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“For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.”-James 3:16 NIV
They say some legends have a thread of truth, and this story is one of them... but where to begin? Ah, yes…
On a dark and stormy night, a beautiful young maiden, cursed to slumber for a thousand nights, woke…and smiled. But whatever for, you asked? The answer is as simple as this: her plan had worked.
The symphony of falling rain upon the tiled roof of her tower was soothing as she climbed out of her canopy bed; her bare feet meeting the cold tiles of the floor was a welcome shock from the smothering heat of her many blankets. She skipped her way to her only window and pushed it open to thrust her face to rain, letting its cool touch trickle down her face.
She waited for her feathery friend to deliver the news, one that would bring the confirmation she needed. And there, she spotted him in the gloom. Just over the treetops of the forest was a black mass she knew to be her eagle. She watched as he made his way quickly over the forest, gliding past the wide sparse of the Great Briar and straight onto her windowsill.
She ignored his annoyed screech as she bent over his extended leg, removing from it a roll of parchment. She rolled it open and read it. It announced that King Stefan of Ulstead, her so-called ‘father’ had made a decree regarding his “distressed daughter under the influence of a vicious curse” that whoever could rescue her from the confinement of both the curse and the Briar would be rewarded her hand in marriage.
Aurora scowled and let out a scoff. We shall see about that. Come save me if you can.
To put it plain, Aurora did not plan to get married and certainly to no fool willing enough to die for a woman they never met. She found it vexing how her father would practically sell her off for the second time in her life. Was it not enough that he abandoned her as a baby on the premise of an old wife’s tale? And now he thought he could waltz back in, sixteen years later and dictate how her life unfolds? NAY! She would never permit it, and if that meant she would hide away in a ruined castle forever then SO. BE. IT.
Aurora stomped over to her blazing fireplace and cast the paper into its flames, watching with satisfaction as the manipulation of the king wilted to ash. She turned on her heel, cupped her hands to her mouth and sang. Her room lit up, not from her many lamps, but from the halo of her faerie mothers.
“Did it work?”
“What did the king say?”
“Why are you wet?”
The musical buzz of Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather was comforting as they flew round and round her head like overstimulated puppies. With wings. Their grinning faces mirrored her own as they moved to the little reading nook in the far-left corner of her room and plopped down onto the overstuffed chair. The faeries immediately settled down about her shoulders and began to style miniature braids of her golden locks as they chatted and gossiped on who they believed would be the first to attempt the rescue. The chivalrous Lord Mellior of Belshire or greedy Duke of Westmill? The rich barbarian chief of the North or the famed Knights of Daekon?
Well, whoever came, she would watch from the safety of the ruins of her castle as their hearts decorated her mothers’ beautiful thorns.
It was barely a fortnight later when Aurora witnessed the first of the king’s men arrive at the Briar. She could see them clearly as it was high noon. The sunlight reflected off their polished armour, so it appeared as if they wore pure gold with the red and black of the king’s flag was brandished high above them. The wind carried the pounding of hooves and rallying words of men to her ears even from this distance. Three battalions formed orderly rows in front of the Briar.
Only three? She had definitely expected more to come.
She watched, a cup of steaming tea in her hand, as the first of the Knights of Daekon approached. Ser Tyrell of Viston. She could tell from his green and white flag carried by his squire and his shield that bore the roaring lion as its emblem. He rode his way to the front, the other knights parting without instruction.
She watched as he removed his helmet to gaze at his earthly foe, his long mane of warm oak blowing confidently in the wind. He gestured behind him and as one the men moved to reveal what she had not noticed before. They carried from the wood severed trees forged in various shapes and sizes and in the next hour, they had formed three catapults and loaded it with bags of sand.
Aurora grew anxious, for she knew that any thorn bush could be burned with the right heat; she had not anticipated her foe’s intelligence. Was her plan bound to fail before it had even begun?
“Do not fear, Aurora dear,” said Merriweather in her ear, a sly smile forming on her small face. “The Briar is no ordinary thorn bush.”
She was about to ask her what she meant by that when the first ball of fire was slung and before her eyes, she watched as its fiery flames turned a violent shade of green…and bounced back-to the knights.
Her eyes widened at the screams, at the blood and the sheer chaos of it all and she thought, I had done this…I had done this.
Doubt mingled with the sweetness of victory and her faeries reassured her. They patted her cheeks, they braided her hair, they gave her more tea.
“Do not dwell on it, dear, for it must be done.”
“They have made their choice; they must deal with the consequences.”
“They do not dictate your life anymore.”
That was right, they were right, she was right. Her plan was working and now, now she was free…
There were more attempts and more deaths over the course of the year. The seasons changed and Aurora changed with it. She dressed more extravagantly with silks hand woven by her faerie mothers from the finest threads of spiderwebs. Her fellowship with the Faefolk of the moors grew as did her beauty until eventually she was made queen.
She made her new subjects roam both far and wide to gather the latest news from all the kingdoms and bring to her all the many riches of the earth to decorate her castle. The place had been cleared of debris and made anew with paint, flooring, and warm candlelight though the outside remained, at least to the men’s eye, as a foreboding ruin. And soon she invited her people to balls filled with music and the delicacies from around the earth.
And as she sat elegantly upon her throne of blossoms, she had to remind herself that she was happy. She was happy…
“Your Majesty, are you well?” asked Merriweather, once again right by her ear.
She forced a smile, “Yes, yes, I couldn't be better.”
“You should dance with them, your subjects,” Fauna said, a tiny glass of faerie wine in hand, “You may be queen but right now, you seem unapproachable.”
Aurora nodded reluctantly and took to her feet and as if on cue several faerie men, beautiful and elegant beyond compare, offered their hands. She chose one at random, her smile as artificial as her heart and she danced…and pretended like she was not lonely.
It was only later that night as she lay in her canopy bed where it all started that she realised why she felt dead inside. She had chosen this, remember? She had chosen her independence at whatever cost, she had chosen to carve her own path, and she had. It just…perhaps she thought the feeling of victory would last a little longer.
Staring at her ceiling, she realised that she was a woman and like any woman, she desired the flame, the passion of love. The arms that would wrap around her bringing more warmth than any number of blankets would, the beating heart of a man who would do anything for her.
But did she deserve such love? When those once-beating hearts baked on her mothers’ thorns?
Perhaps not…perhaps she had brought this on herself.
And yet she remembered what it felt like to love…. she had met a man who stared as if he might love her back. But he had not come, perhaps he would never…
She was wrong but of course she was! He came; it was no surprise except to her. Her faithful spies warned of his arrival just as he entered the forest. He came on his horse, in full armour and, surprisingly, by himself.
Aurora rushed to her window, pressing her face so close to the panel that her breath fogged the glass for she needed to see him for herself. In only a few minutes, he rode in full gallop towards the Thorns. She gasped when she saw that he did not slow down. Oh, no, he ran…right through the Thorns!
“Impossible,” she breathed, for how could this be? Had the Briar been an illusion this whole time?! She glanced around her room, expecting her mothers to flutter in shock by her side but none came. Then she realised that he was coming. Prince Phillip was coming inside to see her!
She scrambled for her bed, the shame of the truth of her curse stirring her to sleep. She could not let him know, not at all she had done.
Barely a minute passed and he entered. She could sense his presence. His woodland scent wafted in the room, his cautious steps barely making a sound on her tiles, a stride of a practised hunter. She felt her bed sag slightly as he leaned in over her and…kissed her. His lips were soft, timid against her own, his touch leaving a hot tremor through her. She could not help it; she opened her eyes.
He smiled that smile she remembered could rival a thousand suns.
“Aurora,” her name slipped from his lips like a caress, “A year has passed but you’re finally awake as beautiful as the first day we met.”
Aurora felt something in her break, her resolve? Her delusion? Whatever it was, Phillip could not see it. And as he carried her away, his love wrapping around her, she knew she had left something behind. Faeries mothers that…never existed.
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