Dragon Rose(38)
It seemed that Alende inherited a barony in the eastern reaches of Farendon. He was good and kind, and much loved by all he met. In those days even a baron would have a mage in his employ, but Alende did not follow the tradition, saying he had everything he needed in this world, and that a mage could do little to improve his lot. As one might have guessed, such pronouncements did not sit well with one Melarde, a mage of some renown in that part of the world, and who had thought to take service with the baron, as Melarde’s own lord had just passed away.
The mage went to visit the baron, and sought to impress the young man with his powers. But Alende only laughed and said that while it was clear that Melarde had great skill, still the baron had no need of a mage, and bade Melarde find patronage in Lystare. This response angered the mage, who had thought to settle down in his old age in a comfortable position, rather than try to curry favor with the more demanding courtiers in the capital city. He approached the young man a last time, again with a great show of his powers, but Alende was unmoved, saying, “No one doubts your skill, good sir, but I am content, and think I can do well enough without the aid of magic or mages.”
This upset the old man, who scowled fiercely and replied, “You are content now, in your youth and beauty, but will that contentment last when all who look upon you cry out in fear?” And he spoke words of great, horrible power, and a grave disfigurement struck the handsome young man, twisting his features so that he appeared more as someone horribly burned, all traces of beauty gone.
The young baron fell to his knees and wept, and his people cried out in horror. Then Melarde was gone, vanished in the manner that mages had, leaving poor Alende to his pain and his grief. And so he spent many years alone, his face and form covered in a heavy hooded cloak, so that none could see his disfigurement.
I paused then, for the tale sounded eerily familiar, although the young man in the story did not seem to have been turned into a dragon. But his isolation certainly was an echo of Theran’s. Was that why my husband had given me the book, so I might see this tale and understand his own pain a little better?
A log fell with a soft thump in the hearth, and I jumped, then shook my head at myself. I had no idea how late it was, but I had a feeling I would regret this late night the next morning. The reasonable thing would have been for me to shut the book and return to it when I awoke. That idea seemed quite unappealing, however, so I flipped my braid back over my shoulder and bent toward the closely printed page once again.
The years passed, and Alende came to uneasy terms with his condition. He tried to be a good and just lord, but he felt his loneliness, felt time slipping away. He was the only son, and his estates had no heir. But he knew he could not expect any woman to marry him, to bear his child, when he was so unutterably ugly.
On Midwinter Eve a traveler came to the gates of his castle, seeking shelter from the bitter cold. The traveler was a young woman. Her train had been attacked by brigands, and she had fled in the night, and had seen the lights of the castle through the darkness.
Alende welcomed her, and found himself moved by her beauty, but he knew better than to expect anything of her save a few moments of companionship before she went on her way again the next day. The snows were deep, though, and she could not be expected to travel again before the weather cleared. And so she stayed on, fearing the hooded lord at first, then coming to see his gentleness and his quiet good humor. They spoke for long hours, and a rapport grew between them, even though Alende dared not hope that she would see him as anything but a friendly companion at best.
But although Alende was wise in the ways of many things, the heart of a woman could not be counted among them. He did not see how Allaire sought out his company, or lingered for days in his castle when she could have safely returned to the road. The curse had placed a barrier between him and the world, and his vision was trapped within it.
Then came a day when the snow was all melted away, and the birds sang in the trees, and the first buds began to show on the flowers that lined the walkways of the castle grounds. Alende went to Allaire and said, “The thaw is truly upon us. It is safe now for you to return to your family and friends.”
She turned wide eyes upon him and said, “Do you weary of my company, my lord?”
He replied, “Of course I do not. But I had thought you must have tired of mine.”
Her laughter was sweeter than the birdsong outside the window. “All this time spent together, and yet you know so little of me?”
And she went to him, and pushed back the hood, and smiled, seemingly untroubled by the ruin of his face. Then she kissed him, and kissed him again. Alende was so startled he made no protest at first, but at length he took her hands and pushed her away, saying she must be mad to do such a thing.
In reply she only laughed, and told him it was the madness of love, that she had grown to love him without knowing what his face looked like, so what difference could it possibly make now? He stared down at her in wonder, and realized she spoke only the truth, and cared little for his disfigurement. Joy filled his heart, and he drew her to him and kissed her back, before asking if she would stay with him forever, and be his wife.
They lived a long and happy life together after that, and although her love did not cure what the curse had done to his face, it did heal the blight in his soul, for he had found someone who could look past his scars to see him as he truly was. And their love became a beacon for all around them…
I closed the book. Was this what Theran was trying to tell me? Did he want me to see the story of Alende and Allaire so I might learn from her courage?