CONTENTS
~ Cairbre & Rosalind Eagle :: Stand my ground
~ Guinevere & Cairbre :: Love Story Part 1
~ Eve Summers :: Together

So here is my Pieces from the Past thread! Like PD, I’ll be writing different moments from my POTC OC’s histories before the RPs. I’ve kind of copied her idea by including song lyrics at the beginning, because it’s an epic idea. <3 This snippet is focused on…

Cairbre & Rosalind Eagle






<center> Stand my ground

Stand my ground, I won't give in.
No more denying, I've got to face it.
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside.
If I don't make it,
someone else will stand my ground. </center>



A young girl in her late teens was curled up on the dark blue velvet couch by the open windows, her head buried face down in the beautifully embroidered pillows and her face obscured by a wild mass of raven black hair. With her shoulders shaking, she was making an odd muffled sound very much akin to weeping. She didn’t seem to care that the breeze coming in through the windows was ice cold and encouraging the curtains to flutter alarmingly; she seemed absorbed in her personal grief.

Anyone who did not know her situation would have marveled at how she could possibly be crying when in such a rich room as this. Rosalind’s bedroom was a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship, as beautiful a lodging as any girl her age could dream of. In her finely carved wardrobe were abundances of exquisite gowns, and locked away in the drawers of her matching dressing table were jewels, the worth of which could have fed an entire village.

However, riches and fine things do not necessarily make a person happy. Rosalind was seventeen years old and one of the wealthiest girls in England, but she was miserable to her very core. For in her rich country manor there was an evil here that troubled everyone within it’s walls: her father, Lord Cathair Eagle, who reigned like a tyrant over his grand house with his violence, anger and deceit. Today, he had struck Rosalind for impertinence, as he’d called it; she’d said something rude to one of his guests, concerning his powdered wig. Surely, that was no sound reason to strike her across the face? But apparently it had been, for in her father’s own words, “you have embarrassed me, you have embarrassed yourself, and with your continual arrogance you tarnish your family’s good name.”

Once again, Cairbre had tried to step in to defend Rosalind, but he had earned himself a knock to the head, ending up far worse hurt than his younger sister. That was what grieved Rosalind most; she couldn’t stand to see her brave, strong brother humbled. He was the one who cared about her, who looked after her. How dare their father include him in his punishments?

Rosalind very slowly lifted her head from her pillows, glancing at the wildly flapping curtains. Sometimes, she thought about just stepping out of those windows… stepping out into thin air, and flying away from this house. She wished she could turn into a real eagle, before the evil here overthrew her completely, as it had overthrown her mother before her. Her father had drained the life out of his wife, with his cruelty and aggression, and so his children had lost their mother as teenagers. Neither of them would ever forget her loss; it was a pain that still gripped them both.

Sniffing, Rosalind pulled herself up into a sitting position, rubbing her damp eyes, pushing back her un-brushed hair. She hated being like this, reduced to crying. She was a girl who loved to have fun, enjoy herself. A free spirit. But then that was what her father hated about her, her impropriety and wildness. To him, she was nothing more than a despicable disappointment.

“Curse him,” Rosalind muttered. “Curse him to hell.”

Just as she spoke these words, there was a soft tap on her door. Her head jerked sideways in surprise, her eyes filling with a mixture of alarm and defiance; she scrambled off the couch to her feet, her fists clenching at her sides as she adopted a fighter’s stance. She needn’t have worried, for it was Cairbre who put his head round the door, before stepping in, closing it gently behind him.

Rosalind’s expression immediately relaxed, and she audibly sighed with relief, her shoulders sagging, her hands unclenching. A tiny smile tugged up at the corners of her lips. She surveyed her brother’s appearance; he looked pale, but his attire was as dark and neat as usual. She was so grateful to have him as a source of strength; his good sense and kind heart never failed her. He was in every way different from their father. “Cairbre, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “It was my fault he hit you. It’s always my fault. I just seem to make everything worse.”

Cairbre shook his head and stepped towards her. “Don’t talk nonsense; of course it wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It’s him. It’s all him.” He sounded tired, as if he hadn’t got much sleep, and his voice was strained, as if he was holding back a sudden onslaught of despair. For once, he looked as if he had really had enough. Rosalind watched him carefully as he ran a hand through his dark hair, his brow furrowing, his gaze diverting to his boots. A long pause stretched out.

“We can’t go on like this,” Cairbre said, finally. Rosalind frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I say. We simply cannot go on living in this way, day after day, month after month, year after year. It’s not going to get better, Rosa. It’s going to get worse,” Cairbre replied. He reached out and very gently touched his sister’s bruised face, shaking his head as he examined the skin still flushed bright red. “I can’t let him carry on hurting you.”

“Now he’s starting to hit you, too,” Rosalind said. “I can’t stand it.”

Cairbre nodded. It was only Rosalind their father had hit until now. Now Lord Cathair was furious with Cairbre continually standing up for his sister, and he had taken to punching him, sometimes knocking him out, leaving the servants to attend to his son's injuries. Cairbre's brow was still crumpled, as if he was thinking very carefully about something, running through thoughts in his head. For a moment his eyes seemed distant, before they suddenly flashed with inspiration, filled with new light. “We can change things,” he said, his voice low, as if he hardly dared to speak louder. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. All night, in fact. And I really think that this is the only way. We’ve got to leave.”

Rosalind’s eyes widened at her brother’s words, and her heart suddenly started thumping faster. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She found that her hands were trembling as she went over what had just been said. Her eyes were as bright as Cairbre’s now. “Leave?” she managed to say, her voice slightly high. “Leave how?”

“Very easily,” Cairbre answered. “In the night, when everyone’s asleep, when father is locked in his study with his wine and his books. We can do it, if we plan this right.”

“Where would we go?” Rosalind said. This question didn’t seem to surprise Cairbre. He had a plan already. He’d obviously been thinking of this as long as he’d said. Immediately, instinctively, Rosalind trusted in his plan with all her heart. For the first time since he’d came into her room, Cairbre smiled. It was a real smile that went right up to his eyes.

“The Caribbean,” he said. Those two words were enough to spread a grin across Rosalind’s face, making her look much more like her normal self. The Caribbean! Already, it sounded like an adventure. But she had to remember that this wasn’t a game, it was serious; she couldn’t let Cairbre down. So she tried her best to keep her expression somber and attentive.

“You’re allowed to smile,” Cairbre reproved her as she straightened her features, “heaven knows, we’ve had little to smile about for so long.” He himself was still smiling. It felt so good to see him happy. Letting her grin run wild across her face again, Rosalind darted forward and flung her arms about her brother’s shoulders, hugging him tightly. He laughed and patted her back, before choking slightly. “Not too tight!”

“Sorry,” Rosalind laughed, pulling back. “You do mean this, don’t you Cairbre? We can leave? Really?”

He nodded. “Tonight, if it suits you,” he said. Upon hearing those words, Rosalind let out a triumphant whoop. Cairbre couldn’t help laughing, but he then put a finger to his lips. “But for goodness’ sake, don’t rejoice too loudly, or father will hear.”

“I can’t help it!” Rosalind sang out, spinning in wild circles around her room, arms outstretched. “We’re going to the Caribbean!” she suddenly stopped, bringing her spirals to a halt, her head spinning, as a thought occurred to her. “What shall we do? Shall we become pirates?” her eyes shone with excitement. Cairbre laughed again, this time louder, with genuine disbelief.

“I think not,” he said. “First things first; we need to get our bags packed.”

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

_________________


Illuminate the way to my heart,
It's twisting on a thread
+ COME RAISE THE DEAD +

Eeeee, thank you so much Lothy! I really appreciate your feedback.
Here's another snippet! Well, more of a chunk than a snippet - I'm sorry if it's overly long! It'll be continued though. This next bit is set one year after the events of the first story. It's mainly Cairevere, but it's got a fair ammount of Rosalind at the beginning!

~~~

Guinevere & Cairbre





<center> Love Story Part 1

Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone
I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess
It's a love story, baby just say yes. </center>



Cairbre looked around at the small room which was, temporarily at least, now his home. With what little money they had, he and Rosalind had rented two separate rooms above a tavern, and they were of far greater comfort than some of the places they’d taken residence in during the past year. For the first time in what felt like an age, Rosalind had a wardrobe to hang the few dresses she’d brought from home, something which she particularly appreciated. However, she was planning to sell two of them, along with the remainder of her jewels, which altogether would fetch a valuable price.

All they seemed to think about was money these days. The need of it was a problem they’d never faced in the past; they’d been brought up as the children of an extravagantly wealthy lord, for whom money was no object. But despite this, they were both far happier without fortune than they’d been with it. They were free, at last, from the tyranny of their father’s violence.

Glancing in the small mirror hanging on the wall, Cairbre adjusted his collar. Tonight, he was going somewhere really rather special. He intended to infiltrate a ball taking place in one of the grand houses in the port; it was all Rosalind’s idea. She’d found out about the event, and had immediately started badgering her brother to go along, and enjoy himself for once, instead of staying at home worrying about her.

He hadn’t been at all keen at first. He didn’t want to leave Rosalind by herself, because chances were she’d take his absence as an opportunity to go down into the tavern and drink herself into a stupor with the local drunkards. She’d become overly fond of alcohol recently, and Cairbre knew that it didn’t do her any good. Her wildness had increased greatly since they’d left home; she enjoyed dancing and flirting with unsuitable men, pastimes she’d never been allowed to enjoy before they’d ran away.

Rosalind was right though; Cairbre did worry about her far too much. He often felt older than his twenty-two years, because so much responsibility weighed down upon his young shoulders. His sister was always telling him to let her share the burden, and not to treat her like a child. She was right. But he still worried.

With one last look in the mirror, Cairbre turned away towards the door. He was clad in his formal evening wear, and he struck a very elegant figure. It couldn’t be denied that Cairbre was a very handsome young man. Rosalind teased him every so often that one of these days he’d meet a young lady who’d catch his eye, but he always rebuffed such jokes. Romance was the last thing on his mind, at the moment.

Just he was about to open the door, it opened itself, revealing Rosalind’s bright face peeping round into the room. A grin flashed on her young features, making her look vibrant and full of life. She was so much happier these days. Cairbre reflected her smile as she edged into the room, looking at her brother’s sophisticated attire.

“You certainly scrub up well!” she exclaimed. “Go on, you’d better be going soon, or you’ll turn up late. Mind you, late is sometimes the fashionable thing to be. What are you hanging around for? Excitement and festivity awaits you!”

Cairbre laughed. “I think it should be you going instead,” he replied. “The way you go on, it’s clear you’d enjoy this evening far more than I.”

“Not a bit of it!” Rosalind objected, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “It’s you who needs a night of fun more than me. I’ll make my own fun here. There are some attractive young men down in the tavern; I might decide to seduce one of them.”

Cairbre rolled his eyes, wondering whether he should embark on another lecture, before coming to the conclusion that Rosalind was an adult, and she had to make her own choices without him interfering. In the end, all he said was, “very well. Just… be careful.”

Rosalind smiled up at him, her expression softening for a minute. She reached out and patted his arm. She understood why he worried for her so much, and she appreciated his concern. For a moment she considered saying something serious and grateful, but then she reverted back to her usual vitality, and retorted, “I will be. I’m the huntress, not the prey.”

And then she stepped back and fluttered her hand in the air, imitating a flourishing regal wave. “Fare thee well, good sir Cairbre,” she proclaimed. “Don’t come back too late.” With a friendly wink, she dodged back behind the door again, and within seconds Cairbre could hear her footsteps as she sprinted down the staircase towards the tavern.

~~~

From outside in the gardens, Cairbre could see through the glittering windows into the ballroom, which was filled with candlelight and merrymaking. The elegant music filtered through into the night air, a perfect match for the star-filled sky, which strangely enough, seemed brighter than usual. Cairbre was certainly not amongst the first guests to arrive, for the ballroom was already filled with people. A group of latecomers walked ahead of him, guffawing and making foolish jests. They were all wearing masks. Cairbre suddenly remembered that it was a masked ball, and removed the black mask he’d kept folded in his jacket pocket, tying it around his eyes. Immediately, his dramatic dark looks took on a new, mysterious elegance.

He walked along the gravel pathway lined with trees, wondering at his own daring. He most definitely was not invited to this shindig, but was something of a party crasher. However, he did not stand out as unusual at all; he fitted in perfectly amongst all the wealthy guests.

As he approached the open doors, he straightened his jacket. Tonight was a night to enjoy himself. It sounded a strange concept; he wished he didn’t feel nearly so hesitant. But as he walked in through the doors with all the elegance and grace of the nobility, no one batted an eyelid out of turn, and his confidence greatened as he made his way, separate from the other guests, towards the ballroom.

~~~

Guinevere Elliot glanced casually at her surroundings as she progressed through the ballroom, looking stunning in a beautifully cut dark blue dress embroidered intricately with silver. With one hand she expertly fluttered an ornately decorated silver fan, and with the other she sipped a glass of wine. After a year exiled from “good” society, she was now back amongst her own kind: the noble, the stylish, the well-bred. And yet it didn’t feel as if any of these fops had anything to do with her. She felt rather separate from this glamorous world.

It was difficult being reminded of the people who’d betrayed her and cast her away, back in England - people who were apparently worthy of respect just because of their wealth. Guinevere would never forget the way she’d been treated, before and after Raleigh Devonshire’s death, which had been blamed on her. After all that had occurred, she felt older than her twenty-one years.

Still, she supposed that it was better being here, in Port Royal, than it had been in Tortuga, where she’d worked for one year to earn money, working as a barmaid in a tavern, and acting as a fetch-and-carrier for an old woman selling remedies to the drunkards of the town. Those days had been some of the most grating of her life. She’d despised the tiny room she’d lived in, filled with dust and sometimes rats. But her determination to earn enough money to leave had given her a sense of independence, of having no commitments to anyone but herself. And whenever she’d felt particularly low, one thing had always given her courage: her new name.

It felt so good to be rid of her old moniker. It had never really suited her. Her parents, when addressing her, had always spoken her name as if it was a particularly nasty disease. How could two parents hate one child so much, and dote upon their other children to such extremes? Roland and George had always been treated like little princes, and it had done their egos no good, either; Guinevere’s brothers would always taunt her about the disfavour she found in their parents’ eyes.

Still, she had a new life. She wanted to leave the past behind. Taking one last sip of wine, she placed the glass neatly on a nearby table. Although she was aware of the many admiring looks various young gentlemen were giving her, she regarded none of them, nor did she accept any offers to dance. All who saw her noted to themselves what an extraordinarily beautiful young woman she was; the contrast of her wintry pale skin to her flaming red locks of hair was stunning, as were her blue-grey eyes, which were focused on the space ahead of her, glittering behind the slits in her dark blue mask.

Guinevere wondered why she had come here, if she did not want to dance. She supposed it made a change from the usual scrimping and scraping for money, and making plans to acquire the same. Of late, her mind had rested upon one particular plan of action, a plan that would shock all she had once known. Piracy.

~~~

Cairbre had not engaged a single dance yet. Quite a few young ladies had glanced hopefully in his direction, but he’d simply nodded or smiled kindly. He couldn’t honestly say that he felt very much like dancing. He’d had a glass of wine, and made small talk, but that was about it. He couldn’t really say that he had begun to have fun at any point during the evening so far.

Cairbre was just beginning to consider leaving and going home, when suddenly, of their own accord, his feet simply stopped moving. Whilst glancing around the room, his gaze had stopped upon one of the guests walking in the opposite direction, towards him. A young woman with auburn hair curling loosely on her pale collarbones, clad in dark blue; even wearing her mask, Cairbre could see that she was a beauty. His breath felt as if it had been snatched away as he observed her; she carried herself with so much elegance, as if it was effortless for her. Her head was held high, and she seemed to regard nobody – and yet she did not seem overly proud. There was something almost vulnerable about her as she moved so gracefully amongst the crowd. She was so beautiful. Indeed, Cairbre could truthfully say that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and was ever bound to see.

She was moving closer, about to pass him by. Summoning all of his courage, Cairbre stepped forward, approaching her before she could disappear. A friendly smile took hold of his features, and he bowed his head to her. Turning her head towards him, he could see her baffled expression of surprise. She did not look affronted at all, and this gave him more bravery.

“Excuse me,” Cairbre said, politely, “I was wondering, would you perhaps care to dance?”

~~~

Guinevere stared at the young man who had interrupted her progress through the ballroom so politely. He was quite tall, with dark hair and a pleasant air about him. Just by looking at him, and hearing the courteous tone of his voice, she could tell that there was something different about him. He did not have the arrogance of the other young men who’d asked her to dance; he seemed utterly sincere. Pausing, Guinevere sought to fill the silence that had followed his request. She had made up her mind not to dance – and yet why shouldn’t she dance with him?

She found that she was now smiling up at him. “Indeed, I don’t know if I would care to,” she replied. “Might I enquire what your name is, sir, before I give my assent?” Her tone was filled with humour, as she gave a convincing parody of one of the coquettes of the ballroom. Cairbre seemed to appreciate this, and his smile widened with warmth, sharing the joke.

“You would be justified in doing so,” he answered, good-naturedly. “My name is Cairbre Eagle.” Looking down at Guinevere, he noticed how her smile made her look even more lovely; not so out of reach, less unattainable. She inclined her head to him politely.

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, sir,” she said. “My name is Guinevere Elliot. And I will gladly dance with you.”

~~~

Guinevere and Cairbre shared several dances with each other, and they found that they were suited to each other as partners. They exchanged conversation as they danced, and found that they had much in common. They could both tell that there was something different about the other – neither of them were like the guests that surrounded them. They carried concerns and hardships that did not apply to the wealthy aristocrats gracing this ballroom. They did not know it yet, but they had more in common than either of them knew.

As the last dance ended, Guinevere smiled up at Cairbre, positively radiant with life. She was slightly out of breath, but she curtsied beautifully, bowing her head, as Cairbre made his formal bow. She rested her hand gently on his arm as the line of dancers broke up and went their separate ways, dispersing for the next dance.

“Thank you for those dances, sir,” Guinevere said, looking up at Cairbre as they walked away from the crowd. “Not one, but four, was it?” She laughed; the sound was better than any of the music that had been played tonight, to Cairbre’s ears. “My feet will probably regret it in the morning.”

“It is I who should be thanking you, not the other way round,” Cairbre replied, smiling. “Indeed, four was the number. And please.” He turned his head to look at her properly, trying to see her eyes more clearly through the slits in her mask. “Just call me Cairbre.”

Guinevere considered this for a moment. There surely wasn’t anything improper in addressing a person just by their name – not to someone you trusted, anyway. For she found that she did trust Cairbre, instinctively from both her head and her heart, which surprised her. “Very well,” she agreed. “Then you must call me Guinevere.” Her smile was filled with warmth. “And, I think that now is the time for the unmasking.”

She was right; people were now flinging away their masks with gusto, pretending to be astonished that they were surrounded with people they knew. Guinevere’s smile shone with appreciation for the absurdity of the unmasking. Cairbre cleared his throat, trying to catch his breath properly. He had been swept away this evening; he was nothing short of enchanted with his new friend.

“So it is,” he said. “I wonder…” he searched for the words, hoping that he would not seem impertinent. “Miss Elliot… I mean, Guinevere.” It felt wonderful to speak her name out loud, and this gave him encouragement. “I wonder, would you like to take some air? It’s very crowded in here.”

Despite the way Guinevere had captured his heart, Cairbre’s intentions towards her were honourable. He was certainly not about to take advantage of her, or presume in his behaviour towards her. He simply wanted to speak with her in a less crowded place, where they could both relax, and be themselves. Waiting for her reply, Cairbre watched Guinevere’s smile broaden.

She nodded. “That’s an excellent suggestion,” she said. “It’s terribly hot in here. They really should limit their guest list.” She wondered what he would think if she told him that she was, in fact, not on the guest list at all. Somehow, she did not think he would be at all shocked. “There’s a balcony looking down on the gardens, just through in the next room. It’s a beautiful night, and the view will be spectacular.”

As he agreed, and as they walked along together away from the ballroom, Cairbre could not help noting to himself as he looked at Guinevere, that the view was already quite spectacular from where he was standing.

~~~

It was a relief to feel the night air upon her face. Stepping out onto the balcony, Guinevere looked down at the gardens below her, and then up at the stars above. They were strikingly bright. Reaching up, she untied the ribbons of her mask, letting it fall away from her face. She turned towards Cairbre, who had just removed his own black mask.

They took in every feature of each other. Cairbre knew that he had been right to consider her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, even wearing her mask. Now without it, he could see that her features were so pure and lovely that they might have been carved from ice, that her eyes were framed by thick lashes, and that her brows were slim and arched. Looking at Cairbre, Guinevere saw that he was indeed a handsome man, striking in every aspect of the word. She did not know then just how much he pleased her eye, how much she liked him. Indeed, she did not know this yet, but many years later, she would still have no idea how deep her regard for him went.

Neither of them knew what the future held for their relationship yet. But standing there on the balcony, smiling at each other, one thing was already certain; this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

TO BE CONTINUED…

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

_________________
Chase a couple hearts, we could leave 'em in shreds
Meet me in the gutter, make the devil your friend
Just remember what I said, cause it isn't over yet

Get.Lost.In.The.Dark.To.Find.Yourself
-sig by Loafers-

Thank youuu PDie!
This next story is about Eve (Love Story Part 2 will come soon!). I thought it would be interesting to write about her family (there's a section with Benjamin, and he's reflecting on the past and Henry's mother) and her upbringing, as well as her first love, Tristan. Eve is sixteen in this and even more insecure than she is in the RPs! I think I might throw Tristan into one of the RPs as a navy character sometime, but he’ll have to cope with Eve being in love with Edward, and not him. Anyhoo! Here we go…

~~~

Eve Summers






<center>
Together

Together, it doesn’t feel right at all
Together, together we’ve built a wall
Together, holding hands we’ll fall </center>



“You can’t catch me!”

Eve was laughing recklessly as she tried to keep up with her younger sister, whose sing-song voice floated over to her as she sprinted along further ahead through the lush, grassy meadow. “Oh yes I can!” Eve called, despite doubting this statement very much. Angel had always been better at running than her. She was three years younger, and filled with vitality. As she left Eve behind, her bare feet pounding on the grass, she turned into a blur of pink and blonde, wind rushing through her fair hair and rustling the skirts of her rosy gown.

That was a new gown, bought for Angel by their mother. She was always giving her youngest daughter treats, although she could by no means afford it. But Angel was her favourite, her “princess”. It hurt, the way she would continually make comparisons between her two daughters, as if to measure their worth. Eve’s value was never very high. However, this didn’t create any bitterness between the girls; they got along extraordinarily well. And anyway, Eve had her father, and that made up for her mother’s poor treatment of her. He treated Eve as if she was his best friend.

Angel had disappeared entirely from sight now, through the trees. Stopping to catch her breath, Eve knew that she had no chance of catching up with her. This was a game that she could never win. Angel would probably continue running, through the fields, over the hill, back towards the village, just in time for luncheon. Eve supposed that she should go the same way, or else she’d miss a meal, and her mother would never allow snacking between meals. But she didn’t really want to sit at the table and try not to mind her mother’s harsh comments; no, she’d wait for supper.

But how would she pass the time between now and then? She could always go and find Robert, her younger brother, who she knew would be having lunch with old Mr. and Mrs. Fair, a kindly couple who all three of the children had always gone to for their lessons. Their parents hadn’t been able to afford to give them an education, and so the Fairs had taught Eve, Henry and Angel to read and write. They were the wealthiest people in the village, and owned their own land; they liked teaching the children, who they looked upon almost as their own grandchildren. Eve in particular enjoyed their lessons, for she loved the literature that they studied; at sixteen, poetry and sonnets fed her soul.

Eve had started walking in the opposite direction, towards the path that would take her into the woodland. She loved the forest; it was a place where she spent a lot of her time, sitting in trees and reading books, or paddling her feet in cool streams. Deep into the forest, where the streams began to merge into the river, there was a wooden bridge built high over the water. Eve liked to sit there some days, dangling her feet and listening to the sound of the river. There was so much peace and quiet to be found there. And also, the bridge was where she would see him, some days, if she was lucky.

Tristan Elm. He was eighteen, two years older than her, and the most beautiful boy in the village. He hadn’t lived there long; most of the other young people had been born here, but not him. He’d come from London, a place that sounded everything that was exotic and far away to Eve. His parents were rich, very rich, and they’d wanted the peace of a country living. Tristan was their only son, and he liked the freedom that his new life gave him; he was always roaming around in the forest, building shelters, throwing pebbles in the river. Eve often came across him sitting on the bridge. The first few times, she’d run away from him, and he’d call after her, telling her to come back. Other times, she’d hid, and looked at him from a distance, her heart thudding faster than a fleeing hare’s. But lately, she’d become braver, and had actually plucked up the courage to approach him.

Eve thought that he was the most magical boy she’d ever met. He was tall and strong, with long, auburn hair that he mostly wore loose, hanging down his back. She had never seen anyone like him before – sometimes she was afraid that if she blinked, he’d vanish when she opened her eyes again. Often she even found herself wondering if he was real. But he was. And he seemed to like her, because when he talked to her, he treated her as if she was someone who mattered, despite their differences in station. He shared her love of poetry, and could quote long passages of sonnets off by heart.

Eve was walking amongst the trees now, her heart starting to thud fast. Would he be here today, by the trees? Would he speak to her? She felt so useless, so dull, in comparison to him, and when they talked she was scared that she started to babble out of nerves. But he never seemed to think so. He never called her foolish or hopeless, words her mother was always throwing at her.

She suddenly stopped walking, taking a deep breath. She looked down at her bare feet, suddenly worrying that they might be grubby from running in the grass and then walking on the earth. She was also wearing one of her oldest dresses. It had once been pale blue, but was so worn that it had faded to grey. It had an uneven hem, and the sleeves were tattered. Sighing, Eve thought of Angel’s new pink dress. She didn’t like the colour pink, but still, she would have looked so much better wearing it than she did wearing this. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Raking her slender hands through her long, blonde hair, which was in rather a need of a good brush, she simply had to hope for the best.

As she started walking again, she suddenly noticed a tiny, single flower growing in the earth. Stopping, she stooped down and smiled at it. A daisy, white and yellow. Unable to help herself, she plucked it from the earth and straightened up. She nibbled her bottom lip, and pulled off a petal, beginning the familiar chant in her mind. He loves me… As she went, pulling off all the petals, she prayed that she got the outcome she wanted.

He loves me not.

Her smile vanishing, Eve dropped the bald flower head. Well. That was a child’s game anyway. And it was too much to hope for, that he loved her. They hadn’t really known each other that long at all. He’d never even kissed her yet – and to be honest, she hoped that he would never try to. She’d just get embarrassed, or scared, and run away.

Coward, she reproached herself. Eve thoroughly disliked herself sometimes. She supposed that was the only thing in common she had with her mother.

~~~

There he was, sitting on the bridge, swinging his feet over the edge, a dreamy smile on his marble features. Eve hovered at the threshold, feeling unsure of herself, and slightly sick. She watched him throw a pebble down into the river, seeing how far it skipped. He was brilliant at skipping pebbles. She stepped onto the wooden planks of the bridge, and it creaked ever so slightly, alerting Tristan from his reverie. He lifted his head, and a wide smile spread across his face. “Eve!” he exclaimed, looking enormously pleased to see her. But he did not get to his feet, and waited for her to come and sit down beside him.

Eve walked carefully across the bridge, and eased herself into her usual sitting position on Tristan’s right. Shyly, she looked up at him, still too nervous to say a word. In every way, she felt inferior to him. Certainly not good enough to sit beside him. However, the differences in their station never seemed to occur to Tristan, or at least he never mentioned it. The pause stretched out as Eve did not return his greeting, making her feel uncomfortable. A few more moments passed as they just sat there looking at each other, before she suddenly scrambled to her feet.

“I’ll go. I have to go. I’ve got… things to do at home, my mother will need me to…” her words ran together in her nerves, making her incoherent. Tristan immediately got to his feet, looking aghast. He reached out and took Eve’s shaking hand before she could turn and run. She was trembling from head to toe, and once again she felt like a complete idiot.

“Eve, what’s wrong?” he asked, his face marked with astonishment. She shook her head and tried to back away from him, but he held onto her hand. “You’re not… you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Eve suddenly stopped struggling, feeling foolish. She closed her eyes, willing herself away from here. When she opened them again, she saw that Tristan had stepped closer towards her. She decided to give him the honest truth. “Of course I’m afraid of you,” she said, her answer blunt despite her soft voice. “How could I not be?”

“But why on earth would you be? I’ve never given you cause to fear me, have I?” He was right. He was the gentlest person Eve knew. But something about him sparked panic in her whenever she saw him; she knew that it was her inferiority complex, doing her no good as usual. She didn’t answer him again, but just stood there, wishing that she hadn’t started a scene. As he let go of her hand, she guessed that this was it as far as their friendship was concerned; this was the end of it.

But she was wrong. He reached up and curved his hand round her cheekbone, his touch feather-light. With his free arm, he encircled her slim waist and drew her towards him. “Have I?” he repeated, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. Slowly, Eve shook her head. All of a sudden, his face was very close as he gently touched his forehead to hers. “Eve… I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’d better just say it. I love you.”

Shocked, Eve immediately contradicted him. “No you don’t!” she whispered. He seemed to find this amusing, for he suddenly chuckled. After a few moments, his soft laugh escalated louder, and he lifted his head, his eyes very warm as he looked down at Eve.

“And how can you be so sure?” he retorted. “Did you pluck the petals from a flower, or something?”

This joking suggestion was so accurate that Eve’s cheek’s flushed. He still held her about her waist. She had no idea what to say to him. “Do you love me?” he asked. Her skin flushed even brighter, and her eyes were very round. She longed to blurt out an answer, but it was utterly beyond her. Moments passed as the silence continued.

Finally, Eve had had enough. “I probably do…” she began, but she was cut off, as Tristan brought his head down again, and kissed her. Stunned, she instinctively wrapped her arms about his neck, and prayed that she would not pass out.

~~~

“Where on earth have you been?”

Her mother’s voice was the first thing that greeted Eve as she stepped into the cottage. Closing her eyes, she sent up a silent prayer, begging that her mother would not fly into one of her fits of rage. Upon opening her eyes, she saw her mother standing at the foot of the stairs, her arms folded, her pale face pinched with anger. Angel stood behind her, her eyes filled with tears. Eve looked at her quizzically, and her younger sister mouthed the words, I’m sorry.

“No, don’t even try to answer me,” their mother exclaimed, walking towards her oldest daughter. “Because I know, see. I know where you’ve been! You’ve been off gallivanting with that boy from London! Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re above your own family?”

This accusation was so far off the mark that all Eve could do was shake her head in amazement. All her life, her mother had told her that she’d never be good enough, and that no one would ever love her. To be accused of pride was just too unfair. “How can you say that?” she whispered. This was a mistake. Her mother’s hand flew out, catching Eve on the side of her head in a sharp slap. Eve cried out, stumbling backwards.

“Mother, don’t!” Angel shouted, darting down the stairs. “Don’t do that, please don’t.” She was sobbing now, and she looked at Eve. “I’m so sorry, Eve. She made me tell. Tell about Tristan. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to…” She tailed off, greatly distressed as she wiped her eyes.

Eve had confided in Angel about her meetings with Tristan, and she’d sworn that she’d never tell a living soul. But their mother had obviously got it out of her somehow. Eve wanted to know exactly how, but before she could speak, her mother had grabbed her by the wrist. She tried to pull away, but her mother was a strong woman, despite her slender frame.

“Let’s see what your father has to say about this,” she hissed. She seemed pleased when Eve’s face fell. “He won’t be pleased with you, mark my words, child.”

~~~

Benjamin Summers was sitting at the tiny desk in the room he called his study. It wasn’t really much of a study – it only contained his desk and a small bookshelf of books, but it had a fireplace, which he lit when he could spare the fuel. He spent most of his spare time here when he wasn’t working; it was Sunday today, a day of rest, so after attending church, he’d retreated to his little room to read a book Eve had recently lent him.

She had grown up to be such an intelligent girl. He loved all of his children equally, but if he was honest, Eve was the one whose company he enjoyed most. He would have liked to have educated her himself, but as it was, he’d never have had enough time to spare. For a man who had once been in service, he was remarkably intellectual; he could read and write, having been taught by his grandfather as a child. But he’d never been given the chance to put his gifts to good use.

There was a piece of parchment spread out before him, as well as an inkpot. In his tanned hand he held a quill, which hovered over the drying ink. He had written one word in his careful, italic script.

Magdalena.

He wished he could forget her memory, but as the years went by, trying to do so became impossible. What might life have been like if he’d stood by her and their unborn child? He had no idea what had happened to them, after he’d left so unceremoniously. Had the child lived? Moreover, did Magdalena still live? He had loved her so much. Even when he’d left, he had still loved her, which had pained him all the more. But he had been terrified of the consequences of their relationship being discovered.

If only he had stayed with her. Married her. He remembered so clearly carving their initials onto that tree, all those years ago. He could picture the image so vividly in his mind. But if he had married Magdalena, Eve, Robert and Angel would never have been born. That was the catch. He was so glad to have his three children, but he was miserable with his wife, Delia. Delia had been so different when they’d first met. She’d been vibrant, full of life, bursting with confidence. Now she was embittered and harsh, given to lashing out, at both him and Eve in particular.

Suddenly, the study door was flung open, and Delia herself burst in. She looked pale and angry, shoving Eve into the room before her. Benjamin immediately stood up. “What’s going on?” He left his desk, walking towards his daughter, and protectively putting his arm around her.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Delia said, shortly. “Our daughter has been behaving improperly with that Elm boy!”

“I haven’t,” Eve protested bitterly, her face stained with tears. “I haven’t, father! He loves me. He said to me that he loves me.”

Benjamin stared down at his daughter in astonishment, before looking back towards Delia, who stood in the doorway with a triumphant expression. “Eve,” Benjamin said, very slowly and carefully, “that can’t be. He’s a gentleman. Born and bred. And you’re…”

“Nothing,” Delia supplied. “Nothing.”

Benjamin’s face flushed with anger. Eve was trembling in his arms. He hated how happy his wife looked. Letting Eve go, he nodded for her to sit down at his desk. She did as she was bid, not daring to say another word. Benjamin stepped forward towards Delia, his expression dangerous.

“Get out!” he yelled at her. Eve flinched. Delia’s mouth dropped open, before she clenched her fist and screamed back at her husband.

“Gladly! Two hopeless idiots together,” she flung at him, pointing at him and Eve as if she’d have liked to hit them. She stormed out of the room, slamming the door. Benjamin turned back towards Eve.

“Now,” he said quietly, “what are we going to do?”

She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. She knew what he would say next.

~~~

He’d said that Tristan Elm was a young man far above Eve’s station, with parents who expected a lot from him. He was destined for great things, and he most definitely wouldn’t stay in the village forever. He’d go back to London, and would marry a girl of similar prospects. His parents would be rightly furious if they found out about Eve. Her father had said that he cared enormously for her happiness, but Tristan, in the end, would not make her happy. He knew what he wanted, and at the moment, he thought it was Eve. But it wasn’t realistic. It couldn’t last.

Eve sat on the bridge, swinging her legs, waiting for Tristan, the events of the day before fresh in her mind. Her expression was closed, empty. She knew now how it had to be, but she couldn’t stand it. One thing she wanted to know more than anything else: did Tristan really love her, or was he just infatuated, as her father believed him to be? Surely, he’d never risk his parents’ disapproval for her, or his fortune.

She could hear his footsteps now. Looking up, long strands of her blonde hair got into her eyes, making her blink. She brushed them away, standing up instead of waiting for him to sit beside her. He looked as dazzling and perfect as usual, wearing a white shirt open at the collar, his long hair loose. For once, he was not smiling.

“Eve,” he said. How could one word sound so ominous? As he stepped closer to her, for the first time, Eve did not flinch or feel her usual rush of fear. Misery somehow made her feel stronger. How was that supposed to work? She didn’t know. She watched him wordlessly. “My parents, Eve. They found out. And they’re not happy.” His voice was heavy, and his eyes did not meet hers.

“So did mine,” she said.

Another step towards her. Tristan reached out a hand towards her, before dropping it back to his side. This time he was the one who was shaking. He reached out again, and eventually his hand came to rest at the base of Eve’s throat. “I’m sorry, Eve,” he murmured. “I never meant to hurt you. But I can’t seem to help it. My parents…” he broke off. A pause. A long pause. “My parents want me to join the navy.”

“The navy?” she whispered. He nodded. Almost hesitantly, he gently caught a lock of Eve’s blonde hair between his fingertips. Was he about to cry? He nodded several times more. Never had he seemed so nervous, so unsure of himself.

“I’ll be leaving soon. And they say I can’t see you again,” he said.

“My father says I can’t see you, either. He’s probably right. This could never have lasted, could it? You know… I’m not sure whether you were telling the truth when you said you loved me,” Eve said, her voice starting to shake. She hadn’t even been sure when she’d said to her father that he did.

“I was!” Tristan protested. Pausing, he reached up to the collar of his shirt. There was a silver chain about his throat. He undid the clasp, and pulled out a pendant. Eve frowned. “I do. And I want you to have this.” He placed in Eve’s hand a silver crescent moon pendant. She looked down at it. It was still warm from where it had touched his skin.

Still, she said nothing. She could feel the tears in her eyes. “You don’t believe me,” he said, quietly. It wasn’t a question. Slowly, she held out the necklace towards him.

“Take it. I can’t keep it.”

He shook his head, and carefully folded her hand closed. “No. You keep it,” he whispered. Stooping, he softly kissed her brow, before taking a few steps backwards. He looked at her with pain in his eyes. Eve ducked her head. She heard his footsteps… and when she looked up, he was gone.

Blinking, she opened her hand and looked at the crescent moon. A keepsake. No more.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~