Hurry-Up-And-Wait, Part 1
It was the first of the hurry-up-and-wait waits that followed the aftermath of the Party's encounter with the doppelganger creature. Paris looked from grim-faced Silverlocke to the unconscious princess he guarded. Yes, they had saved the princess -- if you could call it that. What kind of 'saving' was this? If someone could not devise a cure, the Party had -- probably literally -- saved her Highness' face, but not herself. How would the Prince feel to have his sister in such an ensorcelled condition? How would she feel if that were Calais lying there!?! Paris shivered and her eyes went to where her brother stood listening to Anton's observations on escaping from a burning roof. Lithe and lively Calais -- to be thus? Paris' gaze returned to the princess. It would drive her wild, Paris acknowledged. Wild to be a-doing whatever it took to restore him to himself.
Real Girl spoke softly in Paris' mind: This, then, is the added grief you will place on our Prince's shoulders -- on top of all the other grief, stress, trials he has to bear.
Paris nodded.
Serious spoke, as gently as was possible for her: Then grieve for Him, knowing that He will no more show his grief than you could in such a place.
RG, with a slight sarcastic edge: Human of you to say so. And then -- is it not time to think more on the further grief you have planned for him?
SP: Not grief. Relief. Soon -- soon our guilt will be purged. He will have whatever He wants of me in exchange. I will make my confession, ask my questions, and -- it will be in our Prince's hands.
RG: In his hands -- already burdened by this orcish war, his sister magically comatose, our duke incapacitated, a shape-changing Creature free to wreak havoc, human 'monsters' in his own court, and the Warlord bearing down who knows where? And who has he to aid him? Has he found more of your precious Order to help him bear all this -- as well as you and your confession!?!
Paris looked up almost blindly and gulped, then managed to put voice to one quiet question for Silverlocke. "Lord Silverlocke, pardon my asking, but would you be able to tell me if you or the Prince located any more members of our Orders these weeks past?" He spared only a glance for Paris, and continued to scan the street and houses. "Just you and Miller," he said. "No one else."
Paris set herself to scan in the opposite direction. The internal dialogue continued unhesitatingly.
RG: See! You say 'He will have whatever He wants of me'. But what he really wants and needs is a good soldier -- not a self-appointed martyr!" It may be a relief for you, but not for him. And I doubt that it will be for you, afraid and grieving for yourself ever since you brought this on yourself!
Serious, with a strangled tone: No! Not a martyr! And not a burden. No! But I am guilty and it is Right for Him to pass judgement.
RG: Perhaps it is his right, but is it good and necessary? Or are you willingly giving the Sir Avenals more fuel to tear him down?
SP: No! How can you keep saying that? I do not willingly give the Sir Avenals aught but courtesy. How could you think that I would want to be an embarrassment to our Prince?
RG, in a voice tinged with amazed discovery: Attention. You want his attention. And because he will only see you in court, it must be Order business. Do you even know that he wants Order business paraded in court, in front of his enemies?
SP: No! It just seemed right to do it as soon as possible.
RG: Right? Right?! That's your only and continual answer to all this? You take it upon yourself to say a confession is right, but you do not believe your original decision to help Genelle was right?
SP, miserably: Yes, no, I don't know.
RG: Yes, you do! It was right to help Genelle. The only wrong was not telling his Highness that was your intent and promise. A soldier and an officer must sometime make decisions and, live or die, stand by those decisions. Why do you think the Prince wants you trained? To blindly follow orders forever? Any bearer of horse fodder can do that! That is not what training for knighthood is for!
SP: But I am not a knight. I am just learning what they learn.
RG, disgusted: You've said that before. He intends you to take the test. Lorraine's voice chimed in, "The boys all know that you are going to be made a knight.' RG picked up again: If it is war, the Prince will need his knights as leaders -- not sheep!
SP, whispering: If I really could believe... if He really felt I was worthy of -- ennoblement... I wish -- I would.... Her voice grew stronger: It does not matter. I would die for Him no matter what! What more could I do? I am not Anton to fly or sing, I am not Calais to caper, or a mage to set off illusions and defenses. Paris shook her head. Serious continued: I am Paris, only Paris, who wants nothing better than to please Him.
RG, resoundingly: Then plague him not with your weakness, but resolve to be the best servant and knight to him that it is in us to be! Learn from your mistakes and do better!
SP, quietly: But shall not my guilt hang over me until I can confess? Will it not drain all that I am?
RG: If you find such a thing so debilitating, than how dare you be a fighter or think that you can ever serve? Surely others have borne worse and risen higher? Has the Prince ever faltered?
SP: But when -- when will it be appropriate to keep my promises, ask my questions, and make confession?
RG: When the Prince says it is time. Has he not made opportunity heretofore? Trust him as he trusts you.
Paris found herself whispering, "He trusts me -- to do the best I can. My poor prince."
Real Girl got in a parting shot: And while you're at it, practise a bit more courtesy. Brillig saved your life! And Anton might oblige better to a 'please' than to a harsh handwave for silence. Hmmm?
Hurry-Up-And-Wait, Part 2
After another round of 'hurry up' while guarding the Princess.
Paris settled back down into quiet watchfulness. As her eyes scanned the row of houses, a pattern of light and shadow on wood planking caught her eye with distant familiarity. Suddenly Pierre's voice was saying with quiet sadness, "Sometimes, child, you choose to do something and you must live with the results. That is why you must think carefully before you leap." Paris felt the memory of tears stinging her scraped cheek. She remembered hurting for more than a day. And not just the cheek. She'd been a little tyke then and, for a week or so, her father had worked the big garden that came up to the goat shed. There'd been a retaining wall there -- almost shoulder-high on Pierre. She'd hung around playing near that week because her father would let her fetch him his water when he took his breaks. And after his lunch, he'd hoist her to the top of the wall and praise her balance and her fearlessness as she walked it. Then, at the end, he'd hold out his arms and she'd jump into them, thrilled at the sense of accomplishment, the sense of flight, and the warm hug that ended it. The next week he'd worked the next field over and she'd had to stay close to home. But she'd met him every evening at the edge of the restraining wall. It took her a couple of days, but eventually she'd found a combination of old feed bucket, angled support beam, and a few knotholes in the goat shed which made a good enough ladder that she was able to scramble up to the low roof and then scramble over -- with a small almost-scary hop -- to the top of the retaining wall. There she'd waited, swinging her feet. When Pierre came into view, shovel slung over one shoulder, she stayed still, hoping to surprise him. Excitement overcame her and she had nearly danced on the wall, calling, "Papa, Papa!" But he was no where near close enough when she'd launched herself in his direction -- and she had gotten a definite lesson in the school of hard knocks. "But I taut Papa 'ud catch me!" she had sobbed into his sweat-stained shirt.
Yes. Real Girl spoke up. You do really well on your own, usually. Why is it that as soon as someone else is there to take responsibility, you so blithely expect them to take it all? When you took the card, you had a lot of confidence in your new found understanding of law and obligations. But once the Prince showed up, you expect him to make all the choices for you.
Serious: That is not true. I do acknowledge, however, that He has the right to pass judgement on all I do if He so chooses.
RG, astringently: But don't you know what some of the answers -- these so-called judgements -- might be?
Paris considered. What rules had the Order to deal with members who did wrong or who betrayed the Order? As her mind cleared into stillness, the answer was there waiting.
Those who fail to maintain the precepts of the Order in the eyes of the divine will find their powers no longer work. In one case, and Paris could not find that she knew the story related to it, the order badge itself had shattered. In minor cases (sleeping through church, for example) there was a penance proscribed...and if she could think clearly about an infraction, she could try to determine what the penance should be. Those who failed, but failed with sword swinging, so to speak, were honored.
There was a mental gasp from Serious: That - that means that - that I haven't yet seriously transgressed against the Order. Else - else the Duke.... Paris shivered.
RG, smug: Told you.
SP: Hush. I need to concentrate. What - what is the penalty for -- disobeying a direct order?
As she considered the questions the scales appeared again. It split into three sets. The one on the left was piled with cases of those who disobeyed orders on one side and their lords on the other; and the scales tipped to the lords. Look as she might, she did not see any with her Order badge among the guilty. For that scale, she could see and punishments meted -- from loss of status to imprisonment to slavery to exile to death. On the right, the scale was opposite, in favor of those who disobeyed; as she examined the cases, she could see one where the order was not heard over the din of the battle, one where the lord had gone mad and the officer had to disobey the order to save the lord. There were fewer cases in these scales, and again none with her Order badge. Perhaps in this matter there was no difference to Justice in whether someone was a member of the Order or not.
The third scale has but a single case on it...but she could not make sense of it before it shimmered. The upper pan was suddenly filled with orcs and men, all who were...guilty for following orders?
Both the left and right scales had troops routed in combat; on the left they were guilty, on the right not, and she could not see the difference. As her head started to hurt, unable to see the differences, the scales faded away leaving Serious Paris and Real Girl looking to one another in confusion.
RG: What about Lorraine's question? Lorraine's voice seemed to come from some distance. "Find out if you have to give up boys entirely. I can't believe that."
Paris frowned at her own reluctance, and then, slowly, concentrated. What rules had the Order on fraternization -- on fraternization with other Orders or with civilians?
As she thought about fraternization, Paris became clearly aware that there were certain precepts of moral behavior by which she has to abide (and she blushed at some of the infractions!). But, try as she might, she could not come up with any Order rules on nobles, non-nobles, marriage, etc., other than the proper behavior. The Order... came first in some way, but it did not preclude life and love.
RG, softly: So .. you can't have someone like Jules.
Serious stiffened: No.
RG, echoed, still softly: No. Not someone who wants their wife to think them the be-all and end-all. We will never be able to give a man that. That is part of what you're afraid of, isn't it? That was wrapped up in droit de seignieur, wasn't it? You would rather be alone than be someone's 'little wife'.
SP, brusquely: Yes. I -- am -- walking a path that has not been trod since Queen Branwen. And, though it seems blasphemy to stand myself next to Her -- that -- is -- what I would do -- if I am able. To guard, preserve, and strengthen my Prince and His kingdom, with god's help and will.
RG, laughingly: I almost expect to hear trumpets.
Paris smiled a small smile to herself.
RG, quickly: So... if there are no rules against it, and Love and Life are not forbidden, all we have to do is to find someone you want to kiss! Ewen...
Serious, protesting: Wait! This is not license to become Lorraine... to become what we are not. It -- would not become us. Simplicity still marks our station. After all, there is a dichotomy between the Order then and the Order now...there are some differences in the world. I would know from Him whether all is to be as it was. Do not presume too much!
RG, unhappily: But don't you want what Papa and Maman had? Don't you want a soul mate?
SP: Someone to fight at my side and with whom I can share my uncertainties and my -- successes? Yes! But that is a treasure to strive for, a harvest worth cultivating. If one picks the flower too soon, one will never have the fruit.
RG, pouted: And if one fails to water the plant one has neither flower nor fruit. You don't even know what plants to look at!
SP, quietly: If we look for others who ought to be in the Orders, that would be a good start.
RG, still huffy: Then think more carefully when you censor us -- or praise yourself. You, the Prince, Lord Silverlocke, and Rhori Miller are all the examples you have!
SP: No one knows better than I how far I fail in meeting our ideals.
RG: Is it even possible to become an ideal? Anton obviously doesn't believe the chansons he sings.
SP: It is possible to try. And to try and fail -- and to go down swinging -- has got to be better than to be content with what one can just 'get by on'. I think that is what the Rule was trying to say. Besides, what is the Ideal in Love in the chansons that has any relation to us? The lais all tell of how a man is supposed to behave; his lady is to be 'inspiring' and urge him to go out to do worthy deeds, deeds of honourable valour and prowess. What guide is there for me? Am I supposed to find a boy who will inspire me to great deeds while he sits on the sidelines? I just don't see it. How does that suit my ideal? That's not what Papa and Maman had. They worked together, he in his way, she in hers. Show me that, and I will let you kiss him.
RG: I'll hold you to that!
"Hurry Up & Wait" copyright 1999 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.