In Dreams: Red

Hysteria

A jolt wakes me. Corwin has my blanket-wrapped body leaning against him and Lupus has momentarily stumbled. The men and horses look exhausted, and it appears to be noon. I suddenly realize I'm burning. So hot I can barely stand it. The blanket, my cloak, Corwin and Lupus, all seem to be emitting sun-like heat. I struggle with the blanket.

“My Lady! You're awake! No, don't remove the blanket-your skin is as cold as ice!” Corwin exclaims.

“Don't tell me... keep blanket.. burning UP!” I practically yell between pants, struggling free of the blanket. The party halts, all eyes turn to me and Corwin. I see the prisoner has Corwin's horse, surrounded by Reginald with the corpse horse, Tyrus and finally Corwin and I on Lupus. The prisoner's hands are not bound, and the men treat him with a wary kind of caution, though they still make him ride in prisoner formation in the center. This strikes me as funny and I gasp a little laugh at it, at the absurdity of the whole thing. The men look at me warily now, as if I might be losing my mind, which only makes my laughter even harder. I don't know, maybe I really have lost it.

“I think we better call a halt for now.” Reginald states, looking at me with worry. I slip down Lupus' side, gasping to catch my breath. The look on Reginald's face starts another fit bubbling up and I shove my fist against my teeth, biting down, trying to control my laughter. At the look on the other men's faces, I try to reassure them.

“I'm fine.. fine... I promise...” I mumble around my fist. “Give me.. a moment.” I turn away from them all and walk a few feet, inhaling slowly as Silas had taught me when I was a child. Silas. The thought almost immediately sobers me. How would I tell my father? How would I tell his family? My family? He had been so much like a father to me, or at the very least, a most beloved uncle. Where my father had always been stern and full of discipline, Silas was always the kindly teacher, bringing me little toys and homemade sweets from his wife. Always quick to laugh, dry my tears and hold me when I was upset. The first to kiss a scrape or pat me on the head when he was proud. I looked towards the sky to keep the fresh tears from falling.

“There is nothing wrong with tears, my little Lady.” I hear a quiet voice speak in my memory. Silas' voice.

“Yes but they dishonor my father, so I must not shed them.” I reply as I had as a child. “Not even for you.” I walk back towards the men where a campfire is already being built.

“If it pleases our Lady, we thought we'd rest and partake of the midday meal.” Tyrus says to me. I nod in agreement. The prisoner looks at me curiously and I note that he looks quite well in comparison to the others, probably due to his remarkable healing capabilities.

Reginald is examining me openly, and based on the expression on his face he has been doing this for some time. I beckon to him, and he comes over to me quickly, appointing Tyrus watch of the prisoner in his absence.

“Trying to figure out if I'm going to dissolve into hysterics or lose my wits?” I ask him bluntly.

“My Lady.” Reginald bows. “Silas/ death was a great loss to us all. I am very concerned about you in particular because I know he was very much like a father to you. And to many of us.”

“Yes he was.” I murmur, feeling the now familiar pang in my heart.

“If it pleases my Lady, may I be blunt and forthright?” Reginald asks, almost grimacing at the thought of having to do so.

“Always, my dear Reginald, it is truly why I enjoy having you around. I can always trust you to be so.” I answer him earnestly.

“My Lady, I was very concerned about you. Still am, to be quite honest. It is normal for one that has lost a good friend or loved one in a battle, or any circumstance really, to go quite mad for a time.” This last he says as if shocked it came out of his own mouth-or perhaps worried he has gone too far.

“Yes, I suppose you are right, it would be quite normal.” I reply evenly.

“My Lady, please forgive me if I have been too forward, I only meant..” I wave him off.

“Please Reg-just get to it then, what's gotten under your skin?” I ask him pointedly.

“It is the prisoner, my Lady. I do not think the four of us can adequately guard or control him on the way back, we cannot risk going back by those murdering thieves to regroup with the larger party and we cannot trust to just wait here either. If all had gone as planned, we could have arrived to turn over the prisoner to your father late tonight or early tomorrow, but with the rain, the attack, and the other accompanying problems, it has slowed us down. Supplies are missing due to the thieves, which makes a case for pushing onward, but my Lady, I make no excuses for my disbelief of your story... but now that I have seen what he is capable of! My LADY! What if he should decide to attack?! We'll never be able to guard him properly or defend ourselves and..” Reginald exclaims. I grip Reginald by the shoulders.

“Reginald, Reginald! You, sir, are babbling!” I have to hide a quick smile.

“I apologize, my Lady.” He says.

“There is no need. And to answer your questions, I think we should push on, and I believe we have no choice but to trust him.” I answer.

“But my Lady!” Reginald cries.

“No 'buts' Reginald. He has saved my life twice now.” I respond.

“But my Lady, any man will fight to save his own skin!” He exclaims.

“That may very well be true-but not to save the life of another, twice. I do think we will be forced to give him some amount of trust. After all, how easily he could have killed me when he carried me off, yet here I stand.” I point out.

“But, we have no knowledge of his intentions-he could have done that just to..” Reginald begins.

“True enough, I'm not saying we shouldn't keep a careful eye on him, but I am saying we do owe him, or rather I owe him, for my life and I cannot forget that. Let's continue to watch him with extreme caution, but you've said it yourself, there's no other way but to push forward. Now, I can see Corwin has prepared some quite possibly inedible stew of some sort, shall we go eat and let the rest sort itself as the Gods desire?” I ask him. Reginald looks at me, there is naked worry in his eyes, but he agrees and we head back towards the fire again.

“This particular meal is a very solemn, and tired affair.” Corwin states, staring at his stew.

“Well you made it, so you have only yourself to blame.” Tyrus attempts to joke with him. Corwin simply spoons his stew, and tilts his spoon to watch the liquid fall back into the bowl.

“I'm not nearly so hungry as I thought I was.” Corwin replies dispiritedly.

“Come now Corwin, you are always the life of the party! What no jokes today? Reginald himself tries to lighten the mood. “Not even one tiny one about how ridiculously uptight, stuffy and overbearing I am?” Corwin just scoops up another spoonful and lets it trickle back into his bowl. I am simply staring into my own bowl. I had managed to take a few sips from the stew, but had no appetite, and seeing my own disheveled appearance reflected in the bowl put me off eating anything further. I observed everyone but the prisoner seemed to have lost his or her appetite. The prisoner, however, is eating heartily, like he has been starved. He reminds me of an animal, snapping up his food before it could be taken from him. I put my bowl down disgustedly. With the absence of anything to hold, my fingers found my hair. I unbraid what's left of the mess of my hair. Had it only been this morning that I had pleated this braid? It felt like a lifetime ago. I comb through the tangles with my fingers and rebraid my hair broodily, tying it off with the dyed strip of leather that I'm surprised is still somehow clinging to the end of my hair. I hesitantly look down at the state of my clothes. I have mud dried onto me everywhere, even staining my beautifully crafted red cloak. And, surprise surprise, long brown animal hair is clinging to me. My hands stop at a darkening stain on the front of my blouse. Blood. I have a brief moment of panic thinking the blood is my own, searching desperately for a wound, and then I know-it's not mine. It's Silas' blood. A pair of hands grip mine and I look up to see Corwin's kind face.

“I am sorry, my Lady.” He says mournfully. Tears spring immediately to my eyes.

“So am I.” I tell him, and then whisper it again, looking back at the stain. “So am I.”