The fires had died down. One by one along the shores the lights were fading, only distant memories as the embers burned in the pits they had dug into the sands. Almost all had ventured onto the beach and there was talking of the men wishing to explore once morning came. They didn’t know a thing about this place that had seemingly showed up without so much as a warning upon the horizon. Even Lord Rosseau couldn’t find anything among his books and maps of the world that could begin to explain what had happened. The storm had jostled and turned them upon the ocean for days and then they finally had landed upon a foreign shore; many were simply grateful that their lives had been spared and that the gods were smiling kindly upon them at last.
Their exiled King, however, couldn’t see things quite so clearly or so optimistically.
David Marisen stared into the fire within the hearth. It had been light only an hour ago and was still burning strongly into the night. He knew he should have slept, for there was much to do the next day yet he found sleep evaded him. His fingers ran through his hair, frowning into the flames. How had it come to this? One year ago he could have told anyone confidently that life was going in the right direction for him and for his kingdom. There had been over a thousand years of peace and his family had successfully held onto the throne in this time. The people were happy and there was life within the court; more so than ever had been. Everything was going his way up until that dreadful night of the ball.
He prodded at the fire uselessly before sitting again, resting his head back against the chair. The captains quarters had been made readily available for the royal family once they had landed. The shore was only a short trip by row boat yet he felt easier with him and his family safely asleep within the cabin. Caleb, he already knew, was fast asleep, thumb probably stuck firmly into his mouth with happy dreams rolling through his head. His wife should have been sleeping as well, yet from the lack of heavy breathing across the room, he knew that she was still awake, like he, and probably thinking as well.
He’d had a wife who he adored (for the most part), a son and heir to the throne, and a people who loved him (well so he thought at least). But he couldn’t have accounted for Betram’s declaration of war upon him and his court.
Bertram! The boy he had grown up with, a cousin to play with when the summers dragged on and someone who could match David in skill on horseback. They had been like brothers for years and had always seen one another through. This betrayal was the lowest of lows that his cousin could stoop to. Yet he had not seen anything wrong in the months (or had it been years?) in the climb towards that fateful evening.
Truthfully, David had played the fool. Nothing could go on so placidly, so peacefully without something changing the course of things. And Bertram had done exactly that; after the declaration, civil war and unrest had plagued the nation. Blood ran on the streets of the major cities as families, friends, and colleagues were pitted against one another to pick the side they believed in and, for some, to pick the winner. David didn’t like war; he never had the stomach for it, unlike his father, but Bertram never faltered in the seven month campaign for the throne. In the end, David had become tired of seeing death, tired of watching his court suffer, and found talk of betrayal (yet again) was close at hand, within his own home! It had been best for them all to leave.
David shifted in his chair, hearing the soft rustle of fabric against skin as his wife moved, changing position in bed (perhaps in a way to get more comfortable in it). He stayed in his seat though, refusing to move as he stared into the fire. He couldn’t rightfully have left all of them to the hands of his cousin. No matter how close they had been, David had feared for the lives of his family and of those who continued to follow him through the war. They snuck away in the dead of night, hurrying to the docks, boarding a ship with a captain willing to take them along the seas. A merchant by trade, Mister Basil Mills had graciously shared his ship with the close to fifty occupants that had clambered aboard his home. They’d gone almost a fortnight upon the sea, bound for Messaih where David had allies when the storm blew them off course, landing them…here.
But where was here? That was the question that no one had the answer to. The scholar Lord Rosseau had searched through his books and scrolls and couldn’t find any mention of an island lying this far south of their home. There was nothing and that in itself was baffling to all who tried to piece together where they had landed. The chain of islands was unfamiliar, lush and green when they had come from the last traces of autumn (and assured of a harsh winter). It was a strange place, to say the least, and there had been a few parties of men sent to map the big island in the center of it all.
David stood again, moving to the bottle of whiskey in the corner, carefully pouring himself a drink, downing the first before he took a second. He sipped at it, closing his eyes against the familiar burn, aware that it would hit him sooner than he thought. Unlike some of the men he kept company with at court, David had a lower tolerance for the spirits they shared following the evening meal when their wives would retire, careful not to attempt in keeping up with men like Edmund, who would drink the King under the table given the chance. He sat again, though his head turned as he heard the soft rustle of fabric and the creak of the bed, catching sight of his wife coming from the shadows into the candlelight.
Still shaking whatever sleep she had in her mind, Ava frowned against the firelight, blinking rapidly before she could look him in the eye. They didn’t speak for a few moments; David remained neutral while Ava’s soft features betrayed her emotions from the very start. First he saw the concern reflected in her eyes firstly for him. He hadn’t come to bed yet, barely spoken a word since they had retired for the evening. She was worried about their situation, worried for their people more than she worried for herself but underneath that, he knew that there was irritation. “David,” She said finally, “come to bed.”
Oh, it was sorely tempting. David was weary of the day; sleep could relieve him of the woes of today and bring him fresh into tomorrow. He could strip off the clothes from today and fall asleep in Ava’s loving embrace. But while his body remained weary, his mind refused to shut down. Instead, he shook his head, downing the remaining whiskey in the glass, playing with the heavy object between his hands.
“Not yet, Ava,” He muttered with a sigh. “Not yet. Go back to sleep, I’ll be there soon.” He glanced over his shoulder, catching her expression. She stood, lips pursed together into a line and he thought she was going to snap at him. Instead, though, the expression faded and instead of turning back to bed she moved forwards, gliding towards the fire. She held her hands before the blaze, warming her fingertips before grabbing the poker he had left alongside it, prodding the embers along the side back to life again.
“I’ll stay up with you then.”
“No, Ava,” David’s voice dropped to a low growl as she turned back to him. He wasn’t looking for company here and now, not when he wanted only to feel self-pity. But it seemed there was no telling her otherwise as she huffed lightly, quirking a brow at him in the firelight.
“I wasn’t asking you, David. I was telling.” Something had changed in Ava since they had left in the dead of night. The woman David had married had grown tougher skin than she had back home, become a woman who wasn’t nearly as meek as she had been before, and whose mind was geared better in this stressful situation than his own was. Part of him knew that he should be thankful for having married such a woman, but another part of him was angry; why couldn’t the Saints give him the strength he needed rather than laying everything down upon his wife? His people were supposed to be looking towards him to show the way, not his wife.
She sat on the couch just alongside his, hands pressed delicately into the folds of her nightgown. They sat in silence for a few long moments before, carefully, Ava broke it once again. “I know it’s hard,” She muttered softly, “all of this.” She took a breath, “But you can’t simply shut me out like this, David. Let me take some of the load.”
“Ava-” David started but she cut him off swiftly.
“It’s not healthy, for starters, staying up late like this and drinking your problems away,” She paused momentarily as a soft laugh escaped her lips. “I’d half expect Edmund to do that, not you.” She had that right and David knew it; he couldn’t hide the very small smile that touched his face.
“You look tired,” He said finally, watching her as she rubbed her eyes. “Please, go to bed, I’ll be there soon.”
“I figure we could arrange some sort of scouting party tomorrow morning, once we’ve all had some rest,” Ava went on blithely as though she hadn’t heard him. “We can see about mapping out some of this island. Mister Mills, I hear, is quite good with map making, though I’m sure one would have to be in order to sail a merchant vessel across the ocean and back.”
“A scouting party would be a good idea,” David admitted softly. “Perhaps keep our eyes peeled for a place we could settle.” There was no going around it– this place, wherever it was, was to become their home. They had nowhere else to run, no one else to turn to, and if there was no visible trace of this place on any maps, perhaps it would keep them safe from his cousin for just a little while longer. He turned his eyes as Ava stood, dousing the flames from the nearest candles along the wall, casting shadows upon them both.
“Come to bed, David,” She whispered. He rose to meet her, felt her small hands on his body, pulling herself close to him. They were so tired, just so tired.
“All right,” The day had long since finished and the King was too tired to fight against sleep any longer. Trailing behind Ava, he slowly extinguished the candles he had left light until there was nothing left but moonlight. Stretched out in bed, beneath sheets of cotton, he closed his eyes finally, letting sleep take over.
