Date: January 2007
Title: Willows Whiten, Aspens
Quiver
Author: LosingInTranslation
(aka Jennifer, losingntrnslatn)
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, don’t have any money either… I just like to play with
the characters now and then. Dance Monkeys! Dance!
Rating: T for Teen
Pairings: None
Spoilers: Up through Built to Kill
II
Summary: Some things in life are
just hard to get through alone. Isolating yourself from the world is both a
comfort and a curse. And asking for help can sometimes be the hardest thing to
do.
A/N: I got the idea for this fic while talking with another fan. And then I remembered
the Lord Alfred Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott.”
Hopefully the whole thing ends up making sense in the end, since apparently
TPTB have chosen to forget about an entire storyline. :P
Acknowledgement: Thanks go to my
conversation partner for not only waking up Beelzabunny,
but also for giving this piece the once over. Any other errors belong solely to
me.
Willows Whiten,
Aspens Quiver
“So,
what exactly am I supposed to do?”
The
doctor smiled and set down her pen to explain. “I’m here to listen to you.
Offer some advice, if I can, and possibly help you work some things out.” She
was surprised that her patient was not aware of the process. “Haven’t you ever
spoken with a counselor before?”
She
shrugged and offered, “Once…when I was a kid, but that’s it.” She slumped back
into the chair and said, “We’re not real big on the whole psychology racket.”
“That
seems to be the case for a great many people, but that’s not why we’re here, is
it? Your friends…they seem to be concerned about you, and how you’re coping
with some things.” The doctor tried to bring the subject to the forefront.
She
exhaled sharply and leaned her head back. “Yeah, I know… I’m just-just not used
to talking about this kind of thing.”
“Okay...
How about we start with some background questions? It’ll give me a chance to
get to know you a little better first.” She waited for her patient’s answer,
and then it came in the form of a nod. “All right then… We’ll go with the
basics… Tell me about your family. Your father, for
starters.”
“He’s
dead,” was the curt answer that followed.
“Were
you close to him?”
“Once…
I thought.” The answer was intriguing to the doctor, and so she pressed
further.
“What
changed?”
“Nothing,
I guess… I found out he wasn’t the man I thought he was. It just changed
everything after that.” The doctor could tell it was a difficult thing for her
patient to discuss and decided to save the topic for a later time.
“It’s
always hard when the realities of our parents’ lives become revealed to us, but
it is a part of the development process.” She made a few notes and then looked
over at her patient again. “What about your mother?”
“What
about her?” The agitated look on her face spoke volumes to the doctor.
“Is
she still living?”
She
rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, she is.”
“How
is your relationship?”
“We…fought.
We fight… I guess we just don’t see things the same way most of the time.” The
doctor watched as her posture became more rigid and she notated the behavior
change.
“What
kinds of things do you fight about?”
“My
father… My life… Who I date… All the normal mother daughter stuff, I guess.”
Once again the doctor noted the way she tried to push the attention away.
She
set down her notepad and laid her hands over her lap. “If you don’t want to be
here, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
She
watched as the patient’s face betrayed a hint of fear. It was obvious that she
held everything tightly in her grip, and for those patients it required a small
amount of fear to get their attention. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here… It’s just that I don’t
know how to do this.”
The
doctor knew she had the upper hand at that point. “Here’s how it works… I ask
the questions, you answer, and once we have a basis to work from, your answers will guide where we go from there. Okay?”
The
patient reluctantly nodded and said, “Yeah… I’m just not used to this. I don’t
like not being in control.”
“Have
you been in control lately?” The frightened look in her eyes told the doctor
what she needed to know; the demons haunting her patient had been in control.
“No…
And it’s why my friends have been
worried, I’m sure.” She leaned forward and put her face in her hands.
“Tell
me about your mother… Why do you really think you aren’t getting along?”
The
patient sat back up and answered, “She and I don’t see
eye to eye on a lot of things… She doesn’t approve of my dates, but she’s not
exactly in a position to judge. She’s had more than her share of thugs.”
The
doctor made a note and then asked, “Thugs… That’s an unusual term to use. What
makes you call them thugs?”
“You
make your living at the expense of others, or living outside the law… That makes
you a thug. Besides, they’ve never treated her right, none of them.”
“Even
your father?”
She
laughed at that notion, “Ha! Especially my father. He was probably biggest
thug of all.”
“Did
you always feel that way about him?”
She
became very quiet and sat perfectly still. After a few moments the doctor
looked up to see the vacant stare of her patient. When the doctor was about to
ask another question, she heard the faintest of whispers. “I thought he was the
sun and the moon… My Lancelot.”
“That’s
an interesting way to put it… Did you see him as saving you from something?”
“No…
He was my love, and my curse.” That stopped the doctor cold. It was such a
strange answer to a simple question.
“Would
you care to explain that answer?”
She
leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “He was my
escape from reality when I was a kid. I could always isolate myself from the
world just being with him. I felt safe, even when I shouldn’t have. I was
protected, behind those four gray walls and four gray towers…”
“That
sounds a little cryptic. Why did you describe it that way?”
“Have
you ever read Tennyson?” The question surprised
the doctor. Tennyson was not for most of the world’s population, and she was one
of them, even though she had read a few pieces in her studies. For someone with
her patient’s background, it was even more puzzling.
“Briefly…
In college.”
“Well,
my father took me to an art show once, and they were showing some
Pre-Raphaelite art. There were a series of paintings based on Tennyson’s ‘The
Lady of Shalott.’” Her face took on that faraway
stare again, and the doctor simply took her notes and let the story flow. “The
paintings fascinated me and the image of the
fair-haired woman floating in that boat haunted me. I never knew why when I was
younger. When I got a little older I looked up the poem and even then it didn’t
really sink in. But there was a passage in the poem that kept repeating in my
head.
‘Willows whiten, aspens
quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.’”
The
doctor took in a deep breath through her nose as she tried to recall the poem
itself. It was about a woman cursed in isolation from the beauty of Camelot.
She could never look directly upon the land or the people, but only gaze out at
the world through a mirror. She lived in the shadows, only seeing the world in
reflection, weaving her tapestry from the images in that mirror. She was
imprisoned on that island, locked away from everything and everyone, and her
only freedom came from her death. If she gazed upon the world outside, made her
presence known, she forfeited her life. And then one day she saw the reflection
of Sir Lancelot and the reflection of his beauty compelled her to gaze upon him
and thus sealing her fate. She left the “four grey walls,” cast herself adrift
in a boat that she wrote her name on in the hopes of not passing into the next
world unknown.
“I
know the poem… What does that passage mean to you?”
“It
was my life… I lived on that island, keeping away from the world, not letting
it in, living in the shadows, just like the Lady. Seeing only
the reflections of the world.”
The
doctor found that interesting, but it had not answered her question about the
father’s connection to Lancelot. “How does your father factor into your
relation to the poem?”
“He
was the catalyst that made me want to see the real world. I loved him, and the
reality… It broke me.”
“When
did you learn the reality?” It was obvious the patient was struggling with the
knowledge of her father, but the doctor knew that this grey wall needed to come
down.
“I
think I always knew, but I hid it from myself… In the reflection, it was easy.
It distorted the truth. My love for him was the mirror I looked through. But
when I couldn’t look through the reflection any longer, I saw all of the truth.
He was just a thug. He wasn’t there for my mother… He wasn’t there for me… He
was only interested in himself. And my dreams of Camelot were gone.”
“Is
that when you started to become angry?”
She
chuffed at the doctor’s question, “I wish! Anger is kind of genetic in my
family, Doctor. Sort of like our taste in men, I guess.”
“You
mentioned that before… What makes you say that?”
“Long standing history. I’m not sure we can even be with a decent guy,
anymore.” She shook her head and then continued, “Even when they’re right there
in front of us.”
“Can
you tell me something about the events that led to your being here now?” The
doctor watched as her patient’s posture stiffened once again.
“The ah…abduction.” The last word was whispered, as though its
utterance alone had caused her pain.
“Yes…
I understand it was quite frightening for you, but it’s important that we
discuss it, since it seems to be affecting you a great deal.”
“I
don’t really remember anything from it… Just pieces, little flashes.”
She squinted as she tried to recall more of the event.
“Were
you conscious during the incident?”
“No…yeah,
a little, I guess…at the end. It’s all really confusing.” The pained look on
her face told the doctor that she was struggling with the details.
“Take
a deep breath, and try to see if you can remember anything else.”
“The
accident happened so fast… One second we were talking, and the next.” Her voice
trailed off, and a tear fell from her eye.
“Were
you seriously hurt?”
“No…
I don’t think so. Maybe a bump on the head or something. But nothing big.”
The thousand yard stare was firmly back in place.
“And
after the abduction… That’s when the problems started?” The doctor worked to
get her back to the present.
“That…
And what followed.” She closed her eyes and held them squeezed tight. “I’m
sorry… I’m-I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that.”
She
nodded her head as she set the notepad down again and looked up at her patient.
“I understand. Can we talk about the rest? The aftermath?”
The
patient looked away and sighed. “I’ll try.”
“Did
you talk about what happened with your mother?”
“No…
She-she didn’t need me adding to her own pain. It was really hard on her.”
“I
think it was hard on you, as well. Or we wouldn’t be here.” The doctor tried to
provide her with a safe place to discuss the pain she had kept hidden for too
long.
“I
guess… But we don’t really talk like that.” She bit her lip in a gesture that
looked as though she had been doing it her entire life. “We aren’t really close
anymore.”
“But
you were once?”
She
nodded and another tear made its way down her cheek.
“Okay…
Part of what we need to do here is to set up a support system; a way for you to
talk about these things, to give you a safety net.” The doctor looked at her watch
and saw that they had gone way over their time.
“Time’s
up?” The doctor smiled at the observation of her patient.
“I’m
afraid so… But we have one last item of business to take care of.” She sat up
and handed the patient a sheet of paper.
“What’s
this?”
“It’s
a contract… Part of your outpatient agreement.” The doctor waited for her to
look through the paper. “You have to agree that you will not harm yourself, or anyone else during the interim between our
appointments. If you feel the desire to cause yourself or anyone else harm, you
are required to contact my emergency number immediately.”
The
patient reached up and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she
chuckled, “Is this standard?”
“Yes…
Anytime someone attempts suicide, it is crucial to make these kinds of promises
to help insure the rights of the patient and to develop a bond of trust between
the patient and the therapist. As long as you keep up your end of the bargain,
then I am not allowed to share any of the information you divulge to me in our
sessions.” The doctor carefully explained the procedures to her patient.
“So,
if I keep my mouth shut and don’t swallow any more pills… You keep your mouth
shut, too?”
The
doctor nodded and said, “That’s the deal… Do you think you can do that,
Lindsey?”
The
fair haired teenager gave the doctor half a smile and said. “I’ll do my best.”
As
she signed the paper and handed it back to the doctor, she could tell that the
girl had something on her mind. “What is it?”
“I
was ah, just thinking… Grandpa always said we were only as good as our word.
So, I guess I better not let him down.”
As
the doctor escorted the troubled girl to her waiting mother, she recalled the
closing line of the poem they had discussed. "She has a lovely face; God
in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."
A/N2:
I have included a copy of the original poem by Lord Tennyson at the end of this
page. “The Lady of Shalott” is a fantastic piece of
poetry.
Alfred Tennyson
(1809–1892), British poet. The Lady of Shalott
(1832, rev. 1842).
On either side the river
lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The
Willows whiten, aspens
quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth
silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping
early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night
and day
A magic web with colours
gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror
clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of
damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still
delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded
weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in
sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by
the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left
the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side
to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind
straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim
expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful,
holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is
here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."