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The Legend of the Winter Rose
The Legend of the Winter Rose is shrouded within the
history of the Black Dragon Keep. Resting within the shadow of the
dragon-mound known as Drakelaw, the Keep was abandoned and many
considered it haunted far before the Warpiper, the Monk and the Foole
came to call it home with the Tavern Mistress, Sigrid. Let me take you
backwards in the history of this land, much before these darkened hills
had become settled as an outpost of the Middle Kingdom.
I tell you now of the story of Lord Thorbrand his
Lady Freyja. Lord Thorbrand was a strong, tall bear of a man with thick
black hair to match the steel grey of his eyes. Lady Freyja was a
straw-haired strong-willed woman, the daughter of a great chief of the
Northlands. Lord Thorbrand and Lady Freyja were deeply in love with each
other but Freyja’s father would have her married to the son of the
leader of a neighboring kingdom to ensure peace between their two
peoples. Unable to marry his one true love, and unwilling to see her in
the arms of another, Lord Thorbrand stole Freyja away and travelled deep
into the unclaimed southern forests of the Midrealm.
Travelling through forests of brigands and valleys of
iron, the two weary travellers found themselves upon a large mound
capped by a stone circle. The snows had come early that year and the two
huddled within the ring of monoliths hoping their small fire would drive
the chill from their bones. Thorbrand could hear the sounds of the
approaching horsemen and quickly extinguished their small fire to hide
themselves in the windswept heights of the snow-covered mound. By early
morning’s light, Thorbrand could see the tracks of the brigands in the
snow at the base of the mound and could hear their distant voices on the
wind. He had to find shelter for his Lady and their unborn child. As if
in answer to a silent prayer, the towers of a forgotten Keep became
visible to Thorbrand. He knew not, and would have cared little, of the
Keep’s curse. Getting Freyja to her feet, he slowly lead her down the
slope of the mound and across the valley floor to the Keep beyond, his
eyes falcon-bright for the first sign of the roving thieves. As they
approached the stone walls of the aged and forgotten stronghold, they
could see that the front gates were left ajar. No sound came from within
the Keep nor could any watch be seen patrolling the walls. It was
abandoned.
As the two slowly pressed their way through the large
wooden gates, a cry went up behind them as the thieves had discovered
their prize. Arrows were loosed at them as they tried to push the gates
closed. Horseman galloped in full stride towards the gates of the
forlorn Keep as the massive doors were closed and barred with what was
at hand. Lady Freyja, heavy with child, turned to assist her Lord
Thorbrand with the gate only to see him shot through the back with a
black-shafted arrow. A frozen, bewildered look hung upon his face as he
stumbled forward into the arms of his chosen bride. The gate began to
shake with the poundings of the brigands as Freyja drew her future
husband towards the first door in sight. Dropping from her arms in the
wilted remains of a rose garden within the Keep’s courtyard, Thorbrand
felt the chill of death coating his limbs. His breath was ragged and his
lips blood-stained as he tried to speak his final words unto his one and
only love.
The gate shook violently under the combined assault
of the thieves, ready to break open. Freyja, desperate to protect her
chosen love, snatched the dagger from his belt and held it firm in his
defence as he lay upon her swollen lap clutching and gasping for each of
these his last breaths. Just at that last moment, when the board that
held the gates closed was splintering to give way, a strange rumbling
coursed through the grounds of the keep; as if some great thing had been
stirred from its sleep. The pounding upon the gate ceased for but a
moment. The rumbling snarled but once as though its source were sounding
its ire at being awakened. The horses of the thieves could be heard
screaming in protest as they attempted to bolt away from the cursed
Keep. The Brigands had little choice but to chase after their mounts,
and so left the dying warrior and his lady to whatever creature lay
within the walls.
Thorbrand spoke briefly as blood from his wound
turned the ground red about him. He professed his undying love for his
Freyja as his last strength was expelled from him. Weeping as she had
never before, the once strong and determined chieftain’s daughter was
alone. The rumbling had subsided, but to her surprise a withered rose
touched by the pool of her lover’s blood began to grow full and verdant.
Rich round blossoms began emerging from its creeping tendrils as deep
red as the blood from which they sprung. Tears stung the eyes of the
woman Freyja, as her sorrow was boundless. Rocking her dearly departed
lover in her arms, the tears splashed upon one of the blossoms and
turned it a pale white.
And so, from that day forth, the rosebush would give
forth white blossoms in testament to the undying love of Thorbrand and
Freyja. Where other roses fall and wither at the approach of the snows,
the plant touched by the blood of sacrifice and the tears of remembrance
would never again bare the blossoms of spring and summer.
This is the story of the first Winter Rose, a symbol
of courage and fragile beauty within the Keep of shadows and curses.
What became of the lady Freyja it is not known. But every year, upon the
time of the death of her lover Thorbrand, the rose blooms white in
remembrance of his sacrifice. So, too, has it been adopted as the symbol
of courage and love by those that revived the Keep, that a tournament is
held in its honor once each year.
(c) 2001, Tom Riley |
