A Forgotten Legend: Anaivere the First

Special Chapter: A Decade of Legendary Tales

An extraordinary chapter to celebrate the first great milestone in the Author's literary journey: ten years of continuous writing; also, to welcome the Author into adulthood with her twentieth birthday.

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25 May 1204...

"Fifth year...", the princess serenely marked a notch on a corner-post of her bed, counting the time had passed since her little creator had first come to visit her on her sixteenth birthday. Every year from that, on this same day, someone would come and show her somewhere enthralling without fail. Yesteryear was an... abnormality, but still, everyone turned out fine after all. Although knowing her Author would always visit her on her birthday (to be frank, it was the Author's birthday too), oftentimes she couldn't help but wonder... would the Author ever cease her annual visits, someday?

As she was pondering by the stone sill, all of a sudden a gloved right hand reached up and anchoring itself on the edge of the window sill, then a white-sleeved left arm pulled up, putting itself in a support position on the sturdy slab of stone. Anaivere stepped back a little from being startled, yet, as the courage had returned, she approached the pair of arms dangling outside her window. A strength-gathering grunt then followed a groan. After some considerable efforts, her guest was able to pull themself up and sit on the stone sill for a short rest. In their stamina-sapping tiredness, the person slowly turned over to Anaivere and offered her a smile.

"Now, this is new...", commented Anaivere after her guest's peculiar entrance, "At least, thine was considerably more discreet that thy ancestor's yesteryear..."

"What could you blame a French for being unable to find an English castle?", chuckled the guest as they took off their moss-stained gloves.

It was the first time this particular person had come to visit her, and it was... strange. She was more used to seeing them waiting somewhere in their imperturbable poise, dressing in an honourable black silk robe, not right in front of her (and sitting on her windowsill no less) with a familial gentleness.

"Her Excellency ordered thee to come picking me up?", inquired the addled princess.

"She did request me to pay you a visit some days prior, yes. But nay, to-day I came on my own accords", said the guest.

An uncomfortable insight had just passed through Anaivere's mind.

"Wait... Weren't you in the other side of the ocean at this time? Why did you go through that much troubles to see me!", cried Anaivere.

The guest put a finger to their lips and signalled the princess to be silent.

"Comparing to Your Highness who is about to sacrifice her short life for this kingdom, who am I that dares to whine?", smiled the guest warmly, "And for a person who crosses the oceans bearing Her Excellency's wishes, what is this but another thing to do?"

Anaivere sighed. As the soon-to-be crowned Queen, it was expected that her subjects' loyalty and services be offered to her; yet, why did she feel this odd uncomfortableness when the guest said so? It was almost... as if... they weren't created as a person like which fact they always were proud of, but a servant created only to serve without complaints. Anaivere reached into a drawer in her closet and pulled out a smaller-than-normal bottle of wine and bronze chalice, poured some to welcome the guest and stashed the rest back into the drawer. "Will spiced wine suit thy taste?", offered Anaivere the chalice to her guest, who was more than glad to receive. Forsaking every regal etiquette, the princess came and sat down on the stone sill by her guest's side, intimate as one closely acquainted peer to another.

"Hast thou ever... taken a moment to think for thy own good?", murmured the princess, just enough for the guest to hear. "Tell me, dear Sherline!... Hast thou ever consider thy own wishes for even once in thy existence?"