Second Week, Firstday. Sir Gryphon's Class.
She didn't think she would be this nervous, going back to class with the others. What had they done in the three weeks she'd been gone? Could she ever catch up? As she stepped into the western courtyard, still familiar after the time away, she could hear the horses in their stable. She was surprised to see the class already assembled, and Lord duGryphon already there. "Young Paris. I'd heard you were back," the deep voice boomed." Behind him, several of the younger voices joined with a chorus of shouts of her name. Ewen stood, smiling at her; Jules neither smiled nor frowned, but watched her closely. Alain, one of the younger ones, smiled as he shouted "How many orcs did you kill this time, Paris? Can we have another battle?"
Sir Gryphon nodded. "Yes, Paris, tell us about your battles." He glanced back at Alain, eyes narrowing slightly. "I think it will be instructive."
Paris stood straight. "Sir Gryphon, most of the time we hid or ran away. There were only one battle and one mop-up. And," she paused a moment and swallowed, "we lost the battle. We should by all rights be dead wolf meat. A miracle saved us. And there is no way to plan a battle on a miracle. But it is possible to plan to do far better than we did, if that is what would be instructive?"
Alain looked confused, and she noticed brows furrowing on both Jules and Ewen. Sir Gryphon's tight smile never wavered. "I think they'll find more than just that instructive, missy. Continue."
Paris spoke, "We had been working our way past the encampments of the orcish army when we heard some howling which indicated that our trail had been picked up on by some of the wolves ridden by the better-equipped orcs. We raced for a pool we knew was nearby, hoping to use the water and one of our mage's spells to hide our presence. But the spell took too long and the orcs flanked us on both sides. We had not worked out a way to constrain their approach and had too few front-line fighters."
Before she got too far into her description, Sir Gryphon interrupted. "Let's get the field laid out then. How big was it?"
Paris continued, "And too many people who needed to be protected so that they could be effective."
Sir Gryphon interrupted again. "Let's put these bales of hay where your people were."
Paris continued in detail until Sir Gryphon called a halt or she ran out description. She made no bones about being put out of action time and time again, herself.
Paris tried, but Sir Gryphon kept interrupting her. In a way, it made it easier to concentrate on the parts of the battle, rather than her mind simply racing to the conclusion of it. Paris had no difficulty keeping herself on an even keel.
"Right." Sir Gryphon looked about after understanding the battle. "Don't rightly understand the miracle, but I don't have to duplicate that. Right." He called over to the grooms. "Get out the horses, we're going to use them early today. Right, class." He turned back to the aspiring knights. "We're going to look at what the orcs did right. The shock of mounted troops hitting and hitting hard, localizing your force, fighting in teams. Every big battle is just a little battle. You want to win all the little battles where you outnumber them, and avoid all the battles where you're outnumbered." The horses were brought over; he put the four youngest on them and paired them. "Right. These bales of hay are your two opponents. I want to see you ride together and hit them at the same time. You boys have only played on the horses so far like babies on a joyride. Let's teach you to fight."
It was a miserable performance; the boys, used to racing wildly and hitting targets, got in each other's way. One completely blocked his partner from having a shot, the other two arrived well apart. Sir Gryphon blistered the air, and selected the four senior people to ride. Paris was paired with Jules, Ewen with Rodric. They charged their bales, managing to arrive on different sides. Jules pulled ahead on the charge, but slowed shortly before reaching the bales so that they were not more than a foot apart. Sir Gryphon still made them do it over, over and over, rotating through all the class, until time came for lunch and the heralds.
"Sir." It was one of the other younger boys. "You still haven't shown us how to fight against that. What should they have done?"
The elder knight was quiet for a moment. "That will take some time to prepare for that, lad," he said quietly. I'll need to get some more horsemen. Think on it tonight, what you would have done. Now, off to class with you."
Second Week of Training; the First Evening in the Palace.
[GM: I'm skipping over the time with Lorraine preparing for dinner. She probably makes Paris talk a bit more than usual, prodding her with questions about her friends if that's what it takes. There is opportunity for Paris to bring up anything she wants, especially if there is something from the carriage ride, but otherwise it passes uneventfully.]
[S: I was thinking the Paris would need to ask Lorraine how to get the cuttings to dinner, but I've decided that Paris is probably resourceful enough to have crafted a thin leather packet in which to store the damp linen-wrapped cuttings. Yes, it will be a little like bringing a slim lady's handbag to dinner in a period before handbags were invented. But it will probably do....]
As a last minute adjustment, Paris removed the packet she had made for the cuttings from its place of concealment amongst her own clothes. It was slim and flat and, if she carried it carefully pressed against her inner forearm, she could hold it and her sword without much trouble and without it being terribly obvious. She could shift it to her lap as she sat down and give it to Ewen during the dancing.
Lorraine checked herself in the mirror one more time, making sure everything was in place. She glanced over at Paris. "Look, I know you don't want any of my jewelry. But how about if I show you a little about applying makeup? You know, just lighten a few highlights. I promise not to overdo it."
Paris's brow creased thoughtfully. "Is makeup one of the things taught in the classes you told me the girls take?"
"Well, it's not quite like when the herald comes in and teaches who's who. It's more that, well, Mom showed me, some of the older girls help out the younger ones." Lorraine seemed to be eager, but walking on eggshells. "It's one of the things you learn to pick up by being around."
Paris replied, "If your mother taught you then it must be ok. I would be happy to learn what you can teach me -- although, you are right, it wouldn't do for me to do too much." Short pause. "I do not care to learn to do makeup as
Lorraine flashed an excited smile. "Oh, don't worry! You'll love it! Now, come on, sit over here. I'll just do it for you tonight, tomorrow I'll start showing you how to do it yourself without looking like the younger girls."
As Lorraine played with makeup, Paris found the courage to follow up one point from the carriage ride.
Paris' voice was somewhat hesitant. "Lorraine? Do -- do people here at court -- really see one as a different person -- depending on the clothes one wears? The boys -- have all seen me in my normal trews and tunic. Every after-practise. You see me that way too. I dress like a boy for that, even. And those clothes aren't fine. Not so fine even as most of the boys' practise garb. But -- I'm still me. Would -- would it really have made a difference -- to anybody -- if I had had what I needed with me and so had been able to have my talk with Ewen Sevenday? Why would it have mattered that I was wearing my own dress, and not your fine one?"
Lorraine had been steadily working on Paris with a brush and some powder, a look of concentration on her face. "Um. Well," she fumbled, looking down at the powder jar a moment. "It would look really funny if you wore a dress to fighter practice. Mom insists that to wear the wrong thing to the wrong occasion is to make people think you're an 'ignorant savage.' She's particularly hard on the boys who want to wear armor to dinner rather than formal clothes. So, something white to church for Sevenday, not white for the evening, gloves in the winter, that sort of thing. Cordelia says that in Pelier there are women who never wear the same dress twice in a row, and really do look closely at what people wear, and are good at figuring out how much it costs. Dad says how you wear it is more important." She briefly looked up at Paris and then back down again, and sighed heavily. She dragged her eyes back up to Paris' face. "But that's not, well, why I said that yesterday. I'm sorry, I practically bit my tongue off after I said it, those are your clothes and I didn't mean to make you ashamed. I just thought you'd feel out of place in the palace, the way everyone else would be dressed, and, if you did see Ewen, well, he'd think you were really making a point about being a peasant to his noble, and rubbing it in." Lorraine looked embarrassed.
Paris' voice was full of joy and she reached out to hug Lorraine. "Oh, you darling! How wise of you to have thought of that! I never ever, ever would have wanted Ewen to think I was rubbing in a point. That would have been cruel -- when it was my fault entirely that anyone was thinking that there's much difference between peasant and noble. That is, a difference in the heart, in how honourable a person can be. I have felt so badly about even for a moment thinking that Ewen would be dishonourable. I know he could not be. What a silly I am!" It was Paris' turn to look embarrassed. Her voice lowered. "And it was silly of me to think that clothes might make a difference to an honourable man. You are right, I see, that clothes have their place. I just didn't like the thought that -- that Ewen hadn't actually seen me, Paris. That -- that he had, rather, kissed a mannequin dressed in your pretty clothes. It seemed wrong. Like I was masquerading as you. Like I had taken something not intended...."
Lorraine laughed. "So, we are as wonderful as two candles, Lord Ewen?" she quipped. "I think you need to study your poetry more," she smiled. Patting Paris' arm, she continued. "Would you excuse me a moment, I need to talk to Cordelia." And before receiving any word she swept away.
Ewen stood there looking at Paris for a moment. He was, she thought, tense but she could not read his eyes or face. His hands were clasped behind his back, and had his feet been closer together she thought he would be at attention. "My Lady, would it be possible for me to have the pleasure of accompanying you to dinner tonight?" The formal words flowed from him with the measured cadence of hundreds of recitals.
Paris' voice was soft but could not hide her surprised pleasure. Somehow she had expected him to see through her, all her doubts about 'borrowed finery', all her debates about honour. 'The formalities cover a great deal of uncertainty, don't they?' she thought to herself. "My Lord, I would dine gladly with you tonight." Then her eyes crinkled in amusement. Still softly, "But when do I get to be Paris again, and you, Ewen?"
His face broke into its familiar grin, as one arm came out from behind his back to offer it for her balance. "Now," he replied as softly, "as long as we can stay out of the way of the fire breather." The staff came down three times, announcing the start of dinner. Ewen leaned over and again spoke quietly, "I think an enfilade right is in order." Matching her step in a mimicry of a march, he moved them to the right of the crowd, taking them to a table to the side of the room.
Paris dimpled. Why, oh, why in all her self-orations did she never recall how much fun all this was? Ewen was a delight. She smiled at him, pleasure making her eyes glow.
Dinner was very pleasant; they were away from the duGryphons and among just those she thought of as friends, now. As always, they left the dinner and went to the dance room. Ewen smiled at her as the musicians tuned up. "Well, have you kept up with your practice? Would you like a dance, or shall we sit this one out?"
Paris' eyebrows shot up in mock apology. "I have had no one to practise with out in the wilderness." She grinned. "I never thought to ask the orcs if they could dance. So your feet would be in great danger. But, I -- I have something for you..." She gestured, bringing the packet that she'd been concealing between her forearm and the sword slightly into view. "Perhaps we can forego the dance so that I can tell you about it?"
Ewen's smile didn't waver, but she thought he stiffened across the shoulders slightly. "Well, the orcs wouldn't step on your feet any worse than I would. And, yes," he nodded, drawing serious, "we should talk."
Oh, no. Paris' inner alarums went off with dismay. Does he think I just called him an orc? And he thinks we should talk! He's not talking about the cuttings! Panic started burning its way up her insides.
He led her to a pair of chairs facing the dance floor, and they sat down, hand in hand as the music began. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Ewen took a deep breath and looked directly at Paris. His free hand was moving, waving to emphasize in some way what he was saying. "Paris. Lorraine talked to me about the last night you were here. I don't think of you as a peasant, I would never treat you that way. That isn't what I was thinking when I kissed you, that isn't why I kissed you. You must understand that. You are -- are something made of steel and fire. If you're not noble, then most of those in this palace should be driven out to the street." The breath ran out, and he looked frantically around her face to try to read her. A fraction of a smile turned up his mouth. "Besides, if I did try something wrong, you'd have my guts on your sword in a second."
Paris listened, shame burning that she had ever let him think such things. "Oh, Ewen, it was my fault. I know now -- I've thought about it lots -- that you couldn't have thought such things. It was just me, not knowing what was going on. Just me -- being -- stupid." She shook her head slightly.
Ewen's hand stopped flying as he focused on her face, intent and worried as she talked. "You're not stupid," he interrupted softly, shaking his head in time with hers as she continued talking.
Paris: "I wouldn't -- you couldn't do anything wrong -- that way. You and Lorraine have been my best friends here. It is to my shame that I let my ignorance run away with me. I have so much yet to learn. Would you forgive me? If I am to stay, I need a great deal of guidance around the -- traditions the rest of you know and I do not...?"
Ewen looked confused. "Forgive you for what?" He blinked a couple of times. "Paris," and his mouth turned in a small grin as his forehead stayed wrinkled. "Paris, it's not a tradition to kiss your first dance partner, I kissed you because I wanted to. And I thought, well..." He seemed to struggle with what to say, and then his voice continued, earnestly but strained. "If you want to be just friends, we can do that."
"Ewen," Paris' voice was very soft. "That was my first kiss. And I was so confused by old tales and fears that I thought the unthinkable about you -- a man I know to be good and honourable. It is for that that I ask forgiveness. You would not wrong me, but I most definitely wronged you." She swallowed. "There had been so much of the new-to-me, so many 'firsts', in that one week, that I still don't know how to sort it all out, how I feel about -- so many things. One thing that I am sure of is that friendship is a good foundation for whatever might come to us in life. A -- kiss -- is a pretty special thing -- to me -- and I thank -- you for giving me one." Paris started to colour up, but kept her eyes on Ewen's. "Part of me would like to ask for -- more, but -- but that would not be fair, I think, until I better know how I feel."
[When Paris and Ewen have reached the point where she remembered the cuttings again....]
After all these misunderstandings, Paris was still not sure that her gift would be welcome. How much she had to learn before she could actually understand even one other person in this world. Paris held her breath for a moment. Though blessed -- for so she considered any gift from such as the Empress, it was -- in the end -- a peasant's gift, for the earth and the soil and the tenders thereof. She looked at Ewen squarely but had to swallow once or twice before the words came. "I brought you a gift from the Empress of Tarot, Ewen." Then, honest to the core, "Well, not exactly. She gave it to me, but I was thinking of you, of one of our conversations, when I asked for it." She dropped her eyes almost immediately, afraid of what she'd see in his. "It's a grape cutting." She fumbled for the packet, turning her wrist upwards so that he could see it.
Then she kept her eyes on his face, as if look and words could urge him to her feelings on the matter. "I don't know if you'd have a place for it yet, but I am sure one of your people -- your vinemaster? -- would know how to care for it properly. I -- wanted to give it to you as soon as possible. It came from the Empress of Tarot, which means -- I think -- that it will be an especially fine grape. The Empress is that sort of being. Very understanding of the fruits of the land. I thought of you -- and your people -- those you were so worried about having lost their livelihood when the big city appeared. And so -- when the Empress offered us anything within her province of plant and seed -- I asked for this and the Empress gave it to me. Please, can you take it and see that it is best used for your people and your family? I could tell that you care about them a great deal. Please?"
They had separated hands so she could pass over the packet, which he turned over in both hands while listening to her tale. He was quiet for a moment after she finished. "You were gone for three weeks, avoiding and fighting orcs and ... and you thought of me?" He spoke in a low voice. "This is ... wonderful." Again his eyes fixed on hers, steady and intense. "It's a gift of great time. It takes years, and great care, for a vine to grow and mature." He broke off the stare to look at the package. "But this will be the first we plant, I will send it to Paolo tomorrow. Yours will be the first grapes we have, someday." With a sly grin, he looked at her. "It is truly a noble gift. I could kiss you."
The music chose that moment to end. Reflexively, Ewen started to stand, offering a hand to Paris. As they were moving back to the sidelines, Ewen looked at Paris again. "But my geography is a bit off. Where is Tarot, and why do they have an Empress? I thought you went back to..."
"Excuse me," interrupted Rodric. "Come on Ewen, you know the rules. You can't monopolize her time," he said smiling. "Paris," he said, turning and offering his hand, "may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"
Paris couldn't help but look at Ewen as Rodric started speaking, but as soon as Rodric's hand came up she smiled at the taller boy and placed her hand in his. "Thank you so much, Rodric, but, please, may we sit and talk? It has been weeks since my last dance and I am lamentably out of practice."
As he escorted her to the seat, he kept glancing at her. "You know, you look really pretty tonight." As his ears turned red, he continued, "I mean, I'm glad the bruise is gone. Um. You look well."
[It's going to be another long dance. :) ]
"Paris." The voice startled her, and she turned to see Lady duGryphon. "May I speak with you, dear?" Again they moved to a corner of the room, away from others. The Lady's eyes flicked over the room, studying her charges, then settled back on Paris. "What was in the package you gave Master deLacey?"
"Oh, Madam," Paris flushed. "I - I was hoping no one noticed. I - it would be better, I feared, if no one knew they came from me." One of the Lady's eyebrows went up at the suggestion that no one would notice Paris' actions. The girl bit her lip and then looked into the lady's face. "It - it is some grape cuttings, m'am. I -- had not found a better time to give them to him. I am sorry if I should have found a better time."
Lady duGryphon commented, "Gathered on your travels, I suspect?" Paris nodded. "A not inappropriate item for the deLacey family. And, yes, wise to give it to Master Ewen rather than Lord Justin, I'm afraid." She seemed to consider for a long moment. "Though I'm not the only one to have noticed. Young Bietrix, at least, paid particular attention to your dance with Master deLacey. You've done no wrong, dear. Go back to the young men; they seem anxious to see you tonight after your long absence."
"Oh. Have - have I upset the Lady Bietrix? I did not mean to." Paris paused, embarrassed. "Thank you, my Lady. I - thank you." Dismissed, Paris did as she was bid. 'You see,' came a voice somewhere deep within, 'another girl does care for him That Way.' Paris frowned slightly and then gave a tiny smile. "But I think he deserves the best too," she murmured to herself.
Second Week, Seconday. Sir Gryphon's Class.
The next morning the courtyard was crowded. Paris frowned as she noticed Sir Marion and his troop present in the yard. Sir Gryphon was directing a more complete mock up of the battle by the pool, including making one area muddy where the pool was. "It's time for another part of your training here, boys and girls. First, put all the weapons away." He lined up a group of the eight seniors in a line. "Time to see what yesterday looked like from the other side." He moved and mounted one of the horses, lining up on Jules. "I don't trust your father or his men not to give their all riding you down, boy. Charge!" And with that a line of sixteen horsemen charged the line of unarmed trainees. The combination of mounted armored knight on armored horse was considerably more terrifying than even the mounted orcs had been, and Paris joined the others in scattering and trying to get out of the way of the mad charge. The line passed them and wheeled in place. "Right. That's what those bales of hay should have seen riding down on them. Mounted troops have an effect all out of proportion to one man..." and he droned on through a lecture on shock and impact, giving Paris' heart time to slow. She could smell urine where one of the boys had reacted to the shock.
He then positioned his class into the position that the party had taken, with Jules in Paris' position. He kept Paris out of the line to go through the battle in slow motion, spell by spell and fight by fight. Sir Marion followed along with Sir Gryphon and Paris, questioning the orcs' actions, the effectiveness of the party's spells. Three times they went through the battle, each time with the party cut to ribbons more quickly than she remembered it.
DuGryphon and Chivar conferred a bit, and issued light bows with arrows covered in cloth. DuGryphon also sent for the chiurgeon. "This will be a little dangerous." He rearranged the party against the 'pond,' positioning the students with some warriors protecting the archers. It took somewhat longer for the attacking knights to surround the defenders, and in that time two horses and one rider were deemed dropped. The defenders managed to take out another pair, but were then overrun. A second time, and they were still being overrun when the whistles to stop chorused. Simon had slipped in the mud and fell, and a horse had stepped on his arm, breaking it even through the armor. The chiurgeon set it, but Paris could see he was using non-magical means to heal it.
Paris looked at Simon. Shock was setting in and she could tell that he was in pain. If she had 'picked her battles' better, this would not yet be part of his training. Quietly she moved over and knelt down beside him. In a low voice she said, "Simon, I apologize for this happening to you. Do you mind if I pray for you?"
Simon's frantic eyes tore themselves away from his arm to Paris. He looked at her with a puzzled look. "Uh, no, uh, go ahead I guess."
Paris reached out and lightly laid her hand on the injured arm. She closed her eyes and started praying. [Oof. 7 body, 25 stun. Wish I could roll like that on 5d6 in a game!]
"Domine vobiscum," began the words of the prayer, and as she closed her eyes she could hear inside her a hundred others in a double line echoing the chant. In the courtyard, they saw her order badge glow, a glow that flowed down her to her hands and onto Simon's arm. She finished a moment later to a silent courtyard. Even the horses were still.
Simon looked at his hand puzzled, flexing the fingers. "It ... it doesn't hurt. It's healed."
The chiurgeon grabbed the arm and pressed unerringly on the spot that had just been broken. When Simon kept steady, rather than squealing in pain, he grunted assent. "All well, Lord duGryphon." He stood up, dusting his knees off. "Well, if you're done with me I'll be off then. Good day, Miss Paris," he smiled as he left.
The younger boys were staring at her with open mouths. She thought she heard a muttered, "God's blood" from one of the horsemen behind her, but couldn't be sure. Sir Marion stepped up to take Simon's arm and see it for itself. "I'd heard about this but hadn't seen any of it. That's quite a gift you have there, lass. If the Prince hadn't already snagged you I'd see about getting you taught to fight from horseback and be taking you on patrol. I right imagine there isn't a knight in the county that wouldn't be glad to have you about if you could do that and stay on a horse." He stood up grinning. "Going to have to try again to get one of those magic users onto a horse."
She was about to answer when she noticed Sir Gryphon standing behind Sir Marion, eyes fixed on her, very slightly shaking his head left and right. She realized that she had never picked up a weapon or sat on a horse while Sir Marion was around, Lord duGryphon had kept her moving about, answering questions, explaining things, too busy to join in the fight.
Simon walked over to her. "Um, thank you Lady Paris." He grinned. "You can pray for me any time." And with boyish enthusiasm restored, he ran back to where Lord duGryphon was setting up another stage of the fight.
But neither Jules nor Ewen met her eyes.
Paris turned her face to Sir Gryphon, hurt and puzzlement writ thereon. Her first attempt at speech failed.
"Come," Sir Gryphon commanded, and led her at a trot to the horsemen. "Reposition these where they started. How many were slowed by the first spell?" Paris answered and he led her at a jog to the next batch. They ran alongside the horses to pace them, Paris directing when the second spell appeared and blocked the way. DuGryphon continued to pound her with questions, rapid fire, yes and no, so she barely had time to think.
But as they jogged back from the horsemen starting line to the students, she had a moment. She managed a whisper. "Have - have I been unwise?"
She wasn't sure he heard her, but just before they rejoined the students he said, "Later." He repositioned the students, and the battle began again. She noticed he was breathing a little hard, as if all the running were more than he was used to.
She found it hard, for once, to concentrate on the afternoon classes; the 'later' kept turning in her mind.
As they were cleaning up, Alain looked to Sir Gryphon. "Excuse me, sir, but you still haven't shown us how to defeat them. I heard that another group whipped them."
Sir Gryphon turned from where he'd been washing and looked at Sir Marion. With a sigh he turned to his students. "Alain. That other group was mounted and had horse-bowmen. They shot them from a distance and retreated as the orcs and wolves pursued, and kept outrunning them." He shook his head. "I could show you that way to defeat them. Or how to hide behind a wall and defeat them. Or how to use a company of archers and flatten them at fifty paces. But I can't show you how to win the battle with only the things they had. I might not have needed a miracle to survive," and he had the trace of a smile that disappeared quickly, "but that's a battle that would leave you wolf meat." He looked at the group, catching their eyes. "Listen to me, all of you, cause I'm only going to tell you this once. There are battles you won't walk away from. If you get in one, make sure it's one that counts, don't do it because you got yourself caught with your pants down. Pick your fights."
Sir Gryphon was waiting for her at the end of the day, at the door where the young page waited to take her to bath. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and again she whispered "Have I been unwise?"
He looked older than she remembered. "No, Paris. Just used. I didn't want to upset Sir Marion. He's a good man, but has a pride in his boy that won't quit. I didn't want to embarrass either the boy or the man by a comparison of fighting skills with you. Wouldn't have done anyone any good." He looked stern and poked his finger at her chest. "And you listen to me, Paris. If you're in a fight, don't you ever hold back. Never. I don't want to see you throw a fight to make some boy look good, ever." He softened a little. "You're not that good an actress. Everyone would be able to tell if you let someone win, and that would be worse. No," he shook his head, "no, you've not been unwise. Far from it. But," he grinned, "I'll have to really put the training to you tomorrow to make up for today."
A little smile broke through Paris' worry in answer to the older man's. 'I like him, I really do. He cares,' she found herself thinking. Aloud, she stumbled again. "Sir, I - I look forward to it. B-but, if you d-don't mind -- about the -- m-magic? I am not a mage; I never wanted to give anyone that impression. It -- it's just that -- if it seems right, just, to try to help someone -- that way -- I can -- sometimes -- pray. But -- should I have not?"
He looked surprised. "What about it? Paris, when you've had as many men die on you from wounds as Marion and I have..." He shook his head slowly, remembering; shook himself again and continued. "You've got a gift. You should use it when you can." He stopped and considered a moment. "Simon seemed right happy about it. What? Who told you it was wrong to heal him?"
Paris stuttered, "No, no, sir. No one said -- no one told me it was wrong. I -- I may have -- misinterpreted some things." Paris bit her lip. "I am glad Simon need not miss any class work for trying to duplicate my errors," she tried to reassure him. "I -- I will work out the -- other things. It is -- my mistake, no doubt. Th-thank you for your time, sir."
She noticed duGryphon's brow furrow as he concentrated on her face, studying her closely. She did not think it was in anger.
As Paris tried to extricate herself from this knot, she was aware that some part of her was wailing, "What mistake? How did I offend? Is it that Sir Marion said he wanted me -- when I am no more advanced in the class than Jules and Ewen? Is it like the early rumours -- that they think I will be advanced ahead of them because of something they have no way of matching?" She knew she was close to tears, to running away to a dark corner of the stable where she could hide. "Find out!" a second voice inside her commanded. "Find out!"
She found her voice again, a little hoarse and urgent. "Sir, you -- you wouldn't -- let Sir Marion -- have me -- early -- before I have learned what the others must know -- just because he needs a healer? You would not.... You would not!" Her voice became steadier at the last as her confidence in his integrity asserted itself.
"I would not," he said with the absolute sureness of stone. "None graduate before I say they are ready to take the test. Besides, you are the Prince's man. I mean," and there was a pause while he searched for the right word, "soldier. Not the Duke's. You will never ride with Sir Marion unless the Prince commands you to." He studied her again. "There is more to this." He leaned back, smiling. "But an old warhorse is not going to figure it out. I'll ask the missus to talk to you before dinner. Now, go, get ready."
There are a few constants in the Universe. Lorraine bubbling, Paris thought with a smile, was one of them. She had come in after Paris was done with her bath, while she was getting dressed; Lorraine, of course, already looked perfect. "Paris! That was so wonderful! I heard what you did for Simon! How does it feel to do such things? Can you do it often? Does it hurt when you do that?"
Paris smiled in spite of herself. Lorraine was a bright and lovely butterfly to her earth-bound caterpillar and it appealed to some beauty-loving part of Paris' soul just to see her. Paris, as ever, spoke more slowly and quietly than her friend. "No, Lorraine, it does not hurt. Unlike what my magic-using friends do, it uses no energy of mine, I think. It is not really I that does it. I --" she slowed yet more, puzzling it out, "think I am only a -- vessel -- for a prayer. And, no, I do not think that I can do it often." She paused. "I am grateful that I can be of help."
Lorraine continued smiling as she adjusted an errant curl on Paris. "I mean, I've heard of magic being done, you know, since the palace got here. But I haven't actually known anyone who can do it. Can the Prince do that too? Is that something everyone in your order has to learn to do?"
Paris thought. "I don't know, Lorraine. I think it is something that everyone in my Order can do. It -- feels that way."
"Excuse me." The steely voice interrupted the two girls' conversation. Lady duGryphon stood in the doorway, back straight and arms crossed severely in front of her. "Daughter, would you excuse us please? We will see you at dinner."
Lorraine curtsied briefly. "Mother," she said in an icy tone and, with the two servant girls, left the room.
Lady duGryphon walked over to Paris, studying the younger woman intently. She took a moment to glance at the doorway and sighed, then turned back to Paris. "What is eating you, girl? What did you notice that my husband missed?"
"My Lady," Paris managed a demi-curtsy, knowing that her face betrayed some of the shock of the passage she had just witnessed between mother and daughter. Sympathy washed over her. Her voice was soft as she continued, "Dear madam, it -- is good to see you. It -- I -- I hope that I c-can find out -- what the matter is -- after dinner. I -- I cannot say for sure. I -- I do not know what I did wrong. But -- I -- think -- that in some way, I have wronged my class mates."
Gently, glancing again at the doorway, the Lady questioned Paris. "Why do you think you wronged them?" She seemed puzzled.
Paris looked at the lady in some bewilderment. "I think it must be -- something like -- saying I could not dance. Something -- that I cannot see -- but others expected -- something else -- from me. But -- if Lord duGryphon saw nothing wrong -- I do not know what it is."
Paris bit her lip again (It's going to get sore at this rate!) and hung her head. "For a moment, I thought it -- was something like -- the rumours I -- heard when I first came here. That -- people -- thought -- I would get preference -- for reasons" hastily correcting, "for no virtue or earning of my own. But -- that would be to not know Sir Gryphon. And surely all the other students know him better than I do myself. So ... there must be something else. And I have no idea how you can help me, my Lady. Is it not proper for me to ask those I have offended, how I have given offense?"
Lady duGryphon moved to the window, although she glanced over at the doorway again. She sighed one more time, and turned toward the doorway. In a loud voice, she called, "Mister Michaels, would you please bring my daughter in here from her uncomfortable perch outside the door?" There was a distant "coming, lady" and a heavy tread of boots, and Lorraine and a guardsman came into the room. Lorraine was blushing and looking daggers at her mother. Her mother calmly addressed her. "Had you left when you were supposed to, you would have passed Michaels around the corner. He would then walk past the door. Paris is deserving of privacy, daughter. Mister Michaels, would you kindly escort Lorraine to the dining hall?" With a small bow, the guardsman turned. Lorraine curtsied, barely, and left the room. Paris noticed the older woman sag a bit as Lorraine left, then straighten and turn back to her.
"Was it only the older boys who reacted strangely?" the Lady asked. After Paris nodded, she continued. "I believe I know what you saw. It is something that has only happened a few times in the last twenty years. Tell me, Paris, how is your shoulder--the one that was hit by the quintain?"
Puzzled, Paris answered. "It is fine, my Lady. It has had a couple of weeks to heal -- just fine." She started to shift the shoulder and stopped, realizing that the dress was not designed for such activity.
"What you are seeing, Paris," Lady duGryphon continued, "is the other side of the anger that propelled the quintain. You are seeing despair. Had you been in this school from a young age, you would see a chain, from the elder to the younger. A new crop of youngsters come to us, and the elder discover they have someone to teach, and something to teach. It buoys them immensely, and changes drastically their confidence and ability. It is a major turning point for them." She glanced again at the very empty doorway. "It works with both the boys and the girls. Although my daughter is proving to be more difficult than any we have had here yet." She turned back to Paris. "Very seldom, we have had an elder child join us. On...two occasions I can think of, the addition was more skilled in most ways than the elder boys already here, and the change in the social order was very disruptive. I think as long as the older boys could believe they were close to you in fighting abilities, with it being plain that there were areas they were better than you, they were willing to work you in. Especially after the episode with Jules and the fight. However, today they saw that you could do something they had no idea was something they could learn. And they despaired of ever learning, for the teaching of ... what you did is not something we know anything about."
Paris bit her lip. She could feel tears building. She had not wanted to hurt anyone. Particularly not Ewen and Jules.
The Lady looked out the window again. "So, what should you do about it? I would recommend doing little about it tonight. Try to sit for dinner with one of the younger boys, they will not be affected by this. Stick to the formulaic discussions: the weather, the music, that sort of thing. That is what they are for, to give you time to regroup, to retreat from contact without burning your bridges." She smiled. "I spend a lot of time with my husband, and in private I find myself unable to refrain from military metaphor." She became serious again. "Allow them to sleep on it tonight. They are young and will recover. Then tomorrow try to find something they can help you with. But do not fake it, do not patronize them or they will react. I will suggest to Lord duGryphon group exercises tomorrow."
The Lady sighed heavily. "There is more, Paris, unfortunately. Lord Chivar, because he was here all day, has decided to stay for dinner. That means that his wife will be here as well. If you can manage not to sit with Jules, I will keep you away from her for the dinner, but I can do nothing if you sit with him. Tonight after dinner, of course, are your dancing lessons. Do not think I forgot them! However, I will tell the instructor that I believe you need an in-depth refresher course, and thus you will not dance with Ewen."
It was a much-subdued Paris who shook her head to silently say that she would not dance with Ewen.
The Lady adjusted the same errant curl Lorraine had, with a gesture much like her daughter's. "There is a wide world out there that they have not had an opportunity to see. This lesson they learn a little earlier than they would otherwise. If they knew," and her breath caught, "when they really understand what you lost to gain those gifts, they will not be jealous of you for having them. Girl," and she started to get tears in her eyes, "I know something of mothers, and your mother would be proud of you. For all that you have done."
The tears rolled down Paris's cheeks, first one than another. She closed her eyes and bit her lip again, to get herself under control. "Thank you, my Lady," she whispered, "for saying so. It -- it is very -- lonely -- to be thus." She breathed deeply and fell silent.
Paris hoped with a hope that was painful that Lady duGryphon was right. Without Ewen to smooth her rough spots, with Jules harbouring the 'strength of his convictions', all the -- joy she had felt when she realized that she could return to class had evaporated. But Prince William still expected her to do this. She swallowed hard. Somehow she would have to get through. Perhaps by then there would be some clue as to how to find or make others of the Order -- and it would not be quite so lonely. Perhaps. She was having a hard time just hoping.
Lady duGryphon moved over to one of the towels, dipped it in water and blew on it. "Here, let me show you a trick. If you press the cold cloth to your eyes, it dries the tears and removes some of the red. Wouldn't do for them to see that."
Paris smiled a bit tremulously. Lorraine and her mother were so much alike. Why, oh, why was there such a wedge between them? Could she get Lorraine to tell her? She recalled the other girl's embarrassment. Would Lorraine, too, be angry with her now?
The issue of seating at dinner was decided much more easily than Paris could have imagined. Simon appeared beside her as soon as she entered the room, still excited about the repair of his broken bone, and monopolized her time. As the time for dinner approached, he looked up at her, his ears seriously red, and stammered out a request for her company for dinner.
Knowing that Lady duGryphon would be watching, Paris had very carefully not looked around for Jules or Ewen. And, remembering Rodric's ears, promised herself that she would try very hard not to embarrass Simon. "I would be most pleased to accompany you, Simon, thank you." Paris reminded herself to be extra careful with sword and chair and waiting to be seated....
Seniors
S: I had at first thought, as Jules' friends, Simon and Alain were amongst the seniors. Clearly I was wrong. I presume the other 4 seniors are just not particularly interesting ...:-) I can sorta see why Jules would have the younger boys as an entourage -- but, hm, there may be more dynamics amongst the seniors than I have seen so far.
GM: I thought of Rodric as also being a senior, and Alain; did I say there were eight seniors? I've forgotten. I did think of Simon as being a year and a half behind, but probably the one that will be the leader of the seniors next year. They don't divide it quite so much by class as we do, but that's a time of rapid physical development, so the differences are noticeable. And, there are more dynamics--while Sir Gryphon may think Jules is number one, Ewen is not convinced of that. :) Probably has to do with Gryphon knowing Jules' father far better than Ewen's. ]
S: There were the 8 seniors that the 16 horsemen ran down. You've made it very clear that Jules, Ewen, Rodric, and Paris are seniors -- probably the top seniors.
I have assumed by that you meant the ones most advanced in training -- and not necessarily the oldest. (I suspect that Jules and Ewen may both be a year older than Paris, 18 to her 17? Just a guess.)
GM: And you're right on the ages--although they are just barely or just about to turn 18. I've assumed that, since this is a time of plenty, they can afford to have these classes go a little longer than was historically accurate.
Incidentally, I envision Rodric as the one that grew too quickly--he's still not fully coordinated, but he is the tallest. Reminds you of Rhori, but not as wide a shoulder.)
S: The status of all the others, I know realize, has been a matter of assumption on my part.
In the beginning of the imaginary conversation you identified Alain as one of the younger students. Perhaps you have two Alains? When Alain took responsibility for his part in the fight, he certainly seemed one of the older boys -- which is probably also why I thought Simon was older: he was the first to apologize. Apologies are the sort of thing that -- at least in public and within a pecking order -- I obviously assumed would be spear-headed by the older boys.
In the fight, Simon swung the quintain & Alain provided the distraction with the horse. This definitively put them in Jules' entourage. Of course, younger boys would be easier to sway to Jules' will -- but it might have said more about the temper of the court if some of the older boys (besides Jules) had been ringleaders.
The only other student name mentioned is Silvan. I think he was the 3rd person duGryphon tested her against -- which probably means he's pretty good. He was identified by Lorraine as coming from the capital and as the best kisser. That probably means that he's one of the other seniors given that I suspect she sets her cap at the older ones; but I could be mistaken -- given that she "favours them all." :-)
GM: Lorraine has undoubtedly danced with every boy in the class, but she doesn't like to look down when she kisses. :)
S: Well-- you didn't describe Lorraine as exceedingly tall. Paris, however, is probably as tall or taller than the younger boys -- and only looks up literally to the older ones who have started/gotten their final growth spurt. In another year or so Calais should get that growth spurt too -- and they will never be mistakeable again.
"Second Week" copyright 1999 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.