Leaving Westmore.
So much undone and unfinished, Paris thought to herself as the Party rode away from Westmore. So much. They'd had to let Claire and Brillig go, following their own paths. Then there was undoubtedly more she could have learned from Lady duGryphon -- and maybe even the Princess. And becoming more familiar with the tests of the Tournament -- it was hard to have to stop thinking about that now when everyone else was gearing up for it. She sighed. But Prince William had asked.... She'd only seen the Prince that once these past weeks of training. Somehow she'd thought He'd show up in class again, that she'd get to at least look at Him, hear His voice, gage how He was doing. It had been possible that He'd never want to see her again. She'd brought knowledge of doom for His father or Himself, she'd concealed a possible traitor from him, possible knowledge that might have stopped the Ravens before they made their pact with Evil. But .. He'd let her conceal what she thought, trusting her. Paris felt a warm glow. He trusted her. For Jules she had to keep silence -- and pray that she was right. That the Ravens had committed to Evil before she had promised to hold her tongue. But He hadn't seemed to hold any of that against her. He'd worried about her danger. About her. Still -- had she put Him in danger by her silence? Was He all right? Seeing Him again would have at least alleviated that worry. She sighed again. Then straightened. The Ravens hadn't threatened Lorraine or Ewen, so maybe their target -- their employer's target -- was simply Paris. Heaven knew the Lady hated her more than it seemed possible one could hate something that wasn't evil. But such hate did not make the Lady a traitor; just someone so embittered against the upstart peasant as not to realize how such plotting might harm a prince. If so, the danger was now over. She'd be gone long enough and Jules would get enough practise in that Paris wouldn't be considered a threat at all by the time of the tourney. And the knighting. Becoming a lady, a real lady, herself. In service to her Prince.
A lady. Her lessons with Lady duGryphon had made her much more aware of the fine line she'd been walking. She'd been gradually coming to -- she smiled at the memory, her Prince overlaid with the formidable Lady -- 'think like a lord.' The Lord duGryphon and other boys had helped. They'd treated her like one of themselves. She was 'Paris' to them on the practise fields as she was to Lorraine and the girls she'd gotten comfortable with. Just like she was 'Paris' to the people she'd grown up with. And 'Paris' to her Prince. She liked being 'Paris' to all of them, herself, Paris, unvarnished and true.
On formal occasions the boys had called her 'lady'. Part of her could hear an echo of Ewen's voice, "My lady". She felt a small butterfly flutter for the tiniest of moments. You have called him 'my lord', she reminded herself. Those forms of address had helped. Being taken for a lady meant she tried harder to act like one. She'd only lately noticed that grown-ups who were particular used the address 'Miss'. She'd noticed Ewen had used it too, for the first time -- when he'd introduced her to his farm people. 'Miss' was when people were all too aware of what she was, neither fish nor fowl, and too careful to lead others into any misconception. But it could be used to make her feel small and unworthy. So then could 'Paris' in a certain tone. The tone that really meant 'peasant'. The tone that did not realize that public acceptance of personal responsibility for the public welfare was the only true difference between the truly noble and the peasant. Lorraine was right; as people, there was no difference save fortune and training. With every quest her Prince had asked her to take and she had accepted, He had put into her hands and heart the means to en-noble herself. 'Miss' was an acknowledgment of how far she had come. Strange, though, that Ewen had been aware of it. In the early days he had not seemed to think she needed to grow. She had changed. A lot. Sometimes it was a bumpy path. The whole -- mess -- with Alexis had been such a reminder that 'Miss' had no reality, that she was still -- officially -- a peasant. On her way to being something else. It had been hard not to lower her head and simply let Alexis lord over her all the way, not only in her self assurance about how breaking The Rules would not colour her life the way it had Paris'. Not because Alexis showed any sign of wanting to lord over Paris -- the way Jules would have been happy to. She hadn't. But simply because her very assurance, her denial without explanation of Paris' very real fears, had brought back all the old training, all the expectation of being told what to do and how to do it. Thus, because there had been no reminder that Paris was 'on her way', she had very nearly slipped back. Nearly destroyed months of work.
So different from when Ewen had said 'Miss' and the farmer girl had heard it as 'Lady'.
Oddly enough, the Tests of Justice had been easier. In each, the test had addressed her as 'lord'. She had recognized that and had pushed herself to be the lord. To take pride in her own judgment. How easily such pride was lost when one did not have knowledge (bless that book of Law!) or experience (Alexis actually, Paris felt a sense of wonder, understands rumour-mongering!) to back one's sense of Right and Wrong. Somehow 'Miss' seemed to represent that in-between state. 'Paris' knows her job and how to do it; 'Lady Paris' has confidence in her decisions. 'Miss Paris' struggles. Paris sighed.
Is that why I didn't kiss Ewen that last night? I'd thought and thought about what Lorraine had said. And what I'd answered. I don't do anything perfectly the first time. How can I be in love perfectly without - without trying? I can't. And it would be far, far better to practise on someone I really do care about -- then to - to go hunting for a frog. She smiled wryly.
Serious spoke up. "We had to consider, however, what it might mean to Ewen's parents. We hadn't considered them before, not being willing to consider this line of -- practise. Justin hates what we represent. Change. Perhaps he has a real dislike or distrust of the uppity peasant -- or even the uppity woman. We have no way of knowing. But, obviously, he had not forbade Ewen our company, so there is no wrong in keeping company with his son if and until there is such a stricture. Ewen's mother. That caused us some thought. Something - something -- about us bothers her. A lot. But she was willing to try to get to know us and - "
Real Girl: "And seemed more relaxed as she did so!"
Serious: "Yes. And that was foundation for considering whether or no it would be wrong to abuse such favour by testing to see if we want to become more to her son than we already are. To be granted a lick is not leave to take the entire bowl. Does her kindness deserve our ingratitude?"
Real Girl, pouting: "Does Ewen's faithfulness deserve our ingratitude? And so you thought. And thought. And thought! And your thinking lost us whole evenings of opportunity! After such a nice picnic Ewen might have had reason to hope to see a bit of kindness from us the next night."
Serious: "I was not unkind. I needed to consider his mother. And reached the same conclusion as in the case of his father. If the parents had truly disliked Ewen's interest in us, he would not still be putting this decision in our hands. He would have withdrawn himself."
Real Girl, eyebrows raised: "There are no star-crossed lovers in your book?"
Serious: "Do we love yet? That is what we are trying to find out."
Real Girl, bitterly: "But Lady Chivar was there the next night. I didn't want to think of what sort of comment she'd make if we stepped outside with Ewen. What sort of -- ugliness -- she could pour over Ewen's name? She was all too there! She does give me the shivers. Commandeering Lorraine as though she were already evaluating the property and figuring whatever it is a mother-in-law thinks she'll do with her son's wife."
Serious, strictly reproving: "You go too far! Is it not better to think that Lady Chivar and Lorraine have managed to come to terms over the quarrel that we caused? If Lorraine is determined to have Jules, then it would not be good to have us as a bone of contention. You should be glad for Lorraine that the Lady looks upon her with favour. Lorraine does not deserve the sort of life she would have with a mother-in-law who views her as Lady Chivar views us. What a hellish life that would be!"
Real Girl, sotto voce: "Well, I do hope Jules realizes that it will be his duty to protect Lorraine from his mother. Poor Lorraine."
Serious, nodding>: "If Lady Chivar is a true villain, I would agree with you. But hating us does not make her a villain. We have threatened her son's standing, his once-considered assurance of winning at all things. I have no wish to beat Jules for the sake of beating him; but I can not help but want to prove that Prince William was as right as He could be in sponsoring my training. And if it means doing my utmost to beat Jules in the tournament, that I will do."
Real Girl, enthusiastically: "Yahoo!"
Serious, continuing despite the interruption: "If Lorraine loves him, it will not matter to her if we beat him or not. If he has grown enough to be worthy of her, then he will be satisfied to do his best whether or no he beats me."
Real Girl, with frustration: "But kiss Ewen before that! I don't know why why WHY you held back that last night. Why? We could have had that to hold on to during this questing. Why did you turn coward!? We had decided!!! Since when are we a coward after we have decided what it is we should do?"
The voices folded back into Paris. She closed her eyes briefly. Because decisions, she whispered in her mind, are not what kisses are made of. Those nights of thinking about parents, fearing them, missing them, trying to understand them, conjuring permission out of such imaginings -- do not make a frame of mind in which to take a real kiss to someone as dear as Ewen is. I want to kiss him, because I feel the urge, then, there. When he himself seems the most important reason to kiss. Not parents. Not decisions. Just Ewen. I've -- turned away from that feeling a couple of times. Perhaps -- when I get back this time -- the feeling will be there, waiting, with Ewen.
I've always before done what is asked of me, what is expected of me, what is right for me to do. Even in my dreams I never thought to ask if there would be a time when someone would let me decide what I wanted to do about something. Ewen has given me that gift. I -- may not be able to prepare for such things -- the way Lorraine does. But -- I want it to feel -- right. And if I wasn't able to feel that way that last night, then -- well, then it wasn't the right time.
Time. And Truth. And taking things in the wrong way. Somehow those things -- twisted, stretched and straight -- almost define my life since the Change. Which reminds me, Paris thought, why did Prince William think I'd take his explanation of the hierarchy wrong? I wish there were someway to explain to Him that I want to serve Him. Like I want to find a way to tell Ewen I do trust him. Explaining things to men gets terribly -- complicated somehow. Paris shook her head without realizing she was doing so.
Later Musings: On Partners and Prices
Time. And Truth. And taking things in the wrong way. Somehow those things -- twisted, stretched and straight -- almost define my life since the Change. Was there a reason Prince William seemed so --absent those last weeks in Westmore? Did my query to the Princess seem -- too insensitive? I wish there were someway to explain to Him that I want to serve Him. Like I want to find a way to tell Ewen I do trust him. Explaining things to men gets terribly -- complicated somehow. Paris glanced around, keeping the necessary portion of her mind on watch in these darkening woods.
Still, those explanations would be easier than tearing away the barriers that had grown up between herself and the Party since she had insulted Anton in Dungeon. Why - WHY was Anton so alien? She understood poor slow Rhori -- or, perhaps, even Prince William -- better then she understood this boy she'd grown up with in the village of Jouet. He was her age, for heaven's sake. He'd lived through all the same sorts of things they'd all lived through. It should have been him the Prince wanted to make a lord. He certainly saw himself as one. Or so it seemed.
What are the rest of us supposed to do with such a notion? Declare him insane? Not possible. But his assumption of equality could be dangerous. To him and to us. The Prince (Bless Him!) is trying hard to make me a noble, and the Ravens nearly killed me and Hobbes and Mia and Rhori, for it. The notion that Anton could just assume nobility is, if anything, more boggling than Alexis' casual discarding of her own nobility. The fact is -- this self conception of Anton's could offend both truly honourable nobles and good church people. That is one of the reasons I am so uncomfortable with him. If he is telling the truth about himself, he either is lying when he 'cottons up' to the Powers That Be or he is liable to get himself arrested or killed in somewhat the same manner that Rhori risked with Ewen. Only the Courtesy that is a grace of nobility can save him from being swatted out of hand someday. I just don't think he comprehends the danger or the difficulties.
The price of nobility is public responsibility. Yes, ordinary people (like myself and my comrades from Jouet) may pick up arms and take it upon ourselves to "provide for the common defense." But, in such cases, such people have volunteered -- and are free to leave that defense at any time for others to handle. It is to the contrary with a noble. Though he may inherit his obligation, it doesn't become truly his until he re-affirms it personally when he takes his oath of fealty. If he turns his back on the common defense after that, he is in violation of his oath -- and, eventually, if the pattern continues, will cease to be regarded as a peer by the other nobles. Paris almost gasped at the irreverence of the thought, and then laughed softly at herself. The new Paris could sometimes shock the old one. It was possible for a noble to cease being a noble -- because he was no longer considered a peer; his feudal duties would be assumed by someone else.
So, to be noble one must take public responsibility on oath for life. And you can't grab it or, necessarily, volunteer for it. It is offered by the Peers and your superiors, in acknowledgment of how they view your worth. Paris felt a little light-headed. That, then, was how her Prince was proposing to see her? Would she ever, ever, ever be able to take that lightly -- or even for granted? Did Anton realize that was the true aspect of nobility? That that was what made even the 'bad' nobles noble?
Young nobles are raised in noble households (rather than being sent to the Courts of Law or the Universities) because it is important that they absorb all this through daily exposure to it. This was what Lady duGryphon had seen missing in Paris and that lack was what her intensive training was supposed to remedy. It was always preferable to send one's children to be raised in the household of someone more highly placed than ones own family. The royal court was traditionally considered optimal; but it seems that now the court of the Duke of Westmore was considered the creme de la creme. Perhaps because of the quality of men the old Duke attracted (and which the young Duke seemed to be trying hard to retain.) It said quite a lot about the old Duke, Paris considered.
When I become a knight I want to serve. "Service to one's betters remains the norm throughout the ranks of the nobility, partly for the financial benefits it confers, and partly for the opportunities for advancement and involvement in high matters which it opens up." I don't know much about financial benefits, but I want to be of service to Prince William. Not just a figurehead for the reforms He is trying to institute. I don't believe He would want a figurehead. She grinned.
I don't know where my parents came from. Perhaps the same is true for Anton. Perhaps he does have family stories of being fallen nobles. Perhaps that is why he thinks as he does. It hardly bears thinking what could have brought them down to the level of Jouet. But -- resting on past glories is no way to earn ones own future. Again Paris shook her head. Dreaming stories where the poor third son wins a kingdom ... is dreaming. I can't say there is nothing in dreaming. But.... It is so hard to accept that my dreams are coming true -- and the reality of the dream is much, much harder than the dreams I fancied. It hasn't been the wave of a magic wand. My Prince and I have both had to work -- and risk -- for this 'granted dream.' This I know. Nonetheless..... Perhaps the service that all of my comrades here 'round -- have done -- will eventually earn them what the Prince has proposed giving me. They have shared my dangers, because I asked, in a way very little different than my shouldering my tasks because my Prince asked.
My Prince has not asked that I win the tournament. Only that I prove an honourable knight. It is I who desire to shine for Him. What would happen if I do win? Will the old nobles still persist in grudging William His will? Will there be rebellion in the ranks of the established knights in having me 'foisted' upon them? (May Queen Branwen watch over me!) Will Jules and his mother hate me forever? I can't think that of Jules, not now, not with Lorraine's happiness almost in his hands. What do the other boys think -- to be beaten by a peasant, a woman, a person who has trained oh, such a short time! amongst them? To come from nowhere and steal the glories from their years of work? Almost I would not choose to win in that light. But -- if we are, as I think, nearly equal; there is no shame, no loss of honour to whomever loses a close-fought contest. One shames ones opponent to do less than ones best. That -- that is what I must be content with. My best, no less. Winning shall not matter. William will know that.
Rodric is clever. My learnings in law and history cannot balance out his years of study. He is not such a clown that I cannot see that he has applied himself better, perhaps than anyone else, to the books and lectures. I will do passably (thank the Prince for the two books he gave me!) but I'll wager that Rod will take the laurel in scholarship in that part of the tests.
Jules is a sprinter. His bursts with weapons and horseback astound me at times. He blocks with his sword better even than with his shield! But -- if I remember my training and I defend well until he slows and misses.... then I can shift into offense and strike through. That is Jules' weak point. And it is not that weak. It will take discipline and a bit of luck. But the horse trials go to Jules, I wean, unless Ewen has been holding back.
Ewen. Ewen. You are the most balanced in the class. But are you at the top of anything? Will you take it wrong if I kiss you the night before the tourney. I want you to have your 'fair fight'. But I will let no man win over me. I owe Sir Gryphon that. Lorraine says most of the other boys still are scared of me. I think Jules feared and mastered it with dislike and then honour. I don't really know how he feels now. Rodric feared and mastered it with comradliness. But Ewen... you said half the others were afraid of me and half were afraid of the Prince. You yourself, though, never seem to give in to any harsh thoughts. Neither you nor Rod will hold it against me either win or lose. I hope your folks won't either... though I can imagine that either of you would happily 'shine' for them the way I want to for my Prince.
I've seen your rivalry with Jules. But I am not sure I've ever seen you go 'all out'. I know you've been hiding lately. All the others have too. I don't quite understand that. Unless it is the old rivalries again. But are they really rivalries aimed at me? I don't think of us that way. I've 'lost' combats against all of you before this tournament training. Our point system where legs and arms are not counted is very different from fighting for your life against orcs and monsters. You all know that now, though. (Poor Simon. *sigh*) Out on the battlefield, putting stun/damage wherever seems better/easier than trying for an aimed blow. The only time I've ever tried an aimed blow has been out in such a real battle, when my opponent is stunned. Or from behind. Or some such 'dishonourable' situation where his defenses were lowered. I just don't fight 'naturally' the way you were trained. But you have learned from the best professionals. They know and so do you -- what I can do with weapon and shield. I don't hide. I would have trained with any of you who wanted me to. If all the boys share Ewen's ambition to beat me in a fair fight, then it is only fair that they know what it is they're up against and what it is they have to beat. Why not? I am not an enemy; I am not a creature of Fell or Darkness. You all are, that is, you will be -- my -- peers. My future partners in service. Fellow knights. It is so good to work with others with similar training. Otherwise mistakes get made....
Paris mind drifted to the night battle that had not rescued the unknown book.
There were several things that might have been done to stop the book from reaching the hill and the mage-goblin. The silence spell of Anton's was pretty good, it bought an extra phase; but, yes, a wall early on would have been better. The silence on the mob seemed wasteful. We missed Claire's cleverness with her wall in this fight. Mia might have slowed the larger group as well with her older mud spell. Perhaps our magi are too taken with the novelty of their new spells. And it's possible that letting Rhori scout that second time, simply wasted time we did not have to spare. Paris frowned. Better to consider her own faults than the might-have-dones of the others.
If I had run full out, that would have put me between the orc mob and the top of the hill. If I'd chosen a spot midway between the two from where they started, it would have been a full move non-combat for me, a full combat move for them, and I'd've gone first in the next phase, so I'd've been back to full combat values. It would not be the thing to do if there were lots of ranged attackers around who could shoot at the end of the move, but we've never seen orcs with ranged weapons. It wouldn't have mattered what mode one ended in, no one could have attacked. I just didn't realize how slow the orcs were. I just didn't realize. And it's my job to understand that sort of strategy.
Paris frowned and concentrated on applying Sir Gryphon's lessons to other imaginary but similar battles.
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