Ghost of a Rose

In Memory of Julia Völcker Dec. 31, 1989 to June 19, 2010

  

 Prince Durin DeMure walked along the stone path, looking up

into the trees surrounding him, and paying very little attention to

anything else.  He was sixteen years old, and would soon be claiming

the throne to the kingdom of Kelorn.  The kingdom had been ruled by his

loving mother, Queen Olivian DeMure, since his father had died during a

hunting accident when he was only six.  The kingdom had prospered under

his mother rule, and there had been no contentions for the throne.  It

would pass on to him, if he wanted it to or not, and Durin had spent

the last ten years of his life wondering if he really wanted to become

king so early on in his life.
 His father, King Vladimer DeMure, and been a kind, honest king.

 Everyone in the kingdom, from the highest noble to the lowest peasant

had loved his father, and would have laid down their lives for him if

only he had even hinted at wanting them to do so.  His death had been a

tragic accident that had devastated the entire kingdom, but no one had

been more effected by the king’s death than his young son.  Durin had

not been prepared for either his father’s death or to learn that as

soon as he came of age, he would be crowned the new king.  For as far

back as he could remember, he had thought that his father would live to

a ripe, old age, ruling the kingdom until the day he died at a very

advanced age.
 He could easily remember the day his father passed away.  He

had been sitting in his window, looking down upon the courtyard.  It

had been filled with men on horseback, his father sitting in the middle

of the crowd upon a grand and elegant, white, charger.  They had all

been eager for the hunt that had been planned for the day.  The

legendary white stag had been spotted in the king’s woods, a rare and

magnificent trophy.  He had begged to go along, knowing that there

might not be another sighting of a white stag again in his lifetime,

but his father had refused him, stating that such a hunt was simply far

to dangerous for such a young lad.  And so, he had remained at the

castle while his father had gone out with several of his most loyal and

trusted woodsmen upon the hunt.
 They had not foreseen the appearance of the great boar, a huge

and terrible animal that seemed to roam the four corners of the

kingdom, while in the king’s woods.  His father had fought bravely,

protecting one of the men who had been wounded by the beast when it had

first charged them, but the great beast had proved to be too much for

his skill, goring him with one of its massive tusks as he tried to

drive his sword into its side.  It finally took nine men to subdue and

kill the brute, but by then it had been too late.  King Vladimer DeMure

had been mortally wounded, dieing of his wounds before he had even made

it back to the castle.
 Now, ten years later, it was coming closer and closer to Prince

Durin’s coronation day, and he feared he would not be up to the task. 

He feared his subjects would find him wholly lacking where his father

had been so grand and magnificent.  How was he, a boy who barely even

understood the ruling of a kingdom, to take his father’s place after so

many years?  Even to this day, the people talked of his father with

love and devotion that was not soon to pass away. 
 He let his thoughts of the coming days pass from his mind, and

looked about him at the garden he was walking through.  It had once

belonged to his mother, and she had tended it with love and a passion

that was only second to her love of her husband and son.  After King

Vladimer had passed away, though, she found that she no longer had as

much time as she once had to tend to the flowers, trees and simple

plants that had seemed to be her life’s work, and so a gardener was

hired on full time to tend the garden.  He lived in a small, but

pleasant hovel near the middle of the grounds so that he could get to

any part of the garden within only a few minutes quick walk.
 His mother had been most fastidious in who she hired on to tend

what she no longer had the time to care for, and, after over a hundred

interviews, she had finally chosen an older man with no family and as

much love of greenery as she had.  Bradon Drover loved the queen’s

garden almost as much as she did, and would not even think of leaving

it, even in winter.  As he had once told young Prince Durin, just

because you do not see the green doesn’t mean the plants no longer have

life in them.  They merely sleep until the warming sun of spring wakes

them up once more to grace the world with their beauty.
 When Drover had first come to the garden to live, his home had

looked like any other hovel in the kingdom, a small, plain, wooden

structure located in the dead center of the garden.  Over the years,

Drover had encouraged a number of vines and plants to grow up and

around it until little could be seen of the actual house at all.  It

had become a green, leafy structure with only a few windows and a door

visible.  Flowering plants grew up to the very walls of the structure,

and it now looked more like a natural formation than a work of man.
 Durin walked by this house now, looking upon it with a feeling

close to envy.  He had found Drover to be a good friend over the past

several years, but now he saw the freedom of the simple gardener, and

wished that he could have such a life.  Oh, how wonderful it must be to

have only a handful of people to please, and those only by how he

tended the beautiful gardens.  No one demanded his time or attention. 

He only had to look after plants, and surely they never complained of

his treatment of them.
 Drover came out of the house, moving between the vines that

crawled up the sides of his home, being careful not to disturb a single

leaf, and waved happily to the Prince.  “Hallu, Prince Durin.  How does

this day find you?”  He was an elderly man with a bit of a slump to his

back from years of toiling in the weeds and plants and soil, but his

eyes sparkled brightly with a happy and contented life to them.
 Durin felt his dark mood slipping from him, sliding off his

shoulders like an unwanted cloak.  He walked over to his friend with a

happy smile of his own.  “Well enough, and you?”
 The older man stretched his back, producing a number of

creaking, cracking sounds that would have been distressing to anyone

who was not used to them.  He had once told Durin that aging bones

liked to talk, and his more than most.  “Oh, no complaints here, young

Prince.”
 Looking about, Durin said, “You’ve done a fine job this year. 

The flowers look wonderful, as always.”
 Drover shrugged.  “Can’t say I had as much to do with the

flowers as mother nature herself did, but I appreciate the kind words. 

Going for a walk?”
 Durin nodded, knowing that Drover knew how the prince enjoyed

to walk about the grounds when he needed to think, or was having

problems with something he didn’t usually wanted to talk about. 

Sometimes, he would confide in the gardener, but this time he felt that

he couldn’t do that.  He couldn’t admit to anyone his fears of what his

future would be like.  It would seem to unbecoming of him to fret and

moan over something he could not change, something that was so expected

of him.
 “Well, I’ll be off this way, and let you be for now.  Call if

there’s anything you need.  Enjoy the fresh air, your majesty.”  With

that, he headed off in the opposite direction to tend the garden on the

far side from where Durin usually headed.  He wasn’t sure if his friend

actually had been planning to work that side today, or if he had just

known that the boy needed some space, but he was grateful for the time

alone.
 Drover had only gotten a few feet away before turning, and

calling back.  “Now, don’t go picking any of the flowers.  You know how

your mother dislikes that.”
 Durin laughed, and waved back.  “You know I wouldn’t want to

risk my mother’s wrath for even the most beautiful rose.”
 A strange look passed over Drover’s face at those last words,

one Durin was entirely unfamiliar with, and it disturbed him to see

such a dark look upon his friend‘s features.  “And you remember that,”

he called in a voice that was not his usual light and cheery self.  He

disappeared between a couple of trees before Durin got the chance to

question him about his change in mood.
 Shrugging it off, Durin headed the other direction, deeper into

the small woods that made up this side of the garden.  His mother had

loved trees, and had insisted that a small woods be put into the area

she called her garden.  The trees had been moved, with care and under

the supervision of the queen herself, from the king’s woods to the

garden many years ago.  She had chosen the trees herself, walking the

entire woods, with several trained huntsmen with her, until she had

found just the right ones, marking each with a light pink scarf tied

about one of the lower branches, so as not to damage the tree. 
 Durin walked under the ceiling of green leaves, not really

seeing anything as he moved further and further away from the main part

of the castle, and all his worries.  The trees seemed to draw closer

and closer until it was like walking through a living cave of trunk and

bark.
 He didn’t know how long he had walked, but he finally came to a

part of the garden he didn’t seem to remember, and he had thought that

he would have been all over it by now.  He enjoyed the gardens almost

as much as his mother did, and came here often.  How could there be a

spot he was wholly unfamiliar with?  The grounds were large, but not

that big.
 He spotted a small, white rose bush nestled against a large

tree.  He knelt down beside the pearl, white flowers, and ran his hand

over the silky petals.  The thought crossed his mind to pick just one

of the beautiful flowers, but the thought of how angry his mother would

be with him for harming even one of her plants stayed his hand.  His

mother was a kind, caring, loving woman, but there was one thing she

would not tolerate, and that was the harming of a single, living being,

even a plant.
 Sighing, he stood, and moved off a few feet.
 That was when he saw her.
 Up ahead, on the thin path he had been following through the

trees stood a woman he had never seen before.  Her skin was paler than

newly fallen snow.  Her silky, raven black hair hung down well past her

hips, swaying behind her.  Her eyes were a piercing blue, more like

crystals set in her face than eyes, but they had a warm, soft look to

them.  Her lips were so pale, they looked almost blue themselves.  Her

long, flowing dress seemed made of dew drops that glistened in the

light coming between the leaves of the trees.
 Startled, he called out to her.  Only members of the royal

family and Drover had the key to the gardens.  No one else was allowed

into the walled off grounds, so how had this stranger gotten in here?
 “Hey, wait!” he cried out as she turned and fled into the

woods.  He ran after her, wanting to know who she was, and how she had

gotten into the gardens.  He wasn’t sure he felt anger or irritated

that she had made it in, just curious.  He had never seen her about the

castle before, but her gowns were too elegant to be those of a peasant.
 She darted between the trees, disappearing and then reappearing

a moment or two later further along the path, further than he thought

she should have been able to get in the amount of time he lost track of

her.  They passed trees, each one getting taller and taller than the

last until they were towering well above his head, and were wider

around than he could even hope of putting his arms about.  He had not

thought any of the trees that had been brought into the garden long ago

were this big, or had had enough time to grow this large.  The trees

about him now were ancient, older than anything he had ever seen

before.  They stood like great, yet tolerant, sentinels on either side

of the path the two were rushing down.  It all seemed strange to him,

as if he had somehow come to a foreign land without any knowledge of

how he had gotten there.
 A splash and a cry sounded ahead of him, and he sped to where

he heard the sounds coming from.
 He came to a stream, one he was more than sure should not have

been there.  He was sure there was no amount of running water to be

found in the gardens at all, they had not been set up for such a thing.

 Not far from him, the woman he had been chasing was thrashing about in

the water, calling out and waving about in such a manner that there was

no mistaking her need for help. 
 Without a thought, Durin tossed himself into the water, and

swam to her, taking hold of her struggling form, he drew her to the

bank, and pulled her up onto solid ground.
 Panting and sputtering, she turned to him, her raven black hair

plastered to her face, arms, back and sides, “I didn’t need your help,”

she said, shivering from the cold water.
 Durin took off his jacket, and wrapped it about her, even as

she protested his kindness.  “That’s not how I saw it,” he said back. 

“And you’re welcome.”
 She settled down, and actually smiled at him.  “Thank you,” she

said so softly that he barely heard her.
 “How did you get in here?” he asked.  “The gardens are off

limits to all but the royal family and the royal gardener.”
 “I live here,” she said simply, looking off into the trees.
 Frowning, Durin asked, “Did Drover let you in?”
 She laughed at that.  “I need no one’s permission to come into

my home.”
 He shook his head in confusion.  “I don’t understand.  What do

you mean by ‘your home‘?  This is no one‘s home.”
 She placed a delicate finger upon his lips, and he could smell

the sweet smell of spring roses upon her skin.  “It’s not your place to

understand.”  Standing up, she tossed his jacket back at him, and said,

“It’s time for me to go.  Good day.”
 He stood up, and reached out to take her hand, but she was

already starting to move away.  “Wait.  Please.  Come back to the

castle with me.  You need not live out here in this.  We would happily

offer you a fine room, and dry clothes.  You have ruined your gown in

the water.  Would you not like something clean and fresh to wear?”
 She shook her head, her laughter twinkling like bells through

the wooded area.  “Your rooms have nothing that this garden does not

offer me, and more to my liking.  As for your offer of clothing, I am

quite content with what I have.”
 “But…I don’t even know your name,” he called out as she moved

away.
 Her voice drifted back to him from the trees.  “If you wish to

know me, come to the white rose bush tomorrow.  I’m sure you know it

well.  It’s the one you almost wrongfully took a flower from.”
 With that, she was gone.

 Durin sat at the dining table with his mother, staring across

the wide expanse of polished wood down at her.  Queen Olivian sat with

regal beauty, eating of her plate with her dainty mannerisms that he

found to be one of her more endearing aspects.  They seldom had anyone

at table with them, not because they were stingy or did not want to

spend time with the servants, but because this was one of the few

things they got to do alone as mother and son, since the needs of the

kingdom took so much of her time.  It seemed that this was not soon to

change when her son took the throne, for it would be him, and not her,

who would be giving near constant attention to the needs of the

kingdom, and his people.  They enjoyed these few moments they got

together, either in silence or with talk of their day.  Now, he decided

that he would discuss the strange events of the day with her.
 “Mother,” he said softly.  The table may have been long, but

his mother’s hearing was excellent, and the room carried the sound of

his voice well.
 She looked up, a pleasant look upon her face, as usual.  “Yes,

my son?”
 “Mother, do you know of anyone who lives in the gardens?”
 She smiled at this.  “Why, Drover lives in the gardens.  We

both know this.”
 Shaking his head at his own silliness, he said, “No, Mother, I

do not mean Drover.  Do you know of anyone else living in the gardens?”
 “Why, whatever do you mean?” she asked with polite interest.
 “I…I saw a woman there today.  I have never seen the like of

her about before.  She told me that she lived in the gardens when I

asked her to come back to the castle with me.  She said the gardens had

more for her than we could offer her.  Who is she?  Do you know her,

mother?”
 His mother looked at him, a thoughtful expression upon her

face.  After a bit, she shook her head, and said, “No, I know of no one

living in the gardens.  Are you sure you actually saw anyone at all?”
 He smiled, feeling none of the anger such an accusation would

usually cause a person.  “Yes, mother, she was not a dream or a

fantasy, if that is what you are asking me.”
 “And she was not some beggar or peasant girl who had perhaps

climbed the walls to get into the gardens?”  She did not say this with

any amount of anger or contempt in her voice.  If such was true of the

girl, his mother would be the first to offer the girl a place in the

castle, so that she would have a home.  His mother’s kindness and

generosity was well known throughout the kingdom.
 Again, he shook his head.  “She could not have been so.  Her

dress was much too fancy and well done to be the work of a peasant, and

no peasant would have been able to afford such fine materials as the

gown was made of.”
 “Are you to see the girl again?” his mother ask, showing little

in the way of worry or concern, as if she already knew that if the girl

did exist, she had no need to fear for her son’s safety.
 “She has told me to met her by the white rose bush in the

gardens tomorrow, if I wish to know her better.”
 At the mention of the rose bush, his mother’s expression

clouded over, but only for a moment.  The look was there and gone

before he had noticed it.  “Do you plan to keep this…appointment?”
 “If you have no objections, Mother.  I’m am curious to know her

better.”
 She waved her hand.  “If that is what you wish.  I only ask

that you deal with this matter cautiously.  You are the heir to the

throne, and must deal with all things with your head, and with caution

before you follow the will of your heart.”
 Bowing his head, he said, “Thank you, Mother.  I will not

disappoint you…in any matter.”

 Durin headed out to the gardens the next day, not even

finishing his lessons for the day before he slipped out of his rooms to

go and see the woman who had so fascinated him the day before.
 It was not until he reached the white rose bush that he

realized they had not discussed a time to meet.  He wondered, as he

knelt beside the bush and ran his finger tips over the silky petals,

how long it would be that he would have to wait before she would show

herself.
 “I hope you are not thinking of doing anything to that plant.”
 He spun about to see the woman he had been waiting for standing

behind him, a smile upon her face, yet there was a hardness to her eyes

that he did not care for.  The spark faded as he stood up, and moved

away from the bush.  “You seem to have the same love of life as my

mother does,” he ventured to say, not sure how to really start.
 She shrugged her thin shoulders.  “I do not know if that is

true or not, but I do know I enjoy beautiful things, and if you picked

even one blossom from that plant, you would be ruining the beauty of

it, and that I will not abide by.”
   “Then I shall have to give my word that no harm shall ever

come to this rose.”
 Her features softened at his words, and she said, “And you are

good to your word?”
 Nodding, he said, “Yes.”
 Moving over to him, she slipped an arm around his, and said,

“Then I think I shall like you.  Come, I do not enjoy staying in one

place for long.  Let us go for a walk.”
 They headed off much in the same direction they had been going

in the previous day, she leading the way and he following her lead.
 As they came to the area of the woods he had not noticed before

yesterday, he said, “I had not known of this part of the gardens

before, and I would have thought by now that I would have known every

inch of these grounds.”
 Her laughter danced upon the wind.  “This part has been allowed

to grow wild, in honor of the land it was taken from, and what grows

wild is never the same, even from day to day.  Nature enjoys change,

far more than man does, and will change as it wills.”
 “I would not have thought that,” Durin said.  “Trees do not

change much, and rocks do not move.  The earth does not roam where it

wishes, but stays in one place.”
 She tapped him upon the nose, and said, “That is where you are

wrong.  Trees grow, sending their branches ever skyward and their roots

ever further into the earth.  Because they have no legs to move about

the land with, do not think that they are motionless, that they do not

explore the world in their own way.  They use what they can to feel and

experience the world, just as you would.  Rocks may not seem to move to

you, but that is because of how short your life is.  Rocks that lived

in the oceans for many, many, many years are now upon land, breathing

the air and feeling the wind where once they felt the flow of the ocean

currents.  And the earth?  The earth is always moving, changing,

shifting.  It is only because you travel upon it instead of within it

that you make this mistake.”
 He looked at her, feeling the passion behind her words, hearing

the knowledge in her voice.  “Who are you?”
 She turned to him, and smiled.  “My name is Adrora.  Now, you

have my name, my I have yours?”
 He stared at her, not believing her words.  “You do not know

me?”
 Looking about at the trees surrounding them, she said in a soft

and airy voice.  “No.  Am I supposed to?”
 Flabbergasted that anyone in his kingdom did not know him by

sight, it took him a few moments to remember his own name.  “I am

Prince Durin DeMure, soon to be king of this land.”
 Shrugging, she said, “And why should I know that?”
 “Because you are in my kingdom.”
 She stared at him, her strange, blue eyes sparkling oddly. 

“Your kingdom?”
 Nodding, he said, “Yes, my kingdom.”
 She tossed back her head, and laughed.  After a bit, she

finally regained her composure, though his feelings had already been

hurt by this point in time.  “What is so funny?  I see nothing funny

about what I just told you.”
 “What is funny?” she asked, as if the answer should be obvious.

 “Why, you are.  You and your belief that you rule over, not only the

people who live about you, but the land on which they live as well.”
 “But I will rule the land,” he said, almost sulkily.  He had

not been wanting to take his father’s place, but hearing her words had

somehow hurt him in some way he could not even seem to explain to

himself.
 “How could you rule the land?” she wanted to know.  “You do not

even understand it.  You have proven that with your words this day.”
 He fell silent, not sure how to respond to her words.  He had

proved that he did not understand the world as much as he had once

thought he had, but that didn’t mean that he would not soon be king,

and the land belonged to him, for it was his kingdom.
 She reached up, and ran her hand over his cheek.  Once again,

he was taken with her smell, like sweet rose petals in spring.  “I must

go now.”
 He took her hand.  “So soon?  You just got here.”
 She shook her head.  “No, I have been here a long time.  It is

you who have just gotten here.  Come to the white rose bush as often as

you like.  I will meet you there.”
 With that, she dashed away from him into the woods.

 Durin sat at his window, looking out into the pelting rain. 

His thoughts turned to Adrora, wondering where she was now, and how she

was fairing.  Did she have any place to stay out of the rain?  Did she

actually live anywhere, or did she roam the woods down in the gardens? 

He knew so little about her, and found himself wishing that he knew

more, that he had taken more time the past couple of days to find out

more about her.  Perhaps if he had chased after her when she dashed off

into the woods, he would have been able to find out more about her,

found out where she stayed when she was not wondering about.  He could

not remember seeing anything that even remotely looked like a cottage

or hovel for her to live in out in that wild area they visited every

day, but then again, he could not remember ever being in the part of

the garden she took him to before.  Perhaps she had a small cottage

stowed away back there that no one, not even Drover, knew about.
 He leaned against the window, vowing that the next day it was

pleasant enough to go out, he would seek her out, and find out more

about his mysterious friend.

 “Where do you go when you are not with me?” he asked her as

they walked the paths in the woods that only she seemed to know of.
 Shrugging her shoulders, she uttered, “Oh, here…there…wherever

I wish to be.”
 “Where were you yesterday, while it was raining?” he wanted to

know.  “Do you have anywhere to get out of the weather.”
 She laughed.  “Why would I want to do that?  I enjoy the rain. 

I would miss the joy it brings me if I was not out in it.”
 He looked at her, astounded.  “You do not stay anywhere dry and

safe while it rains?  Are you not worried about catching ill?” 
 She shook her head.  “Safe?  Do you really believe it safer to

be dry than wet when the rains come?  Do you believe if you are

constantly dry that you will never fall ill?”
 “But you could catch your death of cold?” he pressed on, not

having an answer to her last question.  Of course staying dry did not

guarantee one did not fall ill, but it didn’t hurt to stay out of the

rain, either.
 “It was not a cold rain yesterday, and you would have known

that if you did not have such fear of water.”
 He huffed slightly, offended by her words.  “I am not afraid of

water,” he stated indignantly.
 “Than why do you hide from it?” she asked, a smile upon her

face.
 He could come up with no answer to that, and could only shrug

his shoulders.  “Everyone knows it is not good to be out in the rain.”
 “Apparently, everyone has been misinformed.”
 “Why are you so different?” he asked her, wanting to know more,

but not sure how to go about finding out what he wanted to know.
 “Who says I am the different one?  Perhaps you and those you

know are the different ones, and I am perfectly normal.”
 “I would not call you normal.”
 “More the lose for you,” she stated mysteriously.  Turning

towards him, she smiled yet again, her strange, light blue lips pulling

up at the corners.  “It is time for me to go.  I shall see you again?”
 “Of course, but before you go, will you not tell me where it is

you go to when we are not together?”
 She shook her head.  “You need not know.”  With that, she

disappeared into the woods again, and though he thought to follow her,

something kept his legs in place.  He didn’t think he was ready to have

all her secrets yet.

 And so it was that they spent the spring, summer and fall of

that year, meeting every day next to the white rose bush that never

changed and never lost its beautiful petals, talking of this and that,

but never of her and her strange ways too much for a part of him feared

learning too much about her.  She talked of nature, and he of his

worries and fears of the coming years.  She did little to try and ease

his fears, but he found that just talking to her seemed to make things

better.  He did not dread the coming year as much as he had at first,

and he now felt that perhaps he could be the king his father was and

rule with a kind and just hand over his kingdom.
 Then one day, near the end of fall, he went to the white rose

bush to find Adrora with a saddened look upon her face.  He had never

seen any emotion in her before aside from joy, and this new look

confused him.  Startling up, he said, “What is wrong?”
 She moved to him, and laid her head upon his shoulder.  “I must

leave.”
 He wrapped his arms about her, even though her words cut him to

the quick.  “Leave?  What do you mean by that?  Why must you leave?  I

thought you had always been here.  Why must that change now?”
 She stepped back away from him, and looked up into his eyes. 

“I have always been here, but now I must go for a bit.  I will not be

able to see you through the winter months, but I will be back next

spring.  I promise you this.”
 He took her hand, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to

hear what she was saying.  He had come to expect her to be here for him

every day, for the two of them to get to walk through the woods,

listening to each other and being listened to.  He did not want to hear

that he would not have her company anymore, even if it would be just

for one season.  “I could go with you.”
 She shook her head, a crystalline tear slipping from her eye. 

“No.  You must stay here.  You have a kingdom to rule, and people who

would miss you.”
 “I will not become king until next year.  I could go with you,

and come back then.  Mother will rule the kingdom in my absence, as she

always has,” he said, feeling desperate to stay with her, not wanting

to let her go, no matter what the cost.  He felt sure that he could

easily give up his kingdom, being prince and everything else that came

with that status.  He didn’t want the royal trappings, the fine

clothes, the excellent food, so long as he could have her with him,

forever.
 Adrora shook her head.  “You cannot come where I go.  You’re

place is here, and you must stay here.”
 Durin was starting to feel more desperate than ever, longing to

keep her with him, but not wanting to make her a prisoner.  He could

never do that to her, no matter how much he wanted to be with her. 

“Must I say good-bye to you?  Could you not stay, or perhaps tell me

where you are going?  Then, I could come and visit you.  That would not

be so bad, would it?”
 She pulled away from him.  “That could not be.  We must part,

but it will only be for one season.  You must accept that.”
 “And if I don’t.”
 “Then I will not be able to come back next spring.”
 He turned from her, part of him wanting to be angry with her,

and another part realizing that that was not how he wanted to leave

her.  He did not want to taint their memories with anger, and so he

turned back to her, and took her in his arms again, smelling the sweet

perfume of fresh, spring roses.  “I will miss you.”
 “And I you.”  She said, before pulling away, and dashing off

into the woods.
 He stared after her for some time before finally turning away,

and heading slowly back towards the castle, wishing it was already

spring again.

 The storm raged against the castle walls, as it had for over a

week now, dashing icy rain and snow against the structures littered

about the lands.  The word was that it was the worse storm that anyone

was able to remember, including the old grandmother’s whose memories

were said to go back to the early days of the kingdom, their wisdom

being passed down from generation to generation.  Better than a history

book, they were considered, and even none of them could offer anyone

any comfort with words that such a storm had existed before.  It was as

if the gods had been horribly angered, and were trying to batter the

kingdom down with ice and snow and winds that could carry a small child

away if they were not weighed down properly.
 Worse yet, the prince had fallen ill only a couple of days

after the start of the storm, and none could find a cure for him. 

Every learned person and elderly woman with any knowledge of the arts

of healing had been called in, and none could find a cure for the

prince.  He burned with a terrible fever, and raved in his delusions. 

Some said he had already gone over to the other side, in his mind

anyway, and it would only be a matter of time before his body finally

realized this.
 The queen fretted over the health of her son, but there was

nothing she could do to help him, and so she hovered by his bed side,

night and day, never sleeping, only nodding off in a doze that she

easily woke from.  Even so, she did not see the one who saved her son,

for that one moved about with a silence and ease that none could even

hope to imitate.
 
 Durin lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling.  It hurt to

breath.  Each breathe seemed to tear at his chest, and he wanted it to

stop.  He wanted the pain to stop, but it seemed as if it never would. 

His head felt thick with thoughts that were not his own, and even when

he cried them out into the air, they would not free themselves from his

mind.  Over and over they ran about, snapping and snarling at his brain

until he knew not what was real and what was in his head.  He knew his

mother was there, and he knew many men and women had been to see them,

but he could not remember them well, and could not remember why they

had been there.  It had not been to help him, of that he was sure, for

he was still in terrible pain and agony, and surely if they had come to

help him, they would have taken all that away with them when they left.
 He closed his eyes for they now burned as if a fire raged

behind them, and he slept.  While he slept, he had a dream, a wonderful

dream of a cool hand reaching behind his neck and lifting his head up. 

A cool bit of metal touched his lips, and then a wonderful liquid

filled his mouth.  He swallowed with greed for what he tasted was

spring.  What he tasted was life.  What he tasted was the sweet smell

of roses, pouring into his mouth and throat, filling his body and soul

with life.  What he tasted was love, sweet, sweet love.

 The colors and smells of spring filled the air, and Durin

dashed out into the garden, laughing and crying out in joy.  He had

survived the terrible illness that had nearly taken him in the winter

months, and now it was spring again.  The doctors had warned him not to

go outside yet, that he was still weak from the illness, but he heeded

their words not, for he knew better.  There was no weakness in him, and

he longed to see Adrora once again, to hold her and tell her of his

brush with death.  He longed to hear her voice, and smell her sweet

scent as he went to bended knee to ask her to be his queen.
 He rushed to the white rose bush, and what he saw there nearly

broke his heart.
 The rose bush that had been his and his love’s meeting place

was withered, dead.  Nothing remained of the beautiful flowers or the

lush green leaves.  All that was there now was dark, twisted twigs to

mark where the plant had been.  It was not asleep, hibernating through

the winter months, but had passed away, gone forever from the world.
 Looking about, he called out, “Adrora!  Adrora, where are you?”
 He rushed about, looking here and there, but she was no where

to be found.  Frantic, he called louder and louder, his cries echoing

through the woods.  He returned to the now dead rose bush in hopes that

she would be there.  Standing in her place, was his mother, an

expression of deep sorrow upon her face.  Holding out her hand, she

said to her son, “There are things you must now know.  Things I must

tell you, that perhaps you should have known before.”

 Durin sat upon the stone bench in the garden, looking

expectantly at his mother.  She had not said a word to him as she had

lead him away from the rose bush he had spent so much time near last

year and over to the benches near Drover’s little hovel.  He had

thought to ask her many times what it was she had to tell him, but

decided that she was waiting for a reason, and he would let her tell

him what she had to say in her own time, and her own way.
 Looking off in the direction of the rose plant, she said,

“Roses are special plants, even among the green, growing things of the

world.  They stand for friendship, love and passion because they are

themselves friendship, love and passion.  If a rose lives long enough,

and carries enough love and passion for life, they can become something

else than they already are.  They gain a mortal form, and can move

about the world as a mortal, so long as they stay near their physical

form, near the rose bush that bore them.  It is rare for one of these…

mortal…roses to show themselves to humans, but not unheard of.  They

long for love as much as the next being, and they see that love in

humans, and long for it.  Some of them are drawn, like a moth to a

flame, to the world of mortals, and there, they try to live normal and

happy lives, leaving only once a year, during the coldest part of the

year.  That is when the plant they came from needs the passion and life

they have the most, to get them through the long, cold months, so that

they may bloom again in spring.
 There is another part to the myth of these rose people, and

that is that their sap has special, healing powers when drunk by a

human.  The sap of a rose is said to be so powerful, that it can bring

someone back from the brink of death when no other medicine can touch

the illness that plagues them.  There is a price to this, though.  The

sap of a rose has healing powers when drunk by a man, for it is the

life of the rose.  Once they have given their sap away, to save a life,

their own life is forfeit.  The rose, without it’s sap, dies.”  Her

voice died away as she looked back at her son.
 Durin stared at her, the tears coursing down his face. 

“Adrora?  Adrora was…”  He looked off towards the thorny ruin of the

white rose bush.  “Adrora was…the white rose bush.  When I was…when I

was sick, she gave me her sap, so that I might live.”
 Queen Olivian stood up, and placed her hand upon her son’s

shoulder.  “It was the dearest gift she could give you.  Do not waste

it.”  With that, she walked away, returning to the castle
 Durin stood up, and walked over to the rose bush that had once

been his lover, and knelt down beside it.  He ran his hands through the

thorny mess, letting it cut his skin.  Small trickles of blood rolled

down his hands, dripping upon the twisted twigs.  “How I loved you,

Adrora.  And how I wish now that I could do for you what you did for

me, but I have not the means to save you, or bring you back.  All I can

do is take the lessons about life you gave me, and live as you would

have had me.  I will rule the kingdom as you would have liked, insuring

the land is well cared for, and loved.  You have brought me the

strength I needed to do what I must do, and I thank you for that. 

Good-bye, Adrora.”  With that said, he walked away, leaving the dead

rose bush to forever lay by the great tree, a reminder to him for the

rest of his life what true love and sacrifice is.

Author's Note

This was written for a close friend of mine who passed away this year.