I remember the first time I saw her, truly saw her--raven locks billowing in the wind as she sat astride a horse she had stolen from a solider who lay dead at her feet. Her dark hazel eyes burned with a multitude of emotions--anger, pain, regret, devotion and revenge. Her slight build was encased in mere riding leathers, no protection from the arrows whistling in the air our way, but she stood fierce in defiance nonetheless.
She was glorious, and terrifying all at once.
When word reached our village that the young Queen had finally been freed from the cavernous prison the King had placed her in, we quickly grabbed whatever weapons we could and met her small traveling party on its way to the castle.
She needed us.
And we needed her.
The chaos that had consumed our kingdom since she first appeared on our Lord's arm a decade ago had torn at the fragile edges of our society, pitting loyal servants against those of us in dire need of change. To them she was nothing more than a decorative beauty to sire a heir and future lineage.
But to us she was a force to break the bindings of old and help us build anew.
Even in her heartache, which she wore as royally as the crown upon her head, she showed us compassion and hope.
I could not imagine the sorrow which she drew from to defy her husband as she had.
But I also could not imagine the love which drove her just as passionately.
The rumors had circled almost from the start--that our new young Queen had a lover the king had tossed into the depths of hades in order to have her hand all to himself. With powers higher than her own forcing her to bow to him, she was left with little choice--marriage or a merciless death.
It was evident now though that they were one in the same to her.
My heart had ached, like only a compassionate peasant's could.
I thought for sure, once the King's heir had been born, that she would waste away into nothingness.
But something changed in her.
Perhaps it was the love she found in herself for our new prince.
Maybe it was the speculation that the King, in all his power, had actually been unsuccessful in doing away with her lover--that the brave knight she had sworn her heart to was alive after all--imprisoned in the very castle she had resided in for so long.
Whatever it had been, my Queen rose like a phoenix from the ashes of her broken soul and shattered the bars holding her captive in the palace.
When he realized she would not be contained, that she had every intention of freeing her lover and overthrowing his rule, the King sent her away--casting her to the edges of our land like a pariah.
But we would not stand for it--could not stand for it any longer.
So we sent out the best of our kind, the bravest and most mad, to retrieve her and help her in ending an old man's bitter reign. After days and nights of endless riding, they arrived, then and there, to help further our cause, stirring the banners of war.
Months followed before I saw my Queen again.
Our parting had been at the dropping of a sword, the war ending at the King's falling outside his palace doors--his blood staining the stone entryway.
Those of us who had fought alongside her, who had sacrificed life and limb, had been summoned to the courtyard. I had no idea what to expect, many of us had returned to our homes battered and bruised but elated at the changes that would no doubt come with the new reign of power.
However I anticipated that our new Queen at the very least would finally shine with a victorious smile.
I was surprised, however, to find her humble and raw before us.
She wore no royal gown, no extravagant jewels or even a crown.
No, she stood as a tested woman in a simple dress, her son to her left and her freed lover to her right.
She begged us not to kneel, not to turn our heads down, but to stand and look upon her, to see as equals with our eyes what we had done for her.
She didn't hold back, not the tremble in her voice nor the tears trailing down her cheeks.
And we felt something we had never known before at the loyalty in her words--fealty.
Never had I imagined me, a blacksmith with a basic home and shop to call my own, kneeling before a lord or lady with such wanted devotion. But this woman, this divine creature with hellfire in her veins, stirred me like no other.
So we kneeled anyways, each and every one of us, and we swore upon her and her family, upon her lineage and generations to come, that we would stand by her, serve her, and if need be die for her. She was our godsend. Our revolution.
Our Queen.
She was glorious, and terrifying all at once.
When word reached our village that the young Queen had finally been freed from the cavernous prison the King had placed her in, we quickly grabbed whatever weapons we could and met her small traveling party on its way to the castle.
She needed us.
And we needed her.
The chaos that had consumed our kingdom since she first appeared on our Lord's arm a decade ago had torn at the fragile edges of our society, pitting loyal servants against those of us in dire need of change. To them she was nothing more than a decorative beauty to sire a heir and future lineage.
But to us she was a force to break the bindings of old and help us build anew.
Even in her heartache, which she wore as royally as the crown upon her head, she showed us compassion and hope.
I could not imagine the sorrow which she drew from to defy her husband as she had.
But I also could not imagine the love which drove her just as passionately.
The rumors had circled almost from the start--that our new young Queen had a lover the king had tossed into the depths of hades in order to have her hand all to himself. With powers higher than her own forcing her to bow to him, she was left with little choice--marriage or a merciless death.
It was evident now though that they were one in the same to her.
My heart had ached, like only a compassionate peasant's could.
I thought for sure, once the King's heir had been born, that she would waste away into nothingness.
But something changed in her.
Perhaps it was the love she found in herself for our new prince.
Maybe it was the speculation that the King, in all his power, had actually been unsuccessful in doing away with her lover--that the brave knight she had sworn her heart to was alive after all--imprisoned in the very castle she had resided in for so long.
Whatever it had been, my Queen rose like a phoenix from the ashes of her broken soul and shattered the bars holding her captive in the palace.
When he realized she would not be contained, that she had every intention of freeing her lover and overthrowing his rule, the King sent her away--casting her to the edges of our land like a pariah.
But we would not stand for it--could not stand for it any longer.
So we sent out the best of our kind, the bravest and most mad, to retrieve her and help her in ending an old man's bitter reign. After days and nights of endless riding, they arrived, then and there, to help further our cause, stirring the banners of war.
Months followed before I saw my Queen again.
Our parting had been at the dropping of a sword, the war ending at the King's falling outside his palace doors--his blood staining the stone entryway.
Those of us who had fought alongside her, who had sacrificed life and limb, had been summoned to the courtyard. I had no idea what to expect, many of us had returned to our homes battered and bruised but elated at the changes that would no doubt come with the new reign of power.
However I anticipated that our new Queen at the very least would finally shine with a victorious smile.
I was surprised, however, to find her humble and raw before us.
She wore no royal gown, no extravagant jewels or even a crown.
No, she stood as a tested woman in a simple dress, her son to her left and her freed lover to her right.
She begged us not to kneel, not to turn our heads down, but to stand and look upon her, to see as equals with our eyes what we had done for her.
She didn't hold back, not the tremble in her voice nor the tears trailing down her cheeks.
And we felt something we had never known before at the loyalty in her words--fealty.
Never had I imagined me, a blacksmith with a basic home and shop to call my own, kneeling before a lord or lady with such wanted devotion. But this woman, this divine creature with hellfire in her veins, stirred me like no other.
So we kneeled anyways, each and every one of us, and we swore upon her and her family, upon her lineage and generations to come, that we would stand by her, serve her, and if need be die for her. She was our godsend. Our revolution.
Our Queen.
Comments
Post a Comment