A Love Gone Wrong

     Many years ago, through the mists of the past, there was an ancient kingdom. As with all ancient kingdoms, the King was wise and just, and the Princess was held to be the fairest in the land. Together, they ruled in harmony, and the realm flourished and prospered under their steady hands.

     Out in the hinterlands, wild bandits and snarling Lupes roamed the plains. Fearful of incursion, and in accordance with tradition, the Princess was appointed a knight as royal bodyguard to protect against any danger. Although no written records now remain, it is said that this guard’s name was Ser Arameis, and that he was meticulous and dedicated in his duty.

     Only one thing marred the otherwise unblemished conduct of Ser Arameis. He had fallen for the Princess. It would be beyond the pale for him to voice any affection, so he kept his distance, bashfully performing his duty. For two long years, Ser Arameis stood watch, each passing day deepening his devotion. One day, he felt he could bear it no more. This is where our tale really begins.

     It was the dead of night in high winter. Ser Arameis had crept from the palace to a grove set high upon a hill, where the starlight danced in the leaves and set the frosted ground sparkling. In the centre of the cluster of trees was a stump, upon which a shaft of moonlight fell, piercing the rising mists. Ser Arameis approached cautiously, one hand upon his sword and the other at his side.

     “Step forward young man”, croaked a voice from the darkness of the trees. It crackled like a splintered log. “Step into the light where we can see you.”

     “Ah yes,” another said with a voice of velvet as the knight obeyed, “Ser Arameis, the Shield of the Princess. Pray, on what errand have you been sent to our home in the woods? It must be of utmost urgency to leave her Ladyship so… vulnerable at this time of night.”

     “I would ask for a service if you could be so kind.”

     Three shrouded Figures stepped forward into the moonlight from the shadows of the leaves. Squinting through the mist, Ser Arameis could see the outlines of a dark Faerie, a Gelert and a Skeith. The knight did not know their names of old, which were hidden to all but themselves, but rather as the Sorceress, the Spectre and the Crone. Together, they were the Three.

     “Services we can provide,” continued the velvety voice of the Sorceress, “if you are willing for the right toll to be exacted.”

     The Gelert opened his arms out wide and began reciting in an ethereal tone.

     “Those who seek the favour of The Three. Hark these rules most carefully.

     The past is fixed, and cannot be undone. We will not change the course it has run.

     The future is veiled, a mystery. Do not ask us for a prophecy.

     Minds we break and twist apart. Our powers fall at turning the heart.”

     “Each boon you ask comes at a price. The cost of each is more expensive than the last.” added the Crone with a cackle.

     With this the Three fell silent, with their hands folded in front of them expectantly.

     “My heart has ached for too many moons,” he said, “Please I beg of you, make the Princess fall in love with me”

     The Spectre shook his head and echoed “Minds we break and twist apart. Our powers fall at turning the heart.”

     “Is there nothing you can do to help?” beseeched the knight.

     “Only you can make the decision on what you ask of us,” came the reply from the Sorceress.

     Ser Arameis paused for a moment. His mind was clouded with thoughts of the Princess and the ache in his chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could make the Princess feel in love with him. Perhaps that would be almost as good? But what did it mean to love? The knight thought some more before speaking again.

     “I ask that you make the Princess feel warm every time she sees me.” That would do it. Each time he saw the Princess, he would feel a flush of warmth prickling his skin. If she felt the same, then surely they would come to fall in love with one another.

     “That can be done,” croaked the Crone, “The price will be one gold coin.”

     Ser Arameis eagerly opened his coin purse and placed a single gold coin upon the stump. It made a barely noticeable dent in his stash.

     The Three raised their hands in unison. The mists swirled and thickened until the knight could see no further than his hand in front his face. Then, the mists fell away and the Three had vanished, leaving only the trees and the grass twinkling in the hoar frost.

     Slightly uneasily, Ser Arameis left the hilltop and returned to the palace. He took up his station in front of the Princess’s quarters, relieving the first shift of his duty. He was eagerly anticipating the day that the morning light would bring.

     It was a few hours after sunrise when the door opened, and Ser Arameis was gestured in by a maid. The maid curtsied as the knight made his way to the far door of the receiving room, which led onto the Princess’ private chambers.

     “Is that you Ser Arameis?”, came a fair voice from the rooms beyond. It was as light as the wind and sparkled like a stream, “I will be out in just a few moments.”

     The knight stood nervously. The fingers of his right hand flexed nervously, wrapping and unwrapping the pommel of his sword. Eventually, the door opened and the Princess came through. Ser Arameis could not help but feel that flush of warmth spread through him when he saw her again.

     “Please excuse my delay, good knight,” said the Princess. Her face was looking down at something held within her hands, “This poor Draphly had flown into the room and couldn’t make its way out. I’ve managed to catch it, but would you be able to accompany me to the gardens to release it?”

     “Of course, my lady,” said Ser Arameis bowing his head slightly, “It would be my pleasure, as well as my duty.”

     The Princess smiled, and raised her eyes to look at the knight. Upon seeing him, her hands fell open and she clutched her chest. The Draphly flitted away.

     “Aie”, she cried, “it burns.”

     The princess doubled over in pain. The moment her eyes left Ser Arameis, he saw her muscles relax.

     “I must apologise, good sir,” she said. “I do not know what came over me. Perhaps it was something I ate earlier today.”

     The Princess looked up at the knight again, the beginnings of a smile were playing at her lips. Once more, when her eyes met the knights she cried out.

     “I am sorry Ser Arameis,” she panted, turning away, “I am not myself. Perhaps I had best stay in my chambers for the day. Please send for the doctor. You are then dismissed.”

     The door closed behind her. The Draphly danced around the room, leaving a high-pitched hum in its wake. Ser Arameis’ warmth upon seeing the Princess had now been replaced with a smouldering bile. The Three would have something to say about this.

     Ser Arameis did as he was told, calling for the court physician, though he knew the cause could not be solved so readily. He remained outside the door to the Princess’ quarters for the remainder of the day. When night finally fell, he instructed his two best guardsmen to take his position, before heading out into the dark. Once outside the palace, he waited until the darkest hour gazing at the hilltop. As the darkness grew, the mists in the hilltop grove rose in turn. He made his way to the cluster of trees.

     The Three were once again gathered around the stump, this time with an expectant air. The Sorceress, the dark Faerie, smiled almost beneficially as the knight approached with a face like crashing waves.

     “What evil magic have you wrought?” he hissed, “The Princess cannot stand to look at me without suffering great pain.”

     “We have obliged your request,” replied the Sorceress coolly, “You asked for the Princess to feel warm each time she sees you.”

     “A burning pain is not the warmth that was meant,” replied the knight.

     “Does not a burn warm? Does not a fire bring heat? Come now, blame not The Three for your failure to consider any consequence of your request. We can only act upon the decision that you make.”

     “I demand that you end this spell. I demand that you stop this pain for the one I love.”

     “That can be done,” croaked the Crone, “The price will be two gold coins.”

     “The price will be nought,” scowled the knight in return, “Lest you feel the sharpness of my blade.”

     The Spectre spoke, “In peril’s face The Three shall flee. But magic cast shall always be”

     The knight scowled again, but left his sword in the sheath. Cursing under his breath he threw two coins onto the stump.

     “Here’s your payment, and may it cast you asunder.”

     The mists of the grove rose once more, blotting The Three from view, then fell again. To Ser Arameis’ surprise, The Three were still present, though his coins had vanished.

     “Is it done?” asked the knight.

     “It is done.” replied the dark Faerie.

     “But you remain.”

     “We sense that you have further need of us.”

     “I have no further need of you, vile enchantress.”

     “As you say, and yet you linger.”

     Indeed, Ser Arameis was lingering amongst the trees, thoughts muddling his mind like oil in water. The spell The Three conjured had worked, but just not quite in the way he had intended. Perhaps there was a better enchantment, less open to an unreasonable interpretation. It came to him in a flash of inspiration.

     “I ask that the Princess feel joy when she thinks of me.” Surely, there was no way that happiness could be anything but a good thing.

     “That can be done,” croaked the Crone, “The price will be three gold coins.”

     Ser Arameis hesitated slightly, before lightening his purse once more and placing the demanded amount of the stump before him. His vision became clouded with the expected mists, and when they fell away, the Three had vanished. The knight returned to the palace and, too exhausted to stay up another night, fell into a fitful, dream-broken sleep.

     He woke at morning’s first light. After dressing himself in the armour, and steadying his nerve with some breakfast from the kitchens, he made his way to the Princess’s quarters. The same maid as before greeted him and showed him in upon arrival. The Princess was sat upon a divan, gazing out of a window with a melancholy air.

     “Good morning, Ser Knight,” she said

     “Good morning, my lady,” Ser Arameis replied, his heart racing at the sight of her. She looked radiant, even in her melancholy, with the morning light framing her delicate features. “I trust you are feeling better today?”

     The Princess began to turn to him, her eyes shimmering like dewdrops on grass. “I am, thank you. Although I cannot shake a feeling of unease.”

     As her gaze met his, Ser Arameis felt a flicker of hope ignited within him. Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps today she would feel the warmth he had wished for. He watched as a smile broke over her face, before it turned to laughter.

     “But seeing you, Ser Knight, I feel so happy as if all my cares have been washed away.”

     She continued to laugh. The sound filled the room like the sweetest symphony, but Ser Arameis felt a chill creep down his spine. The laughter was light, but it rang with an unsettling edge.

     “Your laughter is like music to my ears, Princess,” he said, forcing a smile. “But what troubles you?”

     The Princess paused, her expression shifting from joy to confusion as she turned back to the window. “I... I don’t know. It’s as if I should feel something more when I see you. I want to feel that warmth, but instead, there’s this strange emptiness. I’m happy, but…”

     “But?” Ser Arameis pressed, his heart pounding. His plan seemed to have gone awry.

     “But I can’t help but feel... as if I’m laughing at a jest I don’t understand,” she confessed, her brow furrowing.

     Ser Arameis swallowed hard, his mind racing. The happiness he had asked for was there, but devoid of true affection.

     “Perhaps it is merely a passing feeling,” he suggested, though his own heart sank at the realization that it was more than that.

     “Maybe so,,” she said, her tone softening. “But i cannot help but feel that something feels wrong.”

     Ser Arameis clenched his fists. “I’ll make it right. I promise.”

     Once more, the knight waited until nightfall before seeking the grove of The Three. His chest felt weary as he approached the stump.

     The Three awaited him, their shadowy forms swirling in the mist against the moonlight. Their eyes glimmered as they regarded him.

     “What do you seek, Ser Arameis?” the Sorceress asked, her voice smooth and inviting.

     “I seek to undo what I have wrought,” he replied, his voice shaking slightly. “I asked for happiness, but it was a hollow thing. I wanted the Princess to feel love, not this… this mockery of joy.”

     “That can be done,” croaked the Crone, “The price will be four gold coins.”

     The Knight glowered, but handed over the requested payment, his purse feeling ever lighter. The mists rose and fall. The Three remained expectantly.

     “Our business is done here,” See Arameis spat, “You have twisted my words, and stolen my coin. I ought to have you dragged to the dungeons.”

     “Perhaps we are done,” intoned the dark Faerie calmly, “but our spellcraft is undiminished. We have done precisely as you have asked, in return for fair payment. You were advised of the cost of magic.”

     “The cost of each is more expensive than the last,” echoed the Crone.

     Ser Arameis scowled, before turning and leaving the grove, cursing the name of the Three.

     Days passed, and Ser Arameis continued to guard the Princess zealously. As the days turned to weeks, the knight noticed that she had seemed to forget all about the strange events resulting from his toying with magic. Yet he felt more keenly for the Princess than ever. In the early hours, he would gaze out of the window, across to the knoll where the Three waited, enveloped in the misty trees.

     One day, he could bear it no more. Almost in a trance, he found himself walking that now familiar path back to the grove on the hill.

     “I have returned,” he said uncertainly into the haze.

     “Of course.”

     “I must have but one more wish.”

     “So you say.”

     “I wish that, in my company, the Princess can think of nought but me.” That, Ser Arameis had decided, was true love. He thought of watching the Princess, and felt the world fall away. It was only her.

     “That can be done,” croaked the Crone, “The price will be five gold coins.”

     See Arameis looked in his coin purse desperately. There remained only five coins. He hesitated, then placed them on the stump.

     “The princess shall only think of thee. Witness now the power of the Three.”

     The mists clouded the knight’s vision. When it cleared, the Three had once again vanished, leaving the knight in the bitter cold.

     When dawn broke the following day, Ser Arameis awoke with a flicker of hope. Today would be different. Today, the Princess would be his, truly his. With a renewed sense of purpose, he donned his armour and made his way to the Princess’s quarters.

     As he entered, he found her standing at the window, the morning light framing her silhouette.

     “Ser Arameis! I cannot say how pleased I am to see you today.”

     “My lady,” the knight bowed, a flush of joy spreading across his face, “You do me a great honour.”

     “No,” she said, “It is I who is honoured. I cannot help but think how fortunate I am to have you as my protector. You are always so steadfast, always by my side.”

     “You make my heart sing, your grace. Would you care for some breakfast?”

     “Breakfast?” the Princess faltered, before smiling again, “Oh who could think of food at a time such as this? You are all I can think about at this moment.”

     “Perhaps some tea then?” continued the knight, a hint of nervousness creeping in.

     “I have no need of tea,” said the Princess, still smiling, “You are the only thing that matters to me right now.”

     Her gaze locked onto him, and for half a moment, the world faded into the background. Ser Arameis felt his heart race and hope rising within him. Then, the cruel truth swept over him. The Princess's words had rung hollow in his ears. She expressed no desire for anything beyond his presence, and yet it felt as if he were but a phantom in her mind. She could not think of anything but him. She would not leave to eat. She would not leave to drink. She would not leave to sleep. She would only think of Ser Arameis, as long as he was around. And still, she felt no true love.

     “Forgive me Princess,” he sputtered, “I. I must leave you for now. Please, try to eat.”

     Before she could say another word, he shouldered his way back through the door out of her chambers. He felt himself shaking. He looked at his hands, they were trembling. Fear? Regret? Shame? Perhaps all. He rushed out of the castle, returning in the sunlight to the knoll of the Three. All day he waited numbly, until the sun slipped away over the horizon and the white fog crept through the trees.

     “Welcome back, Ser Knight.” The voice of the Dark Faerie was tinged with irony.

     “You must undo it. Undo it all,” said Ser Arameis desperately. “I beseech you. I have been foolish. Foolish and blind. You must undo it.”

     He collapsed, sobbing gently.

     “That can be done,” croaked the Crone, “The price will be six gold coins.”

     “I have no coin,” said the knight defeatedly, “Only my plea for help.”

     “Then we have no further use for you,” snapped the Dark Faerie. Her voice had changed, it was brittle and cold. “Farewell, good knight.”

     There was a crack, louder than a thunderclap. Ser Arameis was alone in the woods. He raised his gaze to the stars. How could he return? How could face the Princess and do his duty? He could not return. Slowly, he placed his sword on the stump, before stripping his armour. Piece by piece, he let them fall to the ground, each one clanging hollowly in its turn.

     He faced away from the castle and walked out of sight and memory. Ser Arameis never returned to the castle. As the years passed by the Kingdom prospered, then fell, then was forgotten. Deep in the woods, the Three maintain their watch over their grove, ever ready to twist desires into shadows.

     It is still said that, on cold nights in Meridell, the winds carry a faint memory of a knight who sacrificed everything for a love gone wrong.

     The End.