The mornings in Brackenwood were still awake to something different; among these should be the typical commotion of vendors shouting for prospects, children running from stall to stall, and an occasional traveler passing through town. It was very early that morning when Rosalind stepped out into the town center, as she often did, to grab some quiet moments before the day's hustle came along. It was different today because all her mind focused on was one thing: her plan.
It wasn't long after she'd decided to be bolder that thoughts began to swirl inside Rosalind's head as she tried to consider how to catch Alaric's notice once and for all; after all, if brashness of such strength as Eleanor's had clearly caught his eye, why not hers?
So, she quickly came to realize that Alaric wasn't the subtle kind-meaning he had to be pointed out in things where most people catch a hint, understand an unspoken feeling -and even then it's liable to get lost in a tangle of philosophy-Rosie wasn't one to give up easily on the man she cared about.
But for that, she had to do a lot of research on the competition. That was only possible by talking to Eleanor; something that awaited her eagerly.
---
Alaric stood across town in front of Eleanor's door. His heart pounded in his chest, and he realized that he had never really been very good at these kinds of things. For the most part, Alaric was perfectly fine with the company of books rather than people. They were easy. No one judged you for fumbling over your words, or for blushing at the wrong moment.
And Alaric, as shy as he was, would sometimes stutter with his words, more about Eleanor.
He fidgeted nervously on his feet, holding the letter as if he had never touched it in his life. His palms were damp and cold, and he could feel his face heating as he steeled himself to prepare for a knock on the door. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn't he be smooth and suave like his heroes?.
No, there he stood pensive scholar Alaric awkwardly before a door hoping not to be an absolute tool.
Taking a deep breath, he muttered to himself, "Come on, Alaric, come on. It is only Eleanor. You have written her dozen times. You can certainly handle a little bit of conversation.".
But could he? Every time he spoke to Eleanor, words got tangled in his tongue. She had that effect on him. Not just that she was beautiful-she was-it was the presence, the confidence about her. Eleanor did not question herself as he did. She simply went about life with an ease and assurance that made Alaric find her things to be mesmerizing.
Finally, he raised his hand and tapped very lightly at the door, hoping mightily that she wouldn't be in. And then, as if fortune listened to his plea, the door opened almost at once, and there she stood—Eleanor, her eyes bright and inquisitive, her smile both amused and a little aloof.
"Alaric," she said, her voice silky smooth. "What a twist of plot."
Alaric's mouth turned dry. All the words he had rehearsed in his head, over and over again, lost their minds for a moment. "Uh. I. I brought you. another letter.".
Eleanor's smile widened just a fraction, though Alaric was certain he saw a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Another one? My, you've been busy."
She leaned forward, pulling the letter from his shaking hand. Her fingers touched his as she did so, just a slight caress against his skin. She drew back and watched as Alaric blushed clear to his hairline. Why had he had to be such a dolt around her? Why couldn't he have been cool like Rosalind was always cool?
"I—ah, yes," he stammered. "I, uh, thought you would like reading it."
She looked at the letter, then at him, then her face was unreadable. "I'm sure I will," she said lightly. "You always write such. interesting things.".
There was something about the way she said interesting that curled Alaric's stomach. Did she truly like his letters, or was she only humoring him? He never could quite tell, and that alone made him even more on edge.
"I should go," Alaric said hastily, stepping back. "I, um. I have more studying to do. Important things. You know. philosophy. and, um, other things."
Eleanor smiled silently; her voice was low and nonchalant. "Of course, Alaric. Don't let me keep you for your important work.".
Alaric nodded, searching for something else to say but coming up empty. He turned to hasten away, feeling completely ridiculous. As soon as he'd walked out of sight, he stopped leaning up against the nearest wall, his breathing deepening as he tried to calm down.
"Why must she always make me so nervous?" he grunted to himself. "She must think me a silly worm."
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But meanwhile, it was the same conversation that made Eleanor lose her cool. Alaric did not even know that she had been standing across the square, watching every word exchanged between them, each sinking further into her heart with every little moment. Eleanor was mannerly, of course; but detachment had a way of annoying Rosalind. She wasn't ever paying attention to Alaric seriously. Not when he was just barely able to finish speaking a full sentence without stuttering over his words. She had been waiting around for too long. Now, determined, she stood there. End.
And so, taking one's breath, Rosalind did cross the square to Eleanor's house. No idea she had what she would say when she got there; but she knew this much: she was not going to let Eleanor send her off quite so summarily as she had Alaric.
---
She nearly entered just as Rosalind caught up to her. She was apparently surprised to find Rosalind standing in the doorway, but never changed her smile.
"Well, well, this is something of a little unexpected," said Eleanor, her voice as silky smooth as ever. "Twice in one day, and from two different visitors. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She hesitated for only a moment. "I thought it was time we spoke," she said. "About Alaric.".
Eleanor raised one eyebrow, interest quickened. "Alaric? What about him?
She breathed a deep breath and chose her words. "He cares about you, Eleanor. He writes these letters, pours his heart out, but I really don't believe you understand how completely he feels.".
Eleanor did not smile, but something flickered in her eyes-curiosity or perhaps mild annoyance. And what would you have me do about that? she asked. I can't order how Alaric feels.
No, but you can tell him the truth about it, Rosalind said, her voice firmer than she thought she had. Tell him that. that you don't feel the same.
She moved to one side, looking at Rosalind for a moment before speaking. "Why must you trouble yourself so over Alaric's opinion, Rosalind? Do you love him?
Ros felt her heart skip a beat. But she would not bat an eyelid. "He's my friend. And yes, I do care about him. I don't want to see him hurting.".
Eleanor's smile eased a little. "I see. Well, thank you for being concerned, Rosalind. Alaric is a grown man. He can think and feel what he likes. And as for me. well, I don't take to discouraging a little harmless fondness.".
"Innocuous?" Rosalind repeated, her annoyance finally reaching her lips. "It's not innocuous, Eleanor. He's in love with you." Eleanor smiled coldly. "Well, if he falls, it'll be on his own failure.". Rosalind gazed at her, her mind racing. That was it, the moment when she either brought the matter to their notice or walked away. And she wouldn't be walking away. "He's not the only one, you know," Rosalind said softly. "Falling." Eleanor's face pinched slightly, and for the first time since Rosalind's entrance to the room, the air shifted between them. "So what are you saying, Rosalind?" Her voice is just above a whisper, yet she continued forward another step. "I am telling you," she says, "Alaric isn't the only one in love with him.". For what felt like an eternity, the two women stood over one another in silence, the weight of Rosalind's confession hanging between them. And there was no going back now for Rosalind.