Blaecwyn stood in her parents bedroom, as she had so many times over the last year and looked around the small room. It had all become so familiar now; the half-drawn cotton curtains to keep the light dim, the partially open room to keep the room cool, well-crafted cabinets for clothing pushed up against the walls with simple personal knick-knacks like a brush and hand mirror placed atop them and the bed wide enough for two pressed against the back wall. Usually she would find this comforting, but today it all seemed so strange to her. Something was different.
Her father had come to the room she shared with her elder sister this morning and bade Amelle bathe and dress her youngest sibling in her finest clothes before seeing to herself. Amelle, duitful daughter and eldest of the three siblings, had quietly and competently gotten on with her task. Much to Blaecwyns annoyance, it wasn't long at all before her she had been scrubbed all over, forced into the soft dress of blue wool - complete with the hated ruffles and ribbons - and found her springy red curls tamed into two tight braids.
Once Amelle had likewise bathed and dressed herself, she had taken Blaecwyn's hand and led her to the family room to await the arrival of their brother and father. This was a highly unusual occurance and, as much as Blaecwyn wanted to be out of this spiteful outfit and out of doors climbing the old oak tree by the pond, she had held her patience and caused no trouble for her sister.
Now, here they all stood, arrayed around the bed. Father stood closest to the head of the bed, dressed in his finest tunic and trews, both of soft brown leather with grey woollen trimming. Next to him stood Amelle in a lovely dress of lavender wool, her long blonde hair, wavy and soft as her fathers, was tied back with a matching ribbon. Blaecwyn herself was next in line, held in place by the gentle grasp of her brothers hand in hers. He was the spitting image of father with his flaxen hair, bright blue eyes and smiliar clothing, if on a much smaller and skinnier scale. Of them all, Blaecwyn was the only one to sport the same curling red mop as their mother.
Blaecwyn looked from one face to the next. Something was definately wrong, she knew that much even if she did not know what. Father and Amelle looked so sad and Leoric seemed a little confused as if unsure what to think or feel.
"Ystléoð," her father said in a soft tone choked with emotion. "Ystléoð, my love, I have brought them as you bid."
Blaecwyn furrowed her brow. She had never heard her father speak in such a way, nevermind such a tone. He usually sounded the same as he looked; big and strong, full of life and hearty laughter. She tried to ponder the meaning of this, but her attention was quickly captured by a rustle from the bed.
Ystléoð, mother of the three children and beloved wife of Cennulf, was trying to sit up. Blaecwyn watched as her father darted forward to her mothers side, reaching out his strong blacksmiths arms to support the womans frame. She was so thin, so pale. Blacewyn fancied that she could see through her flesh to the bones beneath so thin did her skin seem against the weak light allowed into the room. Her father, so gentle and tender in his movements, seemed deeply worried for his wifes state, but Blaecwyn was not. She could not remember a time that her mother had looked any different. She had always been as frail and skeletal as far as the young girl could recall.
"Come," her mother said, her voice little more than a whisper. "Come closer... my darlings."
The three moved as one to cluster more closely to the bed, straining their ears to hear their mothers laboured words. Between every few she had to stop to take a breath as if the act of talking alone was enough to tax her strength.
"Amelle," she said, slowly reaching one stick thin hand to the eldest girl, a tender loving smile on lips that seemed too red for such a white face. "You are... my first. I remember... your birth as if... it were only.. yesterday. So tiny... so beautiful. Your first... cried pierced my heart and... I knew that... life would never... be the same.
"You are... the eldest, the most... responsible. You must... take care of... your brother and sister now."
Amelle nodded slowly, her pert lips beginning to quiver as her eyes grew watery. She blinked and took a deep breath, determined to remain as strong as their mother seemed to wish. Ystléoð nodded just as slowly, moving her attention onto Leoric and pausing before speaking once more.
"Leoric, my only... son. One day... you will be as... big and strong as your father. All of this... will be yours and you must... be ready for that. Never... give in, my son. Never.. back down. Protect your... sisters and homelands and listen... to your father. He will... teach you how... to grow into a good and kind... man."
She paused again, waiting for a sign of Leorics understanding and assent before looking to Blaecwyn. The young girl stared back into eyes as bright and shining as the noontime sky on a summers day and waited in silence to be addressed, as had the others.
"Blaecwyn," her mother said finally. "My youngest and... the terror of the.. village at so... tender an age. You are so much... like I was..."
"I'm going to grow up to be just like you, ma," Blaecwyn interrupted proudly and was rewarded by a soft whisper of laughter.
"I see... that you will, although I hope... that you will differ... from me also. Grow into... your strengths, dear one. Do not... let any man... push you around. Bow only... to your lords and.. to the king, not... to the will of others. Remember that... honour... is precious. Once it is lost... it can never truly be.. regained."
She stopped again, slumping back into her husbands arms as if so little had taken so much out of her. Cennulf remained seated on the bed, his wife cradled in his arms and cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse, but gentle.
"Say... say your goodbyes now, children, and await me in the family room."
The three turned to go and just as Amelle reached out her hand to open the door, their mothers soft whisper sounded again.
"I love you all," the words seemed to float around the room in a strangely eerie fashion, making the hair on the back of Blaecwyn's neck stand on end. "Remember that... always."
They filed out of the room in silence. As Leoric turned to close the door behind them, Blaecwyn's ears picked up the faint murmur of her parents talking. Amelle led the way to the family room and there, for the rest of the day, they waited.
Noon came and went with no sign of their father. Blaecwyn and Leoric grew hungry, so Amelle made them a simple meal of cheese, cured ham and bread, but none of them spoke and none of them left the house. The feel of the building was dark and forboding, the dry air of an indian summer seemed to crackle with portents unknown. Blaecwyn's head began to ache abominably from the heat, but she said nothing of it, sensing that there were more important things at hand than a headache.
The hours passed and when twilight finally descended, their father stepped into the room. His face was pale, his normally well-kept hair was a mess. Red, puffy eyes told a tale of tears spilled but she could not fathom what could possibly make her father cry. Amelle and Leoric rose to their feet, anxiously watching the huge man as he cleared his throat to speak.
"She is gone," he said, his voice breaking. His broad shoulders slumped and it seemed that he would fall.
Gone where? She wondered as she watched her elder siblings rush to their fathers side, each wrapping their arms around him in a tight hug. She tried to ask, but found that her voice would not work.
Amelle began to cry bitterly. This spurred Leoric into following suit. That was too much for their father who quickly added his own tears to the mix as he sunk to his knees and wrapped his arms around the pair. Blaecwyn continued to watch from where she stood by her fathers favourite chair. She did not understand what was going on or why the others seemed so sad. Mother would return, of course. That is what they did. They never left their children completely.
Cennulf opened his arms a little more and raised his head. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped as his gaze fell onto Blaewyn. His mouth became an O of shock, his eyes widening with horror and Blaecwyn just stared back, utterly clueless as to what was happening. She felt moisture on her top lip and raised a hand to wipe it away, somewhat surprised to find blood smeared across the back.
She stared at it confusedly. There had been no fighting today, so why was her nose bloody? Why was her father so scared and sad? Why did her siblings cry? Suddenly feeling fearful, she took a step toward the three, but lost her balance. As the floor rushed up to meet her so did the warm dark pit of sleep and she knew no more that day.
