At Dawn's Light

Chapter 8: A Little Understanding

Rowan looked at the arrows, then looked at her uncle. He was not smiling, he already knew what she had done.

“You went anyway," His voice was dangerously low. “Get out!"

Lea quickly left the room.

Rowan inhaled to speak, but her uncle cut her off.

“No," he raised a pointed finger. “Not this time. You will listen."

Taking the pointed finger, he motioned her to sit. Gregan sat across from her.

“I told you to wait for your own safety, riding on the road can be dangerous by the river. Can you believe that?"

“Yes, Uncle."

“Do you enjoy challenging me?"

“No, Uncle."

“Do you enjoy disobeying me? Breaking rules when you feel like it?

“No, Uncle."

“Do you think I deny you because I want to crush your spirit, make you miserable, and take away your freedom?"

His last question was answered with silence. Rowan refused to look up. Gregan sighed with such emotion, Rowan almost looked up.

“Being a King isn't easy," he began. “But taking my brother's place to care for you is even harder."

His niece continued to look at the fire, but he could see tears welling in her eyes.

“He was my best friend, Rowan," she lifted her head. King Gregan stood up and walked to the door.

“Tomorrow, you will begin the day holding court with me. You will not ride out. You spend the day with me."

Once the door shut, Rowan flung herself on her bed and cried. Lea quietly returned to her lady's side and stroked Rowan's hair until she settled.

“He's unreasonable."

“He's a king, my lady."

Rowan looked at her handmaiden.

“After how he treats you, and how he talks to me, you still make excuses for him?

Lea folded her hands in her lap, “No, my lady, not excuses. Perhaps you two are so similar, it's hard for you to listen to each other."

“We are not similar!" Rowan exclaimed in more of a mumble as she finally drifted off to sleep.

Contrary to her feelings, the morning dawned sunny and clear. Birds sang cheerfully, and even the servants were whistling in the halls.

Lea tugged harder on Rowan's dress, “It fits like a glove, my lady."

“Is there a colour darker than black," Rowan patted her auburn hair and tucked a flyaway piece behind her ear. A heavy breath escaped her lips, and she raised her gaze to prevent tears from falling.

“Just keep breathing, my lady," For a moment, Lea saw the heart-wrenching grief Rowan had been trying to hard to hide since Reanin's death.

To the young lady's surprise, her uncle was waiting for her in front of the great hall. With a nod, the guards opened the doors and she followed him in.

This particular session turned out to be long and extremely tiring. Rowan watched her Uncle solve land disputes, stolen property, fever reports, and food shortages. He delegated tasks to appropriate people, discussed city problems, and even Knighted an excited young man.

It was the grumbling of her stomach that told her it was well past mid-day when her uncle rolled his head towards her and said, “Done. Let's find some food."

She followed him to a nearby alcove and clutched her stomach as food began arriving.

“What do you think?" King Gregan asked between bites of bread and fruit. “Feel like trying it tomorrow?"

“On my own?" Rowan nearly choked on her bread.

Gregan took a look at her face and surprised her with a hearty laugh, “Don't fear, I wouldn't do that to you. You aren't ready."

He began to discuss the different situations with her, why he decided certain things, and how to negotiate. The discussion was a better lesson than any book, and she grudgingly had to admit her uncle was a wise man.

“May I ask you something, uncle?"

The king nodded, concentrating on some cheese.

“If you can handle everything you did today, why don't you make a new alliance with the Elves?"

It was the King's turn to be surprised, and he swallowed the cheese without chewing.

“They won't talk to us. We have tried. An Alliance with Elves is close to impossible."

Rowan asked, “Why do you hate Half-Elves so much."

“I've told you," Kind Gregan began to stand up. “You can't trust them."

“Elduine said..."

The King leaned on the table.

“You aren't to go there again. You will learn who you can trust. You don't leave the city when you ride alone. It isn't safe and too close to Elven territory."

As he walked away, King Gregan called over his shoulder, “That's enough politics for today. Go practice your archery."

Rowan sprinted down the hall without a second thought.

Dunvelli gave an excited buck when asked to gallop in the small training field.

“Alright, old man," Rowan gripped the bow tightly. “Be a good boy."

She was doing well, but after the sixth arrow, her hand discovered the quiver was empty. Rowan dismounted and began pulling the arrows out of the targets. A large, masculine hand with a jeweled ring reached down to help.

“Oh, Uncle!" Rowan placed a hand on her heart.

“I thought you might like some company," the King suggested, slightly awkwardly.

Handing her uncle an arrow, she paused and spoke from her heart.

“My handmaiden said we are very similar, and that's why we argue."

“Did she now?" The King easily strung his bow. “What brought this on?"

Rowan had done a lot of thinking during her archery practice that day. It took her own handmaiden to say the truth, to make Rowan see through her grief.

“Father used to call me his summer storm..."

A low chuckle came from deep down her uncle's chest, “I know."

The king's niece looked at him with disbelief. He swallowed.

“Reanin wrote to me every month," the king shot his arrow and reached for another. “Every month since you were born."

Rowan stood still, “He did?"

Gregan nodded, “We made a pact. I would take care of his little summer storm if anything happened. He would take care of my child... but I never had one."

'I didn't know any of this,' Rowan felt the resentment of the past weeks, beginning to crumble as she ever so slowly began piecing together this complicated example of a man.

"Wait," the king's niece placed a hand on her uncle's arm. "You never had children?"

King Gregan lowered his bow, looking at Rowan with sad eyes.

"No," he said shortly. "My beautiful Queen Deela caught the fever and died while carrying our only child. No one could replace her, and no one will."

Abruptly, Gregan shrugged, “Are you going to shoot? I'm on my third arrow."

Rowan was suddenly aware of her bow and quickly shot her arrow. It passed through the target, hitting a barrel and ricocheting off into the distance.

“Oh, no! My new arrows!" She cried.

She shot again with the same result.

“Let me try," Gregan knocked an arrow expertly and took aim. “Maybe you just need to adjust to using Elven arrows."

The arrow hit the metal ring on a barrel by the stables and flew off into the evening air. Rowan glanced at her uncle who was doing his best to suppress a grin.

“Well," winked Gregan. “We better move that barrel."

'I'm going to need more arrows,' thought Rowan.