Memories and Shadows [Rune Factory 4]

Sensibility

His voice was music to my ears, his laughter was the song my heart sang, and the memory of his words were the lullabies that caressed me to sleep when I was alone at night. But I knew, in my heart of hearts, that we were different—possibly too different. Because I knew that even if our differences made us cling all the more tightly together in the beginning, facing the future defiantly together, with time... those same differences might very well tear us apart.

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"Piers!" I exclaimed, seeing him across the street. "Just the very person I need!"

Detaching himself from the small group clustered around him, he strolled over with a smile just as a beam of golden sunshine broke through the autumn clouds and bathed him in its soft radiance. It was such a beautiful sight, it took my breath completely away for a moment.

"What can I do for you, Margaret?" he asked, and a thrill traveled down my spine at the sound of his voice, as always.

"I... I'm stuck! I have writer's block! I've been t-trying to write a song for days, and I just can't think of anything to write. W-what do you suggest? What kind of song, I mean?" I faltered, hoping he'd assume my nervousness was due to anxiety over my professional difficulties, rather than something more personal.

He looked at me with such an intense look in his lilac eyes, I felt my knees wobble and my heart skipped a beat. Then he smiled, and said, "Let's go for a little stroll, shall we? I often find a little exercise and fresh air helps clear my head when it's in a muddle. We can discuss ideas as we walk."

I nodded, and he offered his arm. Tucking my hand firmly into the crook of his elbow, he set off at an easy pace, strolling down the hill towards the southwestern part of town, then out of town and towards Dragon Lake. As we walked he asked me about my music—what kinds of songs did I write, what instruments did I play besides the Elvish harp, and who were my favorite composers and performers.

Then as we stood side by side on the shore of the lake, the golden leaves of the cerezo trees thickly blanketed on the ground all around us, he looked down at me and said, "I think you should write a love song. Don't you?"

My heart definitely stopped then, for just a moment. Surely he wasn't... he didn't mean... did he?

"I'd like nothing better than to hear a love song written by you," he continued, looking searchingly into my eyes.

"Wh-wh-why a love song?" I stammered, feeling my face turning red.

"Because," he said with a smile, "I love you."

"You... you... what?!" I gasped.

"It's true, Margaret. I love you."

"But... but y-you already have three girlfriends!" I protested, blushing even harder.

"I know," he sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment. "But you see, the fact that I love them—and I do love them, very dearly—has no bearing whatsoever on the fact that I also love you. It's strange and unorthodox, I know. But I've sworn to live my life without regrets, because life is so very fragile and uncertain. And if I didn't tell you at least this one time that I love you, I would regret that I missed that opportunity."

"I... I see," I replied, faintly. "I need some time to think about what you've said. Can... can we meet tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is the Eating Contest," he said, frowning slightly, "and I'm afraid that, as the Acting Prince, I'll be hard-pressed with my duties all day. Can we meet the next day?"

I nodded agreement, and he walked me back to my house on Melody Street, wishing me a good night at the door.

As he said, he was very busy indeed all the day of the festival—greeting the many tourists who came to watch or participate, meeting with Forte (oh, how my heart fluttered and ached when I saw them with their heads together!) about security concerns and discussing the very few troublemakers that had shown up at the event, participating himself—and winning, beating even Porcoline! Finally, he helped to oversee the clean-up of the grounds, the dispensation of the uneaten foods to the poorer citizens of the town and its environs, and dealing with the aforementioned troublemakers (who expiated their minor offenses by scrubbing the flagstones of the courtyard until they gleamed in the waning sunlight). He hardly had time for more than a few brief words for me, or for anyone for that matter, but whenever he came near me and I breathed deeply of the spicy, earthy scent that clung to him, I felt giddy and my heart raced.

The day after the festival, he met me in the courtyard.

"Do you have an answer?" he asked me, solemnly.

"I... Piers, do you really think it would work? I mean, you're a human, and I'm an elf. We're... we're so different from each other. How could we ever hope to see eye to eye?"

He frowned. "What does it matter if we're not the same race? It doesn't matter to me, anyway. Does it to you? Do elves dislike humans?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "No, we don't—not at all! We really like humans! That... that's part of the problem...." My voice trailed off in a whisper, and I couldn't go on.

He waited for a minute, then said, "Margaret, do you love me?"

I blushed furiously, and looked down, nodding my head mutely.

"Then trust me."

I gasped and looked back up at him. "Piers... I...."

"It's all right, Margaret. There's something that scares you, but you can't tell me about it, not yet anyway. Right?" I nodded again. "So just trust me. Whatever it is, I'll be here with you. If something worries you, I'll help you find a solution. If something threatens you, I'll protect you. I can handle it, whatever it is that frightens you."

"Piers...." I felt the tears trickling down my cheek, cooling in the crisp autumn breeze, and he reached down and wiped them away with his thumb.

"But even if that's not enough—if I'm not good enough for you, even if you don't love me, after all, I'll still protect you, because I love you. So please, Margaret, don't be afraid anymore."

I leaned into him, pressing my face against the warmth of his shirt, and after a brief hesitation, he put his arms around me.

"Yes, Piers, you're good enough," I gasped into his chest, laughing and crying at the same time. "But," I whispered, "I'm not sure I'm good enough for you."

"That's one fear I think I can put to rest right away," he said as he lifted my chin to look into my eyes before he leaned down to kiss me.

In that moment, I broke free of my writer's block, and suddenly a love song began to take form in my head... and in my heart.