put on hold

A quick note to say that with the start of a new job and a still in progress art career story telling is going to have to be put on hold for now.

Anyone intereste in  my other art related work I have two other blogs:

http://www.abirdflyingnorth.blogspot.com

http://hartfulsoul.blogspot.com

Chapter three: To live again

She really *was* a muscian, was the first thing Bronte' thought when he stepped into the tavern, a small establishment with the smell of fresh roasted stew thick in the air. Soliel was up on stage performing to an entranced crowd.

Her voice was so gentle, and the words poignant and deep. She was no mere Trubadore, Bronte' realized, she was real talent.

Soliel finished her performance and gave an elaborate bow as the crowd cheered. Bronte' hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. He did not want to make a great scene with the commoners and villagers, him being a royalty showing up in a place that was rightfully theirs. Finally he began to slowly mount the steps to the stage that Soliel stood on. She had her back turned to him, trying to work out a loose string on her lute.

"Soliel?"

She turned at the sound of his voice. "Bronte'!" Dropping her lute with a loud clattering she rushed at him and threw her arms around him. Bronte' laughed out loud at her exuberance and no care to making  a scene, and it felt good to laugh.

Everyone was staring and at that moment he didn't care.

"Bronte'!" Soliel exclaimed, "I thought you wouldn't come!"

"I needed to," Bronte' said simply "I needed to see normal  life again."

Soliel took his hand and started to lead him off the stage, "Come. Have Ale - good strong commoners Ale and I shall  play and we all shall dance." She shouted to the patrons, "WE SHALL DANCE TO OUR KINGS VICTORY!"

There was  shouting and applause.  Before Bronte' could protest, an Ale was shoved into his hand and Soliel had her lute out and began playing, wild, rousing songs. Seeing her there, so full of life...it made him realize how dead he had become. To survive the war he had simply stopped feeling. The patrons stood and began to clap and dance. Bronte' swallowed the mead, then another...and eventually he too was dancing...

He wasn't sure how late it was when Soliel finally called her Tavern shut. He had somehow managed to stay sober...atleast he thought he had. As he was leaving, Soliel pulled him aside. She looked at him with deep eyes, full of care and worry.

"What is it Soliel?"

"Bronte' you do realize the war is over, don't you?"

"It's stalled, not over."

"But the point is, right *now*, *this* moment you are not fighting. There is peace. And yet...you still dress like a warrior and wear your hair like one. Bronte' the war is over and, yet. you are still fighting. You are Lord now, surrounded by knights and guards and servants. There is no more fighting."

Bronte' looked down feeling, the weight of her words.

"Promise me you will learn to live again," Soliel spoke.

Bronte' could only nod softly and brush past her out the door. As he walked the path back to his castle, the lights of the tavern spilling onto the trampled grass, he thought of Soliel's parting words. The fighting was over. As he walked he felt the heaviness of his chain mail, and the burden of  his warrior's sword. Maybe there was truth in what Soliel spoke. How had she become so wise? Wasn't he supposed to be the leader?

It was  late by the time he reached the castle. The main throne room was long deserted and the fires  nothing but glowing embers. He assumed no one would be awake, so was startled to find Taran waiting for him in his bedroom.

"Did I give you permission to be in here?" He snapped at the old misinthrope.

"You were at that wenches tavern."

"She is no wench.She is a professional musician. And did you send someone to spy on me? I am no child Taran!"

"No you are now Lord, ruler of this kingdom. I sent sir Renault to watch and protect you."

"Old Renault? Like he would be much help."

"You know he takes his job seriously."

Bronte' became quiet at that. The jab at the knight was unjustified. Yes he was arrogant and pompous and everything Bronte' hated in royalty, but it was true that he did take his job seriously...atleast when he wasn't complaining about his royal garbs not being properly pressed, or refusing to wear chain mail because it chaffed, or the many other quirks the old Knight had. Thinking of the knight and how he had tried to train him as a teenager to fight properly almost made Bronte' smile, but then Taran chose to speak again.

"You will not marry her Bronte, be sure of that."

"I will marry who I please!" Bronte' snapped, losing patience and still heady from all the Ale,"And it is *Lord Bronte'!*"

Taran scowled at the new Lord. "The child servant can call you by your given name, but I must address you by your title?"

"Yes. The child knows his place and you do not. It is *Lord Bronte* now Taran. And I shall marry who I please. And tomorrow...tomorrow send a barber and seamstress. Now I am going to bed so leave my chambers."

"Very well, *Lord* Bronte." He turned and walked out, composed though Bronte knew anger seethed underneath. He ignored the loudly closed door and the heavy footsteps walking down the hall. He was Lord now, and with the responsibility also came privilge. He would take Soliel's advice. He would learn to live again. With that thought he looked into his mirror and thought of a changed look, one of royalty and not warrior.

Chapter Two: The letters

Soliel climbed down the grassy pathway to her small tavern home. As she did she noticed the light from the wall laterns will still spilling out of the windows. It was odd for Chadwick to work late...actually, it was odd for Chadwick to work at all. Sometimes she questioned why she even kept him hired on as barman, but as she thought this her mouth quirked into a humoured grin.  She kept him for the simple reason that he was Chadwick, the bumbling youth that had chased after all through their teen years, the one Bronte would stand up and fight for if he was teased or picked on. Perhaps  he was waiting up to see her. He had still not lost his interest in her.

As she stepped into the warmly lite interior she was surprised to see, not Chadwick, but a young youth sitting at a table. With the way he was dressed, he was obviously from  some high standing background.

"Hello," Soliel greeted, "Has your master sent you to fetch something?"

Brad stumbled out of his chair, tripping as he did so and sending it clattering to the ground. "I - I'm sorry," he righted the chair and then came up to the Bard. He tried to gather himself together; this was, afterall his first royal business that Lord Bronte had entrusted to him.

"What is  it lad?" Soliel asked. His face was flushed and he was obviously nervous.

"I come on behalf of Lord Bronte," Brad said, trying to sound regal and serious, "On official business."

"Yes, what is it? Is he all right?"

"He, yes - here-" He gave up on trying to sound regal and thrust out his hand, "It is a letter Bronte asked me to give to you."

Soliel raised an eyebrow at the servant using such an informal way of addressing A Lord. It was very unusual. "Bronte?" Soliel questioned.

Brad looked confused and then understood what she  was implying, "I mean Lord Bronte! Lord! He - he told me to  - he told me to just call him Bronte, I wasn't meaing disprespect"

"It's  okay," Soliel  laughed "It's fine. In fact, it's good. It's sounds like the Bronte I remember." And it did sound like the Bronte she remembered, the one who never could stand pompous high sounding royal traditions and decrees. "Tell Bronte you delievered the messsage," She said to the  young servant, "And you did so with the right amount of regal dignity."

"Yes, thakyou - you - you are as beautiful as he said you were!" He blushed and dashed out the door. Soliel smiled after him. Once again, the Alroan  home was taking in an unbred waif, like Bronte's father had taken in her mother and her before. So a letter from Bronte.

She sat down, ripped up the official seal and unfolded the parchment

"My dearest Soliel,"

it read,

"I write to apologize for my reaction to your celebration. I beg forgivness. It has been difficult to adjust to normal life again. On the battlefield, the things I saw, the things I did...they all still haunt me, day and night. The castle too has changed so much. Old lady Anore' is no longer advisor. In her place is some foreign lady with a name I keep forgetting. It is Aldercy, or Alercy, or something strange like that. And then your mother being gone as well...I am sorry for your lose my dear Soliel. I wish so much that I could have been there to mourn with you. A child, Brad has been hired in your mother's stead. He is a likeable young lad, and I approve of him. He too has much to adjust to in this new life of his. The only thing that seems unchanged in the kingdom is old Taran. He may have a few streaks of gray but he is as ill tempered and bossy as I remember, and as I am sure you do also with how often we were at the wrong end of his strap. I miss those times Soliel, when life was fun and the concept  of war unknown. Now I have much responsibility. I want to see you....but I am afraid to let you see me the way I am; tired, cynical, short tempered. Forgive me if I am not the friend you  remember..."

Soliel  slowly put the letter down. You are still the friend I remember, she thought, it is just buried under wounds and scars. She stood up and left the tavern, walking the quiet trail to the forrest to think about what he had written, and what she could do. Finally she stopped and took out her paper and quill to reply to the new Lord.

"Bronte,"

She started,

"First, you will never hear me calling you 'Lord Bronte'. You will always be simply Bronte to me, the one who rescued me from that tree I tried to climb, and then broke your own arm when *you* fell. And yes I remember the straps we got from Taran for *that* stunt. I write to request you to visit me at my Tavern. You need to get out of the castle, away from abassadors, dignitaries, audience requets, and whateveter else it is you must do as king. Come, dance, drink, sing  - you have come home alive so *be* alive!"

She dropped  into the post at town square and continued home....


After a week had gone by with no reply Soliel began to lose heart that Bronte had even recieved the letter. It had probablly been  intercepted by that new advisor. It was doubtful he was allowed to even open his own mail. Then one evening, while she was performing, the door to the tavern opened....

Chapter one: Parts once so familiar

Everything seemed strange, unfamiliar, like he was a guest in his own house. The castle had obviously been fixed and overhauled for his return. He had had a chance to see the rest of the village and the ruins that it lay in. His father's old advisor was also gone, replaced by some woman that he could not remember the name of. Even the servant was unknown - a young lad that couldn't be out of his teens. He should have expected that part though, seeing as he had already  known of Soliel's mother's death, so of course a new servant would  have to be hired. For some  reason though, all throughought the years of battle he had  dreamed of the home and Danue' he had remembered. Now he realized that the memeory was just a fantasy.

Slowly he walked through the great woods. So many times he had snuck out despite his mother's worries nanny's protests. The forrest had always promised such freedom and excitment. Now though, he stood among the brambles and trees and looked at the kingdom walls, once so huge and fortifying, now laying crumbled  and neglected.

There was so much that needed to be done, so much work to bring the kingdom back to security. He was tired, battle worn and did not feel up to such a great responsibility. But there was no choice. He had spent the last week in quiet solitude, avoiding dignitaries, avoiding the new advisor, avoiding even the old misinthrope Taran. Now he  must stand up and rule, and  fill his subjects with confidence in  the future.  He  just wished he could find the confidence himself. He turned and slowly walked back towards the castle....

....When he stepped in he was greeted by the clashing sound of revelery music and laughter. "What is this!" He snapped in irritation. The music reminded  him of the bugels blown before battle. The revelry instanty quieted. Soliel  stepped out of the crowd. "Bronte...I...I am sorry if we surprised you. I just...I wanted  to welcome you home properly."

Bronte stared into the beautiful young woman that young Soliel had grown into. "Soliel, I am  sorrry... I am just tired and short tempered these days.  Please, dance, sing, enjoy your freedom and victory." He truned quickly and  retreated further into the castle, to his bedroom upstairs, the one room he had managed to find peace in it's unchanged familiarity.

Downstairs, Soliel stood, her lute dangling in her hand. Normally Bronte would  have joined the reverly. Taran was nearby and saw the hurt look on the young girls face. "I did warn you that he may not be your Child playmate anymore, did I not?"

Soliel turned quickly and rushed out of the castle, fleeing before Taran could see the tears starting.

Upstairs in his bedroom, Bronte was suddenly disturbed by a flurry of people. His new advisor was holding papers, flurishing them, "Bronte, Bronte - I - I mean *Lord* Bronte-"

"Title's mean nothing.What is it?"

"There is an edict that must be passed, and the villagers  have been without proper laws for so long, and-"

"Yes, yes I get the point.  I need to rule the kingdom. There are duties to attend to. You have been  telling me  the same thing everyday. Very well. But first, I have something important to write."

He sat down  at this desk. His advisor - he thought her name was Alercy or something like that - stood nearby.  Just then the young servant also came in.

"What is it!" Bronte snapped, "Can I not get a moments peace! I have just come from a battle lasting five years to win our freedom.Can I not have a moment to write an apology to a dear friend?"

The Advisor - he was sure her name was Alercy and such a strange name - instantly dropped to her knees. "I apologize!" Looking confused, the servant - now what was *his*name - did so as well.

 

Bronte sighed in exasperation. "Oh stand up. I will be on full duty tomorrow."

"Yes my Lord." Alercy quickly stood and  fled. The boy stood, looking confused as to where  he should go.

"What is it?" Bronte asked  him, trying to be gentle, "What did you come to get me for young man?" 

"I - I just wanted to announce that dinner was served."

"I will be down in a moment. Thankyou."

"Yes my  Lord." He began to scurry out, tripping on his own feet.

"Wait," Bronte called  to him.

"Ye -- yes?" he stammered

"What is your name? And how have you come to be a servant here?"

"My name is Brad. I - I do not know my father's name. The elder miss Savoire hired me on and trained me when she knew she was ill. My mother, you see, she took ill and I had no faher..."

"I understand," Bronte said, trying to  keep his voice soft, "There are no worries son. You will  be treated well here. Tell the rest of the castle they may begin the meal without me. I have someone I must write to first."

"Yes my lord-"

"Brad?"

"Yes?"

"Just call me Bronte."

The young lad stared, then just nodded and left. There would  be so much to adjust to, for him and also for his servants and subjects. No longer was he the free heir left to run wild throughout the kingdom. He now had to pay the part of responsible ruler sitting with boredom on the throne for hours on end and dealing with boring ambassador talk with his only two allied nations. But those worries would wait. At the moment he had a more pressing matter.

He sat down at his desk to write to his dearest friend, the one he considered his little sister in every manner. The one who had the kindess to arrange a welcome party for him, that he hadn't even bothered to greet properly.

"My  dearest Soliel..."

Prolouge: A King's return

"You do realize, that even with Lord Bronte returning home from battle, does not mean you will suddenly marry and become royalty."

Soliel glared across at the old buildmaster. "The  thought had not even crossed my mind," She said in irritation, "I am only here to greet my dearest friend. Bronte and I -"

"*Lord* Bronte-" Taran tried to interupt but Soliel quickly spoke back,

"To me he will always be simple Bronte, my child playmate as my mother worked for his father."

"You may find my dear," Taran spoke, his tone condescending,"That war changes people and Bronte has been in battle for five years now" The old build master pulled back his chair and stood up, "He may not be  your dear Child playmate any longer."

Soliel stood up as well, saying defiantly, "He will *always* be Bronte. War will not change him!"

"As you hope my dear. Child, it is late. He is not returning tonight. Go back to your tavern." He walked away, his heavy work boots echoeing on the wood floor that had been recently refinished and polished for Bronte's return.

Soliel stood in the room alone. Bronte would not be changed. He could not. He had always been so fun, so happy, so adventerous  - having no fear of choosing a servant's child as a playmate. He was the one who had, upon hearing of her mother's death bequested her enough to start her small tavern, remebering her dream to be a musician and playright. But old Taran's words rung in her head. He will  not be the same. War changes people...did it?

************************

The sun was bright over Danue' when the boat pulled into the dock. Bronte, no he he was now *Lord* Bronte, now that his father lay dead and buried on a foreign battlefield. Bronte leaned against the deck railing as the boat bumped and rattled against the dock. After five years he was home. Had much changed he wondered? All of his old friends he had lost touch with. Being forced to be locked in a realm of stealth and strategy, there had been no time to keep up with kingdom friends. Friends were a luxury that was not afforded when lives were on the line with each strategy created.

"We have docked my lord," A shipmate spoke, "Would you like your trunks brought off?"

"Leave them for later," Bronte answered, "I want the peace of a quiet walk before I return to the castle. I will send word when I need them."

He stepped down onto the sandy beach and stood for a moment, drinking in the sea air. It smelled clear, with a hint of seaweed on the breeze. He was finally home. He started up the path so familliar to his younger feet, and enjoyed the freedom from heavy shield and armour. The wars were not done, but the main battle had atleast been won, and, with it, their freedom. Now it was the reubuilding process that needed to take place.

At the top  of castle  hill he stopped and looked out over the rolling hills and forrest lands, and to the smoke haze of the village in the distance. It all belonged to him now. For good or bad, it was his decisions that would direct Danue's future.

Slowly he turned and walked through the heavy castle doors into the throne room and his new responsibilities....