Lovely story, Gora! Thank you for your entry!
This short story is an entry into the Free Kingdom Lore Contest. The contest is sponsored by Jon Warren. The judges will be three monarch candidates from the Free Kingdom competition: NiHZ, Seele, and Jon Warren. An official list of the lore contest entries will be frequently updated on the Lore Contest thread: Link
Gorawyn sat on the floor next to the hearth and stared up at the picture of her great-grandmother Sylvia Ashla above the mantlepiece. Everyone said she was the spitting image of Sylvia but she didn’t think she looked much like the regal lady in the picture. The edges of the painting were burnt and curling but you could tell from looking at it that it had been lovingly restored. She wondered what kind of journey the painting had before it found its resting place above the hearth she loved to slumber next to in the dark of winter.
Her mother rocked back and forth in a chair nearby holding her baby brother in her arms and singing a lullaby to him.
“Mother, tell me again the story about Grandma Sylvia.” Gorawyn curled her feet under her on the warm flagstones and ignored the look her mother gave her that she knew was directly caused by the amount of dirt covering her new petticoat.
Evelyn sighed as she looked down at the sleeping Joshua in her arms, “Only if you promise to clean up the mess you are leaving all over my fresh swept floors. I swear child you find every mud puddle in Two Moons and stomp in it before coming home.” She smiled at her daughter and shook her head as she got up to put Joshua in his bassinet.
“Not every mud puddle mother… just… the important ones.” Gorawyn looked pleased with herself. She was particularly proud of the puddle she’d made on the stoop of “The Busty Wench” that day. She had dug it out so perfectly before Master Baudry had promptly shooed her away.
“Alright, get still child and listen, then afterward straight up to bed.” Evelyn got comfy in her rocking chair and pulled out some needlework to do while she told the tale. Gorawyn nodded and leaned back against the wolfhound Fenris who had plodded over to lay next to the fire. His fur was wet from the rains and he smelled like only a wet dog could smell. Which was perfectly fine to Gorawyn, not so much her mother, but Evelyn ignored the pair and began telling the story commonly known in Two Moons as “Sylvia’s Dance.”
“Sylvia was the daughter of a simple blacksmith named Simon. Her mother passed away when she was born and so she was raised by her father. He was a tall man with massive shoulders and dark brooding eyes. His demeanor could be described as rough around the edges, except when it came to Sylvia. He would tell anyone who would listen that she was his greatest accomplishment.” Evelyn smiled as she looked up at the picture on the mantle.
“Sylvia was beautiful and loved to dance. She learned the ways of the fire fan dance from the gypsies that traveled through their hamlet. She was carefree and full of joy and would often run through the forests near their home to visit the nearby Kypiq tribe.
She would climb high on the ramparts of the crumbling castle ruins just outside the hamlet. There she would dance with her fans waving in the winds having not a care for the danger should she fall. It was here that Count Goran Ashla, your great-grandfather first saw her. “
“Grandpa Goran was mesmerized from the moment he saw her. He knew that she was the one for him for all time yet they had not spoken a word to one another. He swore to his dying day that it was love at first sight.” Evelyn grinned down at Gorawyn as she leaned forward at the mention of her namesake.
“After that initial meeting, Goran courted Sylvia, even petitioning the KIng to allow him to marry beneath his station. The Mad King refused the request so they continued to meet in secret, there in the ruins. She would dance for him as he played the pipes, her feet light on the stone as his melodies drifted into the forest beyond. Alas, their secret trysts did not last. The Count was called off to assist in taking down The Mad King, which he was all but happy to do in the hopes that the in the aftermath he would be able to marry his one true love.” Evelyn leaned forward in her chair and pretended for a moment as if that was the end of the story.
“Mother… don’t stop now, you are just getting to the good part!” Gorawyn begged even as she yawned.
“Well as you know the Mad King was killed and your grandfather returned here intent on marrying Sylvia. He had been gone for many years but knew in his heart she had waited for him. Unbeknownst to Goran, Sylvia had been pregnant before he left. He entered her father's shop to be confronted by the grieving man. In Simon’s arms was a toddler who was the spitting image of Goran. “Deny she is yours! I dare ye.” Evelyn shouted the words of her great-grandfather’s accusation and Gorawyn jumped up from her half doze with a start.
“Since you are awake shall I finish or should I put you to bed?” Evelyn smiled knowing the answer already.
“No No… go on I am listening.” Gorawyn elbowed Fenris to move to a better position and the wolfhound let out a sigh as if this was a regular occurrence he was quite used to. He moved with a huff and the pair settled down into a comfortable spot to listen again.
“Goran realized in that moment that not only was he a father, he had lost the love and light of his life, Sylvia. He asked Simon to tell him what happened and the blacksmith told him Sylvia had spent every morning at dawn in the ruins dancing on the ramparts and praying to Angelica to bring back her lover, even though she was almost ready to give birth to his illegitimate child. One morning after a night of rain Sylvia slipped on the wet stone and fell into the forest below. The Servants of the Forest found her but the fall had caused her labor to start. They helped her deliver my mother, Sylvina, but could not save her life.” Evelyn frowned at the sadness of the tale but continued on.
“Goran was distraught with grief and could not leave the place where he had felt such joy and such pain. He began the project to move his County seat there to that small hamlet and turned it into what you now know as home, the city of Seren. The ruins are still up there near the edge of the forest and every night Goran would climb the trail to the top with a lantern to play the pipes by the light of Luna to his lost love. It is said that even now if you go up there with a lantern and play a reed pipe the ghost of Sylvia can be seen dancing on the stones.”
A tear dropped down Evelyn's cheek as she remembered her grandfather's nightly walks into the ruins and the sadness that always seemed to show in his eyes even at the happiest of moments. She picked up the sleeping Gorawyn and carried her up the stairs and laid her on her bed. She blew out the candles on the nightstand and closed the curtains on the windows. Before closing the last curtain she looked out the window and far off in the distance a lantern light could be seen glowing in the ruins and the sound of a reed pipe drifted on the wind. Evelyn smiled knowingly.
Stock Image Background - Gwendolyn1
Stock Image Vintage Photo Frame - EKDuncan
Model for both photos is Countess Gorawyn Ashla
