Evermore - The Story Not Yet Told in Nevermore

Well, that was a relief. Had he given her some song and dance about how wonderful the Pretender King was she would likely have gutted him where he stood. She was getting tired and the adrenaline of the night was beginning to take its toll, although she was careful not to let it show. She glanced back up at the nearly invisible raven who appeared to be watching them curiously from his perch. "Yes, I see it, too," she confirmed and after giving him another speculative look, lowered her sword but did not sheath it. "I think it may have gone to find us help, although I did not know that he was even here," she said and stepped aside to reveal the sleeping form of her sister. She watched him carefully to gauge his reaction and to see whether he recognized her in the moonlight.

He nods, not quite believing her. The Nameless One also sent shades, and black was his color. "I don't really think..." He stopped when she moved away, revealing what seemed like a boy, curled up as if protecting himself from pain. His brow furrowed in sympathy. "My...my lady. I'm sorry. Is...Is your son hurt? Could I give you some aid? I have my pack back at the chapel, with bandages and curatives..."

She looked up in surprise at his word. Son? She glanced quickly at Shellara and saw that in her position, with the damage done to her hair and in the shadows, she could have been mistaken for a boy. An idea began to form but she dismissed it almost immediately. "Not my son. My sister," she corrected him, keeping herself between Shellara and ... Ainvar. That was the name she had heard in connection with Cullan's brother. She wondered about it, but he had not mentioned the moniker so she stuck with the name he had given her. "My Lord...Laurence," she began. "How far is this chapel? Is it frequented by parishioners or is it one of those lonely outposts of a chapel that are little used?"  She needed to get Shellara inside out of the elements of wind and weather, but she needed someplace safe, too, where an enemy would not easily find her even if they were looking for her. If she was someplace safe, and if this man were to agree to watch over her, and if no one came looking for her...

She chided herself silently. Too many if's. Too many risks. Yet it was riskier still to leave her here. She watched him for an answer, wondering just what sort of man he was. She knew little of him save that he was Cullan's brother. Even Aggnes had said little about him. She and Aggnes had not been friends necessarily, but she had worked closely enough with the woman during her reign as Queen to get to know a little of her personal life.

His eyes were on the hurt woman. "Ainvar..."He answered, offhandedly. "Until tomorrow sext, the chapel is mine. I paid the priest to leave me be. I..."Ain worked his tongue in his mouth, wondering if he should trust her. "To atone for my sins in peace." He moved slowly toward her, kneeling by her side. She was very hurt. Gently he reached out to push the hair from her face. "Could...Could I carry her back? I think I've lost my horse, but she should be no trouble."

He seemed drawn to Shellara, protective even, although Bevin still did not relax completely. She was not just her sister, but her Queen, after all. She smiled briefly to herself as he spoke the name she knew him by. Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought as he spoke carefully about atoning for his sins. She did not follow the Aristotelian ways, but she understood them to a limited extent. Atoning for sins was similar to having a geas laid upon one by the gods, only it seemed much simpler and easier than completing one's geas. Although she did not entirely understand how the Aristotelians viewed redemption, she did respect their right to believe as they wished. She had to think for a moment to remember what time of day sext was. Noon. Yes, that was it. Noon. That could work. If she could get Shellara to safety and if Ainvar agreed to guard her, then she could return to camp and come back with help before anyone else showed up at the chapel. She nodded, adding quickly, "She has suffered burns on her arms and she...." she hesitated. How did she explain that Shellara seemed to be out of her mind? "She has been...well, traumatized. She is delirious when she does wake and seems to think she is dead. I need to get her to a safe place out of the night. If you think the chapel would serve, then yes, you may carry her, but be gentle." She knelt beside him and touched Shellara's forehead, breathing a sigh of relief that there seemed to be no fever. She had worried about that, but other than the burns her body seemed sound enough. Her mind was another matter, though.

"If she will let you carry her, then you may. The chapel is nearby?" she asked, unsure of where it might be as she had seen no such structure as yet.

Ain nodded, gently gathering the woman's hair and tucking it back. "poor lass. I would be too, had I been so hurt..." He carefully folded her arms over her, making sure she would be be safe as he carried her. "is there anything else you need to bring? I would like to move her last...it's not too far."

A shake of her head and she nodded at Tarranis. "Just my horse. I think she ran with only what she had on and I came with just my horse." As she spoke , she reached up to untie the reins from the branch that had held Tarranis to area. The big gray destrier snorted softly and nudged her shoulder gently, shaking his wheat mane as if to thank her for releasing his bonds. She patted his nose and stood ready to lead him as she walked beside Ainvar. "I'm not sure we could get her into the saddle without waking or hurting her. Is the chapel far from here? I don't recall seeing one when I arrived and I did scout around briefly after finding her."

Somewhere in the swirling darkness and shadows a raven caws. The sound is the only familiarity in the strange landscape her mind now wanders, so she follows it aimlessly. It comes again, louder this time and to her right. She pauses and the ghastly ashen faces of a long line of monarchs she had served swim before her eyes... Siren... Morat...Allyn...Aggnes...Cullan...Darien...Rothgar...Slon... she shakes her head to clear it and follows the caw of the raven again, brushing aside the phantoms with her arms. Blindly, she pushes forward, until the soft croak of the raven above her causes her to look up. But instead of the bird there is a face, blurred and indistinct... the man in the moon? There is something familiar there, a tug towards a former life. But that was so long ago, in another place, another time, another world. Not here.

Her body stirs and her eyes flutter open briefly as she is touched. Her hands reach up to brush away something in the air, but the movement causes the pain to shoot fire up her arms. She croaks once softly before fading back into the blackness.

Ain looks over at the woman, then down at the body in his arms. "No..."he whispers softly. "It can't be too far, I've already run it. No more than a mile." Gently he stands, then cautiously moves the woman to lay her head on his shoulder, and supports her weight from her bottom and legs, making it easier to carry her. Like a child. He tilts his head toward upriver, whispering. "Lets go." as he steps toward the night.

She drifts between consciousness and unconsciousness, the two blending together into a surrealistic, horrifying tapestry of demons and darkness. She shivers in both fear and pain as the sensation of the burns sets in against the movement of being carried, and more than once she lets out choked cries of pain. Is it Harkaa carrying her? No... it can't be... he's gone, they all are. There's a flash of reddish hair in the moonlight... Bevin... yes, Bevin is here. Real? Who knows. And someone else... someone else... a heartbeat in her ear and strong arms beneath her. It could be anyone, she can't tell beyond that. But Bevin is here, Bevin is strong and will protect... protect what exactly? And how? Everyone dies... everyone dies because of me... because of who I am. What I've done. The choices I've made.

Deep in her heart something finally gives way, a final collapse of her iron core. Her body goes slack, eyes closing as silent tears run down her cheeks.

Ain carried her gently across the field, doing his best to not jostle too hard. She was an imposing woman in her armor, so he was surprised by her lightness. She was easy to carry. He stopped when he felt her stir, wondering if she would move against him, but she silenced just as quickly. He continued on, only semi-conscious of the wetness that grew on his shoulder. It wasn't until he felt a trickle move down his neck that he realized she had begun to cry. 'The pain must be unbearable', he thought, then softly whispers. "Poor lass..." Gently he rocked her in his arms like he had his nephew when he was young, singing an old Scots lullaby under his breath. "My darling wee worldly were thou my ain jewel..."

The tears come and won't stop, and there is nothing she can do but cry for what is broken. She has no idea how to fix it, nor any desire to do so. All of her plans and thoughts of the future for herself, her family, and the country fade away in the face of the pain and brokenness. Someone is singing. A funeral? Perhaps. It feels like a funeral. But who died? Am I dead?

She lays silent and limp, letting herself be carried wherever they may be going. She doesn't care anymore. It doesn't matter. A snippet of a prayer to Jah from her childhood bubbles up and she breathes it softly, barely audibly.

"...thy kingdom come, thy will be done..."

She lets go and lets the darkness take her, the pain of her burns and the brokenness of her spirit pushing her in to blissful, silent, cool unconsciousness.

"Shh lass..."The man whispers, gently rocking her as she cried. "Quiet lass, you're alright. You're safe." He recognized the prayer, only by the rhythm of the sounds. He had prayed those same words thousands of times. Perhaps it was proper she was taken to a church. He'd left the doors wide open, and enough candles burning to be able to see up the aisle. Gently he carried her to the altar, laying her upon it. He turned to her sister, worried. "What...what could we do?"

She nodded as he said the chapel was not far, hearing the tone of his whisper and wondering what was going through his mind. As she walked beside him, leading Tarranis who plodded docilely behind them, she watched her sister, noting the care and tenderness with which he handled her. Perhaps he would be someone she could entrust with Shellara’s safety.

She took in their surroundings as Ainvar led them through the brush to a little chapel located in the midst of the wood. No wonder she had not seen it, she realized, as it was hidden from view until they were nearly upon it. There was a small clearing, of course, and a path that led away from the river’s edge, but she could not see where it went in the darkness. She was certain she would be able to find her way back to the river, however, and from there back to camp.

She followed him as he tenderly carried Shellara’s limp body into the chapel and laid her gently, even reverently, upon the altar. When he asked what to do next she shook her head slightly. ”She needs to have the burns tended. I’ve done what I can with what I have in my field bag, but it is not enough.”

She stepped closer and touched Shellara’s forehead, brushing away a tendril of her ruined hair from where it had plastered itself against her cheek. ”She is very precious to me and to others. I will need to fetch help from the camp. Would you be willing to stay here and watch over her?”

She considered what might happen should anyone stumble upon them and discover that the Queen of England lay helpless in a small chapel in the middle of nowhere. But how to convey that she needed to be protected without revealing her true identity? For some reason, it seemed imperative that no one know who the slight figure in armor was. Looking again at her sister, she seemed smaller than she was, more frail, fragile even. Shellara had always seemed so strong to Bevin, a force to be reckoned with, but now all that seemed changed. Inspiration came and she turned to Ainvar. ”With the burns on her body, it will be best that no one else come near her lest they carry some disease that might infect her in this weakened state. Do not let anyone enter this place if you can prevent it. I will return as soon as I can with help,” she promised.

Ain turned back towards the woman. "Aye...You are right, of course." He looked first at the woman laid out on the altar, like Christos after Pilate, broken but not finished. Whoever she was, she was much stronger than most. "Upon Jah and my honor I shall protect your sister until dismissed." He moved toward the corner of the church, beyond the pews, to where his bags were kept. He tossed aside the cilice, the discipline, and the other tools of destruction he'd brought, and pulled forth his sword, still bearing the arms of his father and the added arms of McDermott. Reverently he pulled it from it's sheath, and laid the bared blade before the altar. "She shall be kept safe. Or may my life be taken."

With that, Ain drops to his knees and brings his hands together in prayer, his beads between his hands. Under his breath he begins his prayer, and continuously repeats it, so that Jah may hear it "O Jah, provider of all comfort, help us in our time of need. We humbly beseech thee to behold, visit and relieve this woman, for whom our prayers are desired..."

She watched with interest as he pulled strange items out of his out of his bag. The shirt appeared to be made of some rough material. As she visually inspected it, it seemed to be made of some type of hair. It looked very uncomfortable and she wondered why he would carry such a garment. The next item looked like a rope whip of some kind. Again, she had no idea what it was for, but as a weapon she did not think it would be much of a challenge to defeat. One by one he pulled out other items that were strange to her eyes until he emerged with a sheathed sword bearing two sets of arms. He held it with reverence and so she knew it was important to him as more than a simple weapon of protection or warfare. That she understood well, being a soldier herself. She had long carried a shield crafted especially for her by a friend until it was broken beyond repair during the CA war. Her sword, Avenger, had also been broken during that engagement, but she still kept the shards to remind her of its history. Now she carried a blade that had been crafted for her by her husband and so she understood the reverence he showed the blade. She was sure there was a story there, but there was no time to ask.

He pledged his life to protect Shellara and suddenly dropped to his knees and began to pray to his god. She was not certain how to react or what to say, or whether to interrupt the prayers. That she did not believe in his god did not mean the prayers might not affect things and so she nodded respectfully and whispered, ”I accept your pledge.”

As he continued to repeat the prayer, she leaned over Shellara’s still form and kissed her lightly on the brow. ”I will be back,” she whispered in her ear. ”I will take care of you,” she vowed. Knowing there was nothing more she could do, she made her way out of the little chapel and retrieved Tarranis from where she had him tethered and mounted, sending him back toward the camp as fast as she thought safe. The darkness was already beginning to turn to gray, signaling the coming of morning and she realized that she had not slept a wink. Still, she needed to see Pilgrim first before finding her bed.

She had intended to seek out the camp physician and take him back with her, but upon entering the camp she overheard conversations not meant for her ears. Words that indicated there was a plot to assassinate the Queen or failing that bring harm to her children in order to bring her under their control. She had shared what she had overheard with Pilgrim and then gone to her bed. When she awoke several hours later, she lay awake pondering the events of the night before, wondering what the right thing to do would be. For some reason she had not been able to tell Pilgrim that Shellara was alive, albeit not well. She still was unsure why she had not done so, but she had not and now she wrestled with that truth in her mind and heart. Dare she let people know that the Queen was still alive? If what she had heard was true, then her life would be in deadly peril. She considered the frame of mind that Shellara seemed to be in and knew in her heart of hearts that she was no longer able to rule. But who was she to make that decision on her own? Should she not at least discuss the matter with Pilgrim?

She left her tent intending to come clean with him, to tell him all that had happened during the night, finding Shell, the condition she was in both physically and mentally. But as she approached his tent, her steps slowed. She had not told him last night. Would he forgive her for withholding that news? She decided it did not matter until she saw someone enter the tent and recalled that it had been that voice she had heard discussing the plot against the Queen. She had no proof other than her ability to recall voices and associate them with their owners, so could not accuse the person legally as she had not actually seen them, only heard them. Besides, perhaps she was mistaken, and it had been someone else she had heard. Confusion slowed her steps to a halt, and she stood for a long moment staring at Pilgrim’s tent before turning and redirecting her steps elsewhere.

She visited the healer’s tent, who was out at the time, and gathered items she knew that Shellara would need if she was to heal. There were balms for the burns and potions for the pain. She knew of nothing that might help her mind, but perhaps once the pain subsided her mind would right itself. When she was strong again, Bevin would gladly ride back at her side and put her back on the throne of England as its rightful Queen. But for now, she would have to heal in solitude and peace.

The battle was imminent now and would likely happen within the next day or so. She did not have much time, and no one was paying her much attention so after she had seen to her platoon, she absconded with a small wagon filled with hay. food and other supplies she had secured. and drove it out of camp with Tarranis tethered behind, heading in a haphazard direction in case she was followed. Only once she was certain she was alone did she make for the chapel. It was still at least an hour before noon, but that meant she did not have much time left before the chapel would be made available to other pilgrims. As she rode, she considered her options and by the time she arrived she had made up her mind. What she was about to do might be treason, but she believed in her heart it was the right thing for Shellara. If she was wrong, she would gladly lay down her life in penance for it, but Shellara’s life and well-being was more important to her mind.

Tarranis, who had been treated to a breakfast of oats and fresh water, had gotten a little rest as well as Bevin had, but they were both weary by the time they reached the little chapel. The horse pulling the wagon, though, had had a full night's rest so was still relatively fresh. She set the brake on the wagon and headed toward the entrance to the Chapel When she entered, she found Ainvar right where she had left him, still praying his prayer whilst Shellara still lay unmoving on the altar.

”Ainvar,” she called his name softly so as not to startle him. ”I brought some food for you and my sister, if she will eat,” she said, interrupting his prayer. She felt badly about that but didn’t know what else to do. ”I also brought more medicines for her,” she added.

Eventually, Shellara settles into a more restful sleep as the night fades to day, her body's need to heal overcoming her mind's chaos. Aside from the occasional shudder, her body rests quietly on the altar, covered in burns and mud, but more peaceful than it had been beneath the willow tree.

At some point, she hears voices again through the haze, similar to the chanting of monks. She stirs slightly, but the pain of the movement in her burned arms causes her breath to hiss sharply through her teeth as it leaves her. With a soft whimper she lays back flat on the alter, eyes tightly shut against the overwhelming pain. A higher voice answers, but she can't focus on it, and her consciousness slips, drifting back into oblivion.

Ain heard the woman enter, but continued his prayer to it's end. "...May the spirit of Hildegaard live again and restore this Lady to Health and enable this Lady to lead a long and prosperous life with the Aristotelian fellowship. Amen." Finished, he got to his feet and turned toward the woman. "Thank you Madame. She has not stirred, nor made a sound. She has been mostly silent but for some heavier breathing." He tilted his head, looking down at the injured woman. "How may I best be of service?"

After having interrupted the prayer, Bevin stood quietly by, waiting for Ainvar to finish as he seemed determined to do. Perhaps her interruption hadn't spoiled it after all, she thought, feeling oddly relieved at that. As he  finally rose and reported on Shellara's condition, Bevin stepped closer to the altar to study her sister. She did seem more peaceful, but she was not entirely sure that was a good thing. She decided to believe that it was and nodded as if answering a question only she could hear. She smiled tiredly at Ainvar as he offered his service. "I think first we should see whether we can get any food or drink into her. If so, it will give her body the energy it needs to heal. If not, we'll have to try again later. She needs sustenance." She studied the situation and decided how to proceed. "Let's see if we can get her to awaken enough to offer her a morsel of food," she suggested. She wanted to try to get something down her before she attempted to treat the burns again. After that, she would break the news to Ainvar of what she needed him to do. He had shown himself to be worthy of her trust so far and she had few options but to trust that he was genuine. That would wait until they had tried to feed her and change her dressings, though. Those were critical and needed to be done now if possible.