Lament For What Could Have Been

Bellestiel was alone in the tower, her head bowed.  She had sat alone in this chamber for  an entire month with no company save for the maid that brought her food and water. Her garments were dignified, but plain, for she was clad in black and gray, the colors of mourning, and a heavy black cloak billowed around her, a silver clasp securing it at her throat. Silvery, crystalline flakes of snow spiraled with the wind, dancing through the open window as the curtains caught in the bitter, winter breeze, fluttering in and out of the chamber like butterfly wings. Her dark hair was swept up by a silver net, and she sat by the window, staring down at her hands.

        “My lady?” a young maid poked her head into the room nervously. Bellestiel didn't bother to acknowledge her presence, but continued to stare at her hands. The young maid tried again. “The advisers are here to see you, milady. They would like to talk of...” here the young maid faltered, but regained control of her voice and began again, “They would like to discuss possible suitors that would be helpful to political alliances...now that...now that...”

        Bellestiel tilted her head to look at the maid. Her gaze seemed piercing to the young girl as the lady stared at her, her misty gray eyes as fragile as spun glass, but resolute. Then she turned away to stare out of the window.

        “Dismiss them,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse from the hours of crying herself to sleep, but still she had the presence of a queen. “I am in mourning for my husband. I will not be so faithless.”

        The maid hesitated. “But ma'am... the dragons in the north...we have not the strength to defend our borders without help.”

        Bellestiel turned her head fully to examine the maid this time. Straight and slender like a ruler, the girl was fourteen or fifteen, dressed in a gray woolen gown, with a shawl draped over her shoulders and her fair-hair tucked underneath a white damask cap. Freckles dotted her pale, heart-shaped face, and her wide blue eyes stared back at Bellestiel.

        “What is your name?” Bellestiel asked quietly.

        “Jenny, milady, short for Jennen.” The maid wrinkled her nose as she said her full first name, and was delighted when a ghost of a smile graced Bellestiel's face for a split-second. It was gone as quickly as it had come, however,, and Bellestiel returned to silent graveness.

        “Well, Jenny,” she said, “Do you know the story of the death of my husband, your king?”

        “No, milady,” Jenny replied, “Only that he died well, succumbing to a valiant and noble death in renown and glory.”

        “Then you do not know that he could have lived?” Bellestiel's voice was so soft that Jenny almost didn't catch her words.

        “No, ma'am, not that I know of. Only,” here she hesitated, “Only... well, the servants talk, you know, and one hears things that are so ridiculous--”

        “What do they say?” Bellestiel cut through the young girl's rambling, “That I had always known that he would die and I could have saved him, but I had let him fall?” Jenny froze, seeing the pain in her queen's eyes. Then in slow, halting speech, she replied.

        “Yes, milady...but it couldn't be true, could it?”

        Jenny and Bellestiel sank into perfect silence for twelve heartbeats.

        “Would you like to hear a story?” Finally came Bellestiel's soft voice, breaking the silence, “The story of woman who loved a man with all her heart, but refused to save him for the greater good of the world?” Jenny nodded mutely and sat down on the stone floor, not wanting to disturb the strange spell of silence around them with her own voice. She watched as her queen swallowed, steeling her emotions for the tale she was about to tell.

        “It began twenty years ago,” Bellestiel began, her face turned toward the window, “On a snowy night very similar to this night, when a seven-year-old girl fainted on the doorstep of a wise old woman. The woman was a devoted student of the magical arts, and many powers were passed on to her, including the gift of foresight, and when she saw the child lying on the doorstep of her little cottage, she had a vision. The girl was to become the queen of a powerful nation. So the woman brought her in and raised the girl as her own,” she closed her eyes, as if trying to remember what came next, “Years passed. The girl grew into a young lady, full of light and hope, well-taught in the arts of healing and magic. One day, the girl was out gathering herbs in the forest near the wise woman's cottage, when she heard a strange noise. It came from deep within the trees, the very center of the forest where the girl had never ventured before. Curiosity got the best of the girl, and she followed the sound of metal clashing against metal into the deepest, darkest part of the forest. There, she found a boy not much older than her, standing alone in an army of goblins, fighting for his life. The girl saw that, although the  boy was greatly outnumbered, he had cut down a great number of his enemies so that his companions could escape unscathed. Moved by his courage and and selflessness, the girl decided to save him. So she cast a spell that drove the goblins away, and brought the boy, who had then been gravely wounded and unconscious, back to the wise woman's cottage. Together, the wise woman and the girl began the difficult task of nursing him back to health. When he was well enough to speak, the girl learned of the boy's identity. He was a prince, next in line to the throne of Hahir. Days became weeks, and weeks became months. The girl and the prince fell in love with one another, and when the prince returned to his kingdom, the girl followed. They were wed, and when the old king died, they inherited the throne. But that is not the end of our story,” Bellestiel looked down again, fixing her eyes on the floor, “For the new king was eager to drive away the forces of darkness from his land. He led his armies into battle against evil. His queen was worried about his well-being, and so she went to the wise old woman, to ask about their future. The wise old woman, although knowing the consequences, showed the queen her husband's fate. She had known the queen would leave the course of the future alone in the end. That day, that fateful day, the queen rode out with her husband. For him it was merely a ride with his beloved, but for her, it was a choice between life and death. And when they stood at the edge of the forest, facing the trolls...” Bellestiel's voice cracked and she broke off. Tears brimmed her eyes. Jenny stared at her queen, shocked, as Bellestiel broke down.

        “I couldn't save him,” she sobbed, “I was there. I stood beside him and watched the final battle, but I didn't stop it. I knew what was going to happen, but I couldn't...I just couldn't...” she looked at Jenny, her gray eyes pleading, “Please...you have to understand...the consequences were too great....it would have changed the fate of our world...”

        Jenny found herself moving toward Bellestiel, and was surprised by her own boldness when she reached out a hand and placed it on her lady's shoulder. Bellestiel buried her face in her hands, trembling.

        “You did what you judged to be right,” she whispered soothingly, “You could not have changed fate. You sacrificed your own happiness for your people.”

        “I loved him, Jenny,” she whispered back, “I loved him with all my heart. But when the time came...I couldn't do it...I couldn't be brave enough to challenge fate.”

       “You are wise,” Jenny told her, “But now you have to learn to forget and forgive. You have to forgive yourself, milady. You cannot dwell on the past. The time for grief is over. This is your chance at redemption.” She covered Bellestiel's shaking hand with her own, “Come out of your shell. Use you knowledge and powers. Save your people. Be brave enough now to make a difference.”  She waited patiently until Bellestiel's sobs had subsided, and her lady was, once again, gravely silent.

        Then at last Bellestiel spoke. Her voice was still soft, but this time it was strong and clear. “Tell the advisers I shall be down in a few moments. I will not remarry yet, but I will discuss possible alliances.” A grim smiled graced her lips as she looked at Jenny, “Would you tell my handmaidens to set up my room again? I should like to return to my old chamber.”

        Then Jenny smiled. Her queen was changing, she could tell. Already the first ice had thawed. Jenny stood up, brushed herself off and curtsied. And then she turned to go, but stopped at the doorway when Bellestiel called her back.

        “Thank you,” Bellestiel smiled at the young maid. It was a real smile, the type that lights up the room. Jenny nodded and smiled back. This simple exchange was how Jenny knew everything will be alright in the end, for the process to heal Bellestiel's heart and help her forgive herself had begun.

Author's Note

sorry about the random bolds in the middle of the text. It was an assignment written for school, limited to five pages so it's kinda short. It's just an idea for what would happen if you knew the lives and fates of everyone around you, like Bellestiel did.

Reviews

[Rose of Gondor]

@ BP Barwick. Thank you for your kind review. It is true that I had to limit her history and her story-telling, but that is because I had to wrap it up somehow. Since then I've lost my train of idea, as you could call it. I lost my voice on this piece, and I've been desperately trying to regain it. I will look over the descriptions, however, later, wehn I've found the voice again.

[BP Barwick]

I enjoyed your writing, you have a good voice and the story flows very well. I don't think the length of a story really matters that much: a paragraph long story can be excellent if done right, but they are harder to do the shorter you go. At the end of the story I did feel like there needed to be some more detail in there: it kind of felt like Belletiel's life was just glossed over. This left me feeling little sympathy toward her.