|In Our Eyes
Author: Embers Rose PM
Alys, orphan she-warrior in Cornwall. Terrin, Irish prince. What they are together changes everything. Tristan and Isolde backwards, basically. T for future contentRated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 3 - Words: 1,286 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 06-16-11 - Published: 03-31-11 - id: 6861459
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Terrin wandered the cloudy shores, picking up stones as he went. The clouds rumbled, like angry gray fists, ready to strike any moment.
It was the ability to note such things that made Terrin's father so angry and blind to his son's point of view. The Irish king's mood often resembled the clouds.
"Terrin!" called a familiar voice from the fog. "Your father needs to see you!"
"Coming!" he yelled in return. He walked quickly to the gloomy stone castle.
Terrin entered the throne room, the place where his mother had spent so much time when he was younger. Before he let his heart feel the ache it always did in this room, his father appeared from the shadowy throne.
"Son," he greeted darkly.
"There is something we need to discuss. I am getting older, and less able to rule. It is time for you to marry. There are many eligible brides for you."
"Father, can I not-'
"Terrin you must."
"But father, I don't want a forced marriage. You did not have an arranged marriage so why must I?"
"Because it is a desperate time! When I was ready, this kingdom was a peaceful place! There will be no more arguments! You have a fort night to choose." The king yelled. "I must leave to Cornwall, for an attack."
"Good bye father"
Alys emerged from the tunnels. They were always finding new ruins from the Roman rule.
Suddenly, a cry cut through the forest.
The cousins ran to the castle.
"Marke! The Irish! They are near!" Brodkin cried.
"I know, nephew."
"Wait, Marke, I have an idea" Alys said, suddenly. Melot looked into her gray eyes, already knowing her plans.
Alys hid in a bush, a quiver on her back. Behind her, Melot rustled.
All at once, a cloud of dust and the yells of Irishmen flooded them. The Irish were fast, but Alys' army was faster. In an instant, they flew from the tunnels, bushes and trees. Arrows and swords flew.
Alys could see the Irish general. She flew at him, dagger in hand. In a quick, fluent motion, she slit his throat. Though not before the man sliced her shoulder with his sword. A sword coated in poison.
The dust settled, and Melot looked for Alys. Brodkin lay in a bush, unconscious. Then, he seen her. Her body lay on the road, a deep gash on her shoulder and blood soaking her clothes.
"Alys!" he cried. But she did not respond. Hearing Melot's desperation, Marke ran over. "Father, Alys is dead."
Alys' body lie in a boat, surrounded in pine branches. Her black hair cascaded down her body. Her only dress covered her corpse as her family cast her out to sea.
Terrin wandered the green shores when he seen the boat. He ran down to the beach. A girl lay in it. She had cascading black hair and she wore an ornate evergreen dress. He ducked his head down to her mouth. Shallow breaths escaped. She was still alive.
He carried her body to a door in the cliff. He lay her down on a bed of hay. She would be the only one to know about Terrin's hide away sanctuary.