"I'm Epifany. It's alright. You're recovering from a head injury."
Alethes started to sit up, but immediately her face took on an expression of pain and she reached for her head. "Lay down," Epifany said, kneeling beside the couch and gently lowering Alethes's head with her hand. "You hit your head pretty hard in the woods last night. You should recover just fine, but it's going to take some time and you'll need to take it easy for now. Viggo and I will take care of you."
"Wait - who?" Alethes responded, looking lost.
"Viggo, my son. He found you in the woods where you fell off your horse and brought you home."
"What?" she asked, wincing. "I thought - I thought that was a dream. I - I don't know anymore."
"It was very real, dear. But don't worry about it. Just rest."
"How--" she slowly started to question, looking faint with pain-- "did he find me?"
"He was walking through the woods gathering herbs on his way home, and he saw your horse take off running. So he looked to see if there was a rider and soon came across you lying on the ground." She laid a wet cloth on Alethes's forehead, filling the air with the pleasant aroma of the soothing herbs that had been boiled in its water. "Your horse has been found, by the way. So you needn't worry about her."
"Well thank you," Alethes said.
"There's no need. We're just glad we found you and you were salvageable," Epifany smiled. "Thank the gods for that."
"Yeah," Alethes agreed, then began to relax. "Whatever this is, it's helping and it smells nice."
"It's a mixture of a few different herbs," Epifany explained. "I've practiced healing for many years, and these ones seem to do the trick when there's swelling like yours."
There was a moment of silence before Alethes spoke up again. "You look familiar, but I don't think I've met you. Maybe it's my head confusing me. But it's strange that we haven't met, since you must live nearby, right?"
Nearby where? Epifany thought. "What do you mean?" she asked in a fluster. "Where do you live?"
Alethes looked utterly confounded. "I'm confused. I live here. I thought you figured that out and that was why you brought me home."
"Wait," Epifany tried to wrap her mind around the situation, "are you saying this house is your home?"
"Yeah.... Who else's would it be?"
Epifany didn't know what to think of this absurd mistake. "Sweetheart, this is the house I grew up in, and where my son and I live. I think you might be suffering from amnesia, loss of memory."
"Really?"
"I think so, but don't worry about it. It may not last long anyway. Can you tell me what your name is?"
"Yeah," Alethes said, "it's... it's...." She knitted her brows as she thought, anxiety showing through her face. "I'm all groggy. Just give me a minute." Epifany was silent for an awkward minute before Alethes said, "My head hurts, I can't really think right now. I'll remember when I wake up more."
Viggo came in the door in the midst of this and first noticed their guest was awake, then noticed the look his mother gave him. Something was definitely up, other than just Alethes. "Here's Viggo," Epifany said to her. "You remember him?"
"Vaguely," Alethes replied.
"She seems to have amnesia," Epifany explained to Viggo. "I'm trying to figure out the extent of her memory loss. She told you her name before she passed out last night, but doesn't seem to remember it now."
Alethes seemed a little freaked out at this point. In a matter of seconds Viggo became aware of all the possibilities of what she might think of her situation - waking up in a strange home, with a head injury and a few other scrapes and bruises. She could actually believe she'd been abducted rather than rescued, if her own memory couldn't prove otherwise. Suddenly he had no idea what to do or say, as he couldn't prove their story to her. His relation to his own identity as a man made him protective of others, especially those who, like her, were weaker than him. But it also made him fear that he would more likely be looked upon with suspicion and distrust. So he figured he'd better keep his distance.
"Well I'm glad you're awake, Alethes," he said. "That's the name you told me."
She glanced at him, nodding slightly, and looked at the wall past her feet, deep in thought.
"Does it sound familiar at all to you?" Epifany asked.
"I guess so," Alethes mumbled.
Epifany could see Viggo's discomfort. "Well," she said, "I'm sure that's enough questions. We'll let you rest. Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything. Breakfast will be ready before too long, if you're hungry."
After they left the room, Viggo simply asked, "So...?"
Epifany shook her head in disbelief. "She thought this was her house."
"Wait," he said, "like we're in her house, instead of the other way around?"
"Yes."
"That's crazy!" he said, boggled.
"All I can figure is that it's the place where she woke up, the first place she's seen since the accident, and therefore the only home she knows at this point, so her mind is playing tricks on her."
"Wow," he sighed. "I guess if she doesn't remember anything before the accident, then her life practically began today. So I can see how maybe her brain would latch on to her surroundings to help her cope, since nothing's actually familiar to her."
"That reminds me of another thing she said," Epifany added. "She said I looked familiar to her. I'm thinking this theory might be the answer to that too."
They both thought for a silent moment, then Viggo said, "Maybe her confusion is just rubbing off on me - I don't know - but I swear she looks familiar."
Epifany smiled. "That's because she looks just like I did at your age. But I doubt you actually remember that." Her eyes fell a little, and she turned to get breakfast ready.
"You know what? You're right," he said. "I remember a little." His vague, sunny memories of his youthful mother lingered in his mind, Alethes's face filling in for their lack of clarity. That was slightly frustrating to him, because he didn't feel sure what his mother actually did look like back then, before the aging process had claimed her sooner than it had any right. Strands of silver had begun to join her golden ones the same year Drea ran away, gradually gaining ground to the point where now, as he watched her and pondered, he couldn't tell anymore whether there were more gray ones or blonde. He felt sad as he looked at her face, where if he thought about it, he noticed the hints of sagging skin and wrinkles that shouldn't have been there. And with the dark circles and bags under her blue eyes, she did not look well for a 45-year-old.
That's why he tried not to think about it too often. It only made his heart ache, and made him wonder how much longer he would have his most trusted and understanding friend. As it was, he did most of the chores of the household to lighten her burdens. Sometimes she insisted on doing extra things, and he would oblige, not wanting to take from her any little thing that might help her feel useful. Even then, he could see how those small chores drained her energy. But now, as she simply laid out spoons on the table, he was surprised to notice her hands actually shaking. "Ma," he said, trying but failing to hide the concern in his voice, "why don't you sit down? I'll do the rest."
"I can do it," she said.
"Ma, your hands are shaking," he insisted. "Just take a break."
"No, you're always doing the chores and I hardly do anything all day. You take a break."
"You took care of Alethes. That's not nothing. And I'll get a break in a few minutes when it's time to eat. I'm not arguing with you," he said playfully but firmly.
Epifany sat down and looked at her trembling hands. "I'm so sorry Viggo," she said, on the verge of tears. "I shouldn't be this way. I wish I wasn't a burden to you."
"I can handle it," he said. "It's nothing to worry about. It is what it is."
"But it shouldn't be," she said. "The gods gave you to me to take care of and give you a good life, and I'm so proud of you. But I have so little left to give."
"You've given me everything," he said, kneeling in front of her and grasping her trembling hands in his strong ones. "Now it's my turn to give to you." And he laid her hands gently on her lap before his own began to tremble in fear of what was coming.
There was silence for a moment before she found her voice again. "Viggo, before you were even born, I hoped you would grow up to be a strong, honorable, and gentle man - wise and compassionate and honest. And you are all that I hoped for and more, and I could never have asked for a better or more devoted son." Her lips quivered and her voice wavered as she continued, "I know how much you want to help me, cure me. And I know you know I've tried to get better. But I'm afraid I can't, no matter what you do."
Viggo knew what this meant. Her health was declining more and more rapidly, and he understood that it would not stop until there was nothing left of his weary mother and she was gone. Tears began to form in his eyes. His throat tightened, impeding his ability to speak. But there was nothing to say anyway. He slowly rose to his feet, stepped behind her chair and gently squeezed her shoulders. Then he kissed the top of her head, and went to finish preparing breakfast.
From that morning on, Viggo was aware that his efforts were not meant to keep his mother alive, but to make her life happy as long as he still had her. So he did all the chores and made sure he had plenty of time leftover to spend with her. She did still take care of Alethes for the most part, but that was as much work as her son allowed. And it wasn't much. For the first week or so they gave Alethes a sedative concoction to help keep down the bit of swelling she had and just to make her sleep off most of her time, allowing her body to heal itself. She spent most of the time on the couch, and when she needed to get up, she couldn't do it by herself. She suffered from headaches, dizziness, and faintness, and at first, even with help, she couldn't take more than a few steps before collapsing. But gradually these symptoms grew less severe.
Her mind, on the other hand, was still pretty comparable to a blank slate, which made it somewhat difficult to have a conversation with her, despite the fact that she seemed to have become quite comfortable with her hosts. Nothing seemed to trigger any of her old memories, so there was still no explanation for who she was or where she was supposed to be. Tether became very active in trying to spread the word and find the answers to those questions and get her home as soon as possible, but still no luck. Alethes seemed to be far away from any friends or family or even acquaintances. Her new friends in the house on the hill could only hope that no one was worried out of their minds over a missing daughter, sister, friend, or lover.
Her palomino mare was itself another mystery. She seemed to recognize her master more than her master recognized her, and of course, Alethes couldn't remember her horse's name. So Viggo, Epifany, and Alethes spent an hour one evening calling every name they could think of to see if the palomino would respond. But apparently nothing they came up with sounded familiar to either of them. The horse just grazed indifferently and Alethes sat in the grass laughing like a carefree child.
A month went by from the time she arrived, and physically, she was pretty healthy. She had begun to take part in the household chores, grateful for the kindness she received and wanting to be helpful. But she was beginning to feel lost, having spent so much time wondering who she really was, what her purpose was, where she belonged and who with. This particular morning in April she found herself awake especially early, and decided to go out to the pasture and spend time with her horse, the only valid piece she had of the puzzle of her life and identity.
She spotted the pale-yellow mare and began her trek. Soon she heard what sounded like singing in the distance, though she couldn't make out any words. She figured it would most likely be Viggo, but he was nowhere to be seen, even as she continued to get closer and the voice grew louder and clearer. Finally she came around the hill and saw him sitting on a large rock, and heard him singing:
"You are my challenge and my strength,
Both my trial and my faith...."
Suddenly the music seemed to fill her heart, overwhelming her with feelings of purpose and belonging, and without a thought about it her voice joined his on its own:
"...Cast out every distraction!
I want to hear your call.
I've no reason to fight
If I can't give it my all."
Viggo stopped singing and looked at her, startled. They were both a little embarrassed, but then she smiled broadly. He began to smile too, but his smile was distorted with confusion, and he stammered, "You - that's a song of Narsil. How do you know it? Are you Miran then?"
Alethes shrugged her shoulders and laughed, "I don't know. But maybe now I actually have a chance of figuring that out soon."
"Do you know who Narsil is?"
"I don't know," she answered. "I mean, even when I think I might remember something, it usually ends up being some wacky illusion."
"True, maybe," he said. "But just tell me what comes to your mind. It might actually help."
"Alright," she gave in. "But it's not the name of a queen, right?" she asked with one eye almost closed in embarrassment, as if wincing at her mistake.
Viggo raised his eyebrows and dropped his jaw in amazement and pleasure. "That is exactly who Narsil is. She was the queen of Miras."
"Was?" Alethes asked.
"Yes. She died over a century ago."
"So who's the queen or king now?"
"There isn't one," Viggo answered. "Narsil is still the official sovereign of Miras."
"Oh," Alethes said, confused. "That's... well that's a little odd, but whatever."
Viggo laughed. "Honestly," he said, "sometimes I think so too."
"What happened to her descendants then?" she asked, still unsatisfied.
"I don't know," he sighed, "and really, I don't know if anybody knows. There are rumors that her line ended, and other rumors that her descendants went to Arria. Some say that they probably changed their identities so no one would expect them to be exemplary Mirans," he laughed. "But who knows what really happened."
Alethes seemed to be immersed in deep thought. "Arria," she said, "isn't that where we are?"
"Technically, yes, but--"
"But Miras is just on the other side of the creek, you said."
"Yeah," he nodded.
She thought silently for a while, until Viggo laughed. "Well, maybe someday we'll figure out Narsil's mystery," he said. "But you still have yourself to figure out."
"That I do," she said.