Chapter Text
This is a story about love, in every sense of the word. The shifts, the blossoming changes of the heart, akin to the bloom of a flower during the spring. Of friendships, of family, of romance, forged in the brittle grit of gravel, the thick syrup of honey and the raging fire of revenge. I present to you, dear reader, the tale of The Crown and The Sword.
The sun had begun its slow ascent over the horizon, painting a canvas of bruised peach and vibrant rose across the sky. The stars had already vanished, bidding farewell with the arrival of dawn. Surrounded by the thick, wild meadows, was a little girl, sitting in the back of a wagon, a thin blanket wrapped around her body, knobby knees pressed to her chest. She hadn’t said a word ever since she was rescued.
Two knights stood not far from the wagon, talking to each other. One, a long-haired, dark-skinned man with a deep, jagged scar across his face, narrowly missing his deep-set grey eyes. Another, a tall, pale, bearded brunet man. Both of them wore thick, silvery armour. The kind that the little girl had only seen passing, never got an up-close look of. She, through the many kingdoms she had passed through, noticed every knight, how their armour and behaviour changed depending on where she was. In Galladoorn, the knights were friendly, one of them even complimented her dress, the one her mother had made by hand just for her. In Cashmere, the knights were stricter, gave her and her mother passing glares, even questioned her when she was returning from the market with a bag of food, saying ‘a peasant girl like you can’t afford all of that, you must’ve stolen it.’
The knights here, well, it was too early to tell. She didn’t exactly have them in the forefront of her mind at the moment.
The brunet knight casted a glance her way. His tired eyes knew her feelings all too well.
“Do you think the orphan home will take her?” Asked the grey-eyed man, his arms crossed.
“Maybe. But she’s pretty grown already, she might not get adopted.” Responded the brunet man, voice as raspy as the caw of an old crow.
The little girl heard them, but didn’t say a word, didn’t dare look up. Just kept her brown eyes trained on the ground, how the tall grass swayed with the crisp early morning breeze.
“Poor thing.” Commented the grey-eyed man.
The older knight gave an agreeing hum, before bravely stepping forward, metal heel of his boot clinking. The little girl still didn’t look up, not even when the knight was directly in front of her.
“Hey.” Greeted the brunet knight.
Crickets chirped loudly in the absence of a response. The girl clutched her blanket tighter, as though the thin wool would shield her from the world, from her own memories. The knight didn’t know what to say, and he figured, even if he strung up the perfect words together, it wouldn’t be enough to break the girl out of her mute state.
Just an hour ago, the knights had found the girl, and what remained of her family near the Mother Gate. A slaughtered mother, sagged against the side of the wagon. An older brother, throat slit, back pressed to the humid ground, lifeless eyes staring at the stars. The girl was found huddled behind a pile of tall bags in the wagon, quietly sobbing and covering her ears. Judging by the state of the bodies, she must’ve been in there for a full day. When the knights brought her out, they tried to walk on the other side of the wagon so the girl wouldn’t see the massacre, but she did. She ran to her mother and fell to her knees, her sharp, pained cries filling the air. It took both of them to pull her off her mother’s corpse.
“Do you want anything? Water? Food?” The older man asked.
The girl stayed quiet, not even giving a shake of her head as answer. Silence reigned the one-sided exchange for a few seconds.
“What’s your name, girl?” He ended up asking. The girl was clearly in shock, having her name things, he figured, would help ground her.
For the first time, she said something. Her voice came out croaky, hoarse from not having spoken.
“Jade.” She whispered, voice cracking.
“Jade,” he repeated. “Lovely name.”
A beat of silence.
“My name is Ballantine. Him over there,” he gestured with his head to where the black-haired man was standing. “That’s Rhydon.”
Jade surprisingly lifted her head, just for a few seconds to observe the men in front of her. She still hugged her legs tight, just as a frightened rabbit would tuck into its den. But her eyes wouldn’t remain on any of them, choosing the sight of swaying, wind-kissed flora to stare at.
Ballantine watched the girl for a moment. What could he say to a girl who witnessed the massacre of her family? Saying ‘everything is going to be alright’ would be a lie. She’d be brought to the village and taken in by the orphanage by afternoon, alone, in a foreign land with nobody to turn to. He took a deep breath.
“I know everything must be scary for you,” Ballantine started. Jade lifted her tired gaze. “But I promise you, you are safe here. As long as you’re in Tir Asleen, nothing will hurt you.”
Nothing will hurt you. Jade clutched her legs tighter, tighter, tighter. Nothing will hurt you.
*
Jade sat on a bed, staring at a spider as it skittered around the window beside her bed. She watched as it perched itself on the top corner of the window, weaving an intricate, silky web.
The other beds in the room stood empty, half of them made, half of them left with messy blankets, kicked up into a ball at the edge of the bed, strewn about. The orphans, except Jade, had already gotten up, began playing in the small courtyard outside, or stayed indoors, giggling over games of make-believe and marbles. It had been a day since she arrived, and the sun shined bright, at its zenith in the sky. Children zipped by the window’s view, playing and chasing each other. The spider soon became awfully boring to watch, having begun to tuck itself hidden in the corner of its web, awaiting prey.
The orphanage mother came in the room, silent, a bowl of stew in her hands. She was a middle-aged woman, around late forties. She wore a dark brown dress embroidered with white and blue flowers on the sleeves and skirt, her wavy black hair hanging loose down her shoulders. Every kid there called her mom or mama, Jade couldn’t even imagine doing the same. She wasn’t her mother, her real mother had faded away with the night, vanished like a whisper amidst the stars, she had no reason to call her so. Mama pressed her thin lips together at the sight of Jade there, mute as ever, making wrinkles press at the corners of her mouth. She took lithe strides to Jade’s bed, sitting down at the edge of it.
The redheaded girl felt the dip in the mattress and turned her head, quickly like a deer who heard a branch crack in the distance.
Mama’s pursed lips relaxed into a small, sympathetic smile. Jade’s eyes spotted the bowl of stew in Mama’s hands.
“You haven’t eaten since you got here, dear.” Mama reminded. “Here. Have some. It’s good.”
Jade gave a suspicious glance at the bowl, then back at Mama.
“You have to eat something eventually. You can’t ball up by the window forever.”
The girl’s stomach rumbled. She was right. She was hungry. So, so hungry. Mama gave an encouraging look, holding out the bowl. Jade, with hesitant hands, took the bowl, starting out with cautious sips and bites, before wolfing it all down.
“There you go,” the older woman smiled. “You won’t get much done being a sad bag of bones. Come on, the sun will do you good.”
Mama gently nudged Jade out of bed, out of the room and through the front door. Rays of heat descended upon their skin, a warm, inviting feeling. It didn’t take away the awful, cold, demanding void in the centre of Jade’s chest, but it felt better than sitting by the window all afternoon. The other orphans were playing, laughing, smiling together, and Jade was alone.
Mama gave a reassuring smile and a pat on Jade’s shoulder before disappearing back into the orphanage. The redheaded girl wanted her to stay, wanted someone to keep her company, but she didn’t bother calling after her. So, she retreated somewhere. A quiet spot not far from the main entrance, nestled below the calm branches of a tree. She sat on the grass, hugging her knees. For a half-hour, she became a quiet observer, her presence barely noticeable amidst the vibrant life around her. She took notice of everything, the blooming dandelions by her side, the multicoloured butterflies, the horses trekking down the village path in front of the orphanage, the blonde girl who’d flash a gap-toothed smile every time Jade looked her way.
But what really caught her eye, even amidst the bloom of summer, was someone walking along the path. A little girl her age, brunette hair cropped short to just below her ears, zooming across the dirt, a pair of guards going after her. Jade blinked, watching intently as the brunette turned her head to stick her tongue out to the knights, then proceeded to trip.
The knights eventually caught her, one of them carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, all while the brunette kicked her legs and punched at his back, squeaking out protests.
“Third time this week...” Jade heard one of the knights grumble, loud enough for her to hear.
The afternoon blossomed into night, the bright oil lamps illuminating the orphanage. Everyone went around doing their nightly chores as Mama prepared dinner, with the older kids, including Jade, helping her make it. Jade stood at one of the counters, chopping onions for the stew. She cut everything on autopilot, her mind zoned out. Slice, push aside, repeat. She thought about the girl she had seen on the road earlier that day. Who was she? A thief that tried to escape? A runaway?
The thoughts plagued her mind as she finished helping making dinner. She sat alone, meekly eating her food, thinking about if, maybe, she could run away too. To where? She didn’t know. Somewhere far enough away to escape the memories of mum and her brother.
Around an hour later, Mama had begun ushering the kids to bed. Jade was the first to wash up and climb into bed, donning an oversized white nightgown that was most certainly a hand-me-down. Just like at noon, she sat, staring out the window, shadows from the nearby oil lamp dancing across her face. Her curls fell freely down her shoulders. She didn’t bother tying it up, even though she knew it would be a mess in the morning if she didn’t due to her tossing and turning. Just like that spider, she tucked herself into a corner, hoping she wouldn’t be seen.
But she was.
Jade suddenly felt a dip in the mattress beside her, the old springs of the bed creaking. She turned her head, and there, sitting beside her, was that very same blonde girl who had smiled at her earlier. She gave that same wide, gap-toothed smile.
“Hi,” chirped the blonde, her brown eyes zapping about Jade’s face like she was examining a bunny she found in the woods. “You’re the new girl. Mama said we should give you space but I just really wanted to say hello, we haven’t gotten someone new in a while,”
Jade stayed quiet.
“I’m Tamsyne. But my friends call me Tam. You can call me Tam too.” The girl introduced, extending her hand.
Jade took it hesitantly. She hadn’t ever shaken somebody’s hand, so she didn’t know if she had been doing it right. Was she squeezing too tight? Not enough? And where were her manners? She hadn’t even introduced herself, mum taught her better than that.
“I’m Jade.” She croaked.
The night went by slow. Jade didn’t know when daybreak would ever come, when she’d escape the whispering screams of her family, grasping to her in her nightmares. But nevertheless, the sun grazed the horizon, and by eight, the orphans were up, out in the fields, foraging.
Jade clutched a woven basket to her side, barefoot as she cautiously strode through the fields with Tam at her side. Tam already had a handful of mulberries in her basket, a few scrapes on her knees as a show of her labour.
“You know, we don’t get a lot of new people here, most of us have been here for a while,” Tam jabbered. “Mama says one day I might get adopted, but I don’t believe it, nobody’s been adopted as long as I’ve been here,” the blonde plucked a strand of yarrow as she passed, stuffing it in her basket. “But I don’t think I wanna be adopted, I like my family here. It’s my forever home.”
Jade just listened.
“You’ll like it here, we’re all family. Mama takes good care of us.” The blonde added.
Foraging came to an end, Jade and Tam sat on the patch of tall grass in front of the orphanage, with Tam jabbering about whatever came to mind, and Jade listening. Bugs crawled about their legs, their cream-coloured dresses only able to cover so much of their lanky limbs. Tam’s hands began to weave a flower crown of dandelions as she told Jade all about the outrageous Tir Asleenian folktales she had heard over the years. Jade’s favourite had to be the tale of The Silver Tree.
The tale went as such; long ago, there lived a maiden named Yiva. Yiva was the most beautiful woman in all of Tir Asleen. Her silver hair shimmered in the sun, and her eyes put the purest stones of amber to shame. One day, she met another maiden, named Faite, and they fell in love. But all the other people who had their eyes on Yiva didn’t like it, they wanted Yiva all for themselves. One day, out of rage and jealousy, those people killed Yiva and buried her in the forest. Faite was blindsided and spent months looking for Yiva. Until one day, she stumbled upon a blossoming silver sapling in the forest. Faite’s heart shattered upon seeing it. But every day, for the rest of her life, she watered and cared for the silver tree as it grew, and when she eventually passed away of old age, she was buried beside the silver tree, and there, a wild patch of flowers grew, spreading around the tree.
Jade didn’t know why she liked the story so much. It wasn’t a particularly happy one. But, in some odd way, she liked how it ended, how even after losing each other, Yiva and Faite reunited, as flora, forever together, changing with the seasons, and blooming again at spring, with nobody to separate them again.
Tam, with dirt under her nails, finished her flower crown and placed it atop her head, fingers sticky. “If you died and got buried outside, what do you think would grow on top?”
Jade gave a hesitant shrug of her shoulders, looking down, at where a beetle was scuttling across her calf. “I don’t know. Peonies, I think.”
Peonies were her mum’s favourite flower. Whenever she’d see a patch, she’d pluck a petal, smell it and place it on her tongue. Jade would do the same. They tasted sweet, a tang on her tongue she grew familiar to.
“I’d be a willow tree.” Tam added.
“Why a willow?”
“Because,” Tam explained. “Their leaves are pretty. And they dance when it winds hard.”
The blonde girl demonstrated her point by standing up, spinning around in an odd dance, limbs moving like the branches of a willow being hugged by the wind. Her long hair swayed and splayed out, looking like a willow’s greenery. Her feet shifted and spun, digging into the dirt, arms brushing against the flora around them, giggling brightly. Her flower crown sloped, petals catching the sunlight. Jade giggled, smiled, a beaming sight that framed her freckle-peppered face.
*
Jade was ripping the vines off a handful of blackberries, placing the unwanted parts and the especially overripe-looking berries in a separate bowl. The kitchen had only a handful of other kids there, who were also sorting the fruits of their labour. Rays of the noon sun pooled into the room, dyed yellow and reddish-brown, a product of the painted-glass windows in the kitchen, illustrations of flowers and birds proudly marked on the glass. The smell of baking bread, sweetgrass and wood filled the air, and to Jade, it was growing on her more and more. The loss of her mum still weighed heavy on her, but she didn’t feel helpless anymore. The unfamiliarity of the orphanage faded, and while it didn’t feel like home yet, it felt safe.
When she was done sorting the berries, she set the bowls on the centre counter, and to her surprise, when she looked up, she saw the other kids, heads perked toward the entrance, crowding near the threshold of the kitchen, heads nearly brushing against the protective charms and upside-down flowers hanging from the roof of the doorframe. Hushed whispers were exchanged among them, some pointing ahead.
Jade, with her interest piqued, wiped her juice-stained hands on her dress, and made her way over. She was slightly taller than the other kids, so she managed to peek over the crowd, standing on her tiptoes.
There was a man at the entrance, armour-clad and serious looking. He was talking with Mama. It was Ballantine.
Jade’s expression shifted into a myriad of different things, mostly confusion, and pain from remembering that night.
The children around her straightened their backs, fixed up their hair, smoothed their clothing to look more put-together, anything to look presentable and adoptable. That’s when Mama looked Jade’s way, and so did Ballantine. The girl froze.
The other children stared at Ballantine as he passed, parting the way. And then, the knight was right in front of Jade. He then knelt down to meet her eye level. It was odd, seeing a general kneel.
“Hey kiddo.” He spoke. “How are you holding up?”
Jade didn’t know what to say, how to say it. She glanced around, saw the stares of the other children, and Mama. The redheaded girl suddenly felt an overwhelming pressure on her, and she croaked out;
“Good.”
“Is this place treating you right?” The knight asked.
Jade simply nodded.
“Ah, that’s good.” He smiled. “You like it here?”
She nodded again, feeling everyone’s gaze on her like steel weights. Ballantine hummed. His warm smile, Jade thought, looked out of place on his scarred face. That’s when he reached into a leather pouch on his belt, taking out a bracelet. The beads of the bracelet were wooden, strung with hemp rope. Jade recognised it instantly. It was her mother’s bracelet.
“My men found this in the mud. I figured I’d wait a day to give it to you, wait until you were recovered.” The general said, reaching out his gloved hand and giving it to her.
Jade’s gaze flickered from Ballantine to the bracelet, hesitantly taking it like a spooked animal being offered food by a human. When she slipped it on, the beads slouched, the bracelet being too small on her. Jade thought about what he said about her being recovered. She didn’t think she was recovered. She didn’t think she’d ever recover.
Jade’s eyes slowly trailed back up to the knight. He gave a supportive pat to her shoulder, before straightening and standing back up. There was a part of her that was disappointed, that wanted him to stay just a little longer, but she didn’t have the courage in her to speak up about it.
Before she knew it, Ballantine had already begun taking his leave, bidding farewell to Mama on his way out. The little girl looked back down at her bracelet. A thick brew of comfort and heart-splitting grief bubbled within Jade as she gazed at it, those clay beads reminding her of the sunny, lively days where her and her mum would do little performances in the streets for money, such as playing music or dancing. The clink of the beads as her mum danced always seemed to calm Jade. Then again, it just reminded her of what she had lost. What was never coming back.
She looked up. Ballantine had already left, and the other kids were already coming up to her and asking about it, who the mysterious man in the armour was, if he was going to adopt anyone. Jade started to get overwhelmed, she had already closed her eyes and reached up to cover her ears. Mama saw this and began ushering the children back to the kitchen.
And then, Jade was alone in the hallway. Chatter grew distant. She opened her eyes.
As long as you’re in Tir Asleen, nothing will hurt you.