King and Lionheart

Letter

The rain poured heavily down on the city, high howling winds slapped the rainfall against the castle like a million horsewhips, and thunder boomed throughout the skies above them. The weather had been bleak for a few days now; it was expected when autumn had just arrived in Camelot. Trees had yet to change colours. The weather was still rather warm, but the wet season had just begun, washing the land with no end in sight.

Diarmuid sat by one of the castle's large windows, eyes trained on the beads of water droplets the rain accumulated against the glass; every now and again, a thicker droplet would slide down the glass. The light of a nearby torch flickered against the dark stone castle walls, casting moving shadows around him. Absent-mindedly, Diarmuid slid his thumb over the wax pattern of a harp seal; he had yet to open the letter.

It'd probably been a week since he received it, but he couldn't bring himself to pull the red ribbon and break the seal. The letter was bent, crumpled and even dirtied with the fact that he'd taken it everywhere he went, putting it in the pocket of his tunic. He was afraid of what the letter's contents were...nothing good ever came from Grainne; a letter was probably a bad thing as well. What if it was a ploy to bewitch him again? What if...she'd passed? Something twisted in his gut. Grainne never brought good news.

Diarmuid took a deep breath.

"You know." He jumped at the voice. "The king has been looking everywhere for you."

"Miss Jeanne," he breathed. A small smile formed on his lips, and he scooched over on the stone bench, giving her space to join him.

"Good evening." She returned the smile. "You couldn't sleep either?"

He shrugged. "I needed some time to think...and this seemed like the quietest place."

Jeanne sat down next to him, staring out the window. "Yes...it is."

"I should probably go find the king." Diarmuid shifted and pushed himself off from the stone bench.

Jeanne took hold of his wrist. "It's the middle of the night; he didn't seem to need you for anything that important. I'm sure whatever he wanted to tell you can wait until morning."

Diarmuid furrowed his brows, a sly smile pulled at his lips. "Are you saying I should put the king second?"

Jeanne laughed. "I'm saying you should take some time for yourself. Plus, would you really like to be the one waking the King up and making him tired in the morrow? I think that thinking and reflecting is a good thing to do, and I'm sure the king wouldn't mind if you kept him waiting because of your worries."

Diarmuid smiled at her. "What has you up at this time? I'd believed you were the type of woman to sleep early and wake up early."

"I am...I've also just been plagued with thoughts. I can't seem to shoo them away."

"What seems to be on your mind?" He asked. "If you're inclined to share, that is."

Jeanne closed her eyes. "I've been careless."

"How so?" Diarmuid mumbled.

She sighed. "I've been too close to Gawain. It's brought up a big issue."

"If you don't like his pursuits, make it clear to him, and if he doesn't listen, I could try scaring him off for you."

Jeanne giggled. "No...I rather like his company..." she murmured, " the problem is precisely that. I like him teasing me and the feeling I get when he's near. I've been careless with my heart, and I've given it to him."

Diarmuid furrowed his brows. "How is this a bad thing? Your feelings are reciprocated, aren't they?"

The young French woman stared out the window. "My mind had been too set on saving France that a boy is a distraction...it's...it won't be something beautiful. I will die, and to put him through that...it will only make things worse."