Tarot Campaign

Interlude          Paris in Training

The Duke's City. First Week. Oneday.
The twitter of birds heralding the dawn woke Paris. "Chore-time," she thought, leveraging herself from the pallet. Then memory took over. This was not the loft she and Calais shared. This was a room, her own room, in the Duke's town. And the early morning light was just touching her armor. Her armor!

Excitement almost choked her. She had cleaned her armor very carefully the night before. She had been told -- Prince William had ordered -- in the very nicest way -- that she report for training this morning! The Prince who wore the same symbol the card had given her! Something almost like sadness welled up inside. The card. She could close her eyes and almost see the card leap into her hand again from out all the silver swirl. She had thought that the card had chosen her -- but -- but -- how could even a magic card chose a peasant girl to serve alongside a prince? Why would the card put her through the same ceremony it had a prince? Why would he not think it the greatest temerity in the world for her to have taken such a card from the Font? And -- yet - he hadn't seemed angry or affronted. He had seemed -- amused.

Paris started readying herself. No matter. If she amused the Prince, what harm in that? If she could serve him AND her Duke AND Justice all at the same time, she would! And proudly! Even if it was only to amuse them in watching a peasant trying to learn what a lord would already know. Even if it was just to hold their horses' reins. She'd learned a lot doing just that for the Baron's men. She'd learn here too!

Paris knelt and made her morning prayers, then went down to grab a bite from the kitchen. It would not do to be wobbly-kneed if there was work to be done, no matter how difficult excitement made choking down the bit of bread and cheese.

She worried for a while about what to take, finally taking everything. Armor, sword, hammer, bow, arrows, backpack, even a few potatoes, just in case.

As Paris walked towards the palace, her eyes drifted upwards, tracing the patterns of silvery spires against the lavender and azure of the morning sky. The spires themselves looked almost like morning prayers, lifting their arms to the loftiest of thoughts, the most noble of deeds, the most beautiful expressions of thanks to the heavens above. A smile still touched her lips as she gave her name to the dignity in charge at the palace entrance.

"Paris of Jouet, sir, daughter of Pierre, late of Jouet. Reporting for training as instructed by His Highness Prince William, sir."

The guards looked closely at the heavily burdened figure. Her name raised an eyebrow from the clerk, but a check of his notes showed that, indeed, some word had been left. Suddenly, despite the feelings of alienation she had been feeling from her friends from Jouet, she wished they were all there. A young boy was detailed to lead her to a courtyard on the ground floor. It was almost with surprise that Paris found she could make her legs follow the page.

The courtyard was next to a large gate that she had not seen before, exiting the west wall of the palace. Just next to the gate she could smell, and hear, a stable. In the courtyard itself, a dozen young men were standing around, all in armor. The page left, and she stood nervously just outside the group.

The sunlight had moved down the wall to the top of the gate doors when another figure strode into the courtyard. A powerful fighter, sure of himself, silver hair beginning to show among the black. The dozen men stopped talking and turned to watch him as he strode in. "Right," the new man said in a voice that caused her to jump in her armor, "let's get this started before it gets too hot." He seemed to notice her for the first time, and pointed. "You. Are you Paris?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, forcing herself to stand straight. Sergeant, she thought.

To her right, out of view, she could hear one of the other men chuckle. "He sounds like a girl," stretching the word out to three syllables.

"She is," the man she thought of as the sergeant replied, to which all the chuckling stopped. "Prince William has asked me to take time away from baby-sitting you bunch to check over her training."

"I'll be glad to check her training," a gruff voice chuckled from the pack of young men. A chorus of snickers replied.

The sergeant stood watching her reaction. When she didn't move from attention, he nodded. "All right, smart mouth. Get the practice swords." When nobody moved, he spun, sticking one arm with an accusing finger right in the face of one of the men. "You! Smart mouth! Go! Now!" With each word he jabbed his finger, pushing the man back until he turned and ran to the side where there were several wooden practice swords. The sergeant turned to Paris. "Drop your real weapons." As Paris moved to comply, he lowered his voice, still loud enough to be heard by all. "Clean his clock, missy."

The two squared off. The wooden sword felt light in her hand, its balance all off from the metal ones she had been using. She was trying to get the feel of it when he attacked, a flurry of blows she caught on her shield. As she stepped back, there were cheers from the crowd egging on Jules, her adversary. He looked over at them to grin, and raised one thumb up from his sword hilt.

Her sword moved into the opening almost of its own accord, straight in a thrust toward his head. He saw it at the last moment and tried to get his shield over, but the blow landed on the chin of his helm, staggering him backwards. A whistle sounded. "Kill to Paris. Back up, swords up for the second round." The two placed their stick swords again in the starting position, resting on the sergeant's sword. "Watch out, Jules," the sergeant said. "You're going to get beaten by a girl." And with that he slipped his sword out of the way. Jules wasted no time, furiously swinging like a madman, too many blows to block well. "Point to Jules," the sergeant said, after one blow glanced off her shield and connected with her leg. From a newly recalled forgotten memory, she dropped to one knee. Jules grinned and stepped in, overbalancing to reach over her shield. She thrust again, up from beneath, under the chain shirt. As Jules rolled away gasping in pain, doubled over, the calm voice of the sergeant said, "Kill to Paris."

"Wicked hit," she heard from one of the others.

She stood up. Swallowing, she looked at the sergeant. "I don't think the blow on the leg was strong enough to count."

One corner of his mouth turned in a smile. "It wasn't. I wanted to see if you'd get distracted enough to argue with me, let him have an opening. You passed." He turned to the rest. "All right, listen up. Stop gawking and get to practicing. Pair up, sword and shield drill." He looked down at the still groaning figure on the ground. "Ewen, looks like Jules is going to be busy a while. You draw Paris."

Ewen was more careful than Jules had been, and the bouts took longer; still, she won on points. After Ewen was Silvan; after Silvan, Rodric; and the list went on. She didn't win them all, especially as the morning wore on and the sun started to bake the courtyard, but she was noticeably and significantly better than each of them. By the end she was gasping, as tired as she had been in the battle of the corridor.

Buckets of water were provided, which some of the others poured over themselves as they stripped off their armor and their gambesons. Paris contented herself with cleaning up, washing the sweat off arms and face. The sergeant appeared before her. "Paris. Give me your armor." He pointed at the spot where one blow had cut at her side, loosening the links. "The armorer will have to attend to that, before it gets worse. And you won't be needing your armor for the rest of the day." She wrestled with herself a moment, then pulled off the armor and handed it to him, carefully transferring her badge to her gambeson. Her clothes, which she had always thought serviceable, looked poor compared to the others. When lunch arrived, fruit and sausages and cheese, she kept to herself as they all ate. Jules, she noticed, was at the far end of the group.

They barely had time to sit and start eating when an older man came in. She recognized him as one of the people in the Duke's working room. It became clear he was a herald as he began lecturing in a sing song voice on the emblems in use throughout the kingdom. He was followed by a man who taught tactics, one who taught law, and one who taught...farming. But not any farming she had ever known -- the how to plant the seed and cover it, keeping your back bent but straight so you could stand up at the end of the day; but farming as a lord would have to know -- how many farmers to the acre, what kind of land for wheat and barley, how big a shed for storage.

Her head was swimming by the end of the afternoon. Others had fallen asleep, she hadn't. But the young men were excited as they left the hall, almost racing into the courtyard where the sergeant waited. And past it, to the stables, each racing to a favorite horse. She saw Jules and Ewen racing back, each on a magnificent black horse, towards the spinning targets that had been set up. Ewen got there first, barely, and hit the shield target with his practice sword. The target was joined by an arm past a pivot point, and the blow to the target caused it to swing, sending a heavy bag of sand hurling against the rider, which he successfully dodged.

The sergeant looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "Well, missy?"

It was an effort to face him, and she couldn't meet his eye directly. "I know how to drive an ox cart, sir. I don't know how to ride a horse -- that way. Nor which horse to ride." She looked at the others, playing among the targets. "I don't think I belong here."

The sergeant kept his voice low. "Prince William asked me to train you. Said you'd know some things well, some things not at all. I'm to fill in the gaps, he says." He looked at her a moment. "I've had students so stupid I had to remind them to breathe. So stubborn they could have passed as mules. Or oxen," he said with his half-smile. "Haven't failed yet. And you're none of those. Come on; if you'll not give up, I'll teach you to joust."

Riding was hard. Her legs were more sore than she could ever recall, in this life or in another. And she had been unhorsed several times by the sack, bruising other parts that weren't sore before. By force of will she kept herself from limping, as they were all sent off to dinner. The sergeant caught Paris after dismissing them, and pointed to a young female page. "I've made arrangements for you. Go with her."

The young girl, ten or so she thought, led her to a room where two others waited, another young servant and a girl her own age. And a bathtub, filled with hot water, that they seemed to insist she use. It was wonderful to soak in it, it seemed to drain away the aches and pains of the horse riding practice. The two young servants left soon after Paris got in the tub, while the girl, Lorraine, waited. She chatted almost gaily as Paris soaked. "I can't believe you want to do that! Is it fun? Does it hurt?"

Paris thought about the first question. Fun? Not quite the right word. Joy, perhaps; the joy of practicing one's craft. But Lorraine had already moved on to the next question. Paris smiled and nodded. "Yes, it hurts."

Lorraine continued. "I volunteered to Mom to help you get ready for dinner.

Paris tried to say "Thank you," suddenly smiling as Lorraine went right on talking. It was as hard getting a word in edgewise here as when all her Jouet friends were talking.

"Boy, it would make her so mad if I were to try to do what you're doing. I would love to see the look on her face. How did you decide to do this? "

As the other girl stopped to take a breath, Paris answered slowly. "I did not think of it as a decision, but, of course, it was." She breathed in, "When our village was invaded and destroyed by orcs, they kidnapped our priest's daughter. My friends and I followed and rescued her, and in so doing, found a -- possibly the -- source of magical cards called the Font of Chaos. The cards we saw had symbols. When one holds and absorbs such a card, one is granted the skills or powers that symbol represents. For myself, one card seemed to leap into my hand -- as if it knew that I wanted above all things to be able to fight to help people, to right the sort of injustice that had fallen upon my village. That was the first step. And then the prince asked if I would learn more." In amazed wonder still at the memory, " Who wouldn't want to learn more?" She ended simply, "So I am here,".

"Could I find a card too?"

Paris answered thoughtfully, "I do not know. The Font exploded. If the cards are still around, you might find one. I do not know where."

Paris could hear her grin. "I heard from dad that you walloped Jules a good one with just the practice swords. I would love to know how to do that. He's really cute, but he's a little too free with his hands. Dad says dinner is so the boys can learn to be adults in polite society; mom says we girls have to learn to handle the boys." She laughed happily. "Most of them are more scared of us than they are of battle. Rodric positively freezes when you talk to him. If you bat your eyelashes at him and put your hand on his arm he turns beet red. I'll show you tonight."

Paris said, "I -- do you want him to turn red?"

Lorraine giggled. "Well, it's fun. And it's not like I could beat him in a sword fight, now is it? Boys are a lot of fun, but you do have to find someone who can handle themselves in polite society."

"I think," Paris swallowed hard, "that I am here to learn how to be in polite society. I would appreciate any help you could give me in that."

"Oh, phooey. You mean all the rules that mom is always going on about? How many courses for each kind of occasion, where to seat people." Lorraine took a forced stance that must have been meant to mimic someone. "'And with springtime weddings, hare must be served hot.'" She shook her head and flipped her hair back with her hand. "Look, these dinners are no big thing. Just watch what the others do, use the same fork and knife they do. You'll probably be at a table with mom and dad, I overheard them and she seemed to be adamant about it. Mom usually gets her way in these things. Just watch what she does, talk to your neighbor on the right until everyone else switches, then talk to the one on your left."

She seemed to think a minute. "Oh, dinner will be a little different, I think, because of the Prince being here and all. But we'll be quite a ways away from him." She looked at Paris slyly. "Well, at least I'll be quite a ways away."

If Paris even thinks about this at all it would be to realize that she herself would be even further -- and to be grateful to Lorraine for the hint not to expect to see the prince. But she wasn't expecting to be noticed by him anyway so this just goes over her head, I think. Which adds to the shock of the next question.

Lorraine lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is it true that the Prince is going to make you a Knight? What's he like? I was introduced to him once, last year. He's really cute. I've heard he's going to be at dinner, just because you're there. Come on, you can tell me, what's he like?"

Paris was in shock. It was harder and harder to assimilate all she'd heard. "I -- I cannot -- know what His Highness is like. He -- has a good voice -- and -- and a keen understanding." She realized that there was much more that must be true of Prince William as well, given that he wore the Symbol and had told how he had come by the card. But those weren't things she had words for. "I spoke with him but once, as well." She smiled apologetically at the other girl.

Lorraine still had her conspiratorial grin. "He's quite a catch, you know. Only third in line for the throne, of course, but he's the only unmarried son left. And no one had caught his eye up till now."

Paris looked carefully at the other girl. Could Lorraine be thinking to "catch" the prince? The image of the Prince's emblem glowing gold on green rose before her eyes. Slowly she replied, "I - I think that the job of being princess and help-mate to one with such responsibilities as this prince -- would -- would be a heavy task. I honour the ladies of this kingdom who would put themselves in line for such service." She bowed gently to Lorraine.

Paris managed not to end the bow with a confused shake of her head. If Lorraine had been a village girl speaking in such tones and with such words, Paris would be tempted to believe that the Prince was interested in herself -- Paris -- as a girl rather than as a soldier. But it could not be possible. Not on the strength of one meeting -- with a plain peasant and him the shining Prince of her Order. A noble must have some other interpretation for such sallies. She would have to watch Lorraine and the Prince to better interpret all this, if the opportunity arose.

Lorraine smiled at the bow. "Oh, don't be silly. It's not nearly as difficult as all that." She picked up a brush. "Here, let me help you with the back of your hair. You sure you don't want a comb for it?"

Paris closed her eyes as Lorraine moved behind her. Her temples felt tight. She wished Lorraine would explain what she meant so that all this would feel less like being lost in an unfamiliar wood. Well -- she could ask. Her voice surprised her by sounding relatively normal, if low and a little bit lost. "Lorraine? Handling boys is not something that is taught where I come from and so there may be a lot I am not understanding here. Were you trying to tell me something about the Prince that I should know?"

Lorraine laughed gaily. "Silly. There isn't any place girls don't learn about boys. Here's a refresher course in lesson number one in handling boys. Just look interested when they talk to you; smile at them. End of lesson. The whole trick," as she giggled again, "is not letting them handle you too much." She continued to brush the back of Paris' hair, and for once this afternoon there was silence in the room. Paris was about to ask her question again when Lorraine sighed. "I hate it when mom's right. Jules said that the only reason you were going to be in dad's training was that the Prince wanted to make you a knight because he was sleeping with you, you'd be passed through the training without really doing any of it. Mom insisted that wasn't true, because you had come here with that badge long before the Prince got here with one. I volunteered to help because I wanted to meet you and see what you were really like, see if you really were sleeping with him."

Paris stiffened and whirled to face the other girl, not even noticing that her movement pulled the tangled brush from Lorraine's hand and left it caught and dangling in her own hair. "Is that what people think!?" Her voice came out as a strident whisper. Her eyes raked the other's face. Then she closed her eyes and put her face down in one hand. Her shoulders shook with something between laughter and sobs.

Concerned, Lorraine dropped the brush and reached for Paris' shoulders. "No, Paris, some people said that, but a lot of people didn't believe it..."

"Oh, thank God!" Paris finally gasped.

Paris looked back into Lorraine's eyes and swallowed. "Lorraine, I don't know what you think of me, what you have decided I'm really like, but I give you my word: I have never let any boy handle me. I have never slept with anyone in that way. On my honour, I have no such influence on our Prince and have never sullied his honour in any manner whatsoever. He is a true and noble prince and completely innocent of these base rumours."

Lorraine's face went from confused to serious. "I know that." She looked away, then busied herself picking up the hairbrush. "Paris, more than anyone else I've ever met, you," and she paused, groping for the words, "you are what you say you are." In a moment, the mood passed. "Well, look," Lorraine said. "We better start getting you dressed for dinner. Where's your other set of clothes?" It took only a few moments to discover that the servants had taken Paris' clothes off to be washed; they were now far too wet to wear. And, she feared, utterly inappropriate for the dinner she was about to go to. Wrapped in a towel, she looked at Lorraine herself seriously for the first time. Long smooth black hair, falling to below the shoulder, held by a silver comb. Pale skin, uncalloused hands, delicate features, and far prettier than Paris had ever felt.

Lorraine came up with an old dress of hers that barely fit; Paris' shoulders were much wider, her arms thicker than the other girl's. Strange shoes, like slippers, were provided for her feet. Paris refused all offers of jewelry, combs, etc., placing only her badge on the dress. And, at the last, picking up her sword and belting it on. It looked as out of place on the dress as Paris felt inside; but it gave her comfort to have it. It seemed to be against the rules to leave it behind, she thought. Lorraine's eyes went wide at this. "You're belted already? I mean, you're not supposed to wear it unless..." Maybe they will throw me out, Paris hoped.

She had been expecting to step into the room, have a hush of silence descend, and have them all cry to expel her, chase her out, send her away. They entered, and the crier announced them as Lady Lorraine du Gryphon, and Paris. They stepped into the room. The hum of conversation didn't change, at first, as they moved in. Most glanced across the crowd and saw the two young girls, and nothing below shoulder level. Paris was flabbergasted, all of the women were...beautiful, she thought. And she did not recognize the same people she had been practicing with all day, dressed in their finery. She could hear a dozen conversations around her, without really understanding them.

Until, finally, she came into the view of a man with a sword. Again, an older man balding in front, stomach suffering from a middle age spread. His narrow-set black eyes glanced at her, then again at her wearing her sword. "By god, what is this mockery?" he exclaimed as he moved to her. "What is this? What do you think you are doing? Do you think you know how to use that sword, that you've earned it? What..."

"Sir Avenal!" The sergeant interrupted. She hadn't recognized him until she heard his voice; he was ... awesome in his blue tabard with gold gryphon emblazoned on it, and a huge hand and a half sword. "If you will care to show up tomorrow at practice, I will arrange a bout between the two of you. And mark my word. I've seen you fight. And I've seen her fight. You were never as good as she is."

Sir Avenal was bright red, barely containing his anger, as now all other conversation had stopped to watch. "She is not belted. It is all well and good letting talented yeomen, or even a woman, out in the wilds use what they need in this emergency. But this is court, it is entirely different, it is not the way it is done!"

"Yes it is." A calm and quiet voice came from behind Sir Avenal. Prince William was gently moving through the crowd, leading the Duke and behind him. He arrived to face the knight, but raised his voice to address the crowd. "Understand this, all of you. This is not an 'emergency' or an invading force that will be gone in a season. Our lives, our lands, and our souls are at risk here. If we fail to learn we will die. Vanish. She, " and while he pointed at Paris, all eyes were still on him, "is one of an Order that has one Key to your survival. You ask what test she passed to become belted?" He pointed to the knights on each side of Avenal. "You, and you, and you, have just been killed. She," pointing at a servant standing nervously nearby, "has been kidnapped by the army that killed them. Do you, Avenal, have the guts to go follow them to rescue that servant?"

Avenal frowned. "What, a servant? My courage is not in question, sir, but ...

"BUT SHE DID!" the prince roared, interrupting. "That is what earns her the right to wear that sword, and that emblem." He calmed down, dismissing the matter with a hand wave. "Forces beyond us judged her as passing the test that counts. To keep the Council happy, I shall have her take the test we know, when she has been taught. Until that time, I order that if she wears that badge, she goes armed. Does any care to dispute me?"

The Duke cleared his throat. "I'd really rather no one dispute our liege. The cook has a temper, and I have no wish to explain why we ate the meat cold."

A staff was pounded on the floor three times, and the Prince and Duke turned to go in to dinner. The Prince caught a moment to look at Paris, smile, and nod, but then turned to escort the Duke's aged mother in to dinner. She could see the crowd follow them in, Lorraine apparently having been snagged by Jules. Paris was trying to decide whether to go in, or turn and run, when there was a gentle "excuse me" from her side.

She turned to see Ewen, who grinned at her. "By rights, I suppose, you should ask who you want to sit with you at dinner. But I'd be very pleased to escort you."

"Oh!" Suddenly relief flooded through her. "Thank you," Paris managed to say. As he held out his arm, she placed hers as the other women had. "I -- am so very new here... and I would like," she suddenly realized that she was speaking the truth completely, "to be able to talk with you. You have one really interesting trick with the shield that I'd like to know more about...." She smiled at Ewen, suddenly a bit more comfortable.

Ewen laughed happily. "I don't know, if I had a trick with the shield it sure didn't help me against your tricks with the sword. I seem to recall that you got me four to two this morning. Only thing I can remember trying was..."

A page interrupted. "Master de Lacey? Paris of Jouet? Lord Gryphon and his wife would request your company at their table."

Ewen bowed, and put on a forced smile. "Of course. We will be right over." As the page turned, he spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Oh, great. Each night they pick one of us and she scrutinizes our table manners. Sorry, Paris, looks like it's my night and you get stuck as well. I'll hear all about any errors in detail tomorrow. Watch her eyebrows, when one goes up I've done something wrong." As they neared the table, he shifted back to a more normal voice. "Anyway, the only thing I did with the shield was try to put it in your eyes so you couldn't see if I was aiming low or high..."

"Master de Lacey." The woman's voice was sharp as a steel blade. "Haven't I told you that sword blow by sword blow accounts of battle are not suitable for polite conversation?"

For a moment Paris froze, the colour draining from her face. Already she had caused Ewen embarrassment -- and he had been kind to her. She could not tear her eyes away from the Lady's face to watch him turn away from her. But ... although the muscle under her hand remained hard, he did not leave.

Lady Gryphon's right eyebrow settled back down into place. She gestured at two empty places on the side of the long table near her end; she sat facing her husband at the far end of the table. In front of each place were a half dozen plates, several glasses, silver knives, spoons and forks. For a brief moment, a smile crossed Paris' face above the mounting panic, relieving the tightness she felt at offending Ewen. Her brother's grin rose in her mind's eye. It was a good thing Calais wasn't here, she thought, as she stood between Ewen and Lady Gryphon. Lady Gryphon frowned and gestured to one of the servants. "Quickly, man, bring a chair without arms," she said, gesturing at the one Paris stood in front of. Shortly before the Prince sat down, the chairs were switched. Paris moved to sit, and almost lost her balance when Ewen pushed her chair in behind her. The sword caught on the floor and poked into her side.

"A pleasure to meet you, Paris." Lady Gryphon seemed to study her for a moment, then leaned closer ever so slightly. Paris could catch snatches of phrases from around her, as the older woman continued in a tone just loud enough to not incite interest. "The young men find that if they loosen their belts a trifle, the sword can lie at an angle while they sit. Cover your hands with the tablecloth while you do it." After a few moments, the hilt moved away from Paris' rib and she was able to breathe again. Lady Gryphon continued to study Paris. "It looks like Lorraine helped you to get dressed. That's one of her old dresses, is it not?"

"Yes, my lady," Paris answered. This seemed safe ground. "Your daughter was very kind. As I had nothing of my own suitable ... Lady Lorraine was most helpful, most good at explaining things."

After a brief pause Lady Gryphon continued. "Don't believe what she tells you, I don't actually breathe fire." Her eyes narrowed to focus on Paris. "I understand something they do not, girl. I will tell you something few others know. For the first fifteen years of my life, I was a farmer's daughter, laboring in the vineyards year in and year out. For the last thirty years I have learned the ways of the court. They do not judge their own as harshly as they do outsiders, though most of them have peasant stock not too far back in their lines. But I was scrutinized more than any of the high-born daughters, held to a higher standard, and had to learn their own rules better than any of them. And you will be watched even more closely. I know what you are feeling, probably more than you do." She paused, waiting for the sounds around her to rise. "Don't give them, the Sir Avenal's, an excuse."

She leaned back. "Now, that said. Sit up straight, girl. Posture is the mark of a lady. What do you think of the weather?"

Paris straightened self-consciously. And tried to respond.

Paris knew it was halfway through the dinner when Lady Gryphon turned away from her to the couple on her right, and she turned toward Ewen. Again, she felt tired; the ceaseless question and answer, having to hold up a conversation with the impressive lady ... she was beginning to wish she couldn't get a word in edgewise. "'What do you think of the weather?'" Ewen asked with a mischievous grin, mimicking Lady Gryphon far too closely. He smiled back at her. "Looks like you survived."

Paris managed a small smile. "I think, perhaps, sword work is easier. But Lady Gryphon has a good heart. And she knows so much. It seems I have so much more to learn than I ever dreamed possible; I am grateful that she would spare some time to my teaching. Lorraine is very luck...." Paris' eyes dropped as she started to choke on the end of that sentence. It would never do to get tearful at this table. What was gone, was gone. She pushed the grief down into another corner of her being and brought her attention back to Ewen.

Ewen, frowning in worry, reached for her water glass to pass it to her. "Here. Are you all right? Are you choking on something?"

Paris took the glass, with what might pass as a smile of gratitude and drank, using the time to recover her poise. She put it down with a real smile at the thought that distracted her. "I owe you an apology, milord. Or two. I was told that Lady Gryphon intended me to sit at her table; so it was I who brought you under her lintel, not otherwise. And I did not know that we were not to speak of -- our training studies here, so that was my fault too. Please forgive me." She tried to keep her tone light so not to attract the lady's attention, but her eyes regarded the young lord seriously.

"Um, well," he tried to reply. The young lord looked very nonplussed. "You, ah, couldn't have known about her, um, it's not a problem, really..." Finally, he got himself under control and smiled. "I'll accept your apologies on one condition. You have to start calling me Ewen." He reached to take her glass from her, his hand just touching hers. "At least when she," glancing at Lady Gryphon, "isn't paying attention."

Paris broke into a grin. "Condition accepted -- Ewen."

Dinner ended with a toast to the king. Yet, as she followed the crowd out of the dining room, arm and arm with Ewen, they moved into another large room, not an exit. At one end, a group of musicians began to play. About a third of the people moved to the dance area, gracefully moving through the room in time with the music.

Paris stiffened in something close to terror. "I -- I -- don't know how to dance -- Master de Lacey," she managed to gasp. "Is -- it -- necessary?"

Ewen's arm seemed to relax under her hand. "Oh, thank God. I'm lousy at dancing. I was afraid you were going to be mad at me if I didn't ask you." He looked around to spot Lady du Gryphon. "It won't be the first time the fire breathing one has chewed me out about that. And I don't think the others will ask you to dance, at least not tonight."

As in the session with Lorraine, Paris found herself wondering what meanings underlay the lord's words and tone. "Would - would it be too much to ask -- why any would or would not ask me to dance on another night?" She added hastily, "If it is none of my business, tell me so. It will be all right."

He tensed up again. "Half of them are scared of you. The other half are... scared of the Prince." He smiled weakly. "I'm just scared of dancing."

Paris grinned. "That's two of us! You have no idea how frightened I was when we walked into this room. I have never seen anything like this dancing -- or so many beautiful people!"

"Beautiful?" Ewen asked in surprise. "Oh, I don't know. There's a couple of them like um, er," and he coughed a bit. "Sorry about that. I remember the first time I walked in here, I was scared out of my wits too. Everyone seemed so much... taller. Poised. And they all were already in little cliques. Scared me, I wanted to hide so bad."

"I think I was willing to run all the way back to Jouet!" Paris laughed. "Thank you for holding on."

"It really was my pleasure," he said softly. Suddenly he broke his eyes away and started talking about something else.

The rest stood at the edges, small cliques holding discussions and continued conversation. Ewen and Paris found themselves back against one side, just the two of them. Looking around, she saw most of her other classmates surrounding Lorraine and two girls equally as pretty. Lorraine was reaching out and touching Rodric on the arm, as his ears slowly grew red. After a while, the three girls went to the dance floor with three of the men; Lorraine, Paris noted, was accompanying Jules again.

"Interesting," Ewen commented. "The Prince and the Duke and anyone who's been out of the castle since the change are over there. Avenal and Justin are over there, as far as they can get from him. Those are the really hidebound ones, wouldn't know a new idea if one bit them." He turned back to Paris, with a quick glance to see who was near. "Is it as bad as they say out there?"

Paris looked at him, her eyes dark with seriousness. "I do not know what 'they' say; I only know what I have seen. My village and my Baron's town were trampled, razed, burnt by fell creatures. The inhabitants were slain and ..," her mouth twisted at the memory, "eaten -- with some few sacrificed in dark rites." Her voice was cold with the memories. "A dark evil still sits over the Baron's manor -- and the paths trodden by the invaders are barren and churned as if new plowed. My companions and I have found two orc burrows in those areas. I can only presume from what I have seen and heard, that the rest of the lands around were equally ill treated."

Ewen placed one hand over hers. "Your hand is cold," he said wonderingly. Then he shook himself. "The folks in our village were all upset and out of their minds for days, and we didn't have anyone die." He smiled gently at her. "I guess you never got out this way, probably. We had our lands a bit to the north of the town, forty acres of vineyards, some farms and stuff. Pretty much all of it is now inside the city. All the houses, all the fields everyone knew, gone. Couldn't even save any cuttings from the vineyard, so I don't know what we'll do." He shook his head. "I can't imagine losing three of every four people I knew. Or," he said with a grin, "chasing after the ones that did it. What do they make the girls of Jouet out of, anyway? Steel?"

"I am sorry for your people. Losing everything is hard. But ... if we survive, we can rebuild -- in time. There should be vineyards somewhere from which cuttings can come -- albeit," the farmer's understanding showed, "they will not be the same as your own were, I know." She paused a moment. "As for chasing after orcs, once you know what they do to captives, there is no way you would let someone stay in their hands. I feel sure of that. Better a clean death than that!"

Ewen looked straight into her eyes. "No. Steel and fire, I think."

The dance had ended, people streaming from the floor. With half an eye, Paris could see several of the younger ones exit to some of the balconies, and could hear Lorraine's giggle coming from the nearer one. Strangely, none of the adults noticed or moved to see what was happening.

Another page arrived. "Master de Lacey? Your father would like to see you." He bowed to Paris. "Alone, ma'am."

Ewen gave a strained smile. "Well, it's been a wonderful evening so far." He looked to be struggling with something, then finally smiled. "Thanks for letting me escort you tonight, milady." With a half bow, he turned and moved across the room, circling around the dance floor.

Paris found herself turning Ewen's phrase around in her mind. 'A wonderful evening'. There were so many shades of meaning to that. But, perhaps she hadn't done quite so badly as it had seemed at times. She wondered which of the other girls Ewen usually escorted. It was impossible to tell. Some of the boys and girls she had seen earlier were gone from the room, but there were plenty of girls still there. All of them lovely, hair brushed and shiny, looking like they enjoyed wearing their dresses.

"Paris." The quiet voice to her side surprised her. She turned and was face to face with Prince William again. She noticed they were all within sight of the crowd, but an efficient group of guards subtly ensured no one was close enough to eavesdrop. "I understand from Lord and Lady Gryphon that you did well today. And I know you did well tonight, keeping your mouth shut with Sir Avenal." He looked over to the other group, then turned back to her. "We do not have much time. Normally, as one in training, you would stay here in the palace. That is ... not advisable. Not now. Or else too many will misunderstand your role. Gryphon will understand if you are late, though I expect he'll shout a bit for appearance's sake. I've given some suggestions to Gryphon on your training. I've been debriefing the foresters today. Heard about your admirable sense of justice. Only," he sighed, looking for some words. "Only, one of the arts to enforcing the law is knowing when not to see an infraction. When not to notice something. Knowing what battles to fight." He smiled at her. "You've had a long day. Any quick questions before you leave for the night?"

Paris stiffened to attention. "My lord prince, I will endeavor to learn all you have need of me to know. Only, " her eyes dropped for a moment and then met his candidly, "you once said that I knew little of --" she hesitated and the next word came out timidly; it seemed almost presumptuous to say it aloud, "our -- Order. Would you -- would it be possible for me to be instructed in more of that -- sometime?"

The Prince smiled at her. She could tell by the faint flush of his ears and his cheeks that he had consumed rather more wine than she had, but he was still quite steady. "Next time you get to choose a book, see about getting one for our Order." His voice turned serious. "It was a Royal Order, dedicated to justice and obedient to the throne. It guarded one of the Keys. It accepted women, as well as men, into the order. It numbered people of remarkable ability and loyalty. And it had layers of mystery, revealing successive layers of truth as you climbed. Unfortunately, as the leader of an order with only one member, and that one not confirmed yet, I am not entitled to many of the mysteries." He paused a moment. "You wouldn't happen to know what the Key is to, do you?"

More disappointed than she had thought possible, to disappoint her Prince, Paris slowly shook her head. "No, your Highness, I do not know. I -- am sorry."

He looked at her sharply. "Don't look so disappointed. If I knew, I'd be telling you. I know it's named one of the Keys of Tarot, but what that means, I haven't a clue." He smiled at her. "Makes it damn hard to guard it, doesn't it? You better go, you've got a long day tomorrow."

Paris' mind whirled. How much had been told in the bedlam of the Duke's workroom? Had anyone told the Prince about what the Magician had said? "My lord," she managed to say, "The Magician said that these are the lands of Torat and that the lands of Tarot were on the other side of the Mirror. He said that various of the Greater Arcana could help us get through the Mirror -- but that for one of them, at least, it was "locked". This -- little -- information -- sounds related to your question. We have bits and pieces more, but I don't understand any more than that."

The Prince nodded. "Thank you, I heard that part. And have pored over the notes made by the scribes during your report. I just don't know if the keys are to a gate, a chest, or what it means to be a key to Tarot." He shook his head. "There's also a deck of cards used by fortunetellers that's called the Tarot. Full of mysticism, and it also has a Greater Arcana. Maybe understanding that is the key."

Paris nodded and then carefully curtsied. "I will go, Your Highness. Thank you -- for everything." Inside, some little part of her sang. They hadn't forgotten to tell anything that was important. Her Prince knew what she knew.

As she left for the trek back to her room, she looked across the dance floor. Ewen was in discussion with the one who must be his father, who he had earlier pointed out as Justin.

On her way out of the castle, she picked up her other weapons. Neatly stacked in a pile was her armor and clothes, now dry. She changed back, carefully leaving the dress there, and stepped out into the night.

"There are advantages to being a farmer's daughter," Paris thought. Rising at dawn is not difficult. She would just have to be more hasty in getting ready, not taking so much stuff, thank heavens, to arrive when the other students did. She lifted her eyes to the stars and gave a soundless prayer of thanks -- for having survived thus far.

Twoday
The second day went much like the first, although Sir Gryphon, the sergeant, did more instructing in weapons use himself. More advanced tricks, how to use the momentum of the weapon to advantage, combination attacks, and feints. Practice was just as tiring, and Paris was glad to get rid of the armor for the afternoon class sections. She sat down with her lunch at the back of the table, and a moment later Ewen sat down across from her. He barely had time to say "hi" when the herald came in and started to speak.

"I speak now of founding of the Kingdom of the Isles and Tara, and the first of the Kings and Queens thereof," began the singsong voice. From one of the men in front of her, she heard a whispered "Haven't we heard this before?" which elicited a frown from the speaker. Nonetheless, he continued in a voice and cadence that had her mesmerized, half her lunch forgotten on the table before her. Anton would love this story, she thought.

It was a tale of Bran, who united the Islands together by war, guile, and diplomacy. And then took a fleet from the islands and landed on the beach of Tara, the great land, and conquered the people there. He declared himself King Argent, after the silver-white sail he used to mark his ship. His daughter, Branwen, married his chosen successor, Essen, who continued to expand the nascent kingdom. At the battle of the mountain of Pelier, a key point allowing entrance from the beach areas to the rich interior valleys, King Essen was wounded in battle. He was brought back to the command tent, where he died in Queen Branwen's arms. Branwen put on his armor and standard, went out and, driven by a fury that fired the entire army, rallied the troops. She succeeded in capturing the mountain, killing the enemy king herself. For the rest of the season, hidden within her husband's armor, she harried the remains of the enemy army and captured the richest farmland in the kingdom.

She had a son, who was but five years old. Following the campaign, she put the question of rulership to the Council of Advisors. It was five days before they emerged. The leader of the Council, brother to the slain king, knelt and presented her with the sword of the kingdom, to wield until her son was old enough.

To protect her disguise during the war, she had buried her husband at Pelier in an unmarked grave, along with the hundreds of other soldiers who had fallen. During her reign, she moved the capital from the islands to Pelier, and built the Tomb of the Lost King.

Eleven years later, her son was crowned king. She passed to him the sword of the kingdom, which she had worn every day until then, 'thankful,' she said, 'for the lifting of its weight.' As is the custom, the first to approach the new king to swear fealty was the head of the Council of Advisors. After swearing his oath, he made a request of the king. All of the advisors, and all of the nobles of the kingdom, had requested that a sword be made for Branwen; this one, her own, in recognition of her valor on the field so long before. With the Kings permission, Branwen was presented with the sword, which she wore until she died. She was buried in the Tomb of the Lost King, next to the empty sarcophagus, and her sword lies in her hand.

As the herald turned to leave, Jules interrupted. "But since then, have any women been knighted?"

The herald paused to look at the young man. "Each of the queens of absent kings has worn the Sword of State and known its burden. But, no, none others were presented with such." He stared hard at Jules. "Listen carefully, young man. Precedent only requires once."

The following teacher separated the class; he had brought books for some of them to read. Paris found herself with one of the books, on the basis for the law. The basis of the law was the rule of might, Fort Mayne, of the strong over the weak. But equally important, said the book, was the unwritten compact between ruler and ruled. Fascinated, Paris read until they were called away for riding practice.

She watched with amusement as Ewen and Jules, again in the lead, raced for the horses. Today's practice was mounted archery; which required controlling the horse without using hands. It was made worse by the sergeant's instruction to shoot while the horse was moving. She put twice as many arrows into the bales of hay next to the target as she did in the one with the target. Fortunately, none of the others did much better, and no one was hit by a wayward arrow.

When she got to the bathroom, there was an older woman waiting with Lorraine and the two servants. "Paris, this is Edie, the seamstress my mom uses," Lorraine introduced. "Mom says that if you're going to borrow my dress, it might as well fit." She turned to Edie. "But it has to be able to be put back, mom said to be sure to tell you that she is only borrowing it."

Edie held the dress up to Paris' shoulders and tsked. "Hurry your bath, dear, this will take a while."

Throughout the bath and the fitting, Lorraine kept up a constant chatter about how the Duke was planning food production and distribution (and which women he might be interested in), how the Town Barons were doing at combating thievery and inventorying the city (and which ones had eligible sons), and a host of scattered gossip about most of her classmates. Although, as it happened, she said nothing about Ewen or Jules.

When finished, the dress was almost comfortable; well, it didn't bind across the shoulders. Edie had let out most of the seams, and put a lacing on the outside of the sleeves that was loosened for Paris but could be tightened, she said, for Lorraine. She tsked again as the sword belt went on, complaining about what it did to the lines of the dress.

Lorraine again offered Paris a comb or bracelet for some jewelry.

Paris smiled her appreciation but shook her head. "My badge is appropriate to my station. I cannot seem other than I am, but I do thank you for wishing to loan me so many pretty things. You have a very generous heart, Lorraine."

"Oh, phooey. Just being polite." The voice was cheery, but she could tell Lorraine was pleased.

Dinner was smaller than the night before; her classmates, the other young women, the Gryphons and the Laceys. Because the de Laceys were there, Ewen had to sit with them. As the others filed in to the dining room, Paris found herself paired with Rodric, who, turning red, bowed to her, said, "May I escort please my Lady," and extended his right arm for her. This put him on her sword side, which wound up banging him on the shin a couple of times before she got it under control with her right hand.

She moved to sit down, but the chair provided had solid sides, and there was no place for the sword to go. After a few moments of confusion, she was brought a chair with cantilevered arms. Without thinking, she pulled it in and sat down, just as Rodric jumped up to seat her. Fortunately, they were at the end of the table across from Lorraine and Simon; Lorraine started talking and covered everyone's embarrassment. Despite her earlier chatter, she was still able to talk to Paris about more new topics.

During one half of the dinner, Paris tried to make Rodric more comfortable. She thought she was succeeding, when Rodric smiled and told her, "you know, I can talk to you. You aren't as pretty as the other girls." Then, with a mortified expression, he shut up and just drank more wine.

Rodric escorted her into the dance room, took his leave, and retreated to the far side of the room. Trying to decide what to do, she saw Lady du Gryphon move over to talk to Lord de Lacey. Ewen slipped away, and started walking across the dance floor to her. "Hi," he said when he finally reached her. "Mind not dancing with me?"

Threeday
The third day was when the fight broke out. A halt was called while du Gryphon checked over a horse that Alain, one of Jules' friends, had been riding. Paris was taking a break; while they did their riding practice in light armor, it was still hot. She heard a creaking sound and turned, just as the sandbag from the pell swung and hit her in the shoulder. She spun and wound up facing Jules, who hissed, "Go back to your kind, peasant cow," and swung at her. She moved a little to one side, so that the figure to the left of Jules couldn't easily swing at her as well, and tried to block the practice sword with the helmet in her hand. She mostly succeeded, and then things got very confused as a pile of bodies pressed in, some landing on her, some punching at those attacking her. The pile was tight enough that even if she had wanted to draw her sword, she couldn't. Someone tried to grab her badge from her and she punched back; by the time the sergeant and the other guards separated the pile she was sure she had hit Jules, at least, once or twice. They all stood there in line, at attention, as du Gryphon roared at them. Her shoulder hurt, her face stung, and there was a ringing in her ears.

Du Gryphon moved from one to another. "You! Simon! Tell me what happened! Who started it!"

"I didn't see, sir! Someone just swung at me! Sir!"

The sergeant moved to each one in turn, asking the same thing, growing steadily more furious as each failed to clarify the situation. He stopped in front of Paris; Jules was the only one left after her. She had never seen anyone as angry as du Gryphon. "Paris! What happened! Who started this fight!"

"Sir, I was not in position to see all that happened. But I believe I may have started it, being in the wrong place at the wrong time for a misinterpreted blow. I was in the way of the quintain and should not have involved my fellow students. I take responsibility for this, my lord."

[Paris would certainly not try to heal her bruises now. It actually hadn't occurred to her to do so. If they hinder her from further study, though, it might occur to her and she would seek a bit of privacy to do so. If it works. (I can't recall if she's tried it on herself. It's just not something that would have occurred to her. She thinks of all her abilities as benefiting others -- not herself.]

His eyes narrowed as she made her speech, but nobody interrupted. He spun to Jules, the last in line next to her, and shouted. "Well! Do you have anything to add to that?"

Jules seemed to stammer, finally squeaking out a "No, sir."

Du Gryphon turned back to her. "Well. Seems you have too much energy if you go around starting fights. And you've thrown off the schedule. Now the grooms will never get the horses down for the night without help." He leaned over in her face, shouting and pointing at the stables. "Go! Clean! Out! The! Stables!"

Paris started to move, thinking in relief that was all her punishment. He shouted again. "Paris! Where is your armor? Wear it!" She jogged to get her armor. "And be sure you clean it before you put it away!"

The grooms had been directed to wipe down the horses, leaving her with the entire stable to clean. Grabbing a shovel, she dug into work, made hotter and harder by the forty pounds of armor she was wearing. A humiliating punishment for a young noble, but only a bit of hard work for her. Though, in her professional opinion, horses were messier than oxen. As she left the stable, wobbling a bit to get into the cool air, she noticed that it was quite late; late enough that she'd never make dinner. With a mixture of relief and regret, she moved to get her other things to take back home.

Standing in the doorway to the courtyard was the same young girl who took her each day to prepare for dinner. "Come on," she said. "Hurry." Paris followed her into the bath room. Lorraine was waiting for her with three other servants and one of the other young ladies Paris had seen at dinner. "This is Cordelia, Rodric's sister," Lorraine introduced, staring oddly at Paris.

Cordelia gasped. "Your face!" She blinked and recovered, but continued staring at Paris' left cheek. "I wanted to come apologize for my brother. He didn't mean what he said last night to you, he just gets uncomfortable around girls..." as she trailed off.

Paris laughed shakily. "Rodric was just telling the truth. There is no need to apologize." She lifted her hand to the offending cheek. It felt sore, a bit tender, but -- she looked at her fingers -- no dried blood came away. She needn't worry about a cut getting infected from her stint in the stables.

Lorraine's voice took on an edge that reminded Paris of Lady du Gryphon. "And then we heard about what Jules and his friends tried to do. And how you stood up to dad and took full responsibility for it. Nobody's ever made it to dinner after cleaning out the stables," she said, gesturing the servants forward, "until tonight."

There followed a flurry as they stripped the filthy armor and clothing from her. She noticed Cordelia getting out of her formal dress as well. Buckets of water were sloshed over her and more towels than she had ever seen before were used to dry her. Half a dozen hands moved over her to dress her, and she found herself wearing Cordelia's dress. It pinched in half a dozen places, but at least they were different places than the other dress had been before its alteration. Her still damp hair was twisted up and a wig was pinned on her head. "I can cover your bruise with some makeup," Lorraine offered.

Paris' head was swimming. "What do the others do with their bruises?"

Lorraine frowned. "Boys? Wear makeup?"

Paris looked at her. Lorraine answered before Paris could. "I know, I know. I wanted to offer though." She looked at Paris, appraising her. "Look, please see this through. I know, your great big heart says don't do anything to Jules. But if we don't go through with this, he's going to do this to one of us some day, and we can't fight back like you can."

"You go," Cordelia said, pushing them towards the door. "I'll take care of getting your armor clean."

"Go through with what?" Paris' befuddled mind wanted to say, but they were already hurrying down the corridor.

They hustled into the antechamber outside the dining hall. "Paris, meet Cynthia. Her friends all call her Tree," Lorraine said, as she guided Paris into Cynthia and glided across the room. Looking up, she could see why Cynthia had gotten the nickname; she was at least a head taller than Rhori. It blocked Paris' view of the part of the room where Lord and Lady du Gryphon were waiting. She guessed that all they could see of her was the dress, sticking out from the side. She could just hear Lady Gryphon's voice addressing Lorraine. "Young lady, you are late."

Lorraine curtsied as she answered, positively demure for her. "My apologies, Lady du Gryphon, I was with a sick friend who will not be attending dinner tonight." She curtsied and spun again, flashing a radiant smile at Jules standing alone near the door, and chatting gaily.

Two of the young nobles moved over to Paris and Cynthia. Paris turned as the one near her started the ritual request. "It is nearly dinnertime, may I have the pleasure of your company Lady Cord..." Suddenly, Ewen's eyes opened wide and a big grin of surprise and delight lit up his face. "Paris! You made it!" His eyes fixed on the bruise on her cheek and his smile disappeared. "My god, what he did to you. I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw motion. The master of ceremonies was raising his staff to pound it on the floor to call for dinner. Jules, raising his arm to escort Lorraine in to dinner. Lorraine, flowing gracefully around him to Rodric, placing her hand lightly on his arm, with a cheery "Oh, dear Rodric, I wanted to tell you your sister is not feeling well and will miss dinner, but bids you well..." The staff came down with a thud as dinner was announced. The room was full of pairs, save for Jules, standing in the front of the room with his arm extended and nobody on it. Paris heard Lady Gryphon saying "Cordelia is sick?" as Cynthia and her escort stepped forward, revealing Paris to the rest of the crowd. While Lady Gryphon narrowed her eyes, inspecting Paris carefully, she noticed that Lord Gryphon had a hard time removing the smile from his face.

Paris curtsied to the two nobles, steadying herself on Ewen's arm as he bowed. Lord Gryphon nodded, laughter dancing in his eyes, but face reasonably straight. Lady Gryphon nodded, her eyes glancing quickly from Paris to Jules, her face unreadable.

Dinner passed uneventfully, though she noticed that Jules wound up next to the Lady Gryphon, with an empty chair next to him. At the dance that followed, Jules asked each of the girls in turn to dance; each accepted, but each stubbed their toe or had a stone in their shoe, and never made it to the dance floor, or to any of the alcoves, with him.

Meanwhile Paris found herself surrounded by most of her classmates. Simon approached her first, squirming but facing her, nearly at attention. "Look, Paris, um, I'm sorry. I," he took a deep breath, "I want to apologize for swinging the quintain at you. Jules talked me into it, but I should have known better."

Paris flushed. A lord apologizing to a peasant? What it must cost him! She smiled at her own embarrassment. "I accept your apology," she said gently and then grinned. "And I intend to practise dodging better."

Alain was next. "Paris I didn't know..." He stopped, shook his head, and drew himself up to attention. "I did know. I knew what Jules and Simon were planning on doing, I," and he swallowed, "take full responsibility for distracting Lord Gryphon so they could do this, er, that to you."

For a moment Paris felt cold. It hadn't been a spur of the moment outburst of feeling. It had been planned. She looked up at him and remembered herself taking full responsibility. She met his eyes. "You are a gentleman to say so, Lord Alain." Then she smiled. "But we can't both take full responsibility -- and I have claimed it. So perhaps you will take my thanks for your wish to share it instead." Her voice was warm and friendly.

The boy who had stood next to Jules apologized next. Rodric followed, twisting his hands together. She could see he too wore a bruise where he had been cut on the head. "Paris, I'm sorry I wasn't quick enough to pull him off of you. I should have been quicker. And, I'm sorry for what I said last night, I meant, um, I meant. Well, I mean that I hope if I'm ever in a fight, I'm next to you." [Is Paris sick of this yet? :) ]

Paris' feeling of embarrassment had returned. She laughed. "Perhaps," she said, "we should ask Sir du Gryphon to have us practise more close-order drill so we can learn how to cover each other while giving enough room to fight in!"

A relieved laugh came from all of those around her. As the chatter started, discussing the fight in far more detail than Lady Gryphon would be pleased to hear, Paris could see Lord Gryphon watching from across the room, practically beaming. It looked like it was Lorraine's turn to sit a dance out with Jules, and she allowed him to hold her limp and lifeless hand as the musicians struck up a new song.

Paris turned as Rodric leaned over, hand extended. "Well, until we get to the close order drill, may I have the honor of this dance?"

Paris' breath caught in her chest and her eyes went wide. "M-my lord Rod-d-dric," she stuttered. "I- I know n-nothing of dancing." She gulped and gave a sheepish smile. "I know m-more about close order drill. I've never been taught to dance."

Rodric's smile fell, and he blinked in confusion and shock. Standing there, his arm outstretched, he looked as unbalanced and uncomfortable as Jules had before dinner. His ears started turning red in embarrassment.

Paris could not bear seeing him thus. To at least improve his balance, she put her hand out and took his. "What," she whispered somewhat frantically, "is one supposed to say when one does not know how to dance? C-can you teach me?" Her discomfort at having so discomposed him rapidly chased away her fear of trying something she was so obviously ill-suited for.

"Master Givance." The sharp tone of Lady Gryphon cut across the room, and Rodric turned. "Would you kindly permit me to interrupt you and speak with Paris for this dance? I will gladly return her to you for the next one."

Blinking, Rodric stuttered and bowed. "Of - of course, Lady du Gr-Gryphon."

With a sharp look at Paris, she moved toward an unoccupied corner of the room. Quickly, Paris moved over to meet her. She looked at Paris, studying her intently. "What is the meaning of this?" she hissed. "Is Master Givance not good enough for you to dance with?"

Paris realized that she was trembling slightly. This lady suddenly seemed far more formidable than an orc. "No, my lady. I mean -- Lord Rodric is very good -- kind, that is. I- I do not know how to dance, my lady. I - I did not mean to hurt Lord - Master Givance."

Lady Gryphon hissed again, "Can't or Won't? I want to be sure, girl."

"T-truly, my lady, I can't. I - I have never seen such dancing b-before I came here. I - I never even had much practice at village c-country dancing, b-because my f-father died before I was old enough to start 'keeping company' -- and - and it was my job to take his place -- to do the farm. I -- did not know that - that being -- honest about my lack -- would hurt any one. I know Master Givance was being kind." Paris pulled herself under control. "If -- it is proper to try -- without knowing how to dance, I will, with your permission, return and ask Master Givance's forgiveness and -- I will ask him to dance with me."

Lady Gryphon's eyebrows snapped together and then the right one rose. "Don't make it worse, girl! "Do you want to be taken for a boy?"

Paris bit her lip as memories of the various times she and Calais have been mistaken came back -- and of the seamstress' mistake -- and of the class' first comment about her. Very quietly, she said, "That is what my classmates thought when I first arrived."

Lady Gryphon continued her hard stare at Paris. "Listen to me. It takes more courage for these boys to approach a girl and ask to dance than it does for them to charge the enemy. You do not turn them down. The only case where you are allowed to turn them down is if the same boy asks you twice in a row. You may not dance with the same boy twice in a row." She glanced over the room, assessing it quickly, and, seeing nothing more pressing, returned to Paris. "If you cannot dance, then you will sit the dance with them, give them your hand, and make pleasant conversation with them. Plead not feeling well. But understand, I will be watching."

Another flick of the eyes around the room, settling back on Paris. "I will arrange for instruction tomorrow in dance. Following dinner, you will spend every other evening in dance training. I believe it has been rather a long time since I have seen Master de Lacey on the dance floor. I think it is time for a refresher for him as well." Her eyes flicked up and down over Paris. "Your hair didn't have time to dry, did it? I'm sure my daughter thought it a convenient excuse to use a wig." She paused a few moments. "Don't bother with wigs in the future. Your curly hair looks just as good as the straight, even if that's not the current fashion." She then continued to critique many other aspects of Paris' hurried couture, filling in the time until the music ended. "You are dismissed, girl. Go back to Rodric."

"Thank you for your instruction, my lady." Paris bowed her head obediently, then returned to Rodric, crimson with her own inadequacies.

Nervously, Paris approached Rodric and raised her right hand. Before she could say anything, Rodric bowed slightly to her. "Paris, I'm sorry. I did it again... I mean Ewen explained." He noticed her hand, and quickly reached up with his left hand, cupping it so that her hand was held over his. Different from a hand on an arm, she noticed, nervously trying to decide if she was doing the right thing. His ears started to turn red, but he managed to speak. "May I have the honor of sitting out this dance?"

"Thank you," Paris replied warmly, glad to see he was not offended. "I would like that very much."

He guided her to a pair of chairs sitting side by side facing the floor and musicians. Again there was a clatter as she caught the sword on the arm of the chair, but after a few moments she got it situated. They sat as the music began, their arms on the arms of the chair, her hand cupped over his, her fingers against his palm. "I, um, I've always liked this song," Rodric tried, looking at her.

Paris bit her tongue, realizing that she had nearly answered that she didn't know anything about music. She smiled happily, "It is a new tune to me -- like so many things here -- but very beautiful. Are there many musicians as well as warriors where you come from?" Paris sounded and was genuinely interested in knowing more about her friends and allies here. Her glance rested on his "battle mark" for a moment. She hoped he would feel comfortable taking about his music experience or where he was from or even about their training -- if that was what it took to make him comfortable.

"Well, yes, of course." He looked at her a little puzzled. "Oh, um, yes, I guess you weren't here for those heralds. My father is one of the Knights in the service of the king. I, uh, grew up in Pelier. It was quite a coup for dad to get my sister and I into training with the Gryphons. I mean, they're the best in the kingdom, so they say; the King sent his sons here, and all that." He nodded in Paris' direction. "Cordelia, that's my sister, brought that dress with her from Pelier. It's her favorite one. You look better in it than she does." The red suddenly spread from his ears to both cheeks.

Paris tried to respond smoothly, "Your sister has exquisite taste -- and is, I think, one of the most generous people I have ever met. Is she your only sibling?" Paris will continue to ply him with questions -- "tell me about Pelier, please," "Will you be a knight of the King too?" and such like until she finds something that loosens his tongue again.

"Cordelia's ok, I guess." [Brothers. What can you do with them? :) ] Rodric replied slowly. "I've got another sister who's younger, she's still at home." [This is a _long_ dance, isn't it :-) ]

[Getting longer and longer. :) She will, by struggling through, get him talking some more about Pelier, which at least gets her through the dance. And Rodric in a reasonable mood by the end. :) ] Paris likes. Rodric; it just feels a bit like handling eggs. She does not know where the weak points in the shell are. She really wishes that they could just "talk shop". But it sounds like they managed to muddle through. :-) Learning to dance sounds like a worthwhile goal, if Rodric is more

She returned with Rodric to the group of her classmates, now joined by one of the other girls. They had barely returned when Ewen, a smile on his face, his eyes intent on hers, stepped forward, asking, "May I have the pleasure of the next dance?" His hand, strangely enough, felt warmer than Rodric's.

Paris felt like sticking her tongue out at him, the rogue! But she smiled and answered demurely, "I would rather just talk with you, Ewen, if you don't mind. The -- activities of today have -- left me somewhat uncomfortable at the -- notion of dancing." Her eyes danced however.

Ewen grinned, meeting her gaze. "My favorite kind of dancing!" As he led her over to the seats, he leaned over and spoke conspiratorially out of the side of his mouth. "And we'll be far enough away from Her that we can even discuss sword work."

Once seated her face fell a little as she turned to him, remembering Lady du Gryphon's decree. "Oh, Ewen, I didn't mean for you to get involved. But She says I must take dance lessons every other night after this and that you must take them too. A refresher, she said. I am so sorry." She looked at him warmly. "And I really appreciate your explaining things to Rodric. I really didn't mean to be rude."

When her face fell, his looked concerned, brightening as she spoke. There was a slight catch in his breath at the mention of the refresher. "Don't be sorry," he said, smiling. "I would... um, well, maybe they will let you wear your boots so I don't hurt you when I step all over your toes." He seemed happy rather than distraught. "And, poor Rod didn't hear your explanation there. He's so worried about making a mistake, letting his parents down, that he just, well..." He searched her face. "I knew you weren't like that."

"Oh, dear." Paris felt a little depressed. "I don't even know what "like that" is supposed to be -- that I am not. I'm the one," her mouth twisted in a little self-critical smile, "who seems to make mistakes, not Rodric. His parents can't feel let down by my blunders, surely? Sometimes it seems like walking a cliff edge blind-folded." She shook herself and flashed Ewen a smile. "How long have you been at court, Ewen? How long does it take to get comfortable here?"

He gripped her hand more firmly. "Paris, you've done wonders here. You're remarkable. I hope that the Prince decides to accept more into his, your order. I want to try to ... join." He leaned back slightly, smiling at her, but growing serious as he talked. "As for getting comfortable in court, I don't think you ever do. Or at least you shouldn't. There's a lot of people trying for too few positions. Not all the orcs wear pig faces. I think that's why fire breath is so hard on us. I've been here a year, kind of got a late start, and I'm still not comfortable with dancing. Although," and he was looking at her intently, "the last couple of nights I've been thinking about how fun it looks."

"I am glad!" Paris' response was warm. "I think I could really like dancing when I learn enough. It's a little like close order drill -- working together to work smoothly. And it looks just as graceful as the moves of a great fighter. Oops." She giggled and she looked guiltily over at Lady du Gryphon and then back to Ewen. "I suppose that such comparisons are not proper conversation either?"

Growing serious again, "As for my Order..." her voice was soft, "once, the Astraean Guard had many in its ranks; committed, loyal, honourable. I would think the Prince would want the same again someday." She looked into his eyes, then down to her badge and back again. "It would feel so good to stand in ranks with others wearing this badge."

Altogether Paris found this night simply confusing and overwhelming, from the group dressing to suddenly finding herself sitting dances with many of her classmates; although only Ewen managed twice (not in a row, of course), and he did manage to get the last 'dance.' And tell her he had a wonderful evening again ... perhaps it was another of those formula statements that they have around here.

Paris returned to the bathroom to find Cordelia reading, her hands reddened from the unaccustomed work, but the armor and clothes properly cleaned. Cordelia seemed to be happy to get her dress back. During the exchange she could hear Cordelia's stomach gurgle. "Oh, it's nothing," she laughed. "Good for a girl's figure to skip a meal now and again." She looked at Paris. "Did Jules apologize yet?"

Paris flushed again. Light dawned at last. This was what she'd been asked to 'follow through with.' The others intended Jules to apologize. Had he bullied others here too? She closed her eyes. Old Farmer Jean had been quick with his fists too, and the village knew that his wife had carried bruises as well as his children -- until he'd broken his hand on that wall. That was what Lorraine had meant. Trying to save Jules from becoming another Farmer Jean. "No," her voice was low as she shook her head. "No, not yet. But," she smiled warmly at Cordelia, "I like his friends extremely well. Thank you, my lady."

Cordelia smiled back. "Look, Paris, call me Cordelia."

Fourday
After that, there was a shift in Paris' relationship with the others. A greater camaraderie, an acceptance as one of them. Jules survived another day of ostracism. Oddly enough, he again was seated with the Lady du Gryphon. Apparently any young man who cannot get a young lady to sit with him must dine with the fire breathing one.

After dinner there was the first dancing lesson. Ewen and Paris danced with instructors rather than each other.

Fiveday
Paris was back again in the anteroom, waiting for dinner. The night before had been dance practice; Lorraine had explained that Jules had asked about her at dinner the night before, and had seemed disappointed that she wasn't there. She grinned with a wolf's smile as she described how he had spent a second night on the sideline, with none of the girls willing to do more than sit with him.

As sometimes happened, there were some other nobles at the dinner, but the Prince and Duke were not in evidence, though Paris kept looking for them. The room was thus crowded when she noticed Jules wending his way through the crowd, his jaw set and rigidly at attention, towards where she was standing with Tree, Ewen, and Rodric. In response to his slow approach, her stomach tensed and began to flutter. She noticed, her ear beginning to be attuned to such things, that much of the nearby chatter of the other youths had stopped.

He stopped in front of her, and swallowed once. "Paris. Of Jouet. I would like to apologize for my actions the other day at practice."

"Lord Jules," Paris' eyes searched his handsome face. Her voice continued with dignity and warmth. "I honour the strength of your convictions and," a ghost of a smile touched her face, "and the strength of your arm", then her eyes and voice carried the strength of her convictions, "and the strength it takes to make such an apology. Thank you. I accept your apology and," she held out her hand, "hope we can be friends and good comrades-in-arms."

Jules nodded ever so slightly to her. "Then, I would like to ask you to join me at dinner," and he extended his arm to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ewen stiffen ever so slightly. "My parents have joined us for dinner, and would very much like to meet you."

"Of c-course, I would like to meet them." 'Of course,' Paris berated herself, 'Jules has parents. They all do, you know that. Pull yourself together and try to do a nice curtsy.'

They moved to the other noble couple there, Jules bowed slightly and Paris curtsied as much as she could. "Father, mother, may I present Paris of Jouet. Paris, Sir Marion du Chivar, Captain of the Duke's cavalry, and Lady Chivar." Paris recognized the man as the leader of the horse troop that had met the refugees of Jouet that day--almost three weeks ago--outside the town. He wore a blue tabard with a silver horse rampant, and a medal of some sort pinned to his chest. The woman was a striking older woman; some of her beauty could be seen in Jules' darkly handsome face; the same sharp cheekbones. Her hair, though, was running more to grey than black, and the face had strong lines. Paris was seated at the table on the end next to Sir Chivar, on his right; his wife sat to his left directly across from her. Jules, of course, was to her right; she noticed that Lorraine was escorted by Simon and was also at the table, next to Lady Chivar.

"What happened to your face, dear?" Lady Chivar asked as they were seated. "Practice, I'd say," said Sir Marion. "Happens even through armor, if the others aren't holding back. Not holding back just because she's a woman, are you Jules?" he said with a chuckle.

"No sir," Jules managed to reply, and quickly took a drink of water.

"So, tell me, Paris," Lady Chivar began. "How did Prince William come to select you for this Order of his?" And she looked at Paris with an intent and narrow focus.

"My Lady, Prince William did not select me. A magic card did. It -- is a bit of a long story, if your ladyship chooses to hear..?"

[Paris would tell the same story she told Lorraine, if the lady wants to hear, but would include a better time line so that it is clear that she met the prince on her 2nd visit to this town. Which also gives scope for mentioning the other adventures with her friends. Gotta give them credit; they did most of the work.]

"What I want to know is how you fought off forty orcs," Sir Marion interrupted. He smiled at his wife, "Excuse us, Marian, while we talk shop." He was well informed of the basics of the fight, and wanted to hear details of the fight in the corridor. He was also very interested in the battle at night and the "goblin." Paris couldn't help thinking that Lady Gryphon would be so disappointed, but he did ask.

"It was not me alone, sir. Knowing the orcs were coming, we set up where they could not trap us. Rhori -- who is, in the same way I am, a member of a similar order --" she touched her emblem, "held the front with me, while my brother Calais and our friend Brillig took second rank with spears. Eventually, the orcs were encumbered by their own dead being underfoot while we were able to stand firm. And with our magic users softening up their middle ranks, there were lots of dead underfoot. We didn't try to press an advantage, but let them come to us, sir. And my brother, who understands something of the orc language, could give us warning when they were about to try something. He could understand the orders given by the big orcs in the back."

Paris continued to answer Sir Marion as best she could. He, after all, was one of the men "out there" and if there was any thing that he could learn from her, it might help him save his own men in a future encounter.

Paris noticed that Lady Chivar blanched slightly at the 'dead underfoot' part, while Sir Marion leaned in. "Magic users. Now, I haven't got any of them onto a horse yet, so I haven't seen what they can do. How did you use them? How did you deploy their spells? How effective were they?"

[You don't have to fill in here...we can assume Paris answers as best she can.]

The conversation with the Lord reached a pause, and Lady Chivar again looked across the table. "And what, dear, do your mother and father think of what you are doing?" she asked in a tone that was flat and neutral. Sir Marion gave his wife with a sharp and questioning look but said nothing. Jules, who had been talking to the woman to his right, had grown quiet, as if he were listening.

"M-my parents are dead, your ladyship," Paris managed. "F-father died of fever a handful of years ago. I - I have been working the farm for him since then. He taught me that it was my duty to do the best I could to take care of my family and -- and to help others when I could. M-mother died," Paris squeezed her eyes shut and paused for a moment to find the breath in a chest tightly constricted to finish saying, "the night the orcs destroyed our village." She opened her eyes and looked at the lady, her voice now firm and quiet. "I am here to learn how to use the abilities I gained that night to help other people and to prevent what happened to my village from happening to others, God willing. I hope my parents would have approved."

She opened her eyes to see Lady Chivar staring sharply at her, and a look of surprise on Lorraine's face. Paris was the only one who noticed the change of expression on the young Gryphon's face as it hardened again into her mother's. Simon and Jules were both watching either Paris or Lady Chivar. With glittering black eyes, Lady Chivar paused as the servants served the main course, and asked Paris, "I heard that the orcs ate those they killed."

"Marian!" Lord Chivar hissed, just as Lorraine swooned. The young girl fell to her side against Simon, her hand and wine glass catching on his plate. In slow motion from the shock, Paris could perceive the wine arcing out of the glass and onto Lady Chivar. Simon, turning, managed to catch Lorraine too late to stop the spill. Lady Chivar sputtered, pushing back from the table. The confusion gave Paris several moments while all eyes were away from her.

Paris looked down and saw her white knuckled hands in her lap through blurred eyes. Focusing on first one hand, she forced it to open, releasing the napkin twisted inside it, then working on the other hand. Surreptitiously, she reached a finger up to wipe the moisture away from her eye, and forced herself to think of nothing at all.

"Oh!" exclaimed Lorraine in a weak voice, that still managed to carry through the suddenly quiet room. "Lady Chivar, that was so shocking! Lady du Gryphon, please, I pray you, I feel too ill to be able to continue dinner. May I be excused?" She seemed to notice the mess on Lady Chivar for the first time. "Oh, dear, I so apologize for my clumsiness, Lady, but the shock of what you said was just too much for me. Mother, is it possible that the servants could help the Lady with her dress, to make up for my terrible clumsiness?"

Lady Gryphon organized the servants to get the two women out of the room, finding a way herself to escort her daughter out of the room. It was a couple of minutes before she returned, face impassive, to sit at the table across from her husband.

Paris just picked at the food after that, but she had had time to get her emotions well under control. Paris wasn't the only one who picked, Jules seemed to be bothered as well. Sir Marion took a moment to relax, and then dug in.

After they left dinner, Jules, as her escort for dinner, requested the first dance.

Paris smiled frankly up at him, giving him her hand. "I would love to dance, but you deserve to be warned: I have had only one lesson in dancing so far. And not nearly enough experience to know if that is enough. You have far more experience, so, would you rather sit and talk? I would like that too."

Jules smiled weakly. "I think it probably better if we sit. We need to talk." He was quiet until they moved to the chairs facing the floor and musicians. "Paris," he said, his throat tightening again. "I want to apologize for my mother. She... well. She doesn't much like you."

Paris looked into his eyes, hunting for a way to express what she felt. Quietly she responded, "If your mother feels -- that I do not belong in this place -- it is very understandable that she not like me. She has a right to think -- feel -- about me in any way she chooses. I -- am sorry for it. But it is her right. And -- I thank you for your kind words. Really. I wish I could oblige those that don't want me here -- but -- it is important to me to - to be able to fight evil. I think you understand that and feel that way yourself, Lord Jules."

In a low but angry tone of voice, Jules responded. "I don't know what I want." Several moments of silence went by while his jaw worked. "This isn't the way it was supposed to be."

Paris' response was low but firm. "I think you must want something very much. You feel so strongly about it. Lord Jules, you have a great capacity for commitment and the ability to follow that commitment. I know this: you felt strongly that I was in some ways a "wrong", disturbing the natural order of things. You wanted very much to make that right. I honour you for that. It is that sort of commitment that this kingdom will need to drive the truly evil from these lands."

She regarded him soberly. "Tell me, please, what was the 'way it was supposed to be?'"

He was looking across the dance floor, jaw clenched, and not answering her for a long while. His voice was tense when he finally replied, and he did not look at her. "I was supposed to get my belt in a couple of months, the oldest and best fighter in the class. I was going to marry the prettiest girl here, and get her seriously pregnant. Ride a horse and command a troop against bandits. Not have someone, a peasant no less, appear from nowhere, best me, with a thousand somethings behind her that scare my father and the lords to death. In a place turned topsy turvy." He turned to her, voice low but angry. "I want all this to go away. And it isn't going to go away just by my being committed."

Paris' voice was serious. "You are right. Chaos has entered all of our lives. And one person, peasant or noble, is not likely to be able to turn it all right-side up again. It is not a bad dream to be wakened out of at first light. You are very right." The next statement quavered for a moment, "Much as I would wish otherwise."

She looked around, her voice gentle but full of conviction. "However, it can all 'go away.' All of this -- that which does remain: the gallant lords, the pretty girls, the horses and fields, and the uppity peasants -- may go away -- just the way my village did -- if you and others like you are not committed to fighting the evil that marches through these lands."

"Lord Jules, three out of four souls in my village died. The lucky ones were cut down fighting." She paused a moment. "If normal life is to continue -- crops planted and harvested, goods flowing through merchants, life to be maintained -- we would -- will, of course, rebuild -- say, 25 where 100 were. And when the orcs -- or worse -- return, what then? 6 where there had been 25? How long do our people survive at that rate? How long does our kingdom survive -- if we don't figure out ways to beat them without such terrific losses."

The music ended. For a moment, she could see Jules' jaw tense, as he gracefully rose. He looked at her shoulder, she thought, not her eyes. "Thank you for the dance, peasant." Then, he looked away, finally dropping her hand. An odd frown creased his face... he was angry and irritated at something, but no more was forthcoming.

[Ooof! That hurt. But it was true.] Paris replied, quietly, "You are welcome, my lord."

However, Paris was looking a bit pale when Ewen claimed her for the next dance. But she carried herself well; she was not ashamed of what she has said this evening.

Paris returned to the bathroom to recover her equipment. There was a figure there waiting for her; when it stood up she could see it was Lorraine. She had removed her fancy clothes and was wearing a thick cloak over a night shift, though the night was not particularly cold. She could see in the dim light that the other girls' eyes were red. "Oh, Paris. I'm so sorry for you. I didn't know about your mother," she said through a tear-soaked voice. And she reached out to hug Paris.

"Oh Lorraine!" Paris held the other girl close. "I am sorry to have upset you so. I - I would not -- have m-mentioned -- if I -- could have thought of s-something else to answer. I -- oh, God," Paris could no longer keep the tears from leaking through her closed eyelids. I - I - hope -- you're a-all right," she managed to choke out.

For several moments the two of them cried together. "P - Paris," Lorraine finally choked out. "I wanted so much to grab your sword and smash Lady Chivar in two. All I had to throw at her was the wine. And then outside the room I was telling Mom what that bitch Chivar said, and I started seeing orcs taking my mom away... Oh, Paris, how can you stand it? I'm so sorry for you." And a new round of hot tears ensued.

Paris wept, patting and soothing the other girl all the while. She found that her own bottled-up pain seemed to be washing away with the other's tears. "Dear, sweet Lorraine. I am sorry for all this -- but, oh, you do understand why I am what I am, trying to be more than I was born to be? If I can help it, no other girl should lose her mother so." Paris gave Lorraine a hug, whispering. "Love your mother. You may not like all her ways -- what child does? But my biggest regret is that I did not tell either of my parents often enough how much they meant to me. And you have such great-hearted parents."

That night Genelle was waiting to talk to Paris when she got home.

Sixthday
The next day, the sixth in her training, the morning class was interrupted. Jules stepped forward to address Lord Gryphon. "Sir. If you will excuse me. Could," and he stopped to swallow. "Today, could we learn how to fight orcs?"

Paris stared. Was this the Jules who could barely speak to her last night?

The knight looked them over. "Is that what all of you want?" Paris was a bit surprised to see all of her classmates shaking their head in agreement. "Very well," he said. "Paris. Front and center." She moved with alacrity to stand in front of him. "Sketch in the dirt the corridor you fought in." She did her best to recall the distances. He nodded, and called over the grooms. Soon there were barricades of straw bales, sawhorses, and buckets all used to mock up the corridor walls. He had her go through the fight, as close to blow by blow as she could. Nodded at the backing up to the corner, but suggested they be faster in the future.

He broke the group up into two teams. Paris instructed the orc team in orc tactics, as much as she knew, while Lord Gryphon situated the others. Throughout the morning they replayed the battle, although without the magic spells; backing up in combat, fighting from second rank, switching sides and rotating people through the line. Paris found herself amazed by her classmates. Jules, who always leaped into battle with wild, uncontrolled swings, was actually waiting for openings. All of them were ... grimmer than she remembered. And listening, hard for once, to the knight's instruction.

Before lunch there was another interruption.

Paris was still trying to figure out how to ask for time off to honour Genelle's request to go back to Jouet, when the Prince came in to check on the status of the training. One by one, the students moved over to speak with the Prince and du Gryphon.

Paris' turn finally came. "Paris, this is difficult to ask," the Prince began. "You're coming along fine, but something has come up. I have to go back to the capitol and make a report. It will be a couple of weeks before I get back. It would be best if you weren't here in the castle each day while I'm gone. In fact, if you could leave the city it would be even better." He grinned. "Just make sure you come back out of any orc hole you go into. We need you."

Paris grew a little pale as the Prince was finishing. What had she done? The fight? The impertinent questions she'd asked Lorraine and Ewen? Had she somehow offended the Duke as well, to have made herself a burden in his castle? Or did the Prince somehow know that she had basically promised herself to Genelle. In so doing she had, indeed, been guilty of great disloyalty to him, her Prince, her leader. She hadn't considered that. She hadn't thought to ask him before making such a promise. The day was suddenly dark and grim -- by her own doing -- and this shining prince seemed so very far away. Paris dropped to one knee and bowed her head. "It shall be as you command, my Prince," she said hoarsely. She touched the fingers of one hand to the symbol on her breast. "Should -- should you want to be keeping this, while I am gone, my lord?"

"Get up," the Prince said with some surprise. "God, no, listen to me. You don't let anyone take that emblem from you as long as you live. That is an order." He seemed to be angry, but that quickly passed. "I keep forgetting, I'm only a couple of years older than you, but was raised in a different world. Look, if I got lost in a forest, I might starve to death or be eaten by some wild creature, while you would know your way around. You'd guide me if you were there. Well, you're lost in a much more dangerous place -- court. And there are beasts here that would make the forest seem tame." He took a deep breath, seemed to gather his thoughts. "Please understand what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to get them to prepare for war, a war utterly unlike any they have fought before. And a third of them don't want to believe me, and will fight every step of the way. The Duke believes, but needs me, as a power from outside, so he can make unpopular changes and still have everyone live together. You are in danger here when I'm not around. Some things could occur that not even the Duke could stop without civil war. So, go, be out of sight, out of mind, for a couple of weeks. But come back."

He paused a moment. "I don't think you understand what you've done. A week ago, half of them were against me. Now it's only a third." He looked around, and lowered his voice. "Mount Pelier is riddled with caverns, most of them storerooms. Some of them are filled with things captured when our ancestors came here. Now that I know what to look for, I will see if there are any more Books. I hope to know more when next we meet."

He calmly smiled at her. "Would you prefer it to be official orders? That I choose some place to send you, and tell you not to report back for two weeks?" His smile turned to a wide grin. "I'm not going to have to pay for an ox rental, am I?"

Paris could not return the smile. "No, my Prince, no ox. I have a duty that will take me away. I was going to ask permission to go. I will leave as soon as possible." She met his eyes. "May -- may God bless you in all your endeavours, my lord." Paris found herself wishing for more than words with which to bless this prince. Only a couple years older than she, he'd said, and yet carrying responsibilities that she could scarcely yet comprehend.

The Prince smiled. "Thank you, Paris. May you have God' blessing, luck, and my permission for your task." He held up his hand. "You don't need to tell me, I know you wouldn't do it if it were out of place. Do you need anything for the journey? Money? Equipment?"

"I don't know, your Highness. It came up rather suddenly. But I will manage." She managed a small smile of reassurance.

[S:Does Paris feel that court is dangerous? From her discussion with the Prince, I doubt it. ]
[GM: No, Paris has no indication that court is dangerous. She'd have preferred to have found Jules the next day and try to talk it out with him. But she sees the incident more in the light of a group of the village kids baiting Red -- with herself in the role of Red. And she knows that she, at least, doesn't have Red's problem with communication so she figured that she could eventually talk it through with the others -- or exist within their ostracization. It isn't as though she thought of herself as their social peer -- howsoever her battle skills match against theirs. But -- the Prince expects her to take this training -- and she would endure all this and more if that were required in obeying him.
What Paris doesn't know is that the Prince is taking several people with him who either are or are spies for his worst enemies. They will, though, think this is just a temporary ploy, or perhaps you were sent more quickly to Pelier. But, just think what will happen when the rumor mongers find out that Paris is also passing herself off as a boy named Calais... :)]

Lord Gryphon squinted up at the sun. "Haven't done the open order drill yet. You," he called, pointing at one of the grooms, "go tell the herald his class is canceled today. Ok, Paris, let's set up the battle of the tree..."

And so the afternoon went, until finally he released the tired group to go prepare for dinner.

With Lorraine, readying for dinner
Paris' heart was still heavy at having to leave and, possibly, not seeing her prince again, given that she would be taking Genelle into an unknown future. She could not keep herself from thinking about the prince, wondering if she were betraying him. She was relatively quiet but found a point where she could direct Lorraine's chatter, perhaps during one of the (common?:-) digressions on so-and-so's eligible sons.

Paris sighed. "I know so little as yet, Lorraine, of all the noble families and their backgrounds and interests. I do not even know how our Duke came to his honours so young. And he and Prince William seem to be such friends. Can you tell me about them and their families? How old are they, for instance? When belted? What their chief interests are? I am truly countrified, to know so little of my rulers."

"Breathe in a second," Lorraine asked. As Paris held her breath, Lorraine did something to one of the seams of the dress near the waist. "There, that ought to hold. Wow. The old Duke's death was such a big thing, I thought that everyone ... of course, there hasn't been a fair since then, has there? So a lot of news wouldn't get out to Jouet yet. The Duke was killed three months ago, out hunting boar. A boar got him and gored him bad. His poor wife has wasted away since then, just collapsed. She looks years older now. Anyway, while there're several women who've pushed their daughters at the Duke, I hear from mom that he was planning on mourning for a year. Well, that's all different now, I'm sure. He's twenty now. Let's see, I think dad passed him, what two years ago? Yes, just about the time I started going to the dances. I got one dance with him." She looked out the window remembering. "God, was I terrified. Fourteen years old, dancing with the Duke. I'm pretty sure I stepped on his foot, but he pretended not to notice." She grinned wickedly. "I didn't get to dance with your boyfriend the Prince," and she giggled as she held up her hands to defend herself, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. He is, though, really, really cute. He finished up with dad a couple of weeks before that. I think he's now, oh, twenty-one or so. I've forgotten, but the heralds will know his birthday."

"'Cute?'" Paris mused. "Sometimes I think that my eyes don't work the same as other people's. I see our Duke and -- somehow what I see is him asking for our orc swords, giving those of us who had nothing the opportunity to trade those useless things for real weapons and armor. Real tools to help us rebuild. All the while caught himself in that be-spelled armor. Caring about us as his people and thinking so little about himself. 'Responsible' and 'munificent' are the words I think of."

"And when I see Prince William, I cannot but think of what our emblem means, the sorts of ideals that he must live up to in order to be the leader of our Order. And I just want to be a better person myself, braver, more honourable, always ready to do what is right, to be worthy of such a prince. 'Cute' is not a word I can use."

"Oh, come on now," Lorraine said, chuckling. During Paris' speech she had moved over to the mirror, adjusting her own dress with a critical eye. For a moment, it reminded Paris of checking armor and weapons before going into battle. "Sure, they are all those things, but you can't tell me that you look at the Duke and Prince and don't get even a flutter in your tummy? A warm feeling spreading all inside you? Or, perhaps," and she grinned, looking at Paris out the side of her eyes, "perhaps some other boy has caught your fancy? Hmmm?"

Paris replied gravely. "My breath stops and I feel like the world has moved out from under me, whenever I have been addressed by the Prince or the Duke. I - I -- some part of me believes that the -- they glow..." she laughed a little at her own fancy, " and must subdue their own light when speaking with someone like me. When he speaks I am hot and cold together -- inspired and afraid. I -- I would die for the Prince, if it would in somewise help him, but -- but I don't think that my -- feelings -- are a 'fancy'."

Lorraine was looking at Paris a little oddly. "No, I'd say it's not a 'fancy.' You've got it real bad."

Paris looked down at her hands. Slim and strong. Working hands. "I am their loyal servant. It is as it should be."

Lorraine picked up the brush to work on the back of Paris' hair. "I heard from the older girls that the two of them were always gentlemen. Too gentlemanly, a couple of them said. Kissed a few of them, but never let their hands stray, at all." The way Lorraine said it, this was a bad thing. "I'd guess that the Duke's interests run more to long hair, very dark eyes, and very trim waists, given the two he spent the most time with. Not so sure about the Prince. Hmm. Your curly hair does have some advantages. I have to brush my hair a hundred strokes on each side."

Paris grinned. "My brother Calais has a trick of catching his curls up in a ribbon when the Players talk him into playing the part of a girl. He says it's much easier to keep ornaments in place in curly hair than in straight. He is such a clown, at times."

"Oh," Lorraine continued. "Families. The Prince has an older sister; she's unmarried and that's quite a scandal since she's twenty-two years old, and an older brother. It's the brother that's the Heir. The Duke has two sisters. One's married off in Pelier, the other's here and married."

"Pelier, that's Rodric's home, isn't it? This is really a wonderful place to meet people from all over."

"Rodric and Silvan. It is the capital of the Kingdom, silly, there are a lot of people there."

"Oh." Paris flushed at her own ignorance.

She paused for a moment, hunting for a subject that Lorraine would enjoy, and gulped at the topic that came to mind. "When you asked about my fancies, Lorraine, if you are asking if I have every had a sweetheart ... no. There was always so much work -- or study -- that I had to do -- or wanted to do -- that I haven't much had time to just -- spend time with the other kids and see if any of the boys would 'suit my fancy.' Calais did the 'hanging around'; I didn't. And I think it takes some time -- if you are allowed to choose for yourself, doesn't it?"

"You poor girl." Lorraine seems on the verge of tears again. "I never thought about your having to run a farm without your father. You never had a boyfriend? Never had a crush on someone? Never had a chance to put on a pretty dress for the first time after developing a figure," and she gestured at her own form, "and have all the boys flock around you for the first time?" She struggles for a moment with tears, and continues with forced gaiety. "Of course you get to choose, if you get asked by several. So, the trick is to be asked by as many boys as possible so you get a choice. You want as many boys as you can courting you."

Paris grinned ruefully. "If any fellow ever came a'courting, I'd bet Calais would chase him away, pretending to be me, and mooning all over the poor unfortunate. And laughing up his sleeve the whole time, if I know my brother."

She looked at Lorraine. "Is part of 'learning how to handle boys', figuring out what would suit you? Do you -- fancy -- anyone?"

Lorraine giggled. "I fancy them all, silly. Though it would be fun to meet someone outside the class that mom and dad might not have preapproved. You know," she winks, "someone a little dangerous. Jules is awfully cute. And I understand he's the best in dad's class, he is the senior one and closest to graduating. He's a bit too active with his hands, though. Silvan's the best kisser. If you can get past his nervousness, Rodric is a really good dancer."

[P.S. Your assessment of Jules' fighting skills is that he is generally undisciplined--good coordination and native skill, but leaps into the attack and hopes to finish off his opponent in a flurry of blows, leaving him out of position. Yes, that probably worked well against the new swordsmen, but he had only a slim edge over Ewen, Rodric, and the other more senior boys; he always lost to you. You may or may not care to point this out to Lorraine. :) Although, today's practice, learning to fight orcs, was a bit different--for the first time, he seemed to start listening to Lord Gryphon and fighting in line with the others. If he keeps that up, he might beat you next time... Might. Doubt it. :) ]

All of her classmates had gained Paris' respect that day. Lorraine may think as she will of them. Lorraine herself seems a creature vastly different from Paris, who simply looked at her in amazed wonder. "I -- I was told that -- the Gryphons teach only the best. I -- hope you find one that suits you. I think you deserve the best."

Lorraine moved across the room to a small cloth bag, which she opened. She seemed nervous, which was very unlike Lorraine. "Paris, um, during the day we girls have classes too, and one of them is stitching and embroidery. No, what I mean to say is that dancing is hot work, even class, and I know you don't have a kerchief, or much else, so I... No, look, I mean, I hope you'll take this gift from me. For friendship." She passed over a small bit of cloth, a kerchief with a bold "P" on one corner, and a rendition of her order badge, sword and scales, on the opposite corner.

"Oh, Lorraine," happy tears stung Paris' eyes as she took the dainty handkerchief. "It's the prettiest thing I've ever owned. Thank you. But I need no token to remember your friendship -- and for that I thank you too." Her face grew serious. "I -- I am going to really miss you. I need to tell you, both you and your parents, how much I appreciate all you've done for me this week. I- I found out when I went home last night that there's a task I must do, that will take me away -- for awhile. I --," she opened her arms in a tiny shrug, "must leave -- tomorrow -- though ...." Paris shook herself. "Thank you for everything! I want to really enjoy tonight -- and all of you dear people."

Lorraine reached out and hugged Paris. "You take care of yourself. Not done with all your lessons yet," she choked out through sobs. She pulled back, "Now look at what you've done." She grabbed a towel and soaked it in water, then blew softly on it. "Here, put this cold cloth on your eyes," she said, demonstrating. "It will help remove the tears and get rid of some of the red. Wouldn't do to show up at dinner crying."

Puzzled, Paris followed the instructions. One is not to do happy crying in this place either. At least not so's it would show. She gave a mental sigh. People here have to learn to wear all sorts of masks.

Dance practice, the sixth evening
Paris had danced four dances straight, the last two with Ewen. By all rights she should have dropped in exhaustion, but keeping pace with the music, she thought, must have done something to relieve the fatigue. She'd thought she'd been getting along pretty well, but - somehow - dancing with Ewen was - different than dancing with the instructor. Warmer. More breathless. She tried to reason out why - and stepped on his toes. Panicked, she smiled a nervous apology and he smiled back and seemed, somehow, to be holding her even closer. 'Maybe it gives him more warning that I'm about to misstep,' she thought, carefully trying to follow his lead, trying to concentrate on the steps.

'It is - different,' she thought again. The instructor had seemed somehow able to mechanically pressure her into the right places, the right moves, as a master swordsman can force a student's every move. Ewen was trying harder -- leading right through his whole body in a way -- if she could move with him, she felt...and slipped again onto his foot.

Ewen grinned at her rueful expression, stopped to catch the count of the music, and swept her close again. He was being so game about this, and she did want him to find fun in it, given that they really had no choice. Ewen seemed - more real - somehow - than the dance master. She was not a -- creature to be put through its paces to him. His hand around her waist felt more -- caring, more possessive? Was this what Lorraine meant by boys and their hands? The breathless feeling returned. It is the hands, being held, letting yourself be held -- captive to the music, the dance, the man. Ewen's foot caught hers and his eyebrows went up. She felt a giggle bubbling up. That wasn't so bad. Really. She threw back her head and beamed at him. In the background, the room spun as they turned, but Ewen's face stayed fixed, smiling.

By the end, she had, by her count, stepped on his feet four times and he on hers twice, adding to her collection of bruises. Tired and flushed from the exertion, still slightly dizzy from the dance, they both stepped over to a doorway that led to the interior garden. Above them, through the open balcony above, they could hear the music from the usual dance. The night air was cool and felt invigorating; a few crickets could be heard nearby over the music.

"I'm surprised you can walk," Ewen said, his grin visible in the faint light from the other doors and windows. "I must have stomped on you a dozen times. Did they let you use your boots?" He was standing close enough she could have easily put a hand on his arm to steady herself.

"You are a tease, sir!" Paris returned the grin. "I stepped on you far, far more than you did me. It is good that I didn't wear boots, now isn't it?" Paris's smile faded and quickly she looked into the garden. "Ewen, I want to tell you -- the boots, my gear -- I left them packed after practise. I found out last night that I have a task to do. I have permission to go; I must leave tomorrow. Duty takes me westward and -- this will be my last dance practice -- for quite some time." She turned to him, looking into his face. "I wanted to tell you, to thank you for being such a good friend to me all the while I've been here. I -- will miss you."

"Westward." Ewen's smile was gone. "Back into all the monsters. Do you have to... of course you have to, you've said that already." He was silent for a moment, looking off across the garden. "Will you at least promise me that you'll try to keep yourself safe and come back to class?" A forced smile returned to his face. "I'm going to practice until I can beat you fair and square." He sighed, and his face fell but his eyes were intent on hers, his voice low. "You are really unique, you know."

"Oh, Ewen." She took his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "Don't worry about me. You know that I cannot 'stay safe' if someone else is in danger. But I will promise to try to come back; I want to very much. If -- when I do come back, I'll have to introduce you to my brother. He's the unique one; he thinks I'm much too like our father."

She could hear the musicians inside tuning up, the sign that they should return to complete practice. It drowned out the crickets, but she could smell the powerful perfume of the jasmine, and see Ewen's shape in the bright light of the just past full moon. He breathed once, and whispered, "I don't think you're like a father at all." Then, faster than she could react, he leaned over and kissed her, one hand still holding hers, the other in the small of her back like they danced a minute ago. In an instant it was over, and he stepped back.

Paris stood stiffly, feeling the blood pound in her ears. Hot with shame, cold with dread, tingling with the touch of his lips on hers. The rigidity kept her from reaching up to try and wipe away that touch. 'Why?' and "What now?' screamed in her, suddenly aware that her -- friend -- was a young lord.

"We'd better go in," he said seriously, but his eyes were dancing. Someone had come to the door to the garden, looking out toward them, and the two of them moved back into the room.

Paris could not look at Ewen. She knew her colour was changing by the moment, as moment after moment with the young lord out of armor came rolling back. How foolish she had been. How -- innocent -- and how dreadful. To have met him as an equal and -- so convinced him of her forwardness and -- made this sort of -- taking -- possible. She stumbled over the instructor's feet and was quickly chastised for not paying attention. Carefully she concentrated on the steps, anything to stop thinking about how guilty she felt.

The last dance of the evening was again with Ewen. Both of them, concentrating hard on the steps, him wearing a half smile and not taking his eyes off of her; her concentrating on the trim on his shoulder, concentrating on the steps, concentrating on how graceful dancing is supposed to look -- anything except whatever now Ewen would expect of her. The dance ended, he bowed and she curtsied, keeping her eyes lowered.

"Paris," a sharp voice called from the side of the room. Lady Gryphon stood their waiting. "May I speak with you, please?"

Paris inadvertently looked into Ewen's face as she straightened, turning to the voice. Something dark and pleading haunted her eyes.

"Good night, my lady," Ewen said, bowing one more time. "I had a truly wonderful evening."

"Good -- bye, my lord." Paris managed to answer.

"Paris," Lady Gryphon looked at her not unkindly. "I understand you will be leaving us tomorrow for a short time. Oh, you looked flushed from your exertions, please come have a seat." The older woman led her over to a bench, sat down next to her, and called for some water. "I want you to know that my husband and I have enjoyed having you in our classes. You have done well for your first week. But it will take longer for the peasant girl to learn to become a lady knight. You will be welcome back when you return." She frowned a moment, reaching up to move one sweat-drenched curl away from Paris' forehead. "You might consider a pin to hold that back while dancing." She smiled at herself. "No, I can't ever stop, can I? Paris, take care of yourself. We want you to come back."

Paris' voice caught, but she managed to answer on the second try. "My Lady, you and Sir Gryphon have been more than kind, more than generous." As her feelings for the du Gryphons came to the fore, her words flowed, awkward but sincere. "I have learned so much from you. And I have learned -- that there is -- so much left to learn. And I am incredibly grateful. This -- was -- almost a dream of happiness -- for a peasant girl. And I have -- only poor words -- with which to thank you. I would love to study more with you. But -- I - I-- will return -- if -- when the Prince requires it of me. I will never forget you -- and the faith you've had in me." Paris bowed her head before the lady. "Please convey my thanks to Lord du Gryphon."

"Look up, child," Lady Gryphon gently instructed, and smiled at Paris. "There is no need for you to bow to me here and now. We were born no different, and there are none here we must fool. Lord du Gryphon asked me to send you his best wishes, and said to remind you to retreat to defensible positions quicker."

Paris' voice was very quiet. "I bow willingly, my lady, to those I respect. There was no thought to fool anyone."

She paused for a few minutes, studying Paris before she continued. "You are upset. Why? You have done well; the Prince is sending you away for your protection, not because you have done badly."

Paris paused, struggling with the desire to confide. "I -- tend to make blunders, my lady, not being clever at -- all the nuances in this place. The Prince ..." another thought had struck her. "Does the Prince need to know all of my foolishnesses?" Paris felt cold. She managed to continue. "He told me; he has his own reasons to send me out. I think I understand -- I might -- I do provoke trouble just by being what I am. It - it is best that I go where I am not so out of place -- and so prone to make trouble without meaning to," Paris' eyes unconsciously sought the doorway through which Ewen must have left, "-- until he has need of me." The face Paris turned back to the lady was still troubled but the voice was firm. "I will try to practice as much as I am able all that you have taught me. I will not forget."

Lady Gryphon looked across the empty room, and was quiet for a long time. "Paris. Normally, you would be expected at church tomorrow morning, at the chapel here in the palace. But, Lady Chivar and her friends will be there. It would be useful, for those of us trying to bring a change, for them not to be stirred up. It would be best if you would go with your friends from Jouet to church in town, this time." She turned to look at the younger woman. "Please, understand what we are doing. Give us time to work."

A smile bubbled about the corners of Paris' mouth. "I had almost forgot. Indeed, my lady, I think it would be very good if I could go to the church in town -- lest my brother think that my stay in this castle means that he can sleep late and miss his prayers. And I can ask God's forgiveness there as well as here, my lady. Fear not for me. I will -- disappear -- from this palace tonight and leave you the working space."

She smiled at Paris. "A younger brother, I take it? I had three of them, you know."

"No, ma'am, well -- we don't exactly know, my lady. Calais and I are twins." Paris smiled ruefully. "It's just that I tend to feel older; but then, he says he feels older when I've 'run into trouble trying to get someone else out.'"

She put her hand on Paris'. "Just make sure you reappear, dear."

"Thank you, my lady."

Paris looked, but the others were gone; only servants remained to clean. She made her way back to the bath room, hung up the dress one last time, and journeyed through the cold night air to her rooms. The bright light of the moon made it easy to move through the street, and once or twice she caught a whiff of jasmine in the night. She hurried on, shivering, but her lips felt hot to her. And the night was bitter with all that she had foolishly thrown away. "Don't give the Sir Avenal's an excuse," seemed to float on the moonlight.

[S: I don't think Paris actually _believes_ that the Prince intends to make her a knight. That is still part of the fairy tale that she feels she has wandered into. And that she now thinks she is marching out of.]
[GM: Even though everyone of import has ordered her to return? You realize, of course, if she throws away her life in some defiant orc charge, she's disobeying the prince? :)]
[S: That is the biggest reason she feels so unhappy. And one of the reasons she did not pick up on Ewen's mood despite the conversation with Lorraine just a couple hours previous. Paris is committed to finding Genelle a safe place to live, even if it means staying with Genelle herself as long as it takes. And she knows that it may take long enough that the orcs will come to them in Jouet; she need not choose to go down an orc hole. And no matter how good the Card made her, or how hard she tried to learn more this past week, one fighter against a horde of orcs is not going to survive. Paris feels very deeply that she has trapped herself and that she has disobeyed her Prince even though at the moment there is no proof of that. In her mind, it will take a miracle for it not to happen just that way. She is stuck between her promise and disobedience -- probably fatal disobedience. Paris _is_ depressed.]

Sevenday
The seventh day held no classes; all had free time except for church in the morning; there were no evening events.

"Education" copyright 1999 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.