Forsake Me Not
By April French

Wales: 1217

Wind nipping a bit at his skin, Nicolas waited for the sun to rise over the Welsh countryside. He knew the sun would not be up for several hours yet--he should be sleeping--but he and sleep had not been keeping very good company of late. Most nights, he would simply lay awake, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the roof of his rough shelter.

When he did sleep, his rest was confounded by dreams. And what dreams! The mere memory of them was enough to make Nicolas blush. Hot, lusty dreams, full blooded dreams of himself with a mysterious woman. Pleasurable enough, yes, but what troubled Nicolas de Brabant was not the visions themselves, but of the object of his sleeping desires.

He was in love. Should not the object of these nightly diversions be Gwynyth?

"Night after night, I see myself bedding the same woman. And I have no idea who she is!"

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him, and Nicolas whirled around, his sword half drawn.

"Can you not sleep, Nicol?" asked Gwynyth innocently, a shawl about her shoulders and a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. Nicolas re-sheathed his weapon, sighing.

"I fear it is more a matter of 'will not' than 'cannot,'" he confessed. Gwynyth threaded her arm through his, Nicolas wrapped her in a fold of his cloak, and they stood on the grassy little hillock and faced east, admiring the stars. "My sleep is fevered with dreams, and I cannot rest. Nor can I endure this constant dreaming, so I shall do without sleep."

"A man goes mad without sleeping."

"I am already mad with it!" He turned pleading blue eyes on her. "Night after night in my dreams, a woman comes to me. She is beautiful, and passionate, and willing, and in my dreams I seem to welcome her attentions, even need them. But she is not--I do not know who she is." He had nearly said, 'She is not you.' "I have never seen this woman before.

"Nor have I ever had such... vivid dreams. It is not as though I am outside my body watching, but as though I am truly there... with this woman... in a..." Nicolas hesitated. "In a black bed," he finished.

Gwynyth regarded him quietly, her face betraying none of her thoughts. "Do you see much of your surroundings?" she asked. "Or only this woman?"

"In my dreams, I have eyes only for her." Relieved that she was not unduly put off by his predicament, Nicolas began to speak more freely. "She is my height, perhaps a bit shorter, and slender, with long chestnut-colored ringlets and eyes of a soft, bright blue. Her voice is rich, full of laughter. She... calls me 'Nick.'"

"And her name, Nicolas?" Gwynyth pressed. "What name do you call her by?"

Nicolas took a deep breath. "Natalie," he murmured, the name on his lips like a soft prayer. "Her name is Natalie." Then he shook his head. "I have never even heard of such a name, let alone know a woman bearing it! Gwynyth, what can be the matter with me? I fear it will be no use going to the priest; he will either give me a hearty penance for such lustful thoughts--though I cannot help them!--or he will say that I am a lunatic."

"Ah, but that is what comes of serving a god who will punish a man for his natural desires."

Nicolas groaned. "Gwynyth..." He was not in the mood for a theological debate.

"Perhaps you secretly long to hold this slender, blue-eyed beauty in your arms," Gwynyth teased him gently, "and you know not where to find her." Nicolas gave her a mock scowl. "Or perhaps you have a touch of the Sight, and you are having visions of your future bride."

"Impossible," Nicolas declared. "Not only am I ignorant of all magical arts, she looks nothing at all like you, therefore, she cannot be any future wife of mine." He kissed his Welsh lover soundly, and held her close. "But then who is she?" he whispered.

Gwynyth held him reassuringly, though she did not possess any great faith in the inevitability of his statement. "Nicolas, dreams are gifts from the gods. Whatever gods you chose to believe in," she added quickly. "They allow us to see inside ourselves. They are not signs of madness or ill thoughts. You are having these dreams because you are meant to have them, not necessarily because they have meaning. Enjoy the gifts that you are given, Nicolas," she told him softly, "in whatever form they come, and be grateful."

Nicolas stared at her for a long moment. He seemed to be trying to understand some part of her words, or perhaps he was still trying to decide just who the mysterious woman his dreams called 'Natalie' truly was.

"The sun rises, Sir Nicolas," said Gwynyth, breaking the silence. "Will you speak?"

"I was only thinking that... had I not met you... I should willingly have traveled the entire world over to find this woman. That I would gladly spend an eternity with her..."

The sun chose that moment to spill over the horizon. Nicolas turned towards it, soaking up its warmth and light.

"I must go," he murmured, removing his cloak from Gwynyth's shoulders. "I can perhaps catch a few moments' rest before it is time to begin my duties." He kissed her, turned and walked down the hill back to his encampment. Gwynyth watched him go.

"I can only hope that it does not take you all of eternity to find her," she said sadly, knowing as she did something of the long and unhappy life that awaited him. "Sleep well, Nicol. And... pleasant dreams."

~Finis--July 29th, 2003~