The Thorn Crown

Chapter VI: Free

Eleanor Fingol

Freshly cleaned, she walked to her chambers. Randal bailey stood on guard next to the door, clad in pristine gold plate and a violet cloak. He held his helmet, clasped under his arm and stood in a relaxed state, despite being on guard. Blood-like red-brown locks of hair flowed from his head, brushed backwards, out of the way of his face. His sharp brown eyes gave an aura of confidence, piercing at the night sky, visible from the courtyard. He then took notice of Eleanor.

'Goodnight, your majesty.' He said, opening the door for her.

'Goodnight Randal.' She gently shut the door, locking it behind her.

Hurriedly she raced through her room searching up and down. Her chambers were styled in the same fashion as the rest of the castle, white with vines and flowers creeping throughout the room. Furniture adorned and complemented her chambers. Alongside this, a large bed took hold in the centre of the room; it was a four-post bed with white cloth draping from the sides. In front of the bed was a painting of her father, King Joana II.

His face seemed contorted. Years of House Fingol's inbreeding had plagued his family and disfigured him physically and mentally. There was no distinct way to describe him, other than what's been mentioned. Needless to say but no woman wanted to be his spouse, hence why he chose his own sister.

The portrait also wasn't nice to sleep near either.

Eleanor rushed through the room. The bag. Where's the bag? Her heart fluttered, almost beating out of her chest. Nostalgia and the urge for her past flooded her body. Finally, under the bed she found it, a tattered old bag with ragged commoner's clothes held inside. She scurried and placed them on. They were dyed red and dirtied, unfitting attire for her majesty nevertheless, she felt happier receiving this than any other empty, heartless, fancy dress given to her by empty, heartless, fancy lords.

She traced old steps, wandering to the wall upon which, the painting sat. The painting sat high between two stone pillars. Below was a seemingly empty wall, ready to un-cage her tonight. She pushed against it with all her might and passion. A click came from the wall.

The wall swung open with a loud creak against the floor, much like a door, leading to a cold, empty, dark passageway. Entering, she pushed the rusted iron handle and closed the path shut. Another click. She needed no torch for the path was so familiar. Memories known well, yet felt so far. A time she yearned for within her heart. Her slim finger brushed against the moss-infected walls of the secret passageways, the way she had learned from what felt like ages past. Trekking through, she finally saw cold light.

In the light was the shape of a figure, hooded in dark brown rags, similar in fashion to hers. His figure was lean and nimble; slender arms reached to his waist then drew away to unveil himself. The open pathway led to a stairwell, which led down outside the castle walls.

'Darrion?' she asked.

The soft light of the moon revealed to her a man with a soft, slightly tanned face, bearing long pushed back light brown hair. His gentle hazel eyes interlocked with her, holding his dazzled gaze.

'Eleanor? Darrion asked. Straight away, she bounded into his arms, clutching him tightly.

'I've missed you so much.' she said with happy tears trickling down her face. 'How it feels to be with you so openly!'

Darrion gave a soft chuckle. 'I know darling. Three years, of which every day I counted.'

'I hope those three years haven't changed us.' She said drawing away from him.

'I'm still the same Ellie.' Darrion said unsurely. Eleanor raised her eyebrows with a smile.

'Three years without me to warm your bed, must have been horrid for you!' she laughed.