Tournament at Westmore
Paris gave her hand to her valiant opponent, spending some of her remaining energy to leverage him to his feet. They both unstrapped their helmets to gasp in the welcome, reviving air. Then Ewen looked at her, a shade of his trademarked grin shadowing his mouth. "Here, lion, lion, lion," he smiled softly at her. Paris stood frozen in surprise, her pleasure in the fight and the bitter-sweetness of winning against him suddenly overlaid with the warring memories of the sun-warmed loft and her own sharp guilt over improprieties. Ewen vs. Serious. Ewen plus Real Girl vs. Serious. She swayed slightly as the factions pulled, then, swiftly, stepped into him, lifting her face and giving him a quick kiss.
The wolf calls from their fellow students rang loud as, her colour rising, Paris looked into Ewen's eyes and saw warmth, happiness, and -- relief, there. He had risked her hesitation, her refusal, to show he had no hard feelings about the fight, that he more than acknowledged her winning. She smiled back at him. He was everything she had said he was to Lorraine, and he had proved it! Her gaze stayed on his as the cheers of their classmates continued. Apparently that kiss had made, truly, all of their classmates happy. A touch of wonder lit Paris' face; had so many of them cared whether she had accepted Ewen's faithfulness? Had they all -- like Lorraine -- been working to get the two of them together? Paris felt warm all through and almost as shy as in the deLacey vineyard. She wanted to.... The thought died wordless as a throat cleared behind her.
Mustering for Pellier
Paris watched the assembly of troops. Prince William had ordered herself and her comrades to be near him once the order to transfer on board was given, but, for now she could wander, scanning the soldiers, noting the volunteers. A group of her classmates had volunteered. There. They were being assigned now. Paris moved closer. Part of her thrilled and another choked back a gasp. Ewen. Ewen had volunteered. Of course Ewen had volunteered. She blinked back the hot feeling in her eyes. Of course. And he -- everyone had fought orcs before. They'd have a chance to fight together. The thrill was almost immediately buried under the all-too-familiar dread of watching comrades face death. She had seen Anton almost die -- twice. And Mia. And....
What? Rodric -- and Ewen -- being turned away. She hurried over, caught up with them. "What -- what's wrong?" Paris managed to get the words out. Rodric's answer had a shadow of self-mockery. "The Prince has ordered that no eldest son will be accepted as a volunteer." He looked bitterly at the lines. "The Givances have always been in the royal service, yet I am not allowed to go fight for Pelier, for--" he looked down at Paris, a sense of loss in his eyes, "my family."
"Oh, Rodric," for a moment Paris had no other words. She looked at Ewen but he did not meet her eyes. Heavily Rodric said, "I should go tell Cordelia."
"Ewen?" Paris' voice was soft....
He turned back from stilling his horse, a beautiful black stallion, armored in fresh new barding and draped with his colors. "Paris," his voice was tense, the smile gone from his face. "He doesn't think he is coming back. He," and he paused to swallow, voice hoarse with rage. "He won't let me go. Even though everything I want in the world is going."
"Not everything, Ewen, surely not everything," Paris tried to keep her voice quiet, to meet his rage with calm though his distress tightened her chest and made it difficult. "And He will come back, He must! Tara needs Him. I will do my best to protect Him. Trust me. As we trust you and the rest to protect and hold the line here in Westmore. Love and Justice reside here. Some of the best must stay and protect here, lest it fall too."
She tried to give him back his trademark smile. "I intend to come back. After all, I still need to see you a dubbed knight. Right?" Her voice softened to a whisper. "My knight who'd brave lions."
It was not comfortable, being bear-hugged in armor. It was, also, not entirely uncomfortable. "Paris. You better come back. Day after tomorrow, Sir Paris had better be back here." He pulled back a little, fighting to get his smile on his face. "I can't brave lions without Magic." He leaned in to kiss her.
Paris closed her eyes against the tears that threatened and returned the kiss whole-heartedly. In armor there is only the kiss; no hands, no body contact to distract from the kiss itself. When the kiss ended, Paris felt breathless and a little shaky. "I can't--" she tried to smile, "I can't promise the 'when'. I don't know what our time-line is. But I will come back. And I will fight for you and Rodric while I'm there; I know you'll be with me in spirit even if you're needed here."
"Paris?" Paris turned from where she was leading her horse. Of course Sir Gryphon would be there to accompany the Duke, but she had not expected Lorraine as well. 'Sidesaddle in that dress?' she thought to herself.
"Paris." Lorraine was clearly worried. "Take care of yourself. It's very dangerous." She bit her lip. "And, if you can, take care of Jules too. I know you two haven't always gotten along..." and she let her voice die out.
Paris smiled reassuringly and spoke with sincerity. "I'm happy to do whatever I can for Jules, Lorraine. For your sake, I've tried to think well of him but," she broke into a grin, "for rather a while now I've thought well of him for his own sake. Please forget our early days. For me, they've healed as easily as a bruise does. I don't know where he's been assigned, but if I can, I'll see Jules safe back to you. And I'll be glad to fight along side him. Try not to worry, dear friend." Her smile turned slightly rueful, her eyes dark and earnest. "And you, please, try to cheer up those we leave behind. They need to be needed here."
"Tourney's End" copyright 1999 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.