Brand’s Gift
Flora insisted, when I was still a teenager, on teaching me how to sew. I was studying by this time with Fiona on occasion, and I recall looking at her incredulously.
"Why bother?" I asked, quite honestly.
Flora put down her work and looked at me for a long moment, though I felt, at the time, she was looking more through me than at me. Finally, she answered slowly, and her words stuck in my memory as well.
"Sometimes it’s useful, sometimes it’s novel, sometimes it’s just something to do. But most of all, it’s good to create something yourself, with your own talent and your own hands. It’s a good feeling, and it’s one I want you to know." It was, likely, the deepest thing Flora ever said to me, and it impressed itself upon me very strongly. With those words as a preamble, I learned to sew at Flora’s tutelage, and have never regretted the lessons.
Years later, when I was sitting and sewing for lack of anything else to do in between Grandmother’s teachings, I would think of those words and smile.
But more specifically I recall the year I attempted to create for Brand a gift to match the tunic he had once given me. Buried in my closet I had several bolts of beautiful velvets and silks, accumulated over time, and I decided to put them to good use.
With Flora’s help (though I never specifically told her whom I was making it for) I designed a riding outfit and jacket that I was sure he would like. It took some time to make, but again Flora came to my rescue. I remember her commenting once on the colors I’d chosen with a sidelong glance, but I paid it no attention and she let it go. Flora always was kind to me. After we had finished the section I needed her help on, she rose to go, then paused.
"Celeste, here" she held out her hand, "I don’t have any upcoming projects and you may need this dear." On her hand was a small cream white ceramic thimble, painted with tiny gold and silver flowers, really a lovely collector’s piece.
"Oh, this is lovely" I murmured, taking it. She nodded, seemingly pleased with herself. "Do you like it? I have so many" she waved her hands about, "you keep it. You’ll put it to good use I’m sure." I looked up, surprised, but she was gone in a rustle of taffeta. With a smile, I tucked it into a pocket.
The entire outfit took me almost 3 weeks to finish to my satisfaction, and it really was quite nice. I was finished almost a full month before his birthday, but I determined to wait.
The week before that day, Brand slipped out of Amber with no warning. Not uncommon for him, but I had the uneasy feeling he wouldn’t be back for a while. He’d been acting very edgy the past few days and I’d seen the storm coming. Guess it couldn’t keep. I waited until he didn’t show up, then on the eve of his birthday I decided it couldn’t be too bad an idea to just trump him. I knew better, sure, but I don’t think I ever showed much sense when it came to Brand.
He answered slowly, and I heard his voice before the picture came alive.
"What do you want Celeste?" asked a not-quite-Brand voice, and then the image came clear. Through the mist behind him I could vaguely make out a desolate, rocky place that somehow conveyed an image of heat and ash and lava. That feeling of doom choked me again, and I stammered in reply.
"It’s…your birthday. I had…well…I wanted to give you…I made a gift…" my voice faded out on it’s own accord, his eyes bored into mine like icy daggers. There was something in them not right, and it seemed almost an effort for him to acknowledge me.
"This…couldn’t wait?" he asked, his voice almost a hiss.
That’s when I grew angry, irrational though it was. I was intruding on him, and I damn well knew better. But temper runs true.
"No, dammit, it couldn’t wait! Can’t you be just a little gracious when someone’s being nice to you?!"
A shadow of fury crossed his face, and I nearly recoiled in alarm. The connection snapped into place and grew solid, and winds of hot ash blew through the card, burning my cheeks. He lifted one hand toward me, fingers curled, and I started to mentally backpedal. Desperately I looked back into his eyes for a clue, and stopped at the changing expressions there. Fear, hate, love, terror, but most of all pain flashed through his eyes in the infinite space of seconds, and I decided with no rational thought that the only way out was to trust and not struggle. I stood very still, just meeting his gaze with no resistance, and somewhere in his eyes was just a touch of surprise, or maybe of regret. He grimaced as if in great pain, wrapping his arms around himself, and the connection not so much broke as shattered. The migraine lasted me a week and a half.
I went back to his room and gently laid the gift out on his bed, then left silently leaving no note or trace. He would understand. As before, he never spoke to me of that again, but he did thank me for the gift, and I saw him wearing it often.
It was just after that when I noticed Flora’s gift was missing. Annoyed, I looked everywhere for it with no success. Finally thinking I may have dropped it in Brand’s room, I went back to check there. The door stood open, but I found myself unable to enter. I tried examining this, but it got me nowhere. Looking through the door, I didn’t see it, so I gave up determining to ask him later. I remember thinking at the time that he must be truly upset with me if he wouldn’t let me in.
Funny though. I never did ask him. I never found that thimble either.
I noted once he was wearing those clothes on his way out, and walked by where I stood speaking with Flora. She glanced up and nodded to him, then resumed our conversation without comment. She never paused or hesitated, nor did she give any outward sign, but she couldn’t have missed something she helped design. I never forgot that Flora, I never forgot you merely let it go.
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