy your breakfast ladies, I shall fetch you once you are all through." said the old man, and with a respectful half bow, he departed to let them eat in peace. Once he rounded the corner of the Sovereign’s tent, all eyes turned to Illyria once more, as the oldest princess, and unofficially, the Kings favorite niece, these facts had put her in charge in the eyes of the others.
So, this is what power feels like?
Illyria took a moment as it sunk in, staring back blankly at the sets of eyes staring so intently at her.
It felt... good. Addictive almost.
With a nod of her head, the women of Rowland each quietly found a seat and began to eat the food in front of them. Intricately carved wooden plates were piled high with steaming, spiced eggs, smoked ham, cheese, and a piece of warm, freshly baked bread.
Illyria picked up the silver cutlery with all the grace expected of a princess; her circumstances may be near that of a prisoner of war, but that didn't mean she would abandon her manners. She pierced the eggs with her fork and took a bite. They had an unexpected taste, her majesty had eaten many an egg in her day, but never one as scrumptious or as well-spiced. The morsel practically melted in her mouth.
"How much food do they think we eat?" Rosaline queried, putting a hand on the seat in the space across from her childhood companion.
"May I join you?" she asked, biting her lip as if fearful of rejection.
"Of course, you may. You should not have even asked." Illyria shook her head.
The young woman let out a sigh and sunk into the chair.
"Well I figured... since you are now a high princess, and I’m just a lowly convent girl," she spoke meekly, but with a familiar, slightly teasing smile.
Illyria smiled. How her friend had not changed, still as shy as ever, but blunt to a fault.
"Your title of duchess may have been legally revoked when you pledged service to the church, but it never will in my heart. You, Rosaline are always welcome at my table, no matter your station."
"Thank you, Illyria." Rosaline smiled genuinely before diving hungrily into her meal.
"My... You look positively famished. Did you not eat well last night?" Illyria asked between her own bites.
"I didn't touch that stuff..." Rosaline shuddered.
"Do not tell the others, but I spent most of my night hiding behind the changing panel," she admitted, bracing herself for the disappointed look she knew would be on her brave and unfaltering friend’s face, but it didn't come, instead only one of concern.
"Did the one you were bound to cause you harm?" Illyria's hand immediately went to the knife hidden beneath her dress, ready to run through any man who had laid so much as a finger on her kindhearted, loyal old friend.
"No... I’m fine, I promise. My actions were based on my own fear and not caused by anything he did." She was reassured when she saw that familiar look of fire in the princess’s expression.
"He tried forever to convince me to come out, and he wouldn't let up. I finally had no choice but to tell him of my position. When I did, he was surprised, to say the least..." Her brown eyes reminiscing as she explained.
"Then the Morwick did something I completely did not expect. He sat down on the other side of the panel and began to tell me stories of his scripture, which were surprisingly like ours. It turns out these people and ours share the same faith!" She exclaimed.
Illyria was surprised, from all the rumors she'd heard it seemed like the Morwicks had no faith at all.
"The one in my tent is called Casper, and he actually sat up all night with me just speaking softly, and he left every candle in our tent lit." finished Rosaline.
Kindness pondered the princess.
So, it was a trait of these people. She thought back to how Meridian had risked a flogging just for a pillow, and how he had woken her and gently helped her into the bed when he could have, and probably was supposed to just let her lay there on the cold, bumpy mulch floor.
Lord Gale cleared his throat, the Dakia gained the attention of the ladies to announce something.
"Honored guests. If you would please follow me."
Leaving the dining outdoor dining area, he led them outside the camp gates, to the grassy field along the lake. Every 15 paces along its banks lay a large mat, a Morwick officer standing beside each one.
"Walk until you reach your husband." He instructed. Illyria gritted her teeth at that last word. They were not husbands! The girls in the line all turned to look at her, waiting for her to say or do something. She exhaled and began to walk, leading them all down, examining each man for the striking blue eyes and features of Meridian, but found only the eyes of strangers staring back. She walked and walked, continuing to put one sandaled foot dutifully in front of the other, but had yet to find him. Finally at the end of the line, standing next to the very last mat, stood Meridian patiently, his hands folded behind his back. His training uniform had been replaced by a crisp, clean white shirt, a black leather belt, and tan breeches. His hair, which she had last seen in a mess, and drenched in sweat, appeared to have been washed and combed neatly back. He almost looked like a gentleman.
"Good day Illyria." Meridian greeted
"Try not to look so surprised." He commented, taking a humorous notice of her slightly slack-jawed expression. She hastily resumed her cordial demeanor.
"Good day." She returned.
"May I ask why I have been ordered here?"
"Ordered?" He crossed his arms.
"More like politely requested in a manner you couldn't refuse." A devilish smirk was at the corner of his mouth.
"Please join me?" He motioned back to the mat. Illyria couldn't help but scratch her head, but remembering the so-called haloai punishment that would await her if she refused, she stepped onto the large woven mat and awkwardly sat down, trying to shift her skirt so it would at least cover her legs. Meridian slid down beside her until he was seated with his shoulders just inches away from her, it was highly inappropriate.
"Personal space, have you heard of it?" Illyria chides, turning her head to look at him like a child in dire need of a scolding.
"Of course I have." He answered.
"Princess if I wanted to be in your personal space..." He leaned forward until his face was only less than an inch away from hers, and his eyes went immediately to her lips. The air in her chest seems to lock in place.
"I could be in your personal space." The way he was looking at her sent unexplained shivers up her spine. With a satisfied grin, he pulls back to where he had been before.
"Do you read?" He asked, reaching into the large woven basket beside him and pulling out several leather-bound books.
"Of course I can read. Do you take me for an illiterate?!" She huffed in offense. His culture was supposed to be the crude one, not hers.
"My question was not can you? As a member of the court I know you are capable of reading. My question was do you?" He reached into the large woven basket beside him and pulled out several leather-bound books.
He opened one and flipped through several pages.
"Today I’m going to read to you."
"That's it?" She asked in disbelief.
"That is what we are doing today and what you had me walk all the way out here for?" She exclaimed, looking to the left to see that every Morwick in her line of sight appeared to be holding books of their own.
"No test of skill or knowledge? What kind of game is this?" She shrugs.
"And here I thought you people were known for your patience." He chuckled.
Illyria collected herself. How could she have had such an impertinent outburst, it was so unladylike.
"Forgive me. Please continue."
"The first tale is that of Robin Hood." He began, tracing a clean fingernail over the handwritten words that ornately graced the parchment.
"This is one legend I am already aware of. My people are well aware of the tales of Sir Robert Hoede the fabled Earl of Huntington and his escapades with commoners known as Little John, Will Scarlet, and Friar Tuck." She explained. It was a popular children's story in Rowland; about a disgraced lord who stole from a corrupt monarch to feed the starving, overworked poor of his nation. It was a tale told to teach humility.
"And the lovely Maid Marion of course?" Meridian inquired.
"Maid who?" Questioned Illyria, this was a name she was unfamiliar with. He only smiled and flipped the pages further into the story.
"There was a time when Robin Hood, the famous outlaw, was not an outlaw at all but instead, a young nobleman, son of the Lord of Locksley." He began to read.
"Robin, was on his way to Nottingham one day, and came upon a hunting party headed for Sherwood. Behind all the fatted lords, a maiden with hair as black as a raven’s tail caught his eye. Her name he learned to be Lady Marion, and her beauty, fiery spirit, and kind heart quickly entranced him.”
Meridian’s voice was as smooth as any professional bard’s as he told her the tale.
"He decided that no other woman in all of England would be his wife, and with her father's permission, began a courtship. It wasn't long before Robin asked Maid Marion for her hand in marriage."
"What a tale you are making up." Illyria interrupted, a disbelieving chuckle in her voice.
"I am not." He replied defensively.
"You must be. I have heard the ballad of Robin Hood many times, and it never contained any of that fantastical nonsense." She shook her head.
"This is what the book says. See for yourself." He held it out for her to see, his finger remaining on the verse he had just been reading. She scrutinized the area above where he was pointing, and sure enough, word for word it appeared on the page.
"I see." She noted, still in disbelief.
"Why do you think this part fantastical?" His curiosity peaked, as the tale contained much more unbelievable things than a simple betrothal.
"Marital unions do not work like that in real life. They are for property and prestige, arranged to ensure maximum benefits to both parties."
"I see." Repeated Meridian through a knowing chuckle. He had been expecting this. The sovereign’s spies had informed them with what little data they could gather about the mentality of Rowland’s population.
"Shall I continue anyway?"
"Seeing as I have no other more pressing social engagements, go ahead." He continued the tale, and slowly but surely he saw her begin to relax. Leaning back on her hands, she listened as his melodic, deep reading voice seemed to make the characters come to life.
He explained how that before the lovebirds could marry, Robin was sent to fight in the crusades alongside his King and had to break the engagement. How Maid Marion was the most beautiful woman in Nottingham, so beautiful that the vile Sheriff sought her hand in marriage, along with Locksley's land, and how the scheming man had almost gotten both. Illyria became so immersed in the elaborate story that she all but completely forgot about the other women sharing similar experiences beside her. Occasionally he would utter a word she didn't understand, that the people of Rowland didn't have a translation for, like kiss or lovers, but she was so enthralled by the tale that she dared not interrupt again.
"And they lived happily ever after." He read the final verse softly, almost with a hint of envy before closing the worn leather bindings of the book and setting it down beside him.
"What did you think?"
"It was... rather amusing." A semblance of a smile teased at the corner of her mouth. Meridian felt his heart thump loudly at the sight of her full, peachy lips in that shape. What a breathtaking sight it was. However, he didn't let it show, he had to remain the suave and charming host his training had forged him into, he couldn't let it show just how little his experience with a real woman actually was.
Meridian glanced out from under the shade of the small tree they sat beneath. The noon sun was now well overhead.
"Hungry?" He asked, reaching into the basket before he even got an answer.
"I'm fine, thank you. I ate earlier." She held up a hand, politely refusing, but that didn't stop him from unloading the rest of the contents from the basket.
He pulled out a strange red fruit, it was smaller than an apple but bigger than a grape, many minuscule seeds peppered its outer skin, and at its top, it had a cluster of little green leaves.
She could not help but pick one up to examine it.
"What is this?" Her curiosity got the better of her, the heart-shaped fruit was plump and firm to the touch.
"We call it a strawberry." He said before popping one into his mouth, eating everything but the leaves.
"Try it. I promise you will like it." Tentatively she brought the foreign food to her lips and took a small, ladylike nibble.
She closed her eyes, savoring an unexpected flavor. The taste was fantastic. She took another, larger bite, the juicy thing contained the perfect balance of sweetness and tart. With her eyes closed, she didn't notice some of the red juice dribble down her chin. Seizing the opportunity her distraction provided, Meridian reached over and pressed a cotton napkin against her chin. Her eyes shot open as he wiped it away, making sure to let his fingertips gently graze her jaw.
"You had a little something right there." He says nonchalantly despite every hair on the back of his neck showing otherwise.
"Oh..." She brought her hand to her chin. Meridian grinned internally, she hadn't freaked out or scolded him. He had broken the contact barrier, this was another step towards a successful mission.
"Sitting on the ground is so unseemly..." She cleared her throat.
"Hey, you didn't mind sleeping on it last night." He reminded her.
"In fact, you were quite adamant about it, though I didn't get any more arguments when I moved you to the bed this morning."
Silence filled the air, and she found herself thinking about her conversation with Rosaline earlier today.
"Thank you for that..." She grumbled, but it was sincere.
"Wow. Words I never thought I'd hear coming out of your mouth." Chuckled Meridian with a little surprise.
"You are welcome."
"You took a risk for me, and I am reluctantly grateful." She paused for a moment, and for the first time in a long time, the quick and witty woman actually had to think about what she wanted to express.
"I will admit that individually... your people may not be as barbaric as I initially thought."
"Individually?" He raised a neat, dark eyebrow.
"What about as a whole?"
"Crude, terrible creations. The lot of you." She teased through false seriousness, a real smile on her face.
"That is the first time I've actually seen you smile." He grinned.
"And may I say, you do have a very nice smile."
"Your compliment is appreciated. Good dental hygiene is a pride of my people." She answered, his intent going right over her head.
"I hope you see now that you have nothing to fear from me... Or my bed." He says. She was confused by his slight smile at those last words, but dare she dare not interrupt.
"I swear that I mean you no harm." He promised, his blue eyes bright with an earnest, almost childlike sincerity.
"My job here is to keep you safe and healthy. I know this must be very stressful for you, this game the sovereign has you playing, and know that I am as much a player as you are, but I am not the enemy." He said firmly, but a smile seeped through.
"At least not yet." He smirked.
"War hasn't been declared, and if you do win, until the day you come marching over that hill to teach me and my crude barbarians…," He quoted her with a smirk.
"A lesson, in all honesty, I want you to trust me. Think of me not as the enemy in this game, but as a teammate."
The sincerity in his voice was something not even the finest of Rowland's stage actors could fake. She realized this reluctantly. Oh, how it would be so much easier to hate someone who wants to... like him. She thought to herself internally. He had a humorous, zesty but commanding demeanor about him that made it near impossible. He was nothing like the cool and projected men of her country, like the thing he now had in his hand again, he was an open book.
"Now would you like to hear another story?"
Meridian read her tale after tale, each more elaborate than the last, but they all had one thing in common, they were all centered around a brave man vying for the unexplainable affections of a beautiful maiden. In Illyria's eyes, the characters all seemed to be suffering from the same disease, an ill-fated thing Meridian called love. Now in Rowland, they had this word, it was an emotional attachment to family members or longtime friends, she felt this for her uncle, she did for Rosaline as a child, and to some extent she even felt it for her cousins, but from what she heard it must mean something entirely different to the Morwicks. The word they called love seemed like a contagion, it made grown men and woman do impossible, fantastical deeds to earn the hand of someone whose marriage wouldn't necessarily benefit them socially, monetarily or politically.
It was strange, but listening to his steady voice was incredibly relaxing, almost soothing, spending this informal time with him had almost made the knots that had bound themselves tightly in her stomach disappear completely.
As his latest story drew to a close, she glanced over to the mats beside her, as far as she could see every other woman was experiencing the same feeling.
Even her cousin Edwina, who she could just make out about a dozen or so spaces down, seemed relaxed and at ease. Her cousin, who had been a nervous wreck since her departure from the castle, was propped up on her elbows, basking in the summer sun as she listened intently to the tall, dark-haired man sitting beside her.
She couldn't spot Rosaline or her other cousin Princess Natalie, they were lost in the sea of girls in red dresses next to men with dark shades of hair.
"And they lived happily ever after..." Closed Meridian for what would be the final time that day.
"Why do they all end like that?" She asked as he shut the book.
"What do you mean?" Meridian questioned as he began picking up books from beside the now empty plate of strawberries and putting them back into the basket.
"With happy, prosperous endings?"
"What's a good book without a happy ending?" He answered her question with another question.
"But aren't all fables supposed to end in tragedy? That way you learn something from them?" She engaged, holding a palm up in question. The stories told by most bards in her country were similar to Greek tragedies. Tales of greed, or of bloodlust that is eventually fulfilled but only to lead the receptor to suffer.
"Your people may read about the tragedy to be humbled or to learn a lesson, but my people read for hope. The world is full of too much tragedy already." His eyes flashed with a sudden sadness as he affirmed that last sentence.
She guessed him to be thinking about his homeland, and the terrible, real tragedy that had occurred there, but before she could inquire about it, a strange sort of deeply pitched noise rang out from the campsite. The sound was metallic, like a bell, but lower.
"What was that?" She swiveled her head to look back at the 101 tents in the distance.
"That's called a gong, and it's our signal to return to camp." She turned back to see that he was already on his feet, smoothing out the creases on his shirt.
"Shall we?" He held out his hand to help her up. She looked from the hand, back up to his eyes, and then back out to his hand. This gesture seemed to be him extending the proverbial olive branch, she saw the hope in his expression, hoping that she would accept it. Seeing no malice, she accepted his hand, and he pulled her up.