Back in Westmore.
[At some point, it looks like you will hit Westmore and be there a couple of days. We'll assume that you make your report to the Duke in relative public, and do a little visiting in the palace an old friend....]
"Paris!" Lorraine squealed in her ear as she hugged her friend. "I am so glad you are back safe." She backed off, smiling at her. "We fairy princesses do worry about our friends out on their adventures, you know. So, tell me, where have you been? Who have you seen?"
[Presume Paris fills Lorraine in on something about where she has been.]
Lorraine watched as Paris spoke, slowly beginning to frown. "Er, Paris. I guess you just got here? Has ... has anyone told you about Ewen yet?"
Paris' throat caught. "No," she said quietly, as calmly as she could muster.
Lorraine looked serious. "I guess I'm the one to tell you. It's..." She stopped speaking suddenly, her eyes wide and looking over Paris' shoulder. Paris realized she had heard a heavy tramp behind her, and whirled, hand darting to the hilt of her sword. A flurry of lace and hair blurred past her, as she saw Lorraine propel herself against Jules. In the moment before the young girl hit her target, Paris saw that he was still dressed for the road, but his scabbard was empty.
In the moments that Paris took to get herself under control, there was beginning to be a twitter from the surrounding servants. Lorraine was practically plastered against Jules, and she looked like she seriously enjoyed kissing him. "Lady Lorraine," the senior housekeeper spoke a bit louder. "Lord Chivar." They didn't seem to be able to budge the two.
Part of Paris tried to rejoice for her friends' closeness, knowing all too well how a kiss might not seem long enough. She tried to concentrate on that although the cold lump that seemed to weigh so heavily in her chest was asking whether or not she would ever again feel that kind of welcome in an embrace. Lorraine had been so serious. So very serious. Which meant -- bad news.
She couldn't swallow. Almost it seemed impossible to breathe. Ewen. In trouble? Trouble -- come to Ewen? What -- could have happened? To -- Ewen!?! "Oh God..." the correction came almost without thought, "Binah! Please help me bear whatever has happened. Help me ... help. He helped me through one grief; don't .. let me disgrace him again. I -- love him. Help me do, believe, accept -- whatever -- I must!"
She started to see the figures in front of her again. Jules, safe. Lorraine, so obviously committed to Jules. Paris had -- suspected -- that Lorraine had tried to hide her commitment -- her love. Suspected but hadn't spoken. Paris knew what it was like to not want to let the world know her heart's desires. She'd respected the same in Lorraine. But ... she noted the emotions around her moving towards the scandalized. The housekeeper's glance. She, Paris, was expected to -- save her friends from scandal? Although -- Jules deserved a welcome home. And Lorraine deserved to know his feelings. But -- why was his sword missing? What more news would have to be gone through before it would be fair to -- find out what -- had happened to Ewen?
Somehow she got past the choke in her throat, the part of her still gasping and caressing His name. She -- tried to make herself be the part she was of the scene before her. Her voice -- did not quite sound like it came from her -- firm, warm -- saying -- what was proper. "Guardian. Welcome home from the rest of us as well."
They pulled apart at that. Lorraine was crying, she could see, tracks of tears down her cheeks. Around Paris the other women twittered, words that she didn't understand or really hear. "Thank you, Paris," Jules said, finally, still looking at Lorraine.
Lorraine brushed at one of her cheeks, noting the moisture. "You stay here, you understand?" she said, voice still creaky, as she swatted at the young knight. Grabbing her dress in both hands and lifting the hem slightly, she ran from the room, one of the servants following her, still saying something utterly ignore-able.
Jules watched the young girl run away. "Although those here may not welcome our return, when they find out we have not yet finished what we set out to do." He turned to her. "Maybe you can give some hints. We..." He was interrupted by the side door opening.
"Sir Jules. It is pleasant to have you visit us; we have been worried about you." Lady duGryphon strode into the room, and with one flick of her eyes the servants quieted down. "Sir Paris. Always a pleasure to have you here, as well." Her eyes darted up and down, stopping to stare a moment at the line of Jules' clothing, rumpled out of place where her daughter had just been. One eyebrow raised, and Jules unconsciously began to straighten himself, while speaking a greeting in return to the Lady. "Does my daughter know you are here?" she asked, not missing a beat. "Irene, would you be so good as to let my daughter know that Sir Jules is here?" The servant opened her mouth once to speak, thought better of it, and hurried off in search of Lorraine. "Now, Lord Chivar, please tell us where your travels have taken you? But leave out the details of the sword play, if you will."
Jules swallowed once. "The Tarot, Lady Gryphon. We have been traveling to each of the Majors, to learn what we can of them. To become Keys, and, well, members of our Orders. It has taken us," and he nodded at Paris, "beyond the edges of our world, beneath it, and to all places in between. We are still a few steps behind Paris, sorry, Sir Paris, and her companions."
Lorraine took that moment to sweep back into the room. Her eyes were clear, although Paris noted that the makeup had been removed from her eyes, though she still looked lovely. "Sir Jules," she said, executing a curtsey.
Paris said, "The Tarot must be found. If I and my companions fail, if we do not survive, then Tara's best hope," she glanced at Lorraine and approval tinged her tone, "rides with Sir Jules and his companions." Paris turned her full attention on the other knight. "It does not truly matter who makes it first; just that the task must be done. If there is any help I am able to give you, Sir Jules, I am happy to do so."
Jules smiled. "You already have, Sir Paris. The journals left of your travels have been invaluable in our search. Although there are differences, and perhaps some details left out. Kivan's test of Strength was different than the notes indicated, the Hermit had moved a bit, to the seashore, that sort of thing. Rather than teaching me the ability you have to sense evil, he gave me this bit of gold he found washed up." From a very protected pocket he pulled out a small package of cloth that he carefully unwrapped. It was a piece of gold foil, about half an inch square, showing two keys, much like those at the foot of the Heirophant card. "I don't know what to do with them yet, unfortunately."
"How many of the Tarot have you visited, Sir Jules?" Lady duGryphon asked.
Jules looked up at Paris as he replied. "Twelve."
"Including the Fool?" Paris' question was almost a statement. She watched Jules carefully.
He shook his head. "No, I hadn't included him. Hard to believe he is a Major."
Paris nodded. "I didn't think so," she added softly.
If it was the 12th Major he had meant, then he had just come from Justice and the look he had given her might mean that he wanted a chance to discuss meeting Death with her. And -- she restrained herself from glancing at Lorraine -- she should have no doubt that he would not want that discussion to take place in present company. She held back a sigh. She herself wanted so much to have just a word more with Lorraine in private. She swallowed.
Keeping her voice as conversational as she could, "I suspect each person's test with their Order's Major will differ in detail from that of any who came before. Given the limit of the Orders' numbers even when full, those tests are no doubt needed to ensure those numbers are filled appropriately." She looked intently at the other knight. "There are, I suspect, things each of us have learned that would aid the other. I would like to have some time to have such a discussion with you." She smiled and, this time, glanced at Lorraine. "But I suspect that there are other discussions more pressing at this moment."
Jules looked between Paris and Lorraine with a torn expression. "I... all are pressing. But, yes, I will look for you when I can. It is serious. You still stay near Jouet Square? I have other clues, and don't yet know how to use them."
Lorraine had calmed herself from her earlier appearance. She looked from Jules to Paris and her forehead wrinkled. "Sir Paris," she said, glancing at her mother. "I did not finish telling you. I am sorry." She paused, glancing again at her mother, to see if someone would get her out of delivering the bad news. Paris' throat and chest constricted again. "Ewen's father died yesterday. The ... the doctors said it was failure of the liver."
Paris closed her eyes momentarily. Something in her -- inexpressibly relieved --was singing, "Not Ewen, not Ewen!" Another part was warning that Ewen had cared about his father, even such a father, and that much would have changed, that Baron Justin had not been the ogre she'd once thought him. [And, of course, she had danced with him one night, one night when he wasn't an ogre and the bottle was behind him.] Ewen would have to take up the mantle of Baron -- just as Evan had had suddenly to become the Duke. What he had wanted as a youth he might no longer think appropriate with his man's responsibilities and honours. He -- might have changed. In just one night? Firmly Paris put aside her feelings and doubts. No matter what, she would -- he would -- somehow they would work it out. She had to see him, to offer whatever support he would take of her -- as he had done for her last winter.
Trying to steady her voice, Paris looked at Lorraine. "Th-thank you for telling me. I -- should go and offer my respects to the Baroness and her family." She tried hard to keep her lip from trembling. "I - I know what it is like to lose a father after illness."
Lorraine bit her lip, and looked briefly at her mother. Paris thought for a moment she was going to start crying again, but the girl, no, woman, held it back.
"Sir Jules, we have much to talk about." Steadying, she looked up at the young man. "As we both need to continue the quest as soon as we are able, I will try to be available when you have time. Those at the house at Jouet Square will know where I can be found, or, if you find it more convenient, I will see that my brother knows. He, most likely, will be studying with Artificer Irolo here in the palace."
Jules nodded. "I'll find you at Jouet Square. Hope you still have whoever was best at figuring out the riddles of the Hanged Man."
"Please forgive me, my lady," Paris made her obeisance to Lady duGryphon. "I should go where my duty and my heart urge." She smiled though her eyes were sober. "Thank you for your hospitality. May the gods bless you all."
Lady duGryphon nodded curtly. "Pray tell the Baroness our thoughts are with her."
At the great door of the deLacey house, Paris again straightened her travel clothes as best she could. Then she knocked. To the servant who opened the door she gave a quiet smile. "Could you please tell me if Baroness deLacey or Sir Ewen are receiving visitors? If so, please tell the lady that Paris de Astraea is here to offer condolences to the deLacey family."
The young woman who opened the door looked at her with eyes red from crying, and appeared to recognize her. "Sir Ewen is out, Sir Paris. If you will wait, I will ask the Baroness." Paris found herself standing in the entry hall, the building fairly silent, as the servant ran off. In a few minutes, she was escorted into the courtyard of the building, where a lone woman draped in black sat on a low bench among the roses.
"Thank you for coming, Sir Paris," the woman's voice, tired, said to her. She gestured at the bench for Paris to sit, and she waited.
Paris sat down and said, gently, "Thank you for receiving me, Baroness, in this time of sorrow. I have just returned to Westmore and, having been told of your sad news, wanted to offer my sympathy. You and your family have given me a great many happy hours here in Westmore and, though I never had a chance to get to know Lord Justin, the night I danced with him I count one of the happiest of my adult life. He is entwined in a very pleasant memory for me. I -- know that every sorrow is -- very individual. And that it's difficult at first to find comfort anywhere. But -- I hope -- that knowing your husband is part of someone's bright memory will -- be of comfort sometime. I -- wish I could be of help to you."
"Thank you, Sir Paris," the Baroness replied, voice quiet and dying off into silence. The silence hung for several moments before she turned to look from her roses to the young knight. Paris looked into a face much older than the one she had seen the last time she was in this garden. "What will you be doing now, Sir Paris? How will you...help...my son now?" She paused again, fighting something. "Can you do what the Duke cannot, and see my husband buried properly, laid at rest in a proper church?" She turned back to face her roses. Though the woman's shoulders were still, she could see the woman's knuckles white as they grasped the cloth of her mourning gown, twisting it tightly, painfully, as Paris had once abused a napkin.
Paris held her breath to keep it from hissing through her teeth at the painful realization. This, then, was another tool of the excommunication. No marrying. No burying. How cruel the White Church of Westmore had become! And how unjust!! Could she hope that this was why Death was coming to Westmore? To set the church straight? Or was that sheer wishful thinking? Did Death even know that the church had come to this -- hurting the innocent for political ends? Would it matter?
She took a deep breath. "My lady, I do not know what help I can be, but I am a knight who draws her power from the same source as does the White Church. I will pray -- and see what might be done. I want to help you and your son in any way I can.
As Paris was leaving, retrieving her horse from the stables, another rider appeared at the gate. There was a snort from Beaujolais, as he recognized the other horse as quickly as she did its rider. He practically leaped from his saddle, and a moment later she found herself crushed in a hug. "God, Paris, I'm glad you're back," Ewen said, and stood there rocking her back and forth.
Paris clung to him, hugging him back, wanting to be close. Relief and joy flooded through her at this tangible proof that he was all right, that those heart-stopping moments with Lorraine had been all her own imagination. "Oh, Ewen, I have missed you so!" she said. "And I am so sorry for this trouble that has come upon you. I have missed you." She blinked the tears back.
That was all the time they had as a servant came trotting up. "Sir Ewen, your mother asked..."
"Cliffhanger" copyright 2000 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.