Lord Camsmyth Pays a Call

It wasn't often, that Greer dreamed.

Even in the morning haze of the Camsmyth gardens, she knew she was dreaming. The picture, was too perfect.

It was late summer, the time of year when the evenings were cold and the mornings filled the maze of carefully cultivated flowers with mist. 'A Camsmyth fog' the peasants called it, a persistence fog which rolled out of the woods like the long fingers of a nightmare, obscuring the twists and turns of the paths. Thieves' weather. Robber's cloak, Arron Camsmyth's mantle.

The man had a reputation for stepping out of shadows, attacking under cover of darkness.

Brutal man.

Horrible man.

That Arron Camsmyth.

Even in her dreaming, her hands moved of their own accord, thread forming delicate leaves and flowers across the tiny white christening gown. The froths of lace like sea foam pooled in the folds of her dress. Arron's colors. Harsh black and red harlequin like the teeth of some great beast. It fit. It absolutely fit.

The crack of a stick, seemed to echo throughout the stark silence of the garden, announcement of the Lord of the castle's ominous presence.

She felt herself shrink, felt herself grow cold.

"Hello wife,"

"Hello Arron,"

He looked as he'd always looked. Never a tall man, never a broad man, never a particularly strong man. His brown hair was graying around the temples long before it's time. Arron never needed bulk or brawn, no, he was fast small and fast as ever anyone could imagine. Cunning like a weasel or a fox and about as scrupled as a rat in a garbage heap. No small wonder Arron Camsmyth had come this far. His lips smiled, his eyes, did not.

"You're enjoying our child then?"

"You know as well as I, he's dead you murderous bastard,"

Even in dreaming, she knew he was dead. There was no denying it. Her only child, her first child. She had another now, sleeping peacefully in her bed, somewhere guarded and safe. Little princess with Arron's casual coldness and indifference to others pain and suffering. Perhaps even his malicious joy in her ability to control her surroundings. It scared her. He knew it scared her.

"You know she's mine as he was mine,"

Rage. She bit it back like bitter bile. No use in letting it get the better of her. There was no reasoning with Arron. There never would be.

"Why are you here Arron? Why now?"

Why in this dream and not the darkened corners of her chambers, behind every closed door, twist and turn of the castle far away. Why here, when she slept when he was with her every waking moment of the day?

"Do you really think the Lady Wintermore has any interest in you at all Greer?"

Of course he would voice her doubts, her petty fears. His fingers toyed with the waxed corners of his mustache. Clever fingers which in the the first months of their marriage had formed so many poems, so many delicate, paper flowers so real they seemed to grow brighter each day. She remembered how they used to lie down at the bottom of the boat in the millpond, listening to the water lap against the boat's sides, the dragonflies buzzing overhead. He used to whisper into her hair, over and over, 'I'll never leave you, my darling, I love you more than life itself more than pretty words could ever describe,'. He never had left had he? 'Let's float here forever, you and I,' He never had left had he?

"You're here over her? Honestly,"

"Why else would she think twice about you? Look at you, only I could ever love you now,"

Typical, how utterly typical.

"Perhaps she sees something more than a ruined face,"

His laughter was, as it always had been, amused. Not joyous, not cruel, not cold and not without feeling. No, amused. As cats are amused.

"Is there anything else to see?"

Somehow, somewhere, she knew he was right. Knew there was little else to her other than her face, her long dark hair. She'd gotten far on beauty, a good marriage, wealth beyond her wildest dreams, popularity. More than a knight's pretty daughter could ever dream. She wasn't smart, she wasn't particularly clever or talented, but she had been beautiful and that was all it took to keep her father's land free of bandits and his coffers full of gold and silver.

"It's gone now,"

"I know,"

"She's never seen it whole,"

Arron's smile returned, this time to match his laugh.

"Then it's something else she's after,"

"You're mad Arron, you always were, from cradle to grave,"

He slapped her and the christening gown fell. Vines and flowers intertwining, new buds forming, pain, blossoming across her cheek. Beautiful she thought.

"Red, always suited you my dearest,"

"As it did you my love,"

No, it wasn't often, that Greer woke in a cold sweat, her hands still holding Saeryll's new gown. White, with dainty, red, blossoms.