Fan Fiction ❯ Spirit of the Dragon ❯ A Step Foreword ( Chapter 5 )

Chapter Five

Prince Acanthus stood outside her door, staring at the lock.

"Have you ever thought of going in, Acanthus?" Frostleaf's voice startled him.

"Every time I try…" He raised a hand and dropped it again. "…I just keep thinking of how I almost killed her. I doubt my presence would be a welcome one."

"But she doesn't remember anything of the duel."

"How do you know?"

"I looked. When I was checking for a fever. It was only for a moment. But I learned a great deal."

Acanthus sighed. His gray-green eyes showed signs of worry. "I just want to understand why she came here. I want to know what I can do, to put a stop to the fighting. Once and for all."

"Then ask her." The healer said simply.

"She hates me. I saw the way she looked at me."

"Haven't you ever heard the expression: `we are monsters on the battlefield, but human beings in the flesh'?"

"No. You made that up."

"Maybe." The older man patted the Prince on the shoulder. "But she's afraid, lad. She needs a friend."

"And what makes you think that should be me?"

"Look who's standing outside her door."

Acanthus glanced back at the man he had known all of his life. Sometimes Frostleaf understood him too well. And it wasn't even because of his Sight. The man had perception far beyond his years.

Prince Acanthus extended a hand once again, and stuck the key in the lock.

"Stay away from her. Have you forgotten what she is?"

Leave me alone, Spirit. I have not asked for your return.

"You should've killed her while you had the chance. Before she could poison you with her witchcraft."

Acanthus focused on the origin of the voice. There was a spark in his soul that had not been there before. It emitted a flickering amber glow. In his mind he pushed it away, banishing it from his being.

"What are you doing?!"

Courage, do not fail me now. He hastily turned the knob and the door fell open.

She lay in bed with her head turned to the side. Her icy blue eyes were open, but they did not turn to look at him. She just continued to stare ahead, while a soft melody floated in through the half-open window.

Prince Acanthus found a stool in the corner, and scooted it next the bed. He cleared his throat, contemplating over what to say to her.

Where do I begin?

"I take it, you do not remember me."

Perhaps she had expected Frostleaf, for at the sound of his voice she seemed slightly surprised. However, she still did not look at him.

"Frostleaf tells me, your name is Crowe?"

Still no response.

"Uh, have you been…comfortable here? Because if there are any problems at all…" He trailed off. Talking to her was ineffectual. She probably didn't even care about what he had to say.

The passing silence stretched on for minutes. He shifted in his seat. Sweat glistened on his temples.

"You know, the least you could do is try to be civil." The anger in his own voice startled him. "We have been only hospitable to you. You should be grateful. I have heard nothing but horror stories about how Gardrothians treat their captives." He regretted it immediately.

I sound like a pouting child. Acanthus put his head in his hands. How will I get anywhere like this? Maybe I should just go…

"Who plays out there…in the garden?" Came a cracked whisper.

This caught him off guard. He lowered his hands to look at her. Her cold eyes locked with his own. She was not pretty in the traditional sense. Her face wasn't striking. But still…there was something beautiful, lingering in her gaze. If he could just break the icicles piercing her heart. If he could just melt the edges, and wait for the rest to fall away…

"There is an elderly woman, who lives in one of the rooms below. She lost her sight many years ago. But her blindness would not interfere with her passion of music. And so…she continues to play." He stopped to see if she would respond.

Crowe averted her stare back to the window.

"Would you like to see her?" Acanthus wondered.

She gave a nod, but made no effort to move.

"Do you need help?"

Another nod.

He delicately caught her arm in his grasp, and she was slowly brought to her feet. She then took a few painful steps foreword, until she could press her palms to the windowpane. Acanthus watched her movements with a pang. He had hurt her so much.

The lyrist moved on to another song. It was a melancholy tune that caused Crowe to bow her head.

"This one always makes me sad."

"That is its intent." Acanthus told her softly. "It is called `Lament for Chrysthia'. A bard wrote it for his dying love."

Her eyes wavered as if she were going to cry.

"Do you mind if I stay?" He inquired.

Crowe's head swayed. It was a subtle movement, but he took it as a no. "Tell me when you wish to rest again."

She spoke no more, but the little she said had been a milestone. Perhaps there was a chance for this one. And if he could help her to heal, it just might heal her grudge as well. This instilled a hope within him. After so much blind hatred, the gates were finally opening.