Title: Juxtaposition

By: Sei-chan-1999/Darkest Symphony

Summary: She stands alone amongst the shattered ruins of her empire. The sky darkens above her and the water grows cold but she cannot move.

Rating: K

Warning: Set post the events in Ivanhoe. You need to have read the book to get the deeper implication of the fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Ivanhoe or the characters, if the fact that I couldn't have stolen a story that was written a few hundred years before I came was born isn't proof enough.

XXX

She watches over his rest.

A small smile breaks over those tired features even as he sleeps on, flawless yet marred by injury and years of toil and for one strange moment, she wishes she could share this pleasant dream of his, her heart heavy within her from just attending to him.

However, she understands that his mind will not draw that almost intangible line; that which separates fleeting joy from the blood, death and glory of past wars and challenges.

Chivalry.

His only vice.

A mistress of sorts.

She startles when the man's repose is disturbed and he coughs, pale and disoriented blue eyes fluttering open in confusion and fear. He remembers jousts, challenges, excruciation and oblivion.

She looks towards the end of the hall that they both occupy and gets up, her skirts fluttering on the floors and sending up the barest hint of a breeze. Walking before him, she softly leans down so as to not strain his gaze and enquires about his rest.

He answers in kind and just as she is about to take her leave, he asks if he may trouble her for some water.

She brings it to him and watches him drink.

Ivanhoe is clumsy, spilling a large quantity of it down his own garments and his hands shake with the effort of supporting the heavy vessel. She quickly advances to assist him and observes beads of sweat standing out on his brow from that mere exertion. Resting a tender hand against his forehead, she feels her breath catch in her throat when the chill of her skin causes him to flinch. The fever has returned.

She draws back and gently moves a few strands of hair out of his face. Once yellow and glimmering in the light of the sun, the color is now a poor grey.

She tells him that she will return with medicine and he smiles.

"I thank thee, dear Rebecca," he says softly, eyes nearly slipped shut, his previous coldness perhaps mellowed by the ailment.

Ivanhoe watches her depart, until he is alone in the room once more.

The woman wants to flee, but she knows not where nor how she will achieve it, for age, stealthily dogging her steps for those all those mindless years has finally consumed her too.

Rowena, last of the House of Alfred, stands alone amongst the shattered ruins of her empire.

The sky darkens above her and the water grows cold but she cannot move.

THE END.

XXX

So what on Earth possessed me to write a fanfic for a text that we're being forced to read in school? I have no idea. However, I was seriously angered by Ivanhoe's hypocritical attitude to Jews in the novel and especially Rebecca, so this was what came out.

She's one of the most awesome heroines you'll ever find a classic and her fate is to suffer a lonely life, heartbroken by a man whose life she saved, because of different religions.

I've never done this before and probably never will again, so any constructive criticism would be appreciated.