Legend of Legaia


I watch him from a silent distance most of the time. His training and discipline has taught him not to notice, and I suppose that's easier. For both of us. He's a monk of Biron. Second only to Master Zopu. I'm only a dancer, trapped here by the mist...

...and now by love.

I didn't always love him. Love always comes silently, stealing in when we least expect it. It was like that once before. Before the mist. I was barely a woman then, he barely a man. Both fools. Impetuous. Not seeing the tender gift we had. Instead, we both hurt the other and went our separate ways.

I've been at the monastary ever since.

The months and years passed agonizingly slow at first. Before I saw a purpose to my life here. Before I learned to see others as more important than myself. He taught me that. Yes. He always teaches. With his very life of honor and discipline. Dedication. Loyalty. Purity.

Purity. I wish I had that to give to him but, like I said, I was impetuous then, and love steals when we least expect it.

I wonder if he has ever loved? And every day I watch him the answer remains unspoken. He has his training. He has his dedication... But I wonder if he has ever thought what it would be like to be loved by a woman. Accepted in a different way than his fellow monks. Treated with softness and gentleness. Held with care. Whispered to in the height of evening so as to coax a... smile. But he hasn't ever smiled. His handsome face is always stern and grave.

How I wish I could kiss the hardness away from that brow of stony determination...

...but I am only a dancer. A woman.

A woman trapped by love.

I was able to hold him once, when he was betrayed by a man close enough to be his brother. A man he had trusted, though he saw the avarice of power within those eyes. He told no one of the betrayal and deceipt, my love would never seek vengeance, but I knew. I had seen the exchange. The lie spoken so that the damage could be done. I had watched the giving of the poison so that my love would be humiliated in front of all.

I am his watcher, and he is my heart.

After the humiliation, I went to him. After the man thought to be his brother had cut my love to his very soul with the intent of his betrayal. I went to him when the poison was at its worse, ceasing movement and hindering action and feeling... I went to him and remained at his side, holding him close as his body fought off the poisons so that he could again be whole.

He didn't know of my presence. He couldn't feel my arms around him nor the soft touch of my lips to his furrowed brow or my fingers to his stony mask. He could not hear my whispered declaration of love and my promise to remain at his side. But perhaps his heart and soul heard my heartfelt cry? Perhaps it was a comfort he didn't understand and yet treasured?

I had to hold this hope.

I sigh as I watch him now, hidden as I am in the shadows as he silently eats his meal. Gala, my heart, why do I love you? We have never spoken. We have never truly met face to face. I only watch him from a distance and read his face and eyes - those gorgeous eyes hiding an unknown pain - while trying to disguise a heart breaking for a stoic man. I watch him while he practices alone. I watch him while he meditates on the teachings of Lord Biron. I watch him as he sits alone contemplating a question he never voices.

I am his watcher, and he is my heart. It has been this way for more than five years. It will be this way until I die. Then my soul will continue to watch and comfort, offering him a solace that no one, not even my heart, will understand.