The Writer, Chapter 10: Llewyn

There was only one thing missing from the festivities. Although he was happy for his sister, the Prince Elden was restless, for he had not yet found someone to love, and watched the festivities with a deep long-

“Elden? Elden, it’s me, I’m back now — “ I screeched to a halt in the middle of the room. “Oh jeez, couldn’t you warn me when you’re busy?” I complained.

“You know,” my brother remarked, sitting back from where he’d been in the middle of passionately kissing my fiancé, “it’s a bit hard to do that when you don’t knock.”

“Well, tie something on the door,” I muttered. “Anyway, I’m back.”

“We were worried about you,” Anwen said, sitting up in the bed. “We thought you’d be lost in the storm. Elden almost went out after you.”

“He did?” I asked, somewhat touched, and Elden looked somewhat abashed at being caught in this display of brotherly affection. “Well, I had to walk most of the way back, but got back sometime in the middle of the night.”

“I’m glad. No one’s going anywhere for some days now, everything’s blocked in,” Elden said. He paused. “Is there anything else you wanted?”

I blushed. “No. I’ll just — be going now.”

Later that day, I was trying to stay out of the way of the feast preparation and found my way to the library. It was empty and cold, the books dusty from unuse, and when I ran my hand along a few spines it came away black.

I heard a footstep behind me and whirled, finding my brother looking equally as surprised to see me.

“Penny. What are you doing here?”

“Escaping.”

Elden grinned. “Me too.”

He came over to glance at the books behind me and groaned slightly. “Cinderella. Can I ever get from that?” he muttered, and I laughed.

“You know, I heard an interesting version of that story the other day.”

“Was Cinderella named Cinderik?” Elden asked, glowering at the book.

“Not quite.”

“Yeah, those don’t exist.” Elden kicked at the shelf, succeeding only in covering us in a puff of dust.

We wandered away from Cinderella, heading to a small alcove with a window, and sitting down. I didn’t know you could see the courtyard from here, but it was there, small from there, the people scurrying around like ants. In the mess, I caught sight of Anwen, a fur cloak wrapped around his shoulders and his hair loose, walking quickly and soon out of sight.

I glanced over at my brother, whose eyes were fixed on the spot Anwen had vanished. There was a deep, aching longing in his expression, raw and open, and I reached out to squeeze his hand.

“You know, every time I see him, my heart does this stupid little twist. Like I’m being stabbed.” Elden glowered. He had grown even more, now well above my height. I sometimes forgot he was only seventeen, but I supposed that wasn’t really so young. “Or when he touches me, it’s like my heart’s going to explode. And then when I think about him being gone…I just feel empty. Lost, you know?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I know.”

“I guess I’m really glad he’s marrying you,” Elden said, frowning. “Because then at least — well, a little part of me stays with him.”

I thought about the two of them together, about Javen touching my cheek and the way I felt like I could never breathe again, and the sheer impossibility of it all seemed enough to throw both of us from the window.

“Yeah,” I said again. “At least.”

Elden squeezed my hand back, and then let go. “We’ll be missed. Brave face, Penny, for both of us.”

I took a deep breath, then smiled at him. “You got it.”

King Llewyn arrived the next month.

He looked much like his son, or the other way around, except his hair reached his lower back and was grey. Despite his age, his face was barely lined, his slanted eyes very gentle. Somewhat despite myself, I liked him the minute we met and he clasped my hand with both of his.

On the second day he arrived, he requested my presence in the garden (the snow having either melted or been carted away). When I arrived, he only said, “Walk with me,” and took my hand, tucking it in his arm.

We walked in silence for a time, then he asked, “What do you know of the eastern kingdom, my child?”

“Nothing,” I had to admit. “My best friend’s mother grew up there. That’s all.”

“Your best friend?”

“Biddy. She’s a — she lives in the village. Her father is a baker. He makes the most wonderful bread in the world.”

The older King nodded. “And the mother?”

“Dead in childbirth. Biddy survived.”

“So she grew up without a mother. Anwen was barely five when his mother died. Leaving a too-old man to father a young boy.” Llewyn smiled ruefully. “I did the best I could.”

“It seems you did a good job, Your Majesty,” I responded politely, and Llewyn laughed.

“A very political answer, my child. But thank you, nonetheless.” He paused at a fountain, now covered in ice, and eased himself down on the edge. “Sit,” he invited, and I did.

“The eastern folk are peaceful, for the most part,” he mulled, “but there are the warriors. Highly respected, highly honored.”

“Were you one, Your Majesty?” I asked, and he glanced over.

“Me? No, never. Despite appearances,” he conceded, indicating the braid. “But my brothers were. All of them.” He reached down to make a symbol in the snow covering the iced fountain.

I sensed I was being invited to ask, and I did, though unsure as to why we were even having this conversation. “What happened to them?”

“What usually happens to warriors.” Llewyn’s eyes were sad. His voice was slightly less accented than his son’s, only a hint of the foreign tongue. “They went off in search of glory. Some got it, some didn’t. They’re all dead now.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“Don’t be,” Llewyn said mildly. “It was their choice, and they chose it. Warriors don’t live long. They knew it, and they chose it anyway.” He traced another symbol in the snow, seeming lost in thought.

“Your Majesty?” I asked, and he looked up. “Sir, what did you want your son to be? A warrior, or not?”

The older King looked surprised at the question. “I wanted him to be only what he is, my child. And what he chooses to be.”

Except that which he is, I thought sadly. “We should get back,” I said. “It’s cold out here.”

Llewyn nodded, and stood, taking my arm again. When we reached the castle, he turned to study me. Despite my parent’s fretting, he had not batted an eyelash at my hairstyle either. Now, he touched my cheek, his hand slightly rough and cold.

“You have the eyes of a warrior, my child,” he remarked, in that deep, steady way he had, his head tipped to one side. “Are you?”

Something about the question made my heart hurt, and I looked back up at him, silent and uncertain. “I don’t know,” I said, and suddenly felt very uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “I — thank you for the walk, Your Majesty,” I said, and fled, having no idea why I was so upset.

“I don’t know if I can bear it.”

“What?” I asked, startled from the book I had been perusing.

Elden frowned at the window, hitting it with a knuckle. The library had taken over as our secret meeting spot, and we often found each other there, escaping from the preparations and the people. Despite arrivals every day — Daegen had arrived the day before, he and Father greeting each other cordially if not warmly — the library remained deserted.

“Watching him be married. Even to you.”

I looked back down at the book, but with more of an interest at avoiding my brother’s gaze than the words.

“I don’t know what to say,” I said quietly.

“How would you feel, if — what was his name, anyway — he were to marry someone else?”

I was silent for a long moment. I had been down to the village once since the snowstorm, a long, wonderful afternoon spent with Biddy, dreaming about her wedding (and avoiding the subject of my own), Luke having indeed proposed. I had seen Javen, but only briefly, and from afar. He was heading for the bookshop, a sack in his hand, and when his eyes met mine I felt a sharp stab of longing. But he only smiled, very sadly, and turned on his way, and I was left, wanting to run after him but paralyzed.

Now, I thought what it might be like to see him marry another, but couldn’t for too long because it made my throat tighten painfully.

“I — I can’t think about it,” I said.

“So you understand.”

“Yes, Elden. I do.”

“And then I think about — the wedding night, and –“

“I wouldn’t, Elden, you know I wouldn’t.” I was highly uncomfortable with this conversation, considering it was my little brother I was talking to. And besides, the thought of bedding the same man as my brother was none too interesting, either.

“They’ll know if you don’t, you know,” Elden said miserably.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, I’ll cut my hand or something,” I said. “Can we talk about something else?”

“You’d do that?” Elden asked, ignoring my last sentence. “Really?”

“Of course I would. He might be my fiancé, but I know he doesn’t belong to me.” I glanced up when he didn’t respond, and found him staring at the window, an odd expression on his face. “What?”

“Maybe I’ll run away,” he replied. “Go see if I can dig up an adventure somewhere. That will make Father happy.”

I wanted to dissuade him, to tell him he was being melodramatic, he should grow up and stop whining, but I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out, because I didn’t believe any of it myself. Finally, all I could say was, “I’d like it if you were there.”

Elden looked at me a long time. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay until the wedding. That’s all.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, but he was already gone, striding from the library, leaving a cloud of discontent and heartbreak behind him.

The day before the wedding dawned clear and bright, the sun bringing warmth and light. The trees had begun to bloom the week before, and the fountain was thawing. The birds were singing again, flitting from tree to tree.

By all rights, it was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but sitting by the fountain and staring at the water, I could only feel emptiness.

“What ails you, my child?”

I started badly, nearly losing my balance and tipping into the still frigid water, but was steadied by a familiar rough hand, looking up to find King Llewyn watching me with concern.

“I — “ I stuttered, as he sat next to me. “I beg your pardon?”

“There is some heaviness upon you,” Llewyn said softly. “Is it the wedding?”

I tried to respond, but had no voice, and mouthed wordlessly for a long second. Llewyn sat patiently, seemingly in no hurry to receive an answer.

“Your Majesty,” I said finally, “what could happen to make you stop loving your son?”

If he was surprised by the question, Llewen didn’t show it. “My son is all I have left,” he replied steadily. “Nothing would make me stop loving him.”

“Even if he were not the man you thought he was?”

A touch of a frown graced his brow. “I know who he is,” the older King responded. When I didn’t answer, he reached over to turn my face to his. “Speak freely, my child. What is it?”

“Your son is a good man,” I said. “It will be — an honor. To be his wife.”

There was a pause. “But you do not love him.” It was not a question.

I shook my head miserably. “And nor he I. That is, I mean — Anwen’s heart — “ I closed my eyes against the words. “It doesn’t belong to me.”

“And who does it belong to?” Llewyn asked softly.

I stared into the clear blue sky, my body aching, but was brought back by the touch of Llewyn’s rough hand on my cheek, pulling my focus down. “Who, my child?” he asked again, no trace of anger in his voice.

I looked at his eyes, so deep and calm, and could not hold back any longer. “My brother.”

The silence was unbearable. Llewyn’s eyes did not change. He hardly blinked, or moved, just sat as though frozen. At last, he rose, his back straight. Without a single word, he turned and walked away. I could not call after him, could not move, myself frozen until he had vanished from sight, and then, as though he had held me in a spell, I slumped, my hands catching my head, and at long last, I began to cry.

I cried for Javen, for Elden and Anwen, for myself, and for the happily ever after that some Writer was no doubt penning at that instant, with a flourish and a smile.