|Daughter of Betrayal
Author: Yarah PM
The story of Tristan and Isolde's daughter. OCxOC.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Chapters: 11 - Words: 29,272 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 14 - Follows: 7 - Published: 06-10-10 - id: 6041727
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N- Hi everyone! Okay, I know you might be thinking, "This story looks familiar…" Well, that's because it is. I started this a few years ago when I had more time on my hands, but I've since become very busy and pretty much dropped writing totally. But I'm now an English/creative writing major, and before I get into my intense fiction writing classes I'd like to get back into the swing of writing a little each day, any kind of writing really. So I thought, what better way to do that than to go pick up some of my old fanfiction stories that I never finished. So here I am. I have no idea what my password for my original account was, so I just created a new one. So I didn't steal Neseve Sedai's story. I simply am Neseve Sedai under a new pen name. Anyways, I'll get on with the story now. I have reposted my 10 original chapters here (with some editing), and I hope to have a few new chapters up A.S.A.P. Thank you for reading!
Fallon pulled the hood of her cloak up, hiding her dark hair and fair face. It provided little protection from the drenching rain and powerful gusts of wind. She had been riding for two days straight looking for this place, and now she had found it.
It wasn't until five days ago that she had found out that the people that she was living with, the people she had always thought were her parents, were not. She recalled their conversation vividly.
When Fallon came home from a full day of riding, her mother, Erin, and her father, Willem, met her at the door. She greeted them with a happy smile. It was her sixteenth birthday, and she was hoping there would be some kind of special celebration. But her parents did not return her smile. They stared at her solemnly.
"Fallon, we must speak with you," her father said.
Fallon knew that this wasn't going to be about her birthday. Both of her parents were too sad and somber. "What is it?" she asked warily, "Did I do something wrong."
Her mother's sober expression softened a little as she gave her a comforting smile. "No, dear," she soothed, "Nothing like that. We just need to speak with you about something. That's all."
Fallon eyed them both suspiciously for another moment then nodded and followed them into the house. Her father led her to their small kitchen table and pulled out a chair. "I think you had better sit down, lass," was all he said.
She took the seat, and her parents each took a seat across from her. After what seemed like an eternity of them gazing at her with sad eyes, her mother spoke as she reached across the table and took Fallon's small hand in her own. "Please, Fallon," she said softly, "Know that we both love you and always will. You do know that, don't you?"
Fallon drew her dark brows together in puzzlement. "Of course, Mother. Why would you ask such a thing?"
Her mother sighed. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that before we told you."
"Told me what?" Fallon was becoming quite nervous and frightened. She hardly ever saw her parents act this way. "What's happened?"
This time her father spoke. "Fallon, you're sixteen now, a woman. There is something that we have kept hidden from you for fear of how you would react. But we have both decided that since you are a young woman now, you deserve the truth."
"What?" she exclaimed, "What is it? You must tell me!" She was frustrated, wondering what her father could be talking about. Why wouldn't he just say it?
"Fallon, we are not your parents."
She looked from him to her mother, waiting for one of them to crack a smile and say that it was all a big prank… but their faces remained solemn. Suddenly, Fallon was light headed, and she was very glad of the chair. If she had been standing she might have fallen to the floor. "What?" she whispered disbelievingly.
Her mother, or rather the woman she had always thought was her mother, continued to rub her now shaking hand comfortingly. "Almost sixteen years ago, your real mother brought you to us, pleading for us to take care of you because she couldn't. Willem and I had been trying to conceive for years without success, we agreed to take you in. We did so want a child. Your mother was weak from giving birth to you. Weak and sick. She stayed with us for two days before she died. It was then that she gave you your name and told us a little of her story."
Fallon blinked back tears. She drew a shuddering breath and tried to control her emotions. "Who was she?" she asked after a moment, "Who was my father?" Willem and Erin exchanged a look that Fallon did not miss. This was something that they weren't sure how to tell her. "Who?" she repeated.
Willem drew a deep breath and said quietly, "Your mother was Princess Isolde of Ireland. Your father was Tristan of Aerygone."
Fallon's eyes widened in disbelief. She blinked. What? Every subject of Cornwall knew the story of Tristan of Aerygone, the adopted son of their aging king, Lord Marke, and Isolde, Lord Marke's former wife. Tristan was slain when Donnchadh, the king of Ireland and Isolde's father, attacked the Castle Dor, and Isolde was said to have disappeared. They couldn't be her parents. It couldn't be true. "How?" was all she could get out.
"It's true," Erin said, nodding, "She told us that she had been living alone and delivered you by herself. She wanted desperately to know that you would be safe. Even though she did not get to be with you long, she loved you so much."
The shock was slowly draining out of Fallon, leaving only numbness. She didn't know what to think. Didn't know how to react. "If my mother was Princess Isolde," she said as she stared blankly at the grainy wood of the table. She still stunned that her mother could have been a princess. She certainly did not feel like a princess. "How do you know that Lord Marke is not my father." She didn't understand how they could reason that Tristan was her father. It was definitely a possibility- if Isolde truly was her mother- but they couldn't be sure.
Erin gave a small shrug. "Your mother was sure," she said, "She was positive. She said you looked like him. I never saw him, but she was certain."
Fallon couldn't hold her emotions in any longer. She dropped her head to her hands and began to cry. It was just so hard to process everything. Not only did she learn that the couple who brought her up were not her real parents, but also that her real parents were nobles. She also cried for never having known them. She loved Erin and Willem with all her heart. The fact that they were not her blood family did not change the way she felt about them at all. But now that she knew that her real mother and father were different people, she longed to know what they were like. Would they have loved her as Willem and Erin did? How would life with them have been? She would never know.
Willem grasped her hand in his, and Erin was beside her rubbing her back soothingly. "There, there, child," she murmured, "It will be alright. You'll see."
Fallon cried for a while. Finally, she wiped her cheeks and sniffed back her sobs. She turned her face up to Erin. Although they had never met her father, Willem and Erin might be able to tell her something of her mother. "What was she like?"
Erin smiled sadly. "Brave and beautiful. Just like you. She was heartsick from the death of your father, but she stayed strong until your birth, wanting to give you the chance of life. You would have loved her."
"Do I look like her?" she asked with a sniff.
Willem nodded. "You have her green eyes and her fair skin. She told us you got your hair from your father and a lot of your facial features. But I can see quite a bit of her in you too."
"What else can you tell me about her?"
They had spent the rest of that day talking about Fallon's parents and her heritage. For the next two days, she contemplated what to do. In the end she decided to journey to the center of Cornwall, to Castle Dor, where her parents had lived, and where, she assumed, she was conceived. She reasoned that maybe if she went there she would be able to find out more about them. The third day after the secret of her past was revealed to her, she packed.
Now, here she was, cold and drenched from the rain. She sat, kneeling before two intertwining willows. This was where she had been told her father was buried. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she imagined what he must have been like.
She kneeled there for what seemed like hours, thinking, until she heard the sound of approaching hoof beats. Fallon dismissed it for a passer-by and did not move, but soon the hoof beats became louder, and she knew that whoever was riding the horse was not simply passing by. In seconds she would no longer be alone. She stiffened her back and sat up straighter but did not turn as the rider came up behind her. The hoof beats stopped.
"Show yourself," said a deep male voice, "Don't try to pull any weapons. I'll have you know that I am rather good with a sword. I don't want to have to kill you today."
Fallon eased her fingertips away from the hilt of her knife that she kept at her belt. As she slowly turned to face the stranger, she pushed down the hood of her cloak revealing her face and glossy black ringlets. "I didn't know that it was an offense to simply sit on a river bank, good sir," she said, her melodious voice tinged with annoyance, "I didn't think it would warrant my death."
The handsome man's dark blue eyes widened. He was obviously surprised to find that he had been threatening a young woman. His sandy blonde curls, wet from the rain, clung to his sun-tanned forehead at an angle. His face was stern, made up of hard planes and angles, but still attractive. He looked to be a few years older than her, maybe 20.
"It is no offense, girl," he said a little harshly, regaining his composure, "Forgive me if hooded and cloaked strangers lurking about in the shadows raise my suspicions. Especially on days like this." He looked up at the gloomy sky and shuddered. "It is a day for ill omens."
"Forgive me," Fallon retorted, "If I am not given to silly superstitions. I had my hood up to keep the rain off my face. Much good that did me."
The man appeared to be offended by her calling his superstitions silly. "Pray, what is your name, wench?" he demanded.
Fallon's face reddened all the way to her ears. "I am no wench!" she exclaimed angrily, "You are a filthy pig and would do well to leave me be!"
The man's face also reddened. But then he recovered from his embarrassment and thrust his strong chin up arrogantly. He announced, "You would do well not to call me a filthy pig. I am Salomon, cousin of Lord Marke and next in line for the throne of Cornwall. You will regard me with respect."