She was not all that into discussing her past when people politely inquired. She would just smile and shrug gracefully. A slender hand would reach up and brush back the hair from her brow revealing a jagged scar along her right temple and near her eye and fading into her cheek. That reminds me of a story I once heard..

     Once upon a time...

     There was a babe born of a famous actress. The child born at a modest estate in Laurel's Crossing on a dark and cold early winter night. The physician was called from his meal at the Black Swan Inn, about an hour or so from the estate. Outside the wind howled and the icy rain that was not yet snow fell with a vengeance. But in the morning, the sun had shown brightly, the day warmed and the newborn girl was contentedly suckled at her young mother's breast. The extended family of the Stage Troupe had long stopped questioning the young mother who the father of the babe would be. There were several rumors about a handsome young knight who had won her heart and perhaps a bit more. He was a man of arms of Count Oveletto and he had danced with the Actress at a celebration after a particularly stirring performance. Oddly though, the Count sent him away to deal with a band of highwaymen and he was never heard from since. The Actress never showed her broken heart and chose to continue to keep the name of girl's father to herself. The Girl was raised surrounded by love, each member teaching their own particular specialty. Soon they were back upon the road and performing again at Royal Courts and Village Fairs.

     Over the years members joined and members left. Hard times fell upon the Eastern Kingdoms, house rose against house and the countrymen became suspicious of their neighbor not to mention travelers from afar. The troupe hired on a swordsman for protection and he put on a good show as well. And as usual, the Girl took lessons with the blade from him. And for the first time in a long time the Mother smiled.
The Girl's mother succumbed to a fever one spring, the frail beautiful woman had not the strength to fight it off. Upon her death bed she clung to her daughter, now a young woman of Ten and Seven and a fairly good performer herself. Mother whispered to Daughter and a promise was made and then Mother was gone and Daughter felt she was alone.

     The early winter storm had caught them by surprise, the driving sleet having put them greatly off course. They sought shelter at a manor house, far from the well traveled road, the light beckoning them closer. The swordsman and several of the older members of the troupe announced their dislike for this particular manor house. Oveletto seemed to have kept quite the reputation and even moreso with the turmoil the Kingdom seemed to be experiencing. But the weather won out and they offered to perform for their supper and a night of shelter during the storm.

     Things were going rather well, the hall was filled to capacity of men at arms seeking shelter and entertainment for the night. The Swordsman kept his vigil. The Girl was a success and that is when the trouble started. For it seemed that the Count Oveletto expected more in payment for his food and his shelter than a few words of wit and prose. The music did not soothe his drunken temper and the various men at arms rather encouraged him along. The Girl refused but was about to be taken away despite the outcries of the troupe, her family. The Swordsman slipped into the shadows forgotten for the moment in the noise and commotion.

     Noise and commotion, blood and death, pain and deliverance. Her head throbbed in pain when she awoke a day or so later. The bandage upon her head and cheek evidence of an attack upon her person. The Swordsman continued his vigil. The Daughter was not alone. When she was well enough to travel they did just that. Making their way west and south to the border. They learned of the prices upon their heads but of the Count they could not learn if he was alive or dead.

     Three years passed and in a simple village the Swordsman took a fever. No healers were available to be called upon. The local physician of a very old and very barbaric school of learning brought out the leeches to drain the fever's poison. Perhaps it was too much, perhaps it was not enough, the Swordsman passed quietly in the night, extracting a promise from the Young Woman. Keep moving he told her, do not stop until it is safe. You will know...

     And so she did for another two years.. She kept moving. She would pause here and there, selling her skills of swordsmanship, reading and writing, sometimes a tall tale would be enough for a meal. Always she was watchful and kept moving.

     Until she happened upon the lands of Dunbouri. A tavern in the woods with seats composed of tree stumps and a rather interesting crowd. She found herself drawn to them and each day she told herself it was time to leave, she also found another reason to stay. Thus is how she looked at life from day to day. Not trying to question the Lady's plan of her life's tapestry.

     What twists and turn her life's thread took within the Brotherhood of the Rose. A young woman matured under many guiding hands of the senior officers and those that became her Mentors as well. It was during one of these turns that she met Harithin Scar. A wandering Dragon Hunter looking for his missing Brother.

     It had all happened so quickly that night and the weeks to follow. An armored man hunting down a dragonette and threatening anyone that protected it. Grace and the others had cornered him forcing him to surrender. But instead of surrendering peacefully, he instead threw himself upon her blade, dying almost instantly. His remains were seen too and in the aftermath Harithin had come in looking for the very man that had died. She had not been with the brotherhood for very long, still used to being a spy for hire, the lie left her lips before she could pull it back. But the Lady had her way of weaving the truth to the surface. At first Harithin wanted to kill her and stalked her for weeks. No amount confession from her lips would ease the pain he felt. Only with the help of a priest of war would he believe her words and then it only made him feel worse. The Lady however had slowly woven their threads together and as winter settled upon the land, love settled within their hearts.

     So many changes within the Brotherhood, so many changes within her. Grace was soon honored with a request to lead the Brotherhood as the Grand Commander. Harithin honored her with his love and a vow to give up the Dragon Hunter's life. He built a forge at the Dozing Dragon Inn and his business prospered. The Brotherhood enjoyed peaceful times. It was not long after that she learned that she and Harithin would soon have a child. How scared she had been to tell him, how proud he was when he learned the news. Soon they were wed. Blissful newly weds and together they created a beautiful pattern with their lives.

     So much they had survived together. Grace gave birth to a healthy Son. How blessed their lives. How unexpected the dark turn that shattered their fairy tale life together. The Lady's choice to cut his thread so suddenly from their pattern stunned her to silence for many days. The Dragon Hunter giving his life to protect countless others. Could it have been any other way with him?

     A single mother now, she leads the Brotherhood through a time of peace. Minor intrusions of darkness were quickly dealt with as she waited patiently for what the Lady had planned next for her, her son Andrick and the Brotherhood of the Rose.

...and not until the loom is silent, and the shuttles cease to fly
Will The Weaver unroll the pattern, and explain the reasons why...