The Weaver

By Night and Day

Elayne Ascolat sat at her sole window, hands idly plucking at the tapestry she had forgotten about hours ago. The pale moonlight glinted off her somber grey eyes and cast a shimmering glow on her calloused fingertips. She breathed once- in, quickly- then out as slow and quiet as the night she was admiring. Her entire soul was focused- honing in on a small partition between he heavily wooded hills of her father's estate. She could see, just barely, a footpath dividing two slumped willows. She waited, breath stalled and quiet. Any moment now.

***

Lance was tired of these nightly excursions. Every evening, just past twilight, the king would chortle loudly, kiss his young wife goodnight, and pick up his broadsword. The knights no longer questioned it- when Arthur rose, sword in hand, they followed. But lately, Arthur's adventures had become repetitive and uneventful. Nearly three fortnights prior, the king had come to supper with a crazed, exuberant look in his eyes and exclaiming that he had seen a white stag in the forest near Lord Ascolat's manor. Ever since, they had been stalking the rare beast- but to no avail. But tonight felt... different. As tired and jaded as he was, Lance was painfully aware of how close the claps of thunder were to their shaded camp. He glanced up as the first heavy, warm drops of rain shattered across his face.

The king and his men hunkered down, waiting for the rain to let up as Lance peered into the stubborn blackness surrounding them. Instantly, and blindingly, a stroke of lightning fell across the sky, striking a tall sycamore directly to Lord Percival's right. The tree blazed with fire almost immediately, crackling and pounding against their ears. The horses screeched and pounded their hooves as the king shouted in surprise.

***

Elayne had fallen asleep, completely against her own will. Her cheek rested in her palm against the windowsill, rising and falling gently with her chest.

She woke with a start to the sound of heavy hoofbeats charging directly towards her. She stood up, climbing nearly halfway out of the window to get a good look. It was he! Well, he and about a dozen other men- all in crested armor, all soaking wet, all riding stallions who looked as if they'd rather be anywhere else. She slammed the shutters closed and unbolted her door.

"Father! She cried, dressing gown flapping wildly against her bare heels. She pounded her fists against his bedroom door, breathless with excitement. "Father there are men here and they-"

"Good heavens child will you ever hold your tongue!" grumbled Bernard of Ascolat as he creaked open his door and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "What is all this racket about? It must be past the witching hour by now, why are you still awake?"

"I told you, there are men coming up the path, and they're all in armor and I think they're from Camelot-" Elayne stopped as Lord Ascolat opened his eyes wide, suddenly alert.

"Camelot? But that's nearly 10 leagues from here, what can they be doing-"

"I don't know, Father, but there's a horrible storm Father and I think we should let them in." Elayne gushed, face flushed and pleading. Bernard nodded.

"We must be hospitable. But Elayne- you know the rules." He frowned expectantly at his daughter. Her face fell.

"Yes, sir. I will not step outside the gates, I swear it." she replied, significantly quieter and more dejected than before. Bernard grumbled in approval.

"Then get yourself dressed. No respectable maiden should be seen racing around in her night things. I shall be in the hall waiting for you. Elayne curtsied hurriedly, frowning slightly at her father's remark. He was still in his nightclothes, why must she change if he was not? She shook off the feeling with her shift and pulled a deep green gown from her wardrobe. She smiled. She could hardly believe it- in just a minute or so, she would meet him face to face- the handsome young knight she had watched and dreamt of for months. She shrugged into the dress, smoothing out the front and picking up a few hairpins from her bedside table.

***

Lance was the first to reach the wide oak doors of the Ascolat home. He dismounted from his steed, gazing up at the dark and menacing exterior. He waited as King Arthur and the rest of the Knights slowed to a stop and came to stand around him. Arthur stepped forward, shaking droplets from his hair into Lance's eyes. He knocked- once, twice, three times. The doors swung open.

"Hello" said a strong female voice. Lance wiped his sodden eyes and peered through the darkness.

A pair of startlingly silver eyes stared right back at him. 

Hiya! I hope you are enjoying Elayne and Lance's story so far- let me know what you think in the comments. Yes, this is a retelling of the legend of the Lady of Shallot. It's one of my favorite stories and my favorite Tennyson poem. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy telling it! 

- Mhari