Wild Rose- A Faerie Tale
"I haven't been in love for... a long time, let's say." Saralyn studied the girl.
"Why?" Cass had long ago lost any tact she once had, and let her curiousity rule her. It helped her as a seer, but as a person? Let's just say she could count her friends on one hand.
"I... had a bad time of it. Things that are, as such things often do, coming back to make me feel like a complete idiot." The Sidhe looked at her, mismatched eyes blank. "Do you like wild roses?" - From my Faerie Tale.
A tangle of red curls and brown mud and dress before the horse was how he found her. An arrow, possibly from the battle nearby, lie in her shoulder, dangerously close to her neck. She was alive, barely, her breath ragged. She was pitiably thin, and looked disoriented. Wild roses were caught in her hair, a bloodied halo.
The man studied the young woman, then noticed her eyes. A witch’s eyes. He smiled darkly. How lucky he could be, if she survived…
She was fine a week later, and he noticed the signs. She was always careful to keep her wild carroty curls over her ears, and the largest fire was wherever she was. Her speech lapsed into various accents depending on her mood. She avoided touching iron with her bare hands.
He noticed, with the detachment of heartless ambition, that she could be considered lovely, with her straight, delicate nose, elegant musician’s hands, and a catlike grace. Her large eyes were disquieting, but were balanced by an amused warmth that seemed to win over his young page.
It became clear how he must gain her trust, and so he began to court her.
*******
Saralyn had been amused at first when Sir Carey tried to court her. Quite frankly, the man was not very good at it.
Eventually, he had managed to win her over, a process that involved endless games of chess, which he seemed rather happy to find a player who offered a challenge to him; and teaching her to ride well, a process that earned young Meallán, Carey’s page, amusement, and her several bruises. He gave he a single wild rose every week, in memory of their first “meeting”.
Sir Carey had won her trust, and Saralyn was happy of this fact, for she had met few people who liked her in her four hundred years.
It took another two weeks to win her heart, but he had triumphed, and was glad of it, for this way he could, if he needed it, get her full name, and so own her…
Two years later, Saralyn was looking for Meallán, who had promised to help her with her young mare. She remembered him saying that he had been told he needed to learn his letters, for Sir Carey placed stress on this. Carey was under the impression that the freckled woman, raised by peasants, was illiterate, but that was far from the truth. Four hundred years was a long time, and she had learned several skills, reading and writing being one of them.
She walked slowly into the library, hoping to see her young friend. She didn’t see the young page, but instead the scatter of notes.
Her eyes widened as she studied the notes, all in her lover’s neat handwriting. “No…”
The note on top read simply- Elixir of Immortality ready. Testing on Meallán, he may suspect and tell the fey.
She made up her mind to see Carey immediately. This couldn’t be true…
The betrayed Fey looked at her lover, and bit her lip, which was twisted in a furious snarl. She had let a few tears fall for the dead child on the floor, for Meallán was dead of the poison Carey used on him. She looked at the cool eyes of the man who had, upon noticing her enter his room, upon seeing her sorrow for the dead lad, given her a kiss on the cheek like all was well, and her icy fury took over, and her mismatched eyes took a glassy cast.
“You know my secret. You know of the Sidhe, and to know my true name, that will give you power, power over death. Power for which you slaughtered an innocent.” Saralyn closed the boy’s sightless brown eyes delicately. She shuddered and begun again.
“To prevent more death, to keep my freedom, I shall give you what you seek, your immortality. But it will come dearly to you, and shall be a most fragile gift. Do you dare to accept? Dare to refuse? Beware them both, for my temper is thin, and you have done a grave misdeed in your search for power.” Saralyn looked wearily at the man, relying on tradition and fury, at her heartless lover and her naivety, to get her through this mess.
“I… accept.” Dissapointment was on the Sidhe’s narrow face, and she shook her head, loose red curls tumbled about her shoulders as she shook her head gravely. The dark haired man smirked, thinking he had managed to win what he wanted for nothing.
“Chymeri 'm 'n angheuol ddonia , eto addoed shall mo chyffwrdd 'ch. Namyn gochel a a bradychaist , achos anfarwoldeb ydy 'n frau.*” She smirked wickedly, a bitter parody of the one the now shaking, convulsing man had just worn. “Goodbye, love. As a token of my esteem…” She placed the wild rose tucked in her curls in his shaking hand, and he recoiled. “Remember, you have lost your hold over me, for your gift- saving my life- is now repayed. All memory of your power has vanished from your mind.” She sighed, and looked very vulnerable, remembering the man who saved her, two years ago. He had changed, or maybe just her view of him.
She gave him one kiss on the cheek before he fainted, and swept off.
*You accept my deadly gift, yet death shall not touch you. But beware that which you have betrayed, for immortality is fragile.