Lorraine's Party.
It hadn't occurred to Paris that there'd be anything to worry about at an informal party of the duGryphons. She long ago had lost much of her shyness and awkwardness; knowing what to do and who everyone was did that, somehow. With Lorraine and Lady duGryphon leading the conversation there was almost no trace of the sadness that had haunted Paris beforehand. The melancholy of good friends about to go their separate ways. Lady duGryphon had taught well the use of formalities to ease such situations. And this was the top of the graduating class. Even Paris had to acknowledge that to herself. We're all well-taught, she thought.
She smiled when Anton entered to perform. He'd always done well before the Duke and Prince so she hadn't worried about him. But she knew how it felt to see a friendly face in a room of strangers. She knew that she'd spoken of him -- his stories, at least -- in conversations with her friends, almost from the first. It was impossible to not talk to her friends about her comrades; they were natural parts of the stories she'd been asked to tell. But there hadn't been as much opportunity to tell anyone but Calais much about the people she knew here in the palace. So she smiled reassuringly at the bard. She'd told him that Lorraine was her best girl friend -- and Cordelia next after. He'd met Ewen. And she thought she'd managed some time ago to convince her comrades that Jules was not really a dangerous rival, though they had seemed to want to view him that way all the way up to the Tournament. She'd done what she could -- answering his questions about titles, everything -- to prepare Anton, to help him feel more comfortable in this performance.
She knew the story. So she watched her friends. When Lady duGryphon's eyebrows went up at the poetic description of the first charge out of Pierre's earth-vehicle, Paris felt a constriction in her throat. She'd been right; the lady was not going to approve of this story. But the Duke had heard it and it seemed right for others to as well. She glanced over at Sir Gryphon who had heard the tale in the Duke's court. He winked at her. Surprise knotted her throat still more for a moment and then she let go. Relaxing a little. And smiled in return. It would be all right.
A different set of knots started forming as the tale expanded. Paris was shocked to see how drawn and pale Ewen became during the tale of the Dread. Did he care so much? Or had he not realized how dangerous their profession was? No, he'd faced a giant. She wanted desperately to reach out and take his hand, to somehow reassure him. But Anton was wrapping flourishes around the story: the unknown white light emerging from the Tomb. She glanced from Ewen to Jules, remembering the estrangement her first healing before them had caused. Would Queen Branwen's sword cause the same thing? She was instantly conscious of its weight, hanging from her belt. A promise she should keep forever. Howsoever her friends might feel about it.
The song seemed to last forever. Paris distracted herself by watching Lorraine and Cordelia. The shining expression Lorraine turned on Jules when the song mentioned his name was hard to mistake. Paris smiled to herself. They would make such a handsome couple. A joy to see. She tipped her head slightly in momentary confusion. Cordelia's expression was much like Lorraine's. But -- but -- she was looking at Anton, entranced by the song. How odd, that she, Paris, had so little skill in reading expressions, even after all this time. She glanced back at Lorraine and Jules. Was she mistaken there too?
The singing ended to ebullient applause, which Paris, after a moment, joined in. Anton's story had gone over very well. Everyone stood up from dinner, Lord and Lady Gryphon went over to the singer, and she could hear his gruff voice congratulating the young man. "Well?" asked a lilting voice from her side. Paris turned to look at Lorraine and her friends all moving close. "Can we see it? The Sword of Branwen?"
Paris swallowed a little bit, the memory of the healing still fresh in her memories. Slowly, trying to be quiet, she drew the sword from its scabbard. But there was the thrill of the singing inside and around her, momentarily loud and then subdued, and the shell of white light around her and the sword. She held it flat in her hands, supporting the blade, for the others to look at. There were several long moments of stunned silence, with only the heavenly chorus for sound. "Beautiful," Lorraine finally said. She moved her hands under it, next to Paris. "May I?"
"I don't know," Paris replied. "I'm not sure."
Rodric leaned over, one finger pointing at one of the signatures engraved in the blade. "Ratigan Givance. First Earl of Eastgate." His finger gently traced the engraving, and there was no disaster. "The first of my family line. And Toscani, the First Chancellor." Excitedly, he looked up. "They all might have held this sword. Sorry," he said, his ears glowing ever so faintly red. "There's something about being in the presence of something from the time of heroes I've only ever read about. This is old. Old beyond belief."
"I don't know," said Ewen's voice, with a remarkably welcome warm tone to it. "I think there is something about being in the presence of real heroes," he said, his eyes catching Paris'. "So you were in the armor when that vambrace got destroyed. Didn't Lord Gryphon ever teach you to duck?" he said with a smile.
Paris blushed as she re-sheathed the sword. "I don't duck anywhere near as well as you do, as well I know! I remember remarking early on about your tricks with a shield." She smiled, looking into his eyes, happy through and through that he didn't seem upset with her. "I really should have gotten you to work with me on some of those skills."
"Instead of other skills?" Lorraine interjected liltingly before Ewen could answer, a terribly impish smile on her face. Stifled chuckles was heard from Jules' and Rodric's directions.
Paris gave her a surprised look and then blushed brightly. She glanced down to the floor and then raised her eyes back to Lorraine's. "I have been fortunate in many of my lessons and am grateful to all my teachers," she managed steadily, breaking into a small smile at the end, her eyes never leaving her friend's.
Ewen's face was priceless, a slight reddening to his cheeks and his jaw somewhere on the floor. Lorraine, smiling brightly, quickly steered the conversation onto some other topic, allowing the young lord time to recover his wits.
The entertainment moved to music and dancing. In such a small private party, especially hosted by Lady duGryphon, the formalities were stronger than ever. Each young man requested a dance of the Lady, a thing that never could happen in the classroom setting; while Lord duGryphon proved that maturity did not prevent a man from being nimble on the dance floor. Paris very much enjoyed her dance with the Armsmaster.
And, she found, she very much enjoyed her dance with Ewen. It was being alive, vibrantly alive, the opposite of...
"I would wager that facing the Dread was almost as frightening as dancing," Ewen said between steps of the music. "God, I'm glad you are back."
"As frightening as ducking a giant? Oh, Ewen, I'm so glad we are both here to be dancing."
She showed her sword twice more that evening, to Lord duGryphon first, with Lady duGryphon, unable to maintain her displeasure, looking at the artifact in fascination as well. He too, wanted to feel it's heft, and Paris finally relented. On him, of course, there was no white light, no sound, but he held it firmly in his sword hand. "Excellent balance," he proclaimed. He handed it back quickly, and Paris was relieved to see the light and chorus return.
Finally, Rodric brought his sister over to show her the blade. She had missed the first showing, and the two of them looked over the long list of names on the blade. They had some discussion on the names, trying to figure out which ones were ones they had read of, which might be people they were expecting. It would take much scholarship before they would know all of it. "Perhaps," Cordelia asked, "it would be possible to do a rubbing and get a copy of the inscriptions?"
"I -- suppose so," Paris said, still a little hesitant. Then she smiled. "It certainly has seen far harsher use than that would be."
[Since it's not critical, I'll just assume that they get their rubbing in the morning before they go.]
[They weren't likely to have paper and waxed pigment at a party so, yes, Paris probably trots early to the palace the next morning so that the rubbing can be made and safely packed away in time.]
The gathering ended in almost a reverse of the formal student evenings, the guests and hosts congregating in the ante-room, clinging to the small talk that had been so large a part of their lives over the past months and years. Ewen smiled down at Paris. "You don't have to leave right away, do you?" he asked, grin frozen on his face but eyes worried. Did she really know him that well, she wondered. "Perhaps Sir Paris would be willing to join me for a bit of hawking tomorrow?" He continued into his trademark grin. "I have it on good authority that the hunting near our fields is good."
Paris tried to maintain a straight face, but her eyes twinkled. "I do not have to leave tomorrow on the next quest. I think it will take longer than that to get my armor repaired. But," The smile crinkled Paris' eyes as she stretched out the word. "On authority, Sir Ewen?" She sobered slightly. "I have never hawked before."
His smile was undaunted. "I've a young peregrine tiercel that we've started training to the lure. It would be a perfect opportunity for you to get some practice, Sir Paris."
"I'd be happy to learn, Sir Ewen. Thank you for your invitation." Paris was joyously sincere in her acceptance.
DeLacey Manor. The Hunting Party.
[S: Given that it was to be a training session for the peregrine falcon as well as for Paris, Ewen might not turn his invitation into a full-scale hunting party. Maybe you'll want to add Lorraine and Jules, I don't know. I don't know whether you want Paris riding out to the barony by herself or not. And they could always try a real ride/hunt after the practice.... Paris doesn't _have_ to fly the bird unless she's comfortable doing so, to have fun anyway.]
There are plenty of people in the hunting party. Oh, let's include his younger brother, just to make it a mess. :) The others -- most of whom would have their own birds and a falconer or two for their Party -- would probably stay talking with the Baroness and being served light refreshment on horseback. Ewen would want to introduce Paris to the hawk he wants her to try without too big a press (or too many unfamiliar-to-his-birds) around.
[S: Hm. Then Paris is probably in riding habit and side-saddle. Like the other women. Some of the women may be riding pillion. Believe it or not, they went a-hunting that way although they, themselves would not be flying hawks. The women who actually are hawking would be on their own horses, like Paris. Given that the only nice 'boys clothes' Paris has is the unworn knighting outfit, I suspect that the riding habit is a good choice. Hm. It _is_ possible that the Princess' seamstress worked on boys clothes for Paris as well as her pretty dresses.... The need was there, after all. One of my houppelandes (the robe which is likely to be the women's riding habit of the time, is actually constructed with a boy's short houppelande for the undergarment. _My_ seamstress likes to dress as a boy and so she did that for me in case I ever wanted a cooler outfit than yards and yards of green velvet. :-)]
[GM: Given the Princess' predilections, I would not be surprised to see that Paris had some boyish clothes. The Princess has, to the shock of her court, a number of such outfits. :) ]
[S: Well, depending on the nature of the party, _Sir_ Paris may be dressed more boyishly. She prefers to take Lady duGryphon's advice. After all a new-made lady knight doesn't have the same social leeway a princess does. But ..... Skirts are really awkward for hunting; you really need a servant at hand to do and help -- even getting on and off the horse. (Yards and yards of velvet get in the way!)]
[GM: That's a toughie. Obviously, Ewen has seen you in "boys" clothes plenty of times. His mom hasn't. So, who are you dressing for? :) ]
[S: This is a no-brainer, then, given she has had Lady duGryphon as teacher -- and she knows that even as a lady knight, she will be under scrutiny to see whether or no William chose wrong. Now the _ladies_ are likely to be harder on her than the men.
Paris dresses in riding habit, her version -- simple, elegant, not showy -- of what other women wear to hunting parties. *sigh*]
Ewen had met her and taken her -- with just time for proper civilities with his mother first -- to the mews. Paris could tell that Ewen took pride in his hawks. "This," his leather gauntleted fingers stroked a magnificent blue-grey bird, "is one of my favourite ladies," his voice was warm and soothing and the falcon lifted her neck into the stroke. "An eyas -- I took her from her nest before she fledged -- and my best heron hunter. And this fine fellow," he lifted a hooded bird noticeably smaller than the one sharing its perch, "was wild-caught and is now in training. He's accustomed to hood and horse now, so I thought you and he might -- become friends." Ewen's grin was contagious. The movement had caused the bird to rouse -- raise up somewhat on his long legs and partially spread his streamlined wings. Ewen nodded an assistant falconer over towards Paris.
"M'lady," the man murmured, "allow me?" Paris stood while her right arm was strapped into a leather gauntlet similar to Ewen's, albeit for a slightly smaller hand. "Sir Paris, allow me to introduce Lord Hopeful." Paris looked at him in some surprise. Ewen met her look with a grin. "We called him that because the first thing he did when he saw the lady," Ewen nodded at the larger bird, "was to display for her. Impudent and courageous of him." Ewen chuckled softly.
Following Ewen's careful instructions, Paris held the hawk, stroking him, speaking to him in low tones. The strength of his talons on her hand surprised her. As Ewen pointed out his points, she began to appreciate what a beautiful design made a hunting bird. Ewen took up the larger bird himself. Lady -- what? He hadn't actually told her her name. They continued out to their horses. There Ewen showed her how to return the birds to the perches the falconers carried, yolk-wise. The two knights mounted and the birds were returned to their wrists. As Paris leaned down for Hopeful, the Falconer murmured, "Move slow, m'lady, an' careful-like. He likes to think hisself a prince, yaknow." Hopeful uttered a squawk that was immediately answered by the falcon on Ewen's wrist. Paris was relieved and amused to find that the tiercel settled down almost directly and proved very little encumbrance to her habitual ease on horseback.
Ewen and Paris rode along the vineyards for some time, the Falconer and his assistants trotting alongside, one with a yoke of additional birds. Then they turned off into a wide expanse of moor and marsh stretching away to a smudge of forest on the edgelands. "Someday this'll be vineyard too," Ewen commented. "When we can handle expanding the holdings. For now, though, there are blinds and warrens aplenty for small game hunting."
Handing his bird to one of the assistants, Ewen showed Paris the lure, a chunk of meat with a pair of pigeon wings tied on, affixed to a long and sturdy thong. One of the assistants then stood at some distance whirling the lure over his head. Ewen took one of the lesser birds, unhooded it, and demonstrated the wrist flick that sent the hawk soaring. Swiftly it stooped and, with a crack, the lure was in its talons and heading back to Ewen. As the falconers prepared several more lures, Ewen patiently went over the movements with Paris. When she nodded her understanding finally, he moved back. Paris loosened the hood from Hopeful, a tad clumsily, having to use her left hand. The bird roused and shook himself, his bright eyes taking in the world. Paris held her breath as she stretched out her arm and gave the appropriate flick-shove to her right forearm muscle. With an uplifting cry Hopeful shot into the air. One breathless dive later, Paris found herself trying to keep her voice calm despite the rush of excitement, to praise the bird as an assistant disentangled the lure from her arm where Hopeful once again proudly perched. "He's marvelous!" she exclaimed to Ewen.
[S: It's not as easy as I made it sound. But Paris is strong and has had much practise hefting sword and shield -- so I figured riding with her arm as a hawk perch would be far less uncomfortable for her than for most beginning falconers. Plus she has superb dex, isn't afraid of possibly getting dinged up, and experience with animals. She ought to do well.]
[GM: And I would guess she enjoys it. The animals love what they are doing; so there is no reason not to.][More coming later, I hope.]
[S: I'm not sure what more I can set up. Knowing this stage of a relationship, there's still _so_ much to say -- and a real desire to steal a kiss. But that's not going to happen in a crowd. It's approaching winter so Ewen would have neither a hawk-trap for "passengers" or a nest for "eyas" that he would have a watch set on, where he could take her just to show her how it's done -- and be relatively private. They can, of course, arrange to ride together -- if Little Brother allows. The other adults and young people along probably are willing to let them at least talk that way. :-)]
Perhaps they dismount for a while to watch from some trees on a small hill. The younger brother and groom, who bobbed and bowed to her several times as he took her horse, are sent to water the horses, giving them just enough time for a quick, no it wasn't enough time, not nearly enough, kiss. Ewen escorted Paris, arms linked, out to where they were clearly within sight of others but could talk in some privacy.
Paris said, "Doesn't it still seem a little -- strange -- not to be readying for class or being in class almost all the time, Ewen? To me at least it does. Most of my time in Westmore has been bits of holidays and lots of class. This feels like one of the holidays." She looked at him. "What will you be doing with that time now? Now that you are in the Duke's service?"
"It is all strange," he said with a serious tone. "I've been in that class for years. And Rod being gone..." Ewen stopped for a moment, thinking, then finally smiling. "Well, at least I got a good night's sleep without his snoring." He looked around the fields. "There is a lot to do to get things organized. Have to get this last crop pressed and in the casks. We had to delay because there weren't enough casks, so we had to get cutters for that wood over there for the coopers. Took about a third of it to dry for raisins, since we won't have enough...." He shook his head. "Sorry. I've gotten kind of swept up in the work around here, since my dad...isn't up to it some days. Once I help mom get things on an even keel, though, I'm going to talk to the Duke. He's going to need someone to travel for him. See the world. Fight a few magical monsters. Meet famous dead people," he said with his grin. The grin faded to a serious look as he looked at her. "See if Prince William has need for another in that order of his." One hand reached over to cover the one of hers on his arm. "But the strangest thing isn't any of that. It's how I feel about a certain knight, a former peasant girl."
[GM: Well, I'm trying to portray the forces tugging at poor Ewen. He's too responsible to simply head off and pursue adventure, though he wants to. He's a bit afraid, though won't say it, that if he doesn't distinguish himself in adventure Paris won't respect him. And he wants to ride off, fight villains, slay dragons, save the world, that sort of thing. Yet... he's responsible. Ought to do this estate stuff, is good at it. And then again, he's head over heels. :) And, finally, he's a guy. And you're asking him to talk about feelings. :) Guys don't do that well. :) I hadn't planned on him popping any big questions, this seems a little soon for it. Though he's expected to pick someone fairly quickly.]
Paris tried to keep her voice light, but it seemed her pulse was beating frantically, thoroughly thrilled and, somehow, frightened by the tone of his voice. "And there's a certain knight who has shown a former peasant girl a wholly new set of feelings. So new," her voice faded, "that I am not always sure what I am feeling." She paused, uncertain. "The feelings are strange -- nice -- in an intoxicating way. But my being uncertain about them isn't strange; it seems to be characteristic to -- new experiences -- here." She smiled uncertainly at him.
"Intoxicating, very. But without the headache the next day," he said quietly, smiling back. "Or as magic as the sudden appearance of a white city." He looked at her seriously for several moments, finally breaking into his grin. "You know, when you kissed me at the end of the tournament, it was better than if I'd won."
Paris grinned back. "I don't suppose any other tourney has ever ended like that. Lady duGryphon's eyebrows must have -- ah, Ewen, I was so happy to hear that "lion". I'd -- only kissed you twice before -- and you're such a good fighter -- I didn't dream you'd -- invite a kiss -- in front of all those people." She was blushing before she reached the almost incoherent end point.
"No," he said with a grin. "I sure never expected to kiss the winner. Or be beat by such a pretty lady." He turned more to face her, close to her. "And..."
He was interrupted by the arrival of his little brother. "Ewen?" young Matthew asked. "I got the horses to the water. Oh, sorry Miss Paris, um, Sir," he said, confusingly bowing. "Um. Since the birds are away now, can I fly my kite?" Smiling, Ewen nodded and sent the lad off, the mood of the moment broken.
Trying to recover herself, Paris looked around, from the hunters on the moor back to the smoky yellow stretches she knew were vineyard. "Maybe it's because I'm a former peasant -- I still can see things a bit differently than in the duGryphons' classes. Here," she smiled, "where you are 'lord of all you survey', you know what it is you have to fight for. Not a formalized tourney. Not because a magical monster happens to bar your way. But because it's really worthwhile -- to defend your people and their livelihoods, the work of -- four generations. And the future of -- the next generations. You've got roots and a purpose here. I suspect that gives you a strength like to no other. And I know -- a bit of what it's like to take over for -- a missing parent." Paris took a deep breath. "The land, the people -- It's a constant sort of strength, I think, to a true lord, and much more impressive over the long run than most of the magic I've run into."
He looked over the land as she looked at it, and it was several moments before he replied. "You make it sound almost magical. But I don't think there will be any singers writing songs about the deeds of a vintner." He shook his head. "I don't know, Paris, the Change really made me think. About what I saw every day, without really looking at it. And how there is a whole world to go look at. Why shouldn't I go out and get a couple of songs written?" He turned and grinned at her. "Yes, it is all strange. And wonderful. So, what are you going to be doing?"
Paris affirmed, "It is magical. With all the magic that existed before Magic was taken away and before it came back. It's the magic of life, of living, I think. The minstrel's songs never tell it as it really was: the terror, the ugliness, the alone-ness. I -- enjoy -- the other lais -- far more than I can the songs Anton has sung before Duke Evan -- about us." She grinned. "I'll enjoy the songs they'll sing about you, I know! And then you'll tell me whether you even recognize yourself in them." She paused, then said softly, "But I honestly think that the very best song will be the one written in the hearts of your people about their good lord." She looked away into the distance. A moment later she took a deep breath. "Part of the strangeness for me is the not knowing what I can be doing -- in the long run. There are no jobs, no duties for me here. Just the abstracts that are my responsibility due to Oath and Order." She gave him a small smile, trying to dispel her own pensiveness. "In the short term I have promised to help Rhori to healing. And to try to prepare our recently-acquired comrades for the tasks to come. Beyond that, I have said that it is my task to try to bring the rest of the Major Arcana into this world. We have come half-way down that quest since the Change. It seems right to finish the job." She smiled, partly at herself. "Though I haven't quite figured out where the second half should start."
He was watching her, fascinated as she spoke. "Or the magic my mother always told me I'd find," he said, eyes fixed on her. After a moment his trademark grin was back. "I recognized you in Anton's songs. Standing there, fighting while everything you had fell to pieces. Fire, with a steel backbone. You are a sword every bit as magical as the blade on your hip." He looked out over the fields, pensive himself. "I think they're writing songs about the lady that brought the magic grapes out of the lands of the fairies for them." He shook himself out of his mood. "Well, if half the Major Arcana are back, won't that make the second half easier? If I understand the story, they should all want to be back. As for where to start, I thought there was some sort of order to them?"
Paris shivered a little, "I had to fight -- with whatever I had. I'd've used my helmet if it'd come to that. I didn't want to die." She shivered. "Not the way he wanted me to. Anyone would have done the same in my place, I think." She smiled, shifting the subject again. "I think that the lady with the grapes is not real enough for them; I think they are singing about the young lord who convinced the fairy ladies to give him the grapes. And that -- in its own way -- is truth. They know the grapes are real. They don't disappear like magic things in the stories do, leaving you unfulfilled." Paris paused to contemplate his questions. "I -- don't know -- that the second half will be easier. I would like to hope so. The first half -- the Cards of Order, of Man and Nature -- were mostly willing to help us, willing to give us answers if we asked the right questions. But the second half -- those are mostly the gods of Chaos. They -- won't wish us harm, I hope, but -- well -- I am more a creature of Order, I think, and I -- don't know what we'll encounter -- how to prepare for -- chaos. But you are right; there is an order to them. I know it by heart by now: Temperance, the Devil, the Tower, the Star, the Moon, the Sun..." her voice faded. "It's where to look for Temperance that baffles me. If I have a clue, I am blind to it. I have less notion than when I first thought to head to Lions based on nothing more than the association of the name with the picture on the card. Murphy was kind to me then, I think."
"Hmph." He had a slight frown. "Temperance sure doesn't put me in mind of anything chaotic. More like tolerating chaos. Still, I'm pretty sure it's better than looking for the Devil. What you going to do if you catch him?" He looked over to the rest of the party. "Uh, oh. Mother is giving me the eye, I've kept you out of her company for too long." With a grin he turned, elbow linked. "Ready, soldier?" he said, mimicking Sir Gryphon's cadence. "Force march, and a one and a two..."
Lady deLacey was pleasant, but two of her companions studied Paris like hawks. Still, she could hear Lady duGryphon in her head, directing each motion, as she moved herself a bit rigidly but correctly through the afternoon. Inwardly, she smiled, she was pretty sure there would be a lot of discussion afterwards between the three.
[S: Pat, does Paris' knowledge of the Order indicate that not all members will be Tarot card-equivalents? You said that those of importance would be -- and there's some indication from earlier conversations that paladins are always people of some importance.... It makes a difference in how Paris would answer the part about William's order.]
[GM: Paladins are few and far between. They all have to be minor Arcana. Knights of the order, yes, they can be non-Arcana. But their level of understanding of the mysteries will be necessarily less. Not clear yet whether William is going to make Knights as well as Paladins, although someday he probably will.]
"Hawking" copyright 2000 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.