Paris' Return
The audience with Duke Evan was over. Almost blindly Paris moved towards the halls that led -- oh, such happy familiarity! -- back towards the duGryphon's suites in the castle.
Grief surged, battered, shredded at the memory Paris still held: Mia, blond, naturally pale in her pastel rainbow robes, saying, "Prince William sent a message just for you. You are not to believe any rumours of his death that you may hear." Rumours. She had figured from that that he intended to let people believe him dead -- and he had. Heaven knew why! Someone would tell her someday what he had done. But -- it had not helped. Or perhaps it had. She could not know what he had intended. But he was dead anyway ... unless...? Could he have possibly faked a second death? Was there any possibility at all that Louis would not have known the head of his own younger brother? A brother he'd known all of William's life? It did not seem likely. Something rose inside, choking her and she fought not to break down, not to sob. To cling to the hope that she'd held when Duke Evan had first turned to her with that sad look. "I have bad news for you," he'd said. She half expected what he would say. Mia had given her that much warning. She'd wondered how she was supposed to react to the expected deception. Which made the rest of it all that much harder.
Paris blinked hard, and paused against the stone of the castle hallway, wanting support somewhere. Duke Evan had been best friends to Prince William. She tried to think about that. The news must have hit him even harder. But she felt like a shriveled leaf swept into a raging storm-stream. What had William been to her? Her benefactor, her leader, her patron, her ideal, her ... the words were too poor. Far too poor. He -- had been everything she -- admired. Again she fought down the tears. But, she tried to remind herself, he had been even more to Evan, to Carline, to Martin. Perhaps even to Louis. She almost strangled on the desire to curse that name and realized that she couldn't. She had as good as promised William that she would stay neutral, that the Order would stay neutral. He had wanted it and she had sworn her fealty to him. Fealty. She was now a 'masterless man.' William's face looked down through the haze of brilliant light from his outstretched sword, gazing at her, blue eyes into blue eyes, as it had when she had sworn that oath. He had made her his 'hand' then and, fealty gone or no, she was still his until she swore to another.
To the hand who had taken his life? When? When had it happened? It seemed that mourning was over now. And surely Westmore had mourned even if Louis had not. Paris squeezed her eyes tight shut, leaning her forehead for a moment against the smooth cool stone. She would not cry here. She would find a place. Somewhere else. Somewhere where she could let herself think about how much he had meant to her. How much she had hoped to see him happy. To ... to ... it didn't matter now. She'd simply have to do what she'd told him she'd do. It was all she had to give his memory.
Paris swallowed convulsively once, twice. Then her chin lifted and her shoulders squared. One hand wiped away the tear that had insisted on escaping. She pressed that finger to her mouth. "It's not goodbye yet," she thought. "Not yet."
'Not yet' echoed with her footsteps, kept pace as she climbed the stairs towards the duGryphon's quarters.
The young woman who stood at the duGryphon's door was thinner and shabbier than the one who'd cross that threshold three months or so before. The dark curls now cascaded down her back -- and all the discipline she could muster could not keep the heartbreak from her deep blue eyes. But she tried to smile as she thought of seeing these dear people again, and that smile managed to turn up the corners of her mouth. She could feel the muscles move -- as though it would always take an effort for them to exercise so again. But she knew better. She had learned to smile again after Papa. And after Maman and Jouet. This too would pass. They would all meet again someday -- when Dying came for her. Then she knocked. The small smile was still there when the door opened.
"Yes?" The dark eyes of the housekeeper stared uncomprehendingly at Paris for several moments before the shock of recognition passed over her face. "Miss Sir Paris!" she gasped, then composed herself. "If'n you're looking for Miss Lorraine, she is down the hall. Would... would you like me to take you there?" She led Paris down the corridor to another room on the same floor, past a pair of guards in the Gryphon's livery. Paris checked her belt alignment with an automatic gesture, smoothing her tunic as part of the process.
The housekeeper rapped once on a door and opened it. Paris was just entering the room as the housekeeper was saying "Miss Lorraine, it is Sir Paris here to see you."
A fire blazed to keep the room warm, despite the window open to let the late afternoon sunlight stream in. Seven or eight young women, none more than twelve years old she thought, stood in the room with books on their head. Lorraine had turned to look as Paris entered the room; her friend's forehead wrinkled momentarily in concern. She was dressed in some heavy dress in the Duke's blue, with a golden gryphon embroidered on the chest. She was holding a book in one arm; after a moment of looking at Paris, she smoothed out her face and turned back to the other girls. "Sir Paris," she stressed sternly at them. Two of them opened their eyes wide, and all began a curtsey. Three of them dropped books, while the others managed to catch theirs before they hit the floor. "Greetings, Sir Paris," they spoke in a ragged chorus. Lorraine looked sternly at them. "Put your books on the table, you are all excused to prepare for dinner."
It took several moments for the young girls to scamper out of the room. The two with the wide open eyes kept staring at Paris all the time as they left, edging past, not sure whether to get close or not, but clearly fascinated. After the last left the room there was a squeal from Lorraine, and Paris found herself in a diminutive bear hug. "You're back! You're back! God, we were all so worried about you." She pulled herself back a bit. "You look terrible, you know." Lorraine looked to the housekeeper. "Can you get us something warm to drink? And very sweet? We'll be in my room."
Lorraine had moved back into the room that Cordelia had once occupied, the large room right on the interior courtyard. Paris smiled inside, remembering past occasions in this room. Down the hall, she could hear the high pitched chatter of the younger girls who were staying with the Gryphons as they prepared for the evening.
Lorraine sipped on the steaming sweet tea. "I'm helping mom with some of the classes. Working with the youngest girls. What happened to you? I can't believe you were out there in some of the storms we have had this winter. I mean, I heard back about the mine town, so we'd heard about you. You got hurt fighting a demon! Did it hurt you badly? Are you all right? Well, we knew you had gone on, something important to do, but we thought you were going to be back before now..."
More than the heat of the drink, laced with a trace of some sweet wine, the bubbling, nonstop talking of her friend warmed something inside of Paris that she hadn't realized was cold and grim. And it was still, she almost smiled, still as difficult to direct the conversation as ever.
"I thought we'd be back before now too. I should ask Sir Gryphon to let me sit in on the logistics classes again. Clearly I am a poor judge of distance and time -- and the hard enemy that is weather." Paris looked at her friend. Softly she added, "It is good to be home." And good simply to let her friend's chatter wash over her. It only took occasional nods and smiles -- the type she could manage -- to keep the information flowing. So good .. so warming ....
[S: Paris will, of course, want to know the news from Lorraine's and the senior Gryphon's points of view. She'll want to get in touch with Jules. And you said that a knight on a black horse would eventually come riding to the castle....]
[GM: Well, the basics from Lorraine: Jules (and the others from her class) was knighted by the Duke after the official mourning period was over. He has since traveled west of here on some sort of adventure-- quest-- or another. The only messages from east of Fort Carcassonne are military/ official. However, it does seem that Roderick has been knighted-- perhaps by his father the earl-- and is fighting with the Second. A few of the classmates that we haven't named are betrothed to wed sometime soon. Jules and Lorraine ... well, nothing has been said. It seems that Jules feels he has to wait until the succession is settled, to know who his Order must report to.]
"I -- want to hear all about the knightings. And Jules becoming a member of the Order..." Paris listened intently, prompting gently when it seemed appropriate to ask about if 'anything had been said'. Paris had not been on the other side of Lorraine's promptings not to know somewhat of how that was done.
"Well, Jules' was the first one after the period of mourning, of course." Lorraine paused in her chatter, introspective for a moment. "And we knew by then that the Council had broken up without a decision. It didn't put as much of a pall over the ceremonies as there was at Ewen's, when we didn't know what had happened with all of you." She sighed. "There I was, in exactly the place I had envisioned, seated with his family. I had a stunning dark blue dress to set off against his white. Jules was there, in his place on the carpet, dressed all in white, the Duke and Marion...it was all as it was supposed to be, but it didn't feel at all like I thought it would. There was war behind everything, and his mom wasn't there of course, and he wore that symbol of your Order...it felt much more, more," and she struggled to find the right word, "serious. If mom hadn't been at the party afterwards, I think they would have discussed nothing but the upcoming fighting. Jules is...well, we are just waiting on everything until we see what happens. Don't tell anyone, but, well, I don't know what he will do if Louis takes over your Order."
Paris nodded, her face serious. "That is something that I would like to talk over with Jules when next we meet," she said.
Lorraine shook herself out of her funk and picked up as she continued describing the other knighting ceremonies.
"Lastly," Paris was almost able to get a note of teasing into her voice, "I will ask. Tell me of Ewen. How have these months treated him?"
Lorraine grinned at her. "Ewen, Ewen. You mean the deLacey boy?" She laughed, but it was, Paris thought, forced, and her face straightened. "He was elated when he got back from the Tauban mine. Showed up alone the LongNight ball, kept looking out windows and the door. He told me later that he kept expecting you to sweep in at the last minute in some sort of magic vehicle, flying horse, or something. I heard he got drunk the next day. Well, officially he was just ill. Then he got, well, mad. Not at you, I don't think. But there was an episode; he was discussing supplies with one of Avenal's sons. Ewen was in for his father, discussing harvests and the man made a bad joke about not having enough wine with Ewen's father watching over it. There were a couple of other fights he got into. I kind of think he was angry and out of sorts. He's been quieter the last few weeks. We talked once. I know he's been worried, he kept wondering if I'd heard anything from Cynthia that you had passed by Tauban again. His mother, well, has been inviting various ladies over." She reached over to grab Paris' hand. "I think he was wondering if you were ever coming back. Last week there was a little dance here at the palace. He escorted Giselle."
"Drunk?! Ewen? Because I...?" Paris felt a little sick. "We - we had such a lovely conversation in Gilliam that last night. I - I have thought of it often. And we joked about escorting each other to LongNight if neither of us was questing. But -- it's been a hard winter. I -- didn't mean to stand him up. I -- want him to enjoy life, to -- be the best he can be. But...," she paused. Very quietly, "I need to think about this." She shook herself a little and looked at Lorraine. "Who is Giselle? I don't recall...," she started in a conversational tone.
"Oh, you may not remember her. She was in the class before us." Lorraine continued chatting about the woman, who apparently was one of the ones being pushed at Duke Evan before he announced he would marry the Princess. Very well placed. [Although not related to anyone we've introduced yet.]
Paris was leaving the Gryphon's apartments when suddenly he was there, entering the corridor from the stairs. She could see the mud spatters on the lower legs, the heavy cloak still damp and steaming slightly, his cheeks red from the cold outside. Ewen's clothes, although damp, were all carefully aligned, and he held his gloves in his left hand, leaving his right free for his sword, as they had been trained. They looked at each other for several long moments, as her stomach did flip flops. Finally, voice low, he spoke. "Sir Paris," he said quietly, and stopped. A gulf of fifteen feet separated them.
"Sir Ewen," her voice reached across the gulf, the butterflies in her stomach almost painful. "I am -- glad you know me; the housekeeper did not." A ghost of a smile touched her and she moved forward a pace or two. "I -- owe you -- an apology for my poor logistics -- and, with any luck, a dance or two at least." She paused, searching his face. "It is -- good to see you again."
She could see that his jaw was tense, but he took a step forward as well. "I thought I might never see you again," he said quietly. "That perhaps the magic had failed you." He took another step forward, eyes fixed on hers. "You look well."
Paris felt shaky. The magic had failed William, not her. She blinked away the image that seared into her imagination. Ewen was here and the set of his jaw seemed to indicate that the magic had failed him too. She took another step forward and held out her hand -- in explanation or apology. "I -- was soundly defeated by -- Father Winter -- on his own battlefield. I -- am only human, Ewen, not magic. And I did not know how far away is the edge of Tara. Thank you -- for coming to welcome me home."
She closed the space between them until she could have simply reached out and touched him, her eyes searching his face for -- she didn't know what. "Or rather, thank you simply for being here. Please forgive me for not being here sooner."
There was a storm across his face as she approached, his jaw quivering tensely and his eyes beginning to water. For a moment, she stopped just a bit away from him, her hand raised partway to him; and then the storm broke. He moved forward with a quickness she barely remembered, his arms circling her, wrapping her in a bear hug with his head buried against her shoulder. "Thank you for being alive," he whispered hoarsely. They rocked back and forth for a few moments, pressed tightly together. "It doesn't matter. It just matters that you came back." Finally he pulled his head back to look at her. "Home, you said."
He glanced over her shoulder, and moved slightly apart. She noticed that he had dropped his cloak and gloves, she had dropped her shield and pack. Behind her, the guards at the duGryphon's door were looking their direction, apparently at the clatter that had been made. He reached down to gather her things, almost bumping heads with her as she did the same. The grin returned, weakly to his face. "So, when do I get these promised dances? And to hear about the battle with Father Winter?"
Paris tried to return the smile, but her eyes remained worried and she felt unsteady. She said lightly, "We'll be around for a week or so. Anton needs to learn a new spell before we can complete the current leg of our quest. I've a few questions to ask here and there. And we've discussed possibly doing some local stuff -- exploring a bit. But you're welcome to come sit at the fireside in Jouet Square and listen to us grouse about winter. The others would welcome you, no doubt, after your sharing the Gilliam adventure with us. But -- after the Gilliam adventure, there was very little adventure. Mostly weariness and weather." Then she grinned. "But ask Anton about his sky castle. You'll make his day!"
They stood up. "As for dancing -- well, Lorraine didn't tell me if there were any dances scheduled soon...." The smile had managed to touch her eyes briefly as she spoke. He was still her friend and it would be good to talk with him again. "I hope there's at least one, 'else I should fear ever to promise you a dance again." She grew serious and spoke softly, "I-- it will be good for me to have someone to really talk to, even for this little while." And a picture of William rose in her mind again.
"Winter Chills" copyright 2000 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.