A/N: Hello there. This is a flash fiction story of mine (though more internal musings of a character to be honest). As most of you, I am an aspiring writer and have come to get feedback on my work. I can handle constructive criticism, critiques, and reviews (I thrive on them to be honest!). I hope you enjoy this piece; I put a lot of heart into it. Thank you for reading "The Keeper".
We are such stuff as dreams are made on- The Tempest 4.1 William Shakespeare
He stood there, ever watching as he always had.
It was always the same, by her window looking in as she brushed her fine chocolate hair with an antique brush, gold and silver lining the precious instrument. Her angelic face radiating the whole room, the light above never holding a candle to her inner light. The room bright with washed tones of lilac that painting the four walls of her room, plum carpeting that was likely to be as soft as the best velvets and silks for her pristine feet, and wall hangings showing different faces of what he assumed to be popular icons of this day and age the only items in the room that were not needed. Her own face would light up the world, if she only knew.
He sighed looking at the girl, as he had, since she was a tiny babe in her mother's arms.
He was old, by most people's standards, given that he was a few centuries old, he never looked it. Stagnant, immobile his age was kept by his promise to uphold and to do what he must. He was a warrior in spirit, but a keeper at heart.
He stood by the large pained glass window that her room had, three panes overlooking the little forest that he stood in. He could always see her, but she never—yet. He was of chivalry, even for one so young; he gave her the privacy when it was needed.
Bushes of greenery surrounded him, primroses grew and their scents dusted by the nighttime dew. The small beauty of this garden was chilled by the ice he saw on the roses, dying from the lack of warmth. Something so beautiful should never die, however life circulates and moves on. It must be done.
The girl never noticed a shadow of light outside her window, as she should. The day she could, he knew that his job must be fulfilled. But by the preciousness of youth, and by the stars, he hoped that it wouldn't be too soon.
The girl should have her time to believe she could be anything but she was. His heart was heavy for what would come when he would have to whisk her away. If anything he hoped that as small as she was that when the time came she would not fail. She wouldn't, his magik soothed him. The warmth he had depended on so many occasions over time, his constant companion. Coming to his aide when he needed it and growing potent through his experiences.
Her mother had come in knocking on her door, kissing her goodnight on the silken peach cheeks of the gifted child. The mother: a constant flame in the girls mind and heart, always there and a phoenix in her psyche to help her rise from the ashes and begin anew. He could sense it and feel it with every fiber of his soul, his magik caressing his very essence telling him this woman fed her daughter's warmth. So much kindness, love, respect, and admiration came from that woman that he would have kneeled and kissed her delicate hand.
The woman deserved to be a queen, but sadly that was not why he was here.
The mother had no idea who her daughter was, and the skills she was teaching her were what she needed to know. Those qualities were far more important to have in a person's being, than any actual power.
"Goodnight Sophia," the mother said to her daughter. He could not hear, but the words could be seen by the way as the lips moved on the taller figure's mouth. The silken brown locks that hung at the glowing queen's shoulder and a warm glow that surrounded the elder woman. No sound was needed, the connection was there. The bond between filial members of any kind was strong, but between a mother and daughter the connection was uncanny, psychic even.
Old magik at its finest.
He could sense it as he always had.
Sophia, what a fitting name, the nameless vigilantly thought.
Sophia, at that time, had put down her brush on her bureau and ungracefully fell onto her bed and holding a plush creature the color of sand. He watched her amiably talk to the toy like it could listen; he put his hand on the glass window faintly wanting to stroke her hair to tell her that she was singly the most important person he had ever laid eyes on.
Ever watching, wondering if she knew who she really was.
He stood by and couldn't hear a word from the angel, but he saw her mouth move.
No, he wasn't nameless. He had many names, many outdated, tired, old-adages spoken about him. But only one true name, all others held nothing. No substance, trite, could not be said they were meaningless.
The warrior of the light, some would believe.
He was no warrior, for the world needed no warriors. He was a keeper, a keeper of what was most precious.
Little Sophia did not know it was her, who the keeper watched. If the world would believe in the age of old, they wouldn't know what this little girl would be capable of.
For you see, unlike many, Sophia was a child of magik.
A divine child whose heart is pure as is her mind, and unknowing the key to ending the darkness' regime.
The enemies of his would want to use her, more as a weapon, as was their ways. No humanity did they have the darkness, he surmised. Not that he believed the darkness held anything that was true or virtuous. He had seen the chaos it brewed through his time honored quest.
For those who could not see, the darkness was always what frightened anything first. Children were afraid of the dark for many reasons, for when the light was extinguished fear crept in. The fear that drove societies mad, and civilizations were lost.
His kind left to their own devices.
He had known what his mission in life was, to find salvation in the lands he once knew. But time, ever flowing, ever moving, was never kind. He had seen far too much evil and destruction by the darkness hands. His land had changed, and his search became longer than ever expected. But he would never waiver, and given what he was it was in his nature to see it through.
The darkness was not one person; it flowed, oozed its ways into the senses of its victims. Ensnared them in traps, and before time long they were gone. The light was extinguished and there was no turning back.
The wick of the candle smoking endlessly for the next few seconds before total darkness came. Life was lost, never to return. That was the cruelty of the darkness.
Before long he found that Sophia had her hand on the glass window by his hand and looking directly into his eyes.
He held his breath, not now, he thought. She was still so young.
But his magik hitched, it knew as well as he, that the time had come. Sophia removed her hand, and went to the side of the window to open it up.
He wasn't sure what to expect, he kept quiet not knowing. For all the powers he was granted, nothing in this moment would prepare him for what came next.
"You're the man from my dreams," she said softly. Her timbre, so innocent and pure, it would make him weep. An angel's voice, some would believe it to be, but the purity and the eyes of one so young looked at him so expressively. He wanted to take his hand to her cheek and stroke it tenderly as any father would do for their daughter. He was not her father, but the man who was did not appreciated what he had in front of him.
The power of the child shone, if her own comment was not enough proof. Dreams were fascinating, and in a child of magik, dreams oftentimes held precognition. Premonitions were as natural as breathing for one who was given the gift. Sophia knew of him, from her dreams she saw him. His breath stopped. The time was approaching.
"You should come inside mister, its cold out there," again her voice buoyed into the air to enter his senses. He realized, to most, standing in the pale and moist layer known as snow, wasn't entirely delightful and could cause sickness. Not that he ever had to worry.
The girl had looked at him with no ill intent, no fear in her eyes, just total innocence and wide-eyed curiosity.
He found himself, ever faithful to his cause, that he lifted himself into bright room. Sophia had gawked at him, looking ever so carefully at him as he moved his way into her room. Getting in caused him little trouble, he could have always entered easily, but in his own laws it would be blasphemy to do so.
Sophia's room was a threshold; one had to be invited in. He would not break that sacred trust.
He could see that Sophia was wearing a lilac with white lace nightdress, and her brown hair straight fell to her shoulders and her cool baby blue eyes looked at him with concern. Her cherubic face glowing in the white bulbs of fire.
"Are you thirsty mister?"
He had barely spoken anything to her, much less awed by what was happening and that she could see him. Her voice so soft spoken, so musical in richness and a note of pure selfishness flooded through those very words.
She truly was the one.
He shook his head; he could go without sustenance for long periods of time. For right now, neither hunger nor thirst would break the spell the child held on him.
He was her keeper; he would travel the lands for her and listen in rapt attention to whatever she said. To some, for one so powerful, why put faith in one so small and meek? Her power would blossom, and she would be something to behold.
Right now, she was just a child, which was all she needed to be. Not knowing what her destiny had in store for her.
There was silence that descended the room. Sophia had him sitting on her bed; with quilts pushed aside she sat next to him. She sat there, her legs waving in the air swaying endlessly to her internal rhythm. Back and forth they came, a hypnotic power on their own accord.
"Do you have a name mister? When I see you in my dreams you are always there for me, but I never know your name. You are exactly as I imagined: tall, strong, and sad. Why are you sad mister?"
She spoke with such empathy that he longed to tell her everything and nothing at the same time.
Everything would come in time.
He found that he had not talked in years, and now he had to.
He knew his name, ÆÐELFRIÐ
The name his own mother had given him, and his father so long ago it seemed before he was taken for a higher cause.
However, for one so small a name so unfamiliar didn't seem right. Nothing else that he thought would match who he was, no other name was he. Though, he thought long and said in a soft timbre and cultured voice to the young child known as Sophia,
"Frid," he said softly his vocals dried from years of non-use, but with a smoky under flair. Sophia looked at him with a smile that would lighten the world if they saw her as she truly was.
"That's a nice name Frid," she said to him and looked up at him but her eyes furrowed.
"Why are you so sad Frid?"
Her eyes shone a fierce innocence that it hurt to look at her. He had killed, he had slaughtered, and he had seen true evil. Somehow he found that he was always still alive from it all.
Sophia took her small and fragile hand and held it with his. Such a small gesture, but so much power behind it. She did not know that her touch was a balm to his soul. He could feel her warmth, her energy soak into his very own. Healing him from all he had gone through; he found that his eyes were starting to form tears. For one so young, she was wise beyond her years. Her eyes looking at him pleading him to tell her why he is always so full of sorrow.
She had acknowledged him, and it was his duty to tell her.
He had gotten down on his knees, at this point. He took Sophia's hands into his own. She looked at him with wide curious eyes staring back at his own jaded from experience. His flowing dark amber traveling cloak draping over his body, and his honey curled locks hanging in their own messy array below his neck. His jade green eyes looked into her very soul, to their darkest recesses, to the part of her that understood this moment. She hoped she had the power to sense his connection to her. She had always known who he was.
"Sophia, you must listen to me," he spoke with earnestness, but his voice was caught with all the emotions he was feeling. He had to make every single word count. The world felt like it stopped for a single second as he continued.
"You are incredibly special and gifted child. You might not know it yet, but you are, so very are. I need you to believe what I am going to say to you, you will give millions hope if you make the right decision. The darkness is coming, as it always has, and soon it will try and find you and take you away. I know you will be sorrowful for what I will say next, but you cannot stay here young one. You are full of light, innocence, kindness, and strength. You might not see it, but it is who you are. You have a sacred gift, and I believe you've known that you've always had it. I will not lie, as it is not who I am, the road ahead will not be so kind to you or I in the coming years. You are destined for greatness young one," he said tenderly pushing a stray hair away from her face. Her childlike eyes were held with wonder, sorrow, and empathy.
She knew, his magik had told him that she knew, intimately. She did not say a single word and he added, "Lady Sophia, I beg of you, will you come with me?" he breathed. His eyes so focused on her own blue depths that he wondered if she had cast her own spell on him.
Sophia had only to squeeze his hand to let him know what her answer was.
"I will Frid, I will."
A/N: Sorry for another. This is a one-shot. If you find that this is too clichéd, please tell me. I hate clichés, really I do. I want to write things that feel original and have flavor to them. Please tell me if you get something out of this or not. Please, do not hesitate to click that button that says review. Thank you for reading!
Literary Dark Horse.