Everlasting dream (18+)

Chapter 45 — Redemption

[Isolde]

Life wasn't easy for Isolde, but she always did what was necessary to survive. Selling her body was necessary to feed her starving family, save her ill mother, and provide for her siblings. It wasn't a pretty life, but it was the only way to get through those harsh times. Everything changed, however, when her mother discovered what she was doing. This was a few weeks after the incident with Nivalis, who fled into the forest with her kids.

The look of disgust, shame, and disappointment on her mother's face was something Isolde would never forget. Even her siblings looked at her differently, as if she were nothing but a disgusting piece of filth. And the worst part was, they were right.

As punishment, her mother kicked her out of the house, sending her away from their village for good. Alone, desperate, cold, and hungry, Isolde wandered the roads without a destination. Eventually, she reached Valemor and ended up living on the streets, a place where she truly belonged. But no matter how hard things got, Isolde never once considered returning to selling her body. No, that part of her life was over. She had made a promise to herself - never again, even if it meant starving to death.

However, her decision made life much harder for her. Every day was a struggle to survive. She slept in dark, wet alleys, ate scraps, and fought for her place amongst the others who lived the same miserable existence. It was the lowest of the low for Isolde. Days and nights blurred together in a haze of hunger and loneliness. But the worst part was when she realized she was pregnant. Her past deeds came back to haunt her.

Isolde gave birth under the very bridge where she slept, hidden between two crates. It was the most difficult moment of her life - painful, terrifying, and exhausting. But all that seemed to disappear when she held her child in her arms. The pain, the suffering, the fear, all vanished. Only her son remained, so tiny and fragile that she feared a mere gust of wind could break him.

That day, she vowed to her son that she would give him the best life possible. She promised to be a mother he could be proud of. She swore to love him, protect him, and make him happy. She named him Randal, her precious little Randal.

But it was much easier to say than do. Being a parent was harder than she expected. The following months were a constant struggle. She couldn't afford the cheapest food, couldn't buy clothes for her son, and had to sleep under that damn bridge. She sold whatever she could, did odd jobs, and saved every coin she earned, though it was barely enough to live on.

Everything changed one fateful day when she met a kind, gentle, and understanding priest who took pity on her and her child. This man ran a small church on a hill outside the city. He took her in, gave her food and shelter, and asked for nothing in return. It was a godsend, truly.

The priest's name was Father Martin. He was an old man, grey and wrinkled, perhaps covered in scars, but with a soft heart full of kindness and love for everyone in need. His brown robes were worn and tattered, and his hands were rough and calloused. He accepted Isolde despite her past and her mistakes. He saw something good in her and treated her like a daughter, and she couldn't be more grateful for that.

Isolde and Randal have lived there ever since. Isolde works tirelessly, helping Father Martin with chores, cooking, cleaning, tending to the garden, and just about anything else. She does whatever she can to repay him for his kindness.

Years have passed, and now, her life looks completely different from what it used to be. She now lives in a cozy and warm room with her son, who is well-fed and safe.

They even have a cat! Yes, a cat, the fluffy, black beast named Shadow.

It was all she could ask for, really. This was far more than she deserved.

...

— "Come on, my sweet boy, it's time to go to bed." She gently brushed Randal's black hair aside and tucked him in, covering his tiny body with a warm blanket. Isolde leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Mama, will you tell me a story?" he mumbled sleepily. He stared at his mother with his golden eyes, blinking slowly.

— "Sure, honey," she replied with a loving smile. "What would you like to hear?" her fingers traced his cheek, caressing his soft skin.

Randal thought momentarily before answering, "Tell me about knights."

— "Again? You really like them, don't you?" Isolde chuckled softly, getting comfortable beside her son.

"Yeah, they are awesome!" Randal's eyes brightened as he smiled, showing off his missing front tooth. "Did you ever meet a real knight, Mama?"

— "Maybe one or two," Isolde answered, smiling sadly.

"Wow! Did they have armor and swords? Have you seen their house's symbol? What about their horses? And where..." Randal bombarded her with questions, his eyes filled with excitement. Suddenly, the sound of a knock interrupted his words.

Isolde glanced at the door, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. It is a bit late for someone to visit them, and Father Martin should be sleeping by now. 'Who could it be?' She sighed, stood up, and headed towards the door, leaving her son alone in their bed.

She wore a white nightgown that hid her feminine curves, reaching down to her ankles. Her long, black hair was loose, cascading down her shoulders and back. Her bare feet shuffled as she walked across the floor, and the wood creaked slightly under her weight.

Isolde opened the door and saw Father Martin standing, wearing the same old brown robe. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his expression was serious. "Good evening, my child," he said softly, bowing his head. "Sorry to disturb you this late, but I need you at the infirmary. Please hurry."

Isolde looked at the old priest and saw how exhausted he looked, how his shoulders hunched, and how his eyes seemed tired. "Of course, Father Martin. I'll come right away."

Father Martin nodded, "Thank you, my child." He turned around and left, walking slowly down the corridor.

Isolde closed the door and walked to the corner of the room where she kept her clothes. She rummaged through the pile of tattered and worn fabrics, searching for something decent. Meanwhile, Randal sat up in bed, watching her curiously.

"Mama, is something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head.

— "No, darling," she said reassuringly, finally finding a clean and proper dress. "Everything is alright. Father Martin needs my help with something, so I need to go. You stay here, okay?" She slipped into her dress and began fastening the buttons.

Once she finished dressing, she walked towards her son, kissed his forehead, and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Go back to sleep. Mama will be back soon," she whispered, pulling the covers over him. "Love you."

"Okay," Randal mumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "Love you too, Mama," he mumbled, rolling onto his side and snuggling under the covers.

Isolde kissed his cheek, then hurried out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Then, she went downstairs, her footsteps echoing throughout the silent building.

As Isolde entered the infirmary, her nose wrinkled at blood, sweat, and puke stench. A man was lying on a table, his face beaten badly, his left eye swollen shut, blood trickling from his nose. Father Martin was standing beside him, wiping his wounds with a damp cloth. He looked up as she approached. "Ah, there you are," he greeted her. "Come, help me with this patient."

She nodded and walked toward him. The man lying on the table groaned loudly every time Father Martin dabbed his face with a rag soaked in some type of liquid. He looked up at her and smiled politely.

"It looks like we got a fight at the Roaring Boar," Father Martin explained, handing her the rag. "Here, your hands are softer. Clean his nose."

— "Again?" Isolde sighed, accepting the cloth and dipping it into the water bowl. "How bad is it this time?" she asked as she began wiping the blood from the stranger's broken nose. Her touch was indeed gentle and delicate, and her movements were careful not to cause him pain.

"Very bad. Two dozen or so, I was told," he replied grimly. "Guards will bring those who can't afford the city's church. We can expect more later."

— "Two dozen!?" Isolde exclaimed, her eyes widening. "My gods," she breathed out, shaking her head. She glanced around and spotted a few beds already occupied by injured people. Most were sleeping peacefully, but a few moaned in pain.

"Yes, yes, this one is good. I'll take it from here. Thank you, darling," he told her, smiling warmly. "Now, prepare more beds and get us all the bandages, ointments, and herbs you can find. We have work to do."

Isolde nodded and left the room, heading towards the storage. Once she arrived, she gathered everything she needed and carried the supplies back to the infirmary. Along the way, she passed a few guards dragging the wounded and unconscious men. One man was exceptionally bloody, his face swollen and bruised beyond recognition. His legs were so twisted that Isolde couldn't help but shudder, feeling sorry for him.

— "Oh, dear..." Isolde muttered, looking at the unconscious man. It will be hard to save him, for sure. She opened the door for them, let them enter, and followed.

"Innkeeper told us this guy caused all this mess," one of the guards said to the priest, placing the beaten man on the nearest empty bed. "Bastard's a fucking monster, I tell ya. I have no idea how he's still alive," he gestured at the face, which was caved in, his eyes swollen shut. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth, dripping onto the bed.

"Yeah. If he makes it through, make sure to chain him and let us know. He's got a fine to settle, a big one," another guard chimed in, his voice gruff. "He's lucky he didn't kill anyone, or he'd hang. But... the innkeeper took all his belongings to cover the damage. I doubt the bastard's got anything left to pay the fine with, so we most likely will see him swinging soon enough," he added with a grin. "He won't be able to pay for the treatment either. Keep that in mind."

"Thank you for informing us, gentlemen. God bless," Father Martin said, his tone respectful, although he frowned at the guard's words. He turned his attention back to the man lying on the bed and examined him closely.

"Aye, Father," the guard nodded, turning to leave.

"No problem," the first guard answered, quickly glancing at the man. "Good luck, Father," he wished him as he followed after the other.

The priest sighed heavily and turned to Isolde, who stood beside him. "Help me with his clothes," he ordered her.

— "Yes, sir," she replied, moving towards the patient and beginning to cut his leather armor with scissors. She noticed a necklace hanging around his neck. "A soldier," she remarked.

"It looks like it," Father Martin nodded. "It should have his name. Take a look."

— "Alright." Isolde grabbed the necklace and carefully pulled it over his head, examining it closely. "It can't be..." She froze, her eyes widening.

"What is it, my child?" the priest asked curiously without looking up.

— "I-I know him... This is Haldor," Isolde breathed out. Her heart skipped a beat, and her palms became sweaty. Memories of the past rushed back to her, reminding her of those times she tried to forget. "Haldor Firefury," she muttered quietly, staring at his broken face. "Randal's father."

...

Two months have passed since that day.

— "You did what!?" Isolde screamed, her face red with anger and her eyes wide with shock. She glared at Father Martin, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. "How could you? It was none of your business!"

"Calm down, my child. Please." The priest tried to reason with her, raising his hands defensively. "Haldor had to know he has a son, and Randal deserves a father," he explained calmly, his tone soft and gentle.

Suddenly, Haldor opened the door and quietly entered the room, interrupting their argument. He looked much better now, his face almost completely healed, and his legs no longer broken, all thanks to the priest's healing and the Blessing Stone inside his body.

— "No, no, no!" Isolde protested angrily, pointing a finger at Haldor. "Randal is mine and only mine! I won't allow it!" she exclaimed, tears forming in her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to slap Father Martin's smile off.

"Why not, my dear?" Father Martin asked, his voice still calm and soothing. "I spoke with him. This man is a good person, or at least tries to be. He lost his family and suffered greatly-"

— "I don't care! You hear me?!" Isolde interrupted him, her voice trembling with emotion. "The only reason why he lost his family is because he beat and humiliated his wife, making her so desperate that she decided to flee into the wilderness. Away from him!" she paused and looked at Haldor, "And most likely died because of it." she hissed.

Haldor remained silent, his head bowed and his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn't dare speak, not wanting to make the situation worse.

"I-I know... What he did was horrible, with no doubt," Father Martin admitted, nodding slowly. "But please listen to me, Isolde, my child. Everyone makes mistakes; you are better than anyone who knows it. Everyone deserves forgiveness. Give him a chance, please. He promises to change and be a good father, and I can see his determination in his eyes. I know he means well," he continued, his voice firm and confident. "I'm not that young anymore. My time is limited, and I can't watch over you and your son forever. You will need someone to look after you once I'm gone, especially when the boy gets older. Who knows what trouble he will cause? He needs a father to guide him," he added, his eyes meeting hers.

— "I-I... I..." Isolde struggled to speak, tears flowing down her cheeks. Her shoulders slumped, and her body trembled slightly.

"Please, think about it, my child. Give him a chance, just one. If he fails, you will never have to see him again." Father Martin stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. "Please."

Isolde closed her eyes, sniffling and wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. "No. Never," she said in a low voice, shaking her head slowly. "This is my son and mine only. He doesn't need a father. He has me," she repeated firmly, her jaw clenched tight. "You have no right to decide what's best for him. I'm his mother, and he's my responsibility. Do you understand?"

Father Martin sighed and nodded sadly.

"I promise never to hurt him," Haldor said quietly. His hands were clasped before him, his posture stiff and tense. He glanced up at her, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. "I know... I don't deserve him. You are right, especially not after what I did... I will do everything you say and follow your every word," he promised. "But please, give me a chance."

Isolde didn't answer immediately, chewing her lower lip. She thought about all the hardships and suffering she had endured in the last five years, about how hard life had been for her and her son. It wasn't easy — not at all — but she managed somehow. Why should she accept this stranger? To risk Randal's safety and happiness? No. Absolutely not.

After a few moments of silence, Isolde finally spoke. "No. This is final." She looked up at him, her eyes cold and unwavering. "I don't want you near my son. Leave us alone. If I catch you anywhere near him, I'll call the guards," she warned, her tone firm and harsh. "Do you understand?"

Haldor swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. He nodded silently and turned away, leaving the room without another word.

Isolde watched him walk out the door, her expression blank and emotionless. Once he disappeared, she sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair. She glanced at Father Martin, who was watching her closely, his face grim. He shook his head slowly and left the room as well, leaving her alone.

...

[Father Martin]

Father Martin walked slowly, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty basement where he spent his entire evening counting and cataloging his inventory. It was a boring task, but he liked doing it. It was repetitive and tedious and gave him peace and tranquility. He reached the end of the corridor, where a wooden staircase led upwards. He climbed the stairs and pushed open the door leading outside.

Walking through the garden, he stopped momentarily and looked up. The night sky was clear, the stars bright and beautiful, shining down on his wrinkled face. A gentle breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the trees nearby. But yesterday's event kept playing in his head, not letting him enjoy the moment's beauty. He felt guilty. He didn't expect things to turn out like this. He hoped Haldor and Isolde would become a family or at least close friends. 'How naive of me... Isolde hasn't spoken to me the entire day. She probably hates me now.' he thought.

— 'Was it too much to ask?' He sighed heavily, sitting on the bench, his gaze fixed on the moon. Its silver light illuminated his tired face. He rubbed his forehead, his brows furrowed slightly. 'I should have kept my nose out of it,' he thought. 'What was I thinking? She has every right to feel the way she does. Her suffering was no less than his; her son is her world. She would never let anyone else into his life.'

Suddenly, a soft meow startled him.

Father Martin looked down and saw a black cat sitting beside him, its fur shiny and sleek. It meowed again and rubbed against his leg. "Shadow," he whispered, reaching out and stroking the cat's back. It purred contentedly and jumped onto his lap.

— "Hello there, you little rascal," Father Martin said fondly. "Where have you been all day, hmm? Off causing mischief, I presume?" He chuckled, scratching Shadow's ears.

The cat meowed in reply and nestled into his lap.

— "You always find me when I'm troubled," Father Martin sighed, stroking the cat's fur. "To think of... I was even ready to pay the Haldor's fine... To ease their burden, even if it meant going broke," he muttered quietly. "That was foolish of me... This whole mess is all my fault. But I have done too much wrong in my life, and I just wanted to do some good while I still could."

The cat purred loudly and nuzzled its head against his hand.

— "Ah, well. There's always hope," Father Martin said with a weak smile, scratching Shadow's chin. "I'm sure if Haldor sticks around and does what he promises, maybe they will get along eventually."

"Meow," Shadow replied, its yellow eyes gazing up at him.

— "Don't give me that look," Father Martin chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Let's go, I'll feed you," he told the cat, standing up and carrying him inside. The cat purred happily, resting comfortably in the priest's arms. When he opened the door to the kitchen, a faint sound from upstairs caught his attention. He stopped and listened, tilting his head towards the stairs.

— "Hmm?" Father Martin frowned. He placed Shadow on the floor and began climbing the stairs. "Is someone there?" he called out, reaching the top. The hallway was dark, except for a dim light coming from underneath Isolde's bedroom door. Father Martin walked toward it, listening carefully, but not a single sound came from the room.

He stood there for a moment, hesitating. He debated whether to leave or knock, not wanting to disturb her, given how late it was. But a strange feeling of uneasiness grew within him... It was too quiet. "Better be safe than sorry," he muttered under his breath, knocking gently on the wooden surface. "Isolde?" he called out softly. There was no answer.

— "My child, can I come in?" Father Martin asked, knocking again. Still, there was no response.

He hesitated momentarily, unsure if he should enter. But then, he heard a soft whimper coming from inside. Without thinking, he reached the doorknob and entered the room. Inside, he found Isolde on the floor, holding her bleeding stomach. Her skin was pale, almost ghostly white, and her breathing was ragged and uneven.

— "Oh gods, my dear," he shouted, rushing toward her. He kneeled beside her and pressed his hands over her wound. She lost a lot of blood, her white nightgown soaked in crimson liquid. Her body was trembling, her eyes staring at nothing.

"Isolde, my child, stay with me!" Father Martin exclaimed. He tore her clothes, revealing her flat belly. There was a large, deep cut running across it. Blood poured freely from the wound, forming a puddle on the floor. 'The cut is too deep... I need needs my tools, quickly.'

"Ran... Dal," she managed to utter between ragged breaths.

— "Don't talk, dear. Save your strength," the priest instructed. Father Martin carefully scooped her into his arms, lifting her off the ground despite his old age and aching spine.

"Ran... Dal," she mumbled weakly, her voice barely audible. "Haldor... took... him."

Father Martin froze, his heart stopping for a brief moment. The world spun around him, the floor shifting beneath his feet, almost dropping her. He couldn't believe his ears. 'No, it can't be. This isn't happening. He wouldn't...' his mind raced, desperately trying to process the situation. But he doesn't have time to think. Not now.

He tightened his grip on her body, his jaw clenched tight. He has to save her first and foremost, then worry about the rest. "Everything will be fine, my child," he told her, his voice trembling. "Just hold on."