Before there was the novel, there were the stories...

by Nan Hawthorne, who also writes under Christopher Hawthorne Moss, Books and Stories b ChristopherHawthorne Moss at

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Old Stories, Lawrence Tells Shannon of his Pain. 768 AD

I admit it, I wrote this. It is one of the most hokey, silly, maudlin, stupid things I have ever written. Don't say I didn't warn you. Laura's worst is still many posts away.

Early April 768

hannon sat silently in a seclude sport of the great palace garden, plucking the strings of his lute. The song was not really sad, but when heard a person would be enchanted by the beauty of it and become melancholy.

Lawrence was in the garden also, and stood in another sections of the garden, listening to Shannon and thinking. He strode over to where Shannon was, and smiled, sympathetically, for the minstrel's face showed his thoughts. The King sat down beside him. "Dost thou wish to speak?"

Shannon nodded and said that he something on his mind. After a short silence he burst into a torrent of words, excusing himself and explaining. It seemed he was remembering various parts of his relationship with Heather and had come upon an old thorn. Heather had spent more time than was necessary complementing Sean. Shannon's nature could not accept this as nothing but an infidelity and he was hurt.

Lawrence nodded. "I have a feeling close to thine. Suspicion and doubts are ugly things but are shared among all people. It used to help me to think of how another man has handled it. I knew nobody with the problem I had. I knew the stories my father told, though, of my grandfather Alain. His wife, a Frenchwoman, left him for another man. She died and Alain wed again. The second wife was my grandmother. The scar never healed for him…" Lawrence paused. Thin in a grave voice he continued. "Shannon, there is something worse than knowing or thinking thy beloved loves thee not: it is when she loves the but also loves another…"

Shannon looked amazedly at the King. "This cannot be with thee…oh aye, I know thy meaning."

"Thou knowest of Rory?" the King asked.

Shannon nodded. Lawrence grew even graver. "Aye, it hurts. It hurts to know I'm there in her heart but I'm not the only one. Robert never left it and Rory is now also there. Jo is too wonderful a woman ever to forget loves such as theirs. But, and I thank God for it, she does not know what the knowledge does to me. Sometimes I look at her and my heart breaks. She sees my pain but does not know it. Oh God, and …and then she asks me if I feel her pain, the pain she feels for Rory! And she does it so innocently. She cannot suspect it hurts me. Dear Lord grant that she never does. I love her and I will do anything to keep her unknowing. But what hurts me most of all …what if she had met Rory first? Aye, she would have fallen in love, very truly, with him. Her parents would deny her to him so they would have run away together. But then, oh then…" The King grimaced. Then his face went cold, impassionate. "Then she and I would have met. We would have fallen in love. Though she loves Rory, I know he love for me is more real. She would have had children by me and told Rory they were his. After all that he would learn the truth. I would kill myself. She would follow me and Rory and would die brokenhearted. God grant my Sunshine never things it out that far! God grant me the strength never to let my little bride know my thoughts…" he looked at Shannon. "Oh, God, Shannon! It hurts!" he sobbed. "It truly hurts!"

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About the author

Nan Hawthorne now writes under the name Christopher Hawthorne Moss. You can contact Christopher at .