Chain Mail and Butterfly Wings

Roughly three weeks passed and the past month of my absence seemed to have become nonexistent, it was as if nothing had ever changed. I returned to my same pitiful job as guard/prisoner caretaker, although General Darren stopped by every few hours in search of me, even for the smallest of conversations. Undoubtedly, my strange behavior had been reported to him, although my head got a bit clearer when he was around. It was a forced clarity, because I didn’t want my General to worry about me, but he didn’t need to know that.

Commander Burman was watching me like a hawk, more than usual, anyway. Although he seemed less snide than when I had last checked, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I no longer fought him on what ever it was that he was asking me to do. I didn’t ask questions, I didn’t complain, I hardly even talked aside from the occasional “yes sir”. Had I been thinking more clearly, I might have noticed the way the other guards seemed to avoid me on my return.

But I was hardly taking notice of anything around me, even the prisoners seemed less inclined to speak at me, which wasn’t a bad thing, just strange. What did it matter if they spoke to me anyway? What did it matter if anyone spoke to me? There was only one person who’s voice I wanted to hear. To hear him say my name again, to hear his soft voice in the dead of night, to hear the comfort and understanding in his tone. Even the haughty arrogance that he carried with him would have sufficed, that voice that made me want to hit him and kiss him at the same exact time.

I gripped the mop handle hard in my hands, the wood groaning against my palms. No. I wouldn’t think of him, of that jagged pain that had resided somewhere suspiciously close to my heart. I would focus; I would work. I would be emotionless. Because feeling nothing at all was better than feeling the pain of a shattered, fractured heart.

With a blind sort of drive, I moved the mop across the floor, in a mechanical, forced way. The pain had built up slightly and was bubbling up in the back of my throat, threatening to escape in the form of an agonized yell. But I suppressed it, I drove back that pain, held the tears from my eyes and worked. I could feel the icy shield of nothingness overtake my emotions, covering my hurt and anguish like an invisible cloak. I would be fine.

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The day dragged on, but in a way, I didn’t seem to notice. There was a void inside me that consumed all of my time and memories. I didn’t need to know what I had done that day, I was conscious of how meaningless my work had been. In the long run, the floor would be dirty again; the prisoners would need food again; papers would need to be sorted again; beds would need to be made again. Everything I did that day would need to be done the following day, like some horrible, never-ending cycle.

I hated my work, and I hated my current living arrangements. And I couldn’t believe how long that had taken me to realize.

As I laid awake on my cot that night, thoughts ran circles around in my head, keeping me awake. I had been trying so hard all of these years to make myself a person that my father could have been proud of. To become a guard, a fighter, someone that could hold their head high and know that they had a purpose. To know that everyday they did something important, that they actually worked for what they had in their lives. That they weren’t just spoiled royalty, or homeless beggars, or prostitutes, or loathsome bandits. Guards mattered, fighters lived. And not living in that way that one simply took air into their lungs and expelled it every day. They actually moved and lived and breathed vibrantly, with a spark in their eyes and a sense of knowledge that no one else seemed to have.

I closed my eyes slowly, for a long moment I held them closed, thinking that I might actually be able to doze off. But I was mistaken. My mind ramblings had only woken me further. Sleep was an impossibility. I sat up, away from my pillow, resigned to the fact that my mind wouldn’t allow me to rest. Carefully running my fingers through my hair, I stole a side glance at a pack sitting by the door to my dingy room.

My lips twitched involuntarily into a slight frown. I threw my legs over the side of my cot and walked silently over to the pack. It was made of worn leather and the contents glinted in the moonlight, or at least the part of the contents that were visible from the open pack. I tugged at the mouth of the bag and it gave way beneath my grasp revealing what was had been glinting resiliently in the moonlight.

Serenity overtook my features. I sat on the floor and reached into the bag and pulled my father’s chain mail free and draped it gingerly over my lap like a fine piece of silk. I ran my fingers absently over the small metal links and felt my lips tremble. It was the last piece of my father that I had in my life, the last and only memento I would ever have from him. It was cold to the touch and had a metallic smell that I could hardly stand, it had a blood stain in one corner and it wasn’t soft and warm and full of loving memories. But it was better than nothing, which is all I had to remember my mother by.

Without saying a word, I picked up the chain mail and rose to my feet. I licked my lips absently and opened the door to my room, fully aware that I was dressed in not more than a pair of wool pants and a cotton shirt. Without shoes or a garment to shield me from any harsh weather, I made my way to the nearest exit that would take me outside.

It didn’t take long for me to step out into the brisk night air, and it took even less time for me to find a clearing near the eastern wall. I eyed the large oak that almost touched the stone wall speculatively and decided that it was convenient shelter if I needed it. Instead, I found patch of wildflowers not far from the old oak and collapsed to my knees in the middle of it. Taking in the sweet scent of the flowers mixed with night air, I could feel myself relaxing. I set the chain mail on my lap again and eyed it affectionately. But even with the memento in my lap, my mind turned to darker things.

There was so much in my life that could allow me to be sorry for myself. My father was dead, I was never allowed to see my mother before my first breath was even drawn, I had no family to speak of, the one man I might have been happy with was taken from me. I was completely alone. Unloved, I existed in a place that didn’t want me, surrounded by other people who didn’t want me. I was an outcast by choice of profession.

There was a small voice in my head, barely audible in the wallowing of my own self-pity that said no, that’s not true. But I ignored it, I continued to run my fingers over the chain mail, feeling sorry and angered and hurt. But I wanted to be angry, I wanted to be the one doing the hurting, I wanted to be able to bring some sort of pain in someone’s life. For once, I wanted to be the assailant and not the victim.

Not true, the small voice repeated in my mind. And very abruptly, I got a mental image of General Darren. Gallant and regal, protective and strong. He didn’t cause me any pain, I realized. He was a pillar of silver light that gave me the strength to stand when all I wanted to do was fall. If nothing else at all, he cared about me, he worried about my well-being. I wasn’t completely unloved. I realized, in a daze of sudden clarity, that Darren had always loved me. But not in the childish, infatuated way that I had fawned over him for so many years. It was a fatherly, protective way, a sort of love that I hadn’t been able to fathom through my own dream-like vision of him.

I bit down hard on my bottom lip. I had been an idiot so many times, for far too long. I had been blind before, I had been ignorant, I had been stubborn and hot headed. But I was young, I had seen my mistakes and I could change them, I could be different. I closed my eyes for a long moment and took a deep intake of night air into my lungs before I breathed out again.

Now for the biggest pain in my life. That jabbing, twisting coldness near my heart, as if someone were turning the blade of a knife inside of me. Aiden. I thought the name with a very small wince. There were so many things I loved about him that I hadn’t noticed in the beginning. Things that I had thought that I hated, things that were insignificant, yet infinitely precious. But there was one thing that I hated about him, something that I didn’t want to acknowledge, something that I wanted to block out.

It wasn’t the curve of his lips when he smiled, or the glint in his beautiful eyes when he looked at me. It wasn’t the way his touch sent butterflies slamming around my insides, or the soft golden glow of his gorgeous hair. Not the dark mystery that he concealed with his aloof, almost goofy mannerisms, nor the way he flirted shamelessly with any member of the opposite sex.

I hated that he had made me so crazy about him without even trying, that he had talked to me as if I were the most important thing in his world when he had already promised himself to someone else. I hated that I had lost him. I hated that I had to let him go when all I wanted to do was to just hold on, to keep all my memories of him alive. I hated him for that. For not seeing what it was that I felt for him, for being so perfectly out of my reach.

I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks, dripping off the end of my chin and falling onto my father’s chain mail. I hadn’t thought I was crying until that moment. Until I realized that the pain in my heart was multiplying until I felt like my chest was going to explode. I fell onto my side, hiding my face beneath the cover of flowers, letting my tears run out onto the earth freely. Maybe, just maybe if I cried enough, I wouldn’t have any more tears to lose.

I could only hope that that was possible as I lay in the middle of the wildflowers and cried myself into a restless sleep.

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I awoke the next day when a steel-toed boot nudged me in the ribs. It was a rude awakening and it jolted me into a sitting position, peeling my cheek away from the chain mail that I had been using as a pillow. Even as my eyes darted around to find the owner of the boot, I could feel the link-like marks imprinted on my cheek. That’s attractive, I thought a little wryly but it was a distracted thought.

I focused on the boot that was a few inches away from me and found that it belonged to Commander Burman. Of course. He looked down at me over his snub nose with a scowl on his pudgy face. I wasn’t sure he was capable of a smile anyway though, so his mood could have been anywhere between scathingly angry and moderately irritated.

“Picked an odd spot to nap Wench,” he sneered, his mouth curling into an ugly half-smile.

“With dirt on my face and dressed in night clothes I still manage to look better than you,” I grumbled tiredly. The sun wasn’t even quite up, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood for his shitty personality.

My commander’s face contorted slightly in what I might have considered a jubilant expression, had I not known him well enough to think otherwise. Then, quite suddenly, his face began to change, and began to resemble a plum as his fury became apparent. Okay, so that wasn’t my smartest move, I’ll admit. But I wasn’t quite thinking clearly at that hour.

He looked like he was going to say something, and then snapped his mouth shut again, apparently thinking better of his words. “General Darren wants to see you, regardless of your attire. He made it seem urgent. So I’d get that narrow fanny of yours moving,” Commander Burman said gruffly and then turned on his heel and began to stalk away. I couldn’t keep myself from giggling at his back. “Fanny”? That word simply didn’t belong in a man’s mouth, and certainly not a mouth as ugly as his. “You’re to meet him at the,” he raised his voice slightly as he continued to talk as he walked away, “prison wing. Don’t be late Wench!”

I wasn’t entirely sure when he had decided to start calling me “wench” but it wasn’t a very affectionate name in my book. He didn’t see me waltzing around calling him “fat ass”. Regardless, I stood up and brushed the dirt of my clothes and ran my fingers through my hair. It looked like I would have to try and appear as presentable as possible after spending a night rolling around in the dirt. I would have rather had a chance to brush my hair at least, but what sort of guard would keep their general waiting?

Besides, I wanted to see him anyway. He was as much of a comfort to my eyes as I could hope for in my current position.

So, I turned and headed toward the castle, draping my father’s chain mail over my arm as I walked. I wouldn’t have time to leave it in my room, if the matter was as urgent as Commander Burman had inferred, anyway.

As I descended into the prison, I attempted to poise myself, to try and seem relaxed, when really I was nervous as ever to see General Darren. What could he possibly need to talk to me about? I hoped it was only a matter involving a new prisoner, and that he wasn’t informing me that due to my strange behavior he would ask me to leave the guard. God, I wasn’t sure what I would do if it were the latter.

I pushed all negative thoughts from my mind and stepped down into the room just before where the prisoners were kept. Even from there I could catch a wafting hint of the stench that came from the cells themselves. I hesitated in the doorway when I caught sight of General Darren leaning against a table on the other side of the room, his brow creased in thought. However, he seemed to come to his senses when he heard the door close behind me.

He blinked and forced a smile in my direction. “Hello Angeline, how are you?” he asked in a reserved tone, which I assumed was because I had been acting so strangely.

“Fine, although I spent the last night sleeping the dirt and haven’t had time to change my clothes even, which explains why I look the way I do,” I offered with a nervous chuckle.

Darren smiled genuinely at the normalcy in my tone, then laughed slightly. “I’m glad to hear that,” he replied and his smile seemed to die away into a subdued smirk. “Unfortunately, I didn’t call you here to simply enjoy your company,” his voice was grim and he cast a glance at the door behind him. “I need you to do something in one of the prisons for me, but I’d prefer that I were present while you do it.”

I frowned at the seriousness in his tone. He wanted me to do something for him in one of the prisons? And he wanted to be present when I did it…so it was safe to assume that I wouldn’t be simply cleaning. Also, I was certain he wouldn’t promise any of the prisoners sexual favors from me for information or anything of the like. Therefore, I was curious as to what he wanted me to do.

“Of course, Sir,” I said formally, awaiting further instructions.

Darren smiled wryly. “Agreeing before you know what it is I want you to do, always the dutiful soldier,” he commented with a sigh.

I didn’t reply, not sure if that was a compliment or not.

“Come with me, might as well get this over with,” he grumbled and opened the door that led into the portion of the prison wing where the cells were. He gestured for me to walk ahead of him, and I complied, stepping cautiously into the hall that stretched between two rows of cells on either side. I paused and stole a glance back at my General, an inquiring gaze in my eyes. He nodded for me to walk further into the room.

I did so and glanced into each cell, recognizing most of the prisoners, of which didn’t take much notice of me. I suppose I hadn’t been too much of entertainment in the past few weeks, and they had given up any jeers they had come up with. My eyes drifted ahead of me and quite abruptly, I came to a halt. Darren bumped into me, not realizing that I had stopped, and cast a confused glance in my direction.

However, I didn’t pay any attention. Because I had let my eyes get head of me and make me completely unaware of Darren’s presence. When I stared only a few feet away from me, I caught sight of the one person that could shatter my heart and bring me to my knees without so much as lifting a finger. I looked at him, and my world came apart at the seams.