One Word

{Author’s Note: This is the result of a writing contest at another web site. The challenge was to re-tell a myth or legend from another character’s POV, and in a format the writer normally didn’t use. Since I normally don’t write in First Person, I chose that format. All Italicized words are set off by *’s.}



ONE WORD
By: Melinda Reynolds



He betrayed me.

Worse, he betrayed our love; *my* love…

Or was there ever any real love at all? How can love betray itself?

He did not deny it, nor did he explain. Perhaps he felt that the lingering glances he had sent her did not bind him, nor did the quick, gentle touches, or the brief, 'innocent' kisses in passing -- innocent!?! We had pledged our love to each other; I saw no other, there was no one else for me. Why could it not have been so for him? He had only stood there – strong, tall, handsome – looking up at me as the charge was read, judgment made, and sentence pronounced. I could change it…

One word…

One gesture…

And he would be free.

But… so would *she*; if I absolved him, I absolved her as well.

She had been judged and sentenced before him. And I had remained silent then as well. She, at least, did not have the audacity to look at me, expecting mercy. She could not look at anyone, for her own guilt had broken her; two handmaidens supported her slight form on either side as she collapsed to her knees. Her body convulsed with sobbing and terror. She feared me.

She had a right to.

My heart grew cold and hard as she was taken away by the handmaidens. She was too far gone into her own hysterical grief and fear to even realize what the sentence had meant for her. Or perhaps she had realized all too well what the sentence *could* mean for *him*.

Soft, weak, simple female – what had he wanted with her? Aside from her looks, she was a puerile peasant, hardly more than a harlot from the streets. She was not worth the price of his smile – much less his life.

Let her know, and watch, and realize what she had done to her ‘lover.’ Let her tears fall as mine had, burning with shame that I had allowed him my heart, burning with fury that he would use me so. Let her scream in anguish at the loss of his love, as I had…

Let her live in suffering torment, knowing she will never feel his arms around her again; knowing she will never feel the warmth of his lips, the gentle touch of his hands, the comfort of his body next to hers…

Never.

If I so chose…

*But* the* sentence*! *

How could I bear it? Could I give him up to her, let him live and lose him still? Could I give to *her* my Love, my life? He was lost to me forever, but could I lose to her as well?

How could I bear it?

I still loved him.

I remained silent. I would not interfere with the pronouncement, not now. He bowed deeply, respectfully. If there was fear in him, I did not see it; and if there was regret, I did not see that, either. No, there would be no regret in him. He was too proud, too strong, and too confident.

As I am.

As I had been.

His love had strengthened me to withstand the Fates themselves, and weakened me into a joyous acceptance – no, desire – to submit to him with complete abandonment. The eyes that had made my heart flutter, now weakened my resolve.

I had been so confident of my status, so confident that he would remain with me always; now, that confidence was shattered. Broken by a casual whim of the Fates that had placed him within her reach; broken by a simple gesture, an overt look, an unthinking touch.

Pride - that was all that was left to me now. It alone kept me upright, kept me from defending him, and kept me from weeping at his fate. The pride that had welled within me as we experienced our deepest desires, and glimpsed each other's souls from our union, now twisted sharply, painfully, within me.

Straightening from his bow, his gaze lifted and glanced quickly at me. Confident. Trusting.

Trusting…

One word…

He smiled. The lips that had worshipped me so ardently in the past had lost none of their appeal or allure. He trusted me to help him – or did he truly love me enough to feel confident that I *would* help him?

Even now?

I had been wronged by him; wronged in thought and spirit, if not by actual deed. He had taken my trust and made of it a worthless trophy.

How dare he? Did he think I would weaken and forgive him? Was he relying on my 'faint, feminine heart' to quaver at the mere thought of him coming to harm? Could he believe that I would not have the fortitude of my warrior forefathers, and be unable to sit calmly and watch silently as he was ripped to pieces?

But to watch, and see, and know…

Know that one word would save him…

My Love, my life… my downfall.

One word…

~*~

I gazed out over the empty field as I settled back comfortably in the cushioned chair. For a moment, I shut out the noisy, unruly, impatient crowd. I drank in the beauty and serenity of this perfect day: Warm sunlight, cooling breezes, clear sky.

The blue, cloudless sky: So open, so comforting, hinting at the promise of the Heavens, yet giving up none of its secrets.

--just like his eyes.

The errant, fickle breezes: Bringing first the heat of passion, then cooling when the ardor was spent.

--just like his heart.

The warm sunlight: Invigorating, life giving, enlightening; burning away the shadows to fill the heart and soul with hope.

--just like his love.

I made the decision. He walked bravely into the Arena, and even that boisterous, hardened crowd grew silent. He stood fearlessly, bowing to the King, to me, to the spectators; his form a glory to behold -- so beautiful, so young and fair. The crowd quavered and tittered, not so anxious, now, to see this beautiful young man torn apart as they cheered and clamored for more. With a steadfast courage that had won the crowd over, he paused before the twin doors, ready to live or die at Fate's whim. Or was he depending on me to tip the scales for him? He turned to face me, and smiled again. Confident. Trusting. Loving.

How I loved him.

How I hated him.

Which was greater, love or hate? Or were they the same? How could I live without him, when the very world around me reflected the memories of our love? How could I endure her happiness, and my misery? Why had he forced this decision on me?

I smiled back, raised my right hand in a small, barely perceptible movement; and my heart sighed within me as I spoke silently to myself...

One word.



A re-telling of “The Lady, or The Tiger?” from another POV -- By: Melinda Reynolds
ã2002