Elegy for a Star

Gwendolyn stared into her bedroom mirror, taking in the odd sight of her own reflection. She was short, likely not even four and a half feet tall yet. Maybe eight or nine years old. Her long, silvery hair stretched down to the backs of her ankles, giving her quite the beautiful, feminine appearance, especially with how two portions had been braided about her head and wrapped in a series of golden rings. She was in an equally beautiful, emerald dress with a long, darker green vest that kept her silhouette together. She could hear her mother’s voice in her mind, “Appropriate for a dance, but not a crowning nor wedding.”

“Disgusting,” she said to herself, looking down at the dress. She used to wear these things so often as a child and she loved it at the time, but Gwendolyn couldn’t remember if she’d ever worn a dress since. Nowadays, she despised them, preferring more practical leathers and linen. She would take a good pair of boots over these uncomfortable round-toe, ankle-strapped shoes anyday. Gwen kicked off her shoes, electing to walk across the halls with nothing on her feet except her white socks.

There was something nostalgic about seeing herself dressed up though, despite her initial reaction. She really used to love this sort of thing. When did that change?

Gwen held the collar of her dress and shifted it from side to side, stretching out her neck with an uncomfortable frown. Turning from the mirror, she padded her way over to the door. It was unusual to see the door handle so much higher than it was as an adult. She pulled the door open and stepped outside.

“You look wonderful, little miss,” came a woman’s voice beside her. She was tall—well, everyone was right now—and graying, just a hair above skinny and with a large birthmark on her right cheek. Her nanny, Miss Nina. Gwendolyn missed her so much. She passed away two years ago, but she had not been herself for many years before that. The way that age deteriorates some minds can be a fate worse than death. A fate that Fey could never understand.

Gwendolyn charged into Nina’s midsection, wrapping her arms around the woman. “Oof!” Nina’s hands instinctively embraced Gwen, holding her upon the back, “What is this for?”

“I missed you.”

“We spoke fifteen minutes ago,” Nina gave a little laugh, “What a dramatic little lady you are. Did last night’s play get into your head?”

Gwen ignored it, unable to explain herself. She just squeezed her nanny tightly, though it dawned on her just how weak she felt compared to how she usually was. Gwen took in the woman’s smell, basking in its familiarity. “I love you, nan,” Gwen said softly, her voice muffled against the woman’s dress.

“I love you too,” she whispered, rubbing Gwen’s back. There was a sudden startle and Nina pushed Gwendolyn back, “Where are your shoes?!”

Nina was in a clear panic and ushered Gwendolyn right back into her bedroom, “Take off those socks, you’ve got them dirty.” Nina moved back to the door, “I’ll be back with a fresh pair and then you need to put on your shoes!” She rushed off, and Gwendolyn could hear her mumbling with a hint of love, “What is that little girl thinking?”

A little Gwendolyn may have waited, but not this Gwendolyn. Still lacking her shoes, she stepped out into the hallway and turned to go the other direction from the nanny. The halls were wide enough for three to stand abreast, and tall enough for three Gwendolyns to stand on one another’s shoulders rather comfortably. Her bedroom was on the interior of the castle, so there were no windows, but the hallway was lit well by the smokeless torches placed along the walls.

She wasn’t royalty but, in Lannercost, she may as well have been. Passing by a few members of the castle’s staff, she was often greeted as “Young Miss” or “Little Lady” and no one questioned or stopped her from exploring wherever she wished to go. A couple asked her, “Are you okay?” when they saw her slipping by without any shoes. Gwen knew that, for her age, this was something she never would’ve done. She didn’t care, though. She wanted to explore and see her home as it was… well, when she was happy there. Before it became a prison.

“Gwen!”

The silvery youth spun around to find her father, Lord Rhothomir, stepping out of one of the rooms. Panic gripped her and Gwen’s hand instinctively went to her hip, seeking a sword.

Rhothomir laughed, “We can play swords later.” Gwendolyn relaxed somewhat. This was a different man; This was not her father. This man died long ago, the same day that Gwen’s mom left. Compared to her last Trial—compared to what she had to do in her last Trial—she felt a bit sick to see her father’s good and kind counterpart.

He raised an eyebrow and squatted down, “Where are your shoes?”

“They were uncomfortable.”

“Since when?” Rhothomir looked dumbfounded, “You loved them when you picked them out. We gave a lot of coin to the cobbler that brought them here to you.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “Show me your foot.”

Gwen lifted her leg, showing the bottom of her foot. It was smudged with dirt and dust, especially along the heel.

“Your mother is going to kill you if you’re caught looking like that at the reception,” Rhothomir laughed, giving her a playful slap on the foot before letting it down, “Might want to put shoes on before the Reverend-Mother’s visit or you’ll be exiled.”

“She wouldn’t,” Gwen said matter-of-factly. She’d met the Reverend-Mother, after all! Well, more than a decade later, anyway.

Rhothomir nodded, adopting a very serious expression, “She would. Straight to Cadamma with you.”

“You wouldn’t let her,” Gwendolyn replied. Why had she said that? That was unlike her, though it was fitting for the young and girlish Lady Gwendolyn.

Rhothomir’s eyes widened with mock surprise, “Wouldn’t let her? Gwenneth, I’d lash the oxen myself.”

“My name’s Gwendolyn,” she replied dryly but insistently.

Rhothomir waved a hand dismissively, “Well, Gwendolyn, go get your shoes before your mother sees you. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall.”

Gwen nodded her head. Rhothomir turned around and began his return to the room he’d left before Gwendolyn called out, “Father?”

Rhothomir turned around, looking surprised, “Yes, dear?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Gwen smiled as she tried to crush down the tears that welled behind her eyes.

He turned back to his room before pausing one more, craning his head to ask Gwen, “Why ‘father’ all of a sudden?”

“Because you’re my father,” Gwen said, unsure why this would be odd.

“Little miss!” Nan came rushing toward her from the end of the hall, “You must put on your shoes!”

Gwen sighed and stayed put, surrendering to Nina’s insistence.

Nina apologized profusely to her father, who assured her there was nothing to worry about. Gwen was forced to change out her socks for clean ones before sliding her feet into her dress shoes.

They weren’t all that uncomfortable anymore.