**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

Chapter 1 -- Part 4

Faeryn wandered through the gardens on the west side of the palace as she waited.  She paused often in all her favorite old places, for every spot had a memory.  She had spent her childhood playing pretend in these gardens, dreaming that she was an elf or a fairy, or that she had found a wild phoenix and learned to ride it.  Beautiful memories, they were.  Back then the gardens had seemed like a fairyland in and of themselves.  Back then she would listen to the wind as it rustled through the leaves and fancied that they were speaking to her.  But, though she still loved such things, time was pushing her ever forward, and she found that this time she really had to grow up.  There could be no pretending about things that did not exist anymore.  She had to become a woman. 

            Yet Faeryn still mourned the passing of her childhood.  Strange, she thought, that I should feel this way.  Most girls can’t wait to become women.  But womanhood seemed cold and cruel still.   She didn’t want to leave the world of her imaginings.  The servants and the courtier’s wives were the only women she had ever known, and she didn’t want to become like them.  She wasn’t sure what to do, or why she felt like weeping at the thought of her womanhood ceremony.  I feel like I’m waking up to a world where I am a pawn in the game of politics, where my first duty is to marry and bear children and my second is to advise my brother, where my days must be spent doing needlework, and where my life is confined to the castle.  I dress up until I am no longer beautiful, and then I continue to powder and perfume myself even though my looks are fading, and then I die.  And for what?  I don’t want to wake up.  Maybe I am waiting for the things I dream of to come true.  Maybe I am waiting for a reason to live a real life.  But life isn’t like that.  There is no reason behind everything.  Those kinds of things belong in fairy tales, and I just have to accept that.  But she couldn’t.  She envied the men, who got to hunt and fight and rule.  They got to take part in things that were actually real, instead of being stuck indoors all day, dressing and acting in such a way as to fool the world into thinking you were the perfect person and frittering away time doing things that didn’t matter.  Womanhood seemed to Faeryn to be another sort of pretending.  I am transitioning from one form of pretending to another that is cruel, and all I want is something to be real. 

She came at last to her favorite tree, which stood right next a place in the wall that was overgrown with ivy.  Many a day in years past she had climbed up into the tree with her notebook to be alone and write poetry.  She wondered briefly if she could climb it now.  Immediately her mind rose up and protested, reminding her of the trouble that would be caused if someone saw her, but as she glanced around the gardens she saw no one.  Quickly she tied up her long skirts, and, looking around again just to make sure there really was no one around, she leapt between the tree and the wall.  The ivy that grew there was so thick that it could support her weight, so she carefully clambered up it until she reached the lowest branch, which she grabbed onto and proceeded to go from branch to branch until she reached her favorite spot, and found it just as she had remembered it.  At this point the branches curved around to make a sort of chair, just perfect for writing and thinking. 

Faeryn settled herself in her spot, glad to have arrived without mishap, and gave herself up to her memories of the place.  It was here that she had written her first poem, not a very impressive thing, to be sure, but she had been proud of it just the same.  Many poems had followed after it, inspired by nature and the elements, and the beauty of everyday life.  Ah, poetry…Faeryn regretted that she hadn’t brought her book up here with her.  It had been a long time since she had written anything, and she missed doing it. 

She wished to stay here forever, watching the sunlight waft through the leaves, listening to the breeze as it danced through the trees, and letting the sound of the little waterfall below her flow into her ears.  If she twisted around a little she could look down and see the little pool that the waterfall emptied into.  Nearly everything was as she would wish it.  This was how she imagined the mountains, full of beauty and openness and life, without the bustle of people or the formality of the court.  When she was here, in her favorite spot, a feeling of peace would always wash over her, and Faeryn thought it reminded her of her mother – or at least what little she remembered of her.  

            As she was thinking this, she heard a faint voice in the distance.  Could it be that it was calling her name?  She listened, and heard the voice again, louder this time, calling, “My lady Faeryn!  Faeryn Aenara!  My lady!”

            Faeryn pushed aside the leaves and saw a page coming down the walk, calling her name repeatedly.  As he came closer Faeryn held her breath and tried not to rustle the leaves.  She hoped fervently that he would not see her deep blue dress and find her.  A member of the royal family up in a tree would be the topic of gossip for the next year if a servant with a loose happened to notice the occurrence.  Finally he turned a corner and started walking away from her, and she scrambled down as quickly yet as quietly as she could, pounded by fears of being discovered or her dress tearing.  Luckily neither of these things happened, and when she was safely back on the path she answered the page’s calling.  He came running, but though he had a quizzical look on his face, he did not break formality by asking a question of a superior.  For once, Faeryn was glad of the custom.  The page quickly stated that he had been sent by Chancellor Rendreik to inform her that Byerron would now appear again before the king, and then he turned to lead her back to the Great Hall.  Faeryn fell into step behind to page, discreetly trying to smooth her hair as they approached the castle. 

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.