Aurélie and the Adventures of the Aquitaine

For two days Aurélie sat and moped, moving only when her feet fell asleep. She frowned and sighed, contemplating what point God was trying to prove, if she had done anything wrong.

When grew hungry, she munched on apples and drank water from the canteen she found in the main kitchen. While her body grew stiff from lack of movement, her mind tossed and turned.
God, I was such a fool… she thought. I should have seen it, there were so many signs. The sudden gifts, double lessons, earlier nights. My presence in the court was never required, Baron Cartier always said that Darien had it under control... And here I thought he was just being nice, the blighter.

Darien had been so kind to her. He had always been there for her, he kept her going after Cecil's death. Her thought had always been that should she ever have to marry, it would be Darien... He was the most suitable, and none of the boys at court ever interested her in the slightest. Not to mention those eyes.
A girl could get lost in those eyes... And I did, every time.

She sighed, adjusting her position. A piece of taffeta fell into her face, she pushed it out of the way exasperated with her overly fluffy dress. She sighed again and blew a piece of frizzed hair away from her mouth.

What a horrid thought, Aurélie leaned her head against the wall, her eyes drifting closed, marry me off to some high and mighty nobleman and let Darien take my throne...

~.~.~.~.~.~

The west hall was fogged.
Ellie thought that odd as she made her way through the strangely unfamiliar corridor. The wisps of white fog danced at her ankles as she made her way past the portraits of previous royalty. She took a left and headed towards the only room she knew would feel more like the home she was used to.

Aurélie walked towards the wooden door at the end of the hallway. The brass doorknob felt cold in her hand as she opened the door to her favourite room in the whole palace.

This can’t be right.

Through the door was the west wing courtyard, but she was supposed to be three stories up. The light from a setting sun streamed through the branches of the single oak tree in the corner. A young, wistful Aurélie sat on a stone bench under the tree, her violet eyes watching the clouds slowly waltz in the wind. Her light blue ball gown ruffled slightly in the late afternoon breeze.

I know this place, this time, that dress... This is the day I turned sixteen.

Ellie stood, frozen in the doorway, feeling the weight of the memory flood back to her.

The first birthday Cecil wasn’t there. The first time he didn’t wake me up at midnight. The fist time I wasn't rushed to the roof to look for a falling star. The first year I didn't make my birthday wish.

A breeze blew through the courtyard tossing her curly, brown hair loose around her shoulders. A whisper shook the tree, sending leaves towards her. She caught her breath, it was as if she could feel him beside her.

Startled, she looked back at her young self and noticed that someone had joined her. His back was to her but she knew already who it was, she couldn’t hear it but she knew exactly what was being said. She could practically imagine his crystal blue eyes probing as they leveled with her own.

Darien sat next to Aurélie and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, whispering in her ear as he did so. She smiled, a sad ghost of the laughter of her childhood passing through her lips. They sat in silence staring into the sky.

A gust of wind tore through the courtyard taking the memory with it and tossing Aurélie’s dress into her face, she stepped back and tripped over the ripped hem. Falling slowly backwards, the door shut and a soft voice whispered in her ear.

If you don’t look, you’ll never see a falling star. Go make your wish, Ellie.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Ellie awoke with a start. Looking around wildly she tried to figure out where she was. As she took a deep breath it all came rushing back. The carriage, the ship, the dream.

Bloody hell, that dream! She thought with a start, Cecil's voice was so close, so real...
He’s right of course, I can’t stay here and mope, if someone found me I’d be in deep trouble.

Shaking herself she looked down at her dress which was torn and dirty with bits of potato everywhere.
“Well this thing is useless.” She muttered to herself as another piece of taffeta itched her ankles.

Ellie began to wonder if there was anything else she could wear... Very few people came through, she learned from observation that there was a chef and a cabin boy who helped him when he needed it, which he often did.
The chef’s name was Maurice. He was a horridly fat man with a bombing voice and a Viking-style beard. How anyone could eat anything he made went far beyond Ellie’s understanding. She shuttered.

The boy came in the most often. His name was never called, everyone simply called him boy. He wasn’t an extremely smart kid may of 14 or 15 years, but he was a tall, gangly thing of about five foot eleven inches. His clothes should fit.

Excellent, now how to obtain his clothing...

She frowned... that may prove to be more difficult.