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Tag: Old Draft

Marches – Chapter 08

Author’s Notes: So, this chapter builds up to the wedding. It introduces more family who may or may not become important later on. It feels a bit sudden and abrupt to me now, but I think part of that is good. Weddings often have people showing up in big numbers, and it is overwhelming. I should concentrate on that a bit more, I think. On that note, I’m re-writing the whole story, so it is hard to see exactly what will stick around. I plan on concentrating on the wedding much more, and parts of this will likely survive. Most likely, I’ll expand on aspects and cut others. Overall, I’d like the wedding to take up more of the story in the next iteration, and parts of this deserve to live on in that version.

Arrivals

When she came in from the snow, that night she found herself more welcomed than expected. She had barely made it back into the manor before she was surrounded by the people she had just left. From a quick embrace from Romi and Cyne to a lecture from Bastien to Ervig showing up a few minutes late with a small search party, everyone had been worried. So, she asked to have paper and ink brought to her, and that night she penned letters to her family. Tienette had only watched for a time, and as the letters were written, the two talked about the decision. She assured the woman that it wasn’t the knife that sealed her decision. She had decided she would go through with it long before – but his actions had made her realize that she felt safer in Milae than she ever had on the Coast. It was decided while working on those letters that the wedding would be on the first full moon of Spring, as was common for the followers of Lune.

She hadn’t been able to pen the letter to her father, though. So, Tienette wrote a letter for him, and the basilisk was as cruel in the letter as her reputation suggested, though she didn’t let Mirabelle read the crueler rebukes of his behavior. She even decided that it would be the messenger that carried his gift who would return her letter to him.

The next morning, the date was announced to the villagers by Ervig and his men, and just like that the village was a buzz. This was something that astonished Mirabelle. In her home, weddings were small affairs, with family and priests. The Astier had invited every single member of their hold, and riders rode out on that first day to all nearby holds as well. The event was a celebration, not just for the nobles, but for the entire hold. It gave the people of the village something to work towards through the winter, and it made it even more challenging for Mirabelle to travel the town – as she often spent time getting well wishes from the townsfolk, and that would inevitably lead to a small crowd of others joining in.

Work in earnest began during the darkest part of winter after the Solstice festivals ended. Tienette and Cyne brought in tailors and got to work on a formal wedding dress for her, and jewelers followed getting her feeling on countless styles of jewels to adorn her. It was overwhelming in a lot of ways and took much more time than she would have expected but it passed the winter quickly. Before she had realized it, the weather began to warm, and the days began to feel longer again.

As spring seemed to be in reach, a messenger arrived with a letter from her sister Roheis. She had happily agreed to come to the village and spend the weeks leading up to the marriage with her sister. She had sent the messenger ahead of her, but it was only a day or two later that a militiaman showed up at the door of the manor, explaining that banners and a small cadre of mounted soldiers had been seen coming down the road.

He described the banner as a blue shield with a gold bend, with a centered white alerion above three crossed spearheads. It was one she recognized immediately.

“Alerion?” Cyne asked as an excited Mirabelle waved for Coralie to bring her a coat and boots.

“It’s a beakless bird, footless bird.” Tienette explained with a slight smile, “Forever cursed to fly, with no hope of rest.”

“Oh,” Cyne spoke with a little bit of disappointment in her voice.

“It isn’t as bad as it sounds. It’s a symbol of the Girardine family, a sign of their eternal vigil over the walls of the Tirmont.” Mirabelle spoke from nearby as Coralie helped her wrap a coat around her form and worked to prepare her boots for her.

“Tirmont being the fortress on the border of Ava proper and the Banner lords territories.” Tienette added quietly, “And the sight of a hundred battles. A few fought against Vouivre.”

“So, they were our enemy.”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago. The last skirmish between us was before you were born.” Tienette corrected her daughter thoughtfully.

“Before Sarus was born?” Cyne asked quickly.

“No. We clashed swords against them about fifteen years ago, but it was not a pitched battle. Only a few hundred men.” Tienette admitted with a sigh.

“Any of ours?”

“No, your father wouldn’t commit troops if he didn’t know he could win.”

Mirabelle shook her head and moved finally finished lacing up her boots. Coralie through a quick cloak around her shoulders and stepped up behind her mistress. Bastien busied himself attaching his sword to his belt, but seemed ready to join them as they left. The Lady d’Argent gave a little nod. “I’m going out to meet them.”

“I’d like to come.” Tienette admitted, “But I need to find my face.” She gave a little smile and shook her head. “You go ahead.”

“May I?” Cyne asked. The girl was still young and hadn’t yet received her mask for the masquerade, but in truth, she was only a few years younger than Mirabelle.

Her mother nodded towards Mirabelle, who gave a quick nod without speaking. So, Cyne fell in line with them.

“I’ll watch over her, my lady,” Bastien added quickly. “No need to call in extra guards. I’m sure the Marquis de Tirmont will have more than enough men to keep her safe.”

“Very well,” Tienette spoke softly. “I will meet with you all soon. Enjoy the reunion.”

The small group headed out of the manor and to the streets. Aside from lingering snow in a few shady spots, it did look as if it would soon be spring. Mirabelle almost jogged towards the edge of the village, with the others just trying to keep up with her. When they arrived at those Willow Gates, she found that Ervig and his men had already arrived.

The Captain of the Guard turned towards her and gave a nod, “I see my man found you, my lady.” Ervig added with a quick bow to her. “Oh,” He stammered as he saw Cyne with her, “And I did not expect to see you as well my lady Astier.”

“He did,” Mirabelle answered back, as Cyne gave a soft bow towards the man. D’Argent stepped through the militia to the forefront, crossing to the very front of the village. Cyne joined her, but Bastien and Coralie stood with the militia.

Ervig stepped forward. “Scouts caught their banner about an hour ago. They’re in no rush, but I don’t believe Marquis de Tirmont spared much expense on this trip. It makes my men feel a bit underequipped.”

“Perhaps once I’m your Marquise officially, I can open up trade with them.” She glanced back at the militia, who were dressed in ramshackle chain mail and boiled leather plates, and armed with simple iron spears, daggers, and hunting bows in some cases. They were not professional soldiers, but rather the conscripted or volunteer peasants of the village. She wondered if they were an efficient fighting force in the least, knowing they had none of the training of someone like Bastien. They didn’t speak much more for a time though, just watching the banners grow closer.

Finally, when they were well in view, it took Mirabelle’s breath away. She saw her sister for the first time in nearly a year. Roheis and her Husband were both in ceremonial armor. Shining plates of steel atop blue lamellar. On their hips, long swords and daggers of exquisite craftsmanship stored it well-maintained leather scabbards. His steel spear rose above them both, a personal banderol attached just below the blade and fluttering in the wind. On her horse, she also had a new, fine longbow attached to the saddle – but it was her guard that carried her banderol, the white stag replacing the alerion in the Tirmont arms.

Behind them were arrayed, forty knights or servants. The knights wore fine, shining plate. Each was armed with fine blades and wore long blue capes. Their horses likewise were all masterfully outfitted, with each wearing banded plates of mail over soft leather barding. Even the servants wore armor, though it was mostly shined chain atop leather. It was a display to be sure.

As they got close enough to see Mirabelle, Roheis lost her patience and spurred her horse forward.  It was only a minute before she reached the line, and she quickly swung her leg over her horse’s saddle and dismounted, and then she rushed around to her sister. She locked her in a tight embrace, which while Mirabelle returned, it was clearly one-sided. “You look well, little Belle,”

“Roheis, you look…” Mirabelle finally broke the embrace and pushed away just a bit. “Knightly.”

“I am knightly. It turns out the people of Tirmont need a Marquise who can stand by her husband in a fight. And I always wanted to learn the bow.” She glanced to the side and smiled. “Sir Bastien, Dame Coralie.”

Both gave small bows to her, and to her husband as he caught up to her.

“It is good to see you again, Lady Mirabelle,” Ghislain spoke loudly, his voice carrying over the militia as he sat atop his horse a moment. He let the horse settle. “And to all of you, I am Ghislain Girardine, Marquis de Tirmont.” He announced before he dismounted as well and walked towards the sisters d’Argent.

“And you, Marquis.”

“Please, my lady. To you, I am just Ghislain.” He spoke with a smile.

“Belle, you’re being rude.” Roheis pressed her, physically pushing on her shoulder as she nodded back to the others. “Introduce us.”

“Oh,” Mirabelle turned and found Cyne first. She motioned to her, “This is Lady Cynewise Astier, daughter of Marquis Valamir Astier and Marquise Tienette Astier. Du Nid de Vouivre.” She added.

“Ah, I had heard Lord Sarus had a sister,” Ghislain spoke with a low bow to her. “It is an honor to meet you my lady Cynewise.”

“Cyne is fine.” The young girl added nervously but returned the bow.

“And this,” She motioned to Ervig, “Is Captain Ervig de Milae, who was steward of the village until my arrival, and still acts as Captain of her Guard and leader of the military forces of the city. He also still acts as Steward but likes to claim I am in charge.”

“Belle – don’t editorialize.” Roheis corrected. “You know this is a Wyvern wedding. You will have to introduce every family member and every guest that has not met when they approach you.”

Ghislain shook his head and gave his wife a pat on the back. “Forgive her, Captain Ervig. She is worried her little sister is not prepared for the ceremony.”

“No forgiveness needed, my Lord Tirmont. We hope we have helped prepare her as well.” Ervig spoke with a bow. “To that point, the people of Milae have been blessed to have Lady d’Argent with use. It is an honor to get to greet her family.”

From there, the sisters and their entourage would enter the village. They chatted on all sorts of the minutia of their day to day lives, catching up on mostly small events. IT was nice to catch up. For the past year, both had been settling into new lifestyles, so they had more than enough to talk about for weeks. Tienette greeted them when they returned, speaking on behalf of the family from behind her basilisk mask. She promised that her husband would return soon after but was away collecting his brothers.

Of course, once they were back to the manor they rested for a couple of days, and then again began work on the wedding. Most importantly, perhaps, she had a supportive family member there – but she wished more would come. A few days after they arrived, Romi had ventured into town and was introduced to them, though she had trouble even speaking to Ghislain without turning into a stuttering mess of a girl, with cheeks as red as any flower. But she was an important piece of the puzzle in preparing Mirabelle for the ceremony.

Vouivre weddings were complex. They were parties, with every noble far and wide invited alongside many of the villagers under the care of the families being joined. It was expected that during the wedding, the guests would be greeted by both the Bride and Groom, as their first act as a married couple. Knowing the men and women that were in attendance was paramount, and generally, each offered a gift. So, poor Mirabelle had to learn the names and banners of any that might attend, as well as anything that could help her remember.

“This is impossible.” Mirabelle lamented after she.

“Each guest is going to be wearing their masks. As it is considered a court event, the masquerade must be upheld. But, the Vouivre believes that the bride and groom must prove they can see beyond that. Correctly addressing each guest in attendance will show that you are a true Vouivre bride and can hold your own in their courts.” Roheis rattled off the words as if she had said them more than enough over the past few days. “Every bride does it here.”

“But not every bride is a d’Argent. People are coming from all over the Kingdom.” Mirabelle groaned and laid her head on the table around which they sat.

Roheis sighed and nodded. “We have to keep going. The Vouivre and Ava you have down, and it won’t be a problem.”

“And you’re doing okay with Rane,” Romi said with a little smile.

“You are not doing well with the Banner Lords or Danelan though,” Cynewise added from nearby, flipping through a large tome that listed the banners of the kingdoms.

“Not helping.” Romi scolded quickly.

“We need to know where to concentrate.”

“Girls.” Mirabelle shook her head. “All of you are helping, and none of you are helping so let’s just do the next one.” She said as she sat up and stretched.

“Okay.” Roheis waved at Cyne, who raised the book up and pointed to one of the banners. Her eyes narrowed. “Green shield, black bars.  With a slain manticore in the top right-hand corner. Steel colored manticore, red blade stabbed into it.” She sat back. “That’s a little violent.”

“Wait, manticore. That’s Dunelan. So,” Mirabelle took a breath, “The sword means they kill Danelans. Black bars, green shield…” She shook her head for a moment, “Marquise,” Her face distorted a bit, as she closed one eye and seemed to think, “Marquise Maccul de Rigani?”

“You can’t just guess an entire province for a Marquise, Belle.” Roheis sighed.

“I don’t know where Maccul is from, Ile de Morr?”

“Yes! Ile de Morr…”

“Marquise Maccul de l’ile de Morr a Rigani,” Mirabelle raised an eye as if she was done, but held on to the last vowel since she wasn’t sure.

Romi leaned over towards her after a minute and pushed, “The…”

“The…” Mirabelle softly waved a hand, “Hint?”

“No hint. You know this.”

“My lady, they did visit the temple once when you were young.” Bastien spoke up, “You were smitten with their mounts.”

“Bastien!” Roheis raised her hands and barked at him, “How is that not a hint?”

“Marquise de l’Ile de Morr a Rigani, chevalier commandant de l’ordre du pegase!” Mirabelle said with a clap of her hands.

“You are pushing her hard, she needed a hint.” Bastien defended himself, from Roheis who was giving him a disappointed look.

“She could have gotten there,” Roheis spoke softly.

“Wait, you got to see a Pegasus?” Cyne asked quickly.

“Pegasi,” Mirabelle clapped and squirmed happily at the answer and question. “She rode in with twenty knights of the order after some battle, seeking healing and,”

“My lady, just skip to the best part,” Bastien said quickly with a wave of his hand.

“One bit Roheis.”

“You brat!” Roheis kicked at her sister under the table.

“No.” Bastien shook his head and ran a hand across his forehead.

“They let them ride the creatures,” Coralie added from nearby. “When I was brought on, it was all lady Mirabelle would talk about.”

She hadn’t quite finished the sentence when the manor door was pushed open quickly and Ghislain rushed in, warranting a small startled noise from Romi. The group turned to look at him, as he seemed in a bit of a rush. “My ladies, pardon the intrusion.” He gave a bow, “Lady Mirabelle. There are other arrivals. Lady Tienette asks…”

“What banner, Ghis?” Roheis asked.

He looked confused, “It’s the banner…”

“No, describe it.” She interrupted her husband

That only seemed to deepen the confusion on the man’s face. “A gray shield with red orle and a black wyvern holding a knot of willow branches.”

“I know that one,” Mirabelle spoke with a large smirk.

“Me too.” Cynewise teased closing the book and standing up. She seemed a little excited to see her family again.

“Is Sarus with them?” Mirabelle asked quietly.

“No, my Lady. He was sent on to their home, with a couple of the younger children. The rest of the family has come to meet you.” Ghislain nodded. “They should be here in a few minutes.”

“Then we should get ready. We’ll continue this later.” Roheis said softly.

The girls all stood and moved to change into more courtly attire. Then Mirabelle’s eyes turned towards Romi, who stood nervously in her hunter’s cloak. She knew she didn’t have anything more to wear. She glanced at her friend. “Romi, would you like to join us?” She asked quietly.

“I’m unprepared, my lady. I can just take my leave.” She responded quietly, with her head held low.

“Nonsense.” Lady d’Argent said with a smile. “You can borrow one of my dresses if you like.”

It only took a few minutes to change into their attire, with Mirabelle and Roheis in more exquisite wear than the others thanks to their father’s station – and Romi awkwardly pulling at the fancy clothes draped on her, clearly out of her comfort area. Cyne’s dark-colored dress was a stark contrast against the royal blues in the other two women’s choices. Cyne gave a little bow to the others, and she took her leave to join her family before they were formally introduced.

More importantly, given it was a court event, in a way, they all donned their masks. Mirabelle had not worn her mask around the Astier ever, but this was a sort of official event. Coralie handed it over to her – a simple silver cloth mask with steel wire hardening it to hold its most important aspect, the two small stag antlers that rose from the sides. She took a breath and slipped the mask on. She glanced over to her sister, who wore an almost identical mask. Then she glanced at Romi, who had a full-face mask styled after the face of a fox.

After a moment, the door opened again in the main room where they waited, and Ghislain joined them. His mask was more militaristic, befitting his role, with a horsehair flare rolling back across his natural hair, dyed white now in honor of his wife. He gave a smile, “Ladies, are you ready to receive guests?” He asked quickly.

“Yes,” Roheis stated bluntly, pushing Mirabelle to the forefront. She gave her a nudge. “You can do this, consider it a dry run.”

Ghislain stepped back out, and his muffled speech followed. Then the doors opened again, with Marquise Tienette stepping through first, followed by her husband, then three men she didn’t recognize, and another woman. Cyne stepped back in with her family, sticking close to her mother and father.

Mirabelle felt her mind race. She didn’t know who these people were, but they came under the Astier banner. She took a breath and gave a bow, “Marquis and Marquise Astier, welcome back.” She said with a long low bow. She raised back up slowly, giving herself time to look across the other men and women in attendance. Then she smiled. “It is an honor to get to meet more of your family finally. If you will, allow me to introduce my sister,” She waved a hand to her, “Marquise Roheis Girardine de Tirmont.” Her hand then moved over to Romi, “And my closest friend, Lady Romi Cedolin du Rane.”

Romi blushed at the words.

“Lady Cedolin?” One of the men’s voices broke the silence. Mirabelle had expected Valamir to speak, but he hadn’t. Instead, this man spoke. He was an overweight man, a rolling double chin, and the look of sweat on his marred skin. He stood a few inches shorter than Valamir but stepped forward as he spoke. His mask was red wyvern feathers but laced with gold threads. “There is no Lady Cedolin, only Romi Batard.”

“With all due respect,” Mirabelle spoke harshly, raising up and standing defiant, “Lord Vithimiris Astier. I recognize her rightful parentage. You will do the same in my presence.”

There was an uncomfortable pause for a moment in the room. The man stared at her for a moment, a scowl of anger on his lips as he watched her eyes. She didn’t turn away from him, staring. The pause was long enough that she thought to demand an answer, but before she could his scowl disappeared, and his mouth opened to release a belly laugh. “Well done!” He reached up and pulled off his mask and tossed it aside. He opened his arms wide and stepped away from his family and towards her. His demeanor completely changed. Without his mask, his eyes were bright, wide. His smile was as big as any she’d ever seen. The laugh-lines on his eyes and with flushed cheeks were simply disarming. “I am sorry, Lady Romi,” He said walking towards the girl and clapping his hands together. “I want you to know that I believe your claim, and always have. Your cousin should be ashamed. And he is a fool to cast aside such a talented woman.”

Romi didn’t know how to respond. She was bright red, a nervous fire in her cheeks. She may have mouthed something quickly, but her voice simply did not fall on anyone’s ears.

“Vithimir, you couldn’t last even until at least one more?” Valamir shook his head. “Why do I let you stay in Ereleiva?”

“Hush, brother. You knew to let me go first was a poor plan.” Vithimiris laughed and looked towards Mirabelle, who was a bit confused. Her eyes showed it. It was much less so than Roheis’, though. She turned to Vithimir who opened his arms to her again. “Welcome to the family. Come come. Give your uncle Vithimir a hug.” He motioned to her.

Though confused, Mirabelle relented and offered an embrace. Before she knew it, she was in a crushing hug.

“We are excited to have you.” He finally released her and slipped around her with one last pat on her shoulders. “Now, Marquise Roheis, the lady who tamed Ghislain.” He spoke as he moved on to his next prey.

Mirabelle had hardly gotten her breath back when the next two approached her. She gave a smile, still sort of collecting herself.

“Forgive him, my lady.” This man was more like Valamir. He was tall, a bit scruffy, with long unkempt hair held back by a ceramic and carved marked mask, sealed with red and stylized to match the others’ feathers.

She nodded at him and responded. “Lord Arimir…” She said with a smile, “There is nothing to forgive.”

“Damn right there isn’t.” Vithimiris broke from his conversation to interject, before falling back into a conversation with Roheis and Ghislain.

“And that would mean that you,” She nodded back to one of the women, also in a ceramic mask, “Are Lady Sunilda.”

“Correct,” The lady said quietly, stepping out from the crowd. She was a petite woman, with short-cropped black hair, and at that moment was clearly pregnant. “You’ll forgive me for not being more involved.”

“Have you enjoyed your stay in Milae so far?” Arimir asked her with a slight bow. “I hope we were able to get the manor to your liking before your arrival.”

“Everything has been wonderful, thank you.” Mirabelle nodded.

“Sunilda and I will be at the top of the hill mostly until the wedding. I hope you understand.”

“I do.”

“After your wedding, we want to get to know you better, though.” He smiled and pulled a small trinket from his jacket. “For you. We were in Cote d’Argent about six months ago. I wanted to make sure to get you something from home.” He offered it over to her.

She smiled and took the small box when offered, bringing it to her. “I’m honored. You didn’t need to.”

“I like to bring my nieces and nephews things from my travels.” He gave a smile and stepped back.

Then the final person stepped forward. He didn’t say anything, though. Mirabelle knew she was out of easy marks. There were only three Astier brothers now. He was an older man, wrinkled skin on the back of his hands and neck giving that away – but he wore a blank mask, just a thin gray cloth. The cloak he wore was as noble as any in attendance but was clearly just a traveling cloak. He was being careful to not show anything under the cloak either. She wasn’t sure who this was. Then she saw it though. Beads peaked out from his cloak, a necklace. She recognized them. Her father wore the same things. “I’m sorry, your reverence. I’ll admit I can’t see your face…”

“Ah, yes…” He said softly, raising a hand to pull off the mask. The voice, though, she recognized, and before he could even reach to the mask the young woman had broken any semblance of courtly ideas and rushed over to him with a tight hug. Roheis likewise had dropped what she had done and rushed over.

“Pepere! I didn’t expect you.” Mirabelle said quickly

“Lady Tienette invited me,” The old man laughed a bit, before wrapping his arms around her for a second, and then offering one over to Roheis, “It is good to see you both well.”

“It is a long trip, you didn’t need to come all of this way for me.” The Lady d’Argent protested with a tighter hug.

“It was a hard trip, yes. But you are worth a thousand.” He was a small man, and age had stolen much of his form and replaced it with a thin wrinkled man, and yet he commanded the room when he spoke. Perhaps it was just the scene, but all eyes were on him. He gave a small nod to his granddaughters and sighed. He gave a quick kiss to the woman’s forehead. “I hear you might need someone to walk with you that day as well. And nothing would make me happier.”

“Of course.” She gave a quick nod, before finally pulling back a bit, and waving to Romi. “Romi, this is Duc Leufroy d’Argent.”

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Marches – Chapter 07

For this week, I am posting Chapter 07 of Marches. This chapter was the one that hooked me and made me, though I’ll admit I am not one hundred percent sure on the why. You might see as you read. This chapter will need a lot of cleaning up and clarification in the rewrites, but the soul of this chapter will remain the same. Little things such as changes to the reasoning she ends up in the snow, the introduction to the chapter, and similar will all be readjusted. But, I do like this chapter, even as it is, flaws and all. So, with that in mind, I hope you enjoy it. And let me know what you think!

Fair winds,

Muselessbard.

A Meeting in the Snow

After Romi’s story and some additional meetings with the Astier family members, Mirabelle’s mind had fallen heavily on the upcoming decisions. She knew that winter was coming and soon enough she would have to make her choice, to pick whether she wanted to go through with this marriage or return home. She felt she didn’t have much of a clue on which direction she truly wished to go. As winter fell upon the village, and the weather turned bitterly cold, she found herself still enjoying her life here. The villagers were incredibly supportive of her, and as the first cold nights fell a great number of them would come to her manor with gifts of warm soups or drinks, freshly woven blankets, or even just simple supplies like firewood. She was incredibly well taken care of, but she felt like a member of the town. That was something she hadn’t felt on the Coast. She had always felt distant as if the people watched her from afar. Here people seemed to genuinely care for her safety. It made her like the idea of staying, at least with the people of the village.

On the night of the first real snow in the region, she found herself entertaining a few guests. She had invited Romi back a few times, and the two had become close rather quickly. The young noblewomen had few things in common in their background, but they were both visitors in this land and that gave them connection beyond the time they had known one another. Tienette and Cynewise had also come to the home and decided to stay after the snow began to set in. The four chatted about nothing. The three youngest carried the conversation, with Tienette often just listening to them chat. They shared warm teas and shared stories of everything they could think of.

The snowstorm had been come on quickly and laid down inches of snow without much warning. It was cold, but the roaring fire stoked by the servants of the manor kept the four comfortable. They expected to be stuck there at least until the sun was high in the sky the next day. So, they would make the best of it. It was hard to think of much better than the warm room, friendly chats and laughter, and safety they enjoyed. Coralie softly played her vielle, giving a light tune to back up the conversation.  All in all, it was a nice night.

As the night began to stretch, though, there came a knock at the door. As late as it was, it was impossible to consider who it may have been. It was Tienette’s guardsman who went to the door and soon returned with a half-frozen rider. Crystals of snow and ice clung to the man’s furred cloak, but the blue colors gave him away immediately. As soon as his eyes fell on Mirabelle, he fell to one knee and lowered his head.

“Lady d’Argent, forgive this messenger his tardiness.” He spoke with a hoarse voice, his throat clearly as dry and frozen as his skin. “Your father bid me bring a message and a gift.” He spoke softly. “He asked I say but one thing. His words, if I may, my lady?” The man stretched out his arms and waited for a response.

Mirabelle was a bit flustered by the sudden entrance, a bit worried as to what it could mean. With the gift, though, it was clearly in relation to her marriage. “Of course, you’ve come all this way.”

“Your father says, he hopes that your choice is clear and that he knows you’ve will have made the right choice for the honor of your family.” He did not raise up or move at all from his lowered position.

“That’s all?” Cynewise spoke quietly, likely meant to go only to her mother, but it was heard by everyone.

Mirabelle just nodded and moved over to the messenger. “And the gift?” She asked.

The messenger pulled a small ash box from one of the satchels hanging from his hip, and without looking to her, he held aloft the gift. She took it and took a breath fighting back a bit of excitement.

She looked down at him and finally let a smile cross her lips, “Thank you, messenger. Coralie will see that you have a warm place to rest, and food and drink.”

“Right this way, sir,” Coralie spoke from the back of the room, having set aside the vielle in the seat she had been sitting in.

The messenger bowed lower, and then raised up. He nodded to Mirabelle, “Mercy, my lady.” He spoke quickly, before stepping away from the girl with a lowered head and moving back and into the home to follow her servant. As he walked, the strange phrasing caught everyone off guard and a few now watched him like hawks, eyes glued to his actions as he moved off towards the dining room with the handmaiden.

Then there was a clattering nearby. All eyes were back on Mirabelle, but she had dropped the gift and without a word darted out of the manor. Most were surprised, and all called after her. She looked like she had seen a ghost, her face pale and a clearly visible quiver in her lips as she fought to get out of the room before anyone could truly see her reaction.

Bastien was up and after her first, racing to the door to follow his ward. He likely would have caught her if a voice had not called for him.

“Sir Bastien,” Marquise Tienette spoke swiftly, “Let her go,”

“No, my lady, I need to…” He had paused to turn, to speak to the Marquise directly, when he saw her.

Tienette stood over the gift that had been dropped to the floor. The box had broken, letting its contents spill to the floor in the center of the room.

Bastien stood with his mouth agape, stunned silence his only response. Tienette just nodded and took a deep breath. She didn’t say anything for a moment, before finally letting out a sighing, “Oh, Mirabelle. I am sorry.” She said as she knelt next to the box and pulled the gift away from it. It was a small black stiletto, only a few inches long. She touched the blade, and her lips twisted to a disappointed snarl.

It had been a blur, but as he followed the path of footprints in the snow and dark, he heard a faint sound – sobbing. He moved towards it, following the path that had been taken by the other as best he could without stumbling. He walked through the brush and snow, and as he came to the edge of a hill he saw her. From the disturbed snow, it looked as if she likely slid down the side of the hill, at least halfway. With no light, she was lucky she wasn’t terribly injured.

“Mademoiselle, are you alright? Are you injured?” Sarus called down to her.

She turned her face up to see who was speaking, but the two had never met. Neither Mirabelle nor Sarus could have recognized one another. She responded, with a bit of a laugh at herself, “I am uninjured.”

Sarus took a breath and nodded. He waved a hand at his bodyguard, who stood down and waited just behind the top of the hill. “I’m coming down anyway.” He said, stepping over onto the slope and slowly but surely sliding down the hill with a torch in hand. As soon as he reached the bottom he moved over to where she sat, nestled near a frozen creek bed and under a young willow tree struggling under the weight of the snow. He knelt next to her, and for the first time, the light fell on her face.

The light fell on pale skin and silver hair, now damp due to the snow that had fallen on her during her hasty escape. He took a breath and offered the torch over to her. “Here, my lady, take the torch. It will help warm you if just a bit.”

“Thank you,” She said softly taking the offered torch and pulling it into her little willow hovel. She felt the fool as she looked at him. “And you are?”

“If I tell you, my lady, you will be upset.” He admitted as he smiled over to her, a nervous smile and one that was clearly unsure how to proceed.

“I am already upset, sir.” She shook her head.

“Fair.” He spoke, “My name is Sarus Astier,”

“No,” She spoke as fast as she moved, trying to back away from him and covering her face. “You can’t see me for another few months, my lord.”

“Lady d’Argent. I will absolutely leave if that is your request.” He said with a nod. “But, I can’t leave you out here in the cold.”

“You’ve already given me a torch, that would be enough.” She protested, still hiding her face.

“At least my cloak as well.”

She didn’t say anything in response for a moment. But she was cold. Freezing, even. It was stupid to run out here alone. She relented and gave a quiet nod.

“Very well,” He felt a bit odd not speaking to her, something easy enough to see from yards away as he fidgeted and almost struggled with the clasp of his cloak. “Is there a reason you ran out here into the dark and snow, my lady?”

“A message from my father.” She spoke, trying to keep her eyes off of him for the time being.

“I suppose the wedding is still on then,” He attempted a joke as he finally reached the clasp and pulled it off. She gave no response. “I’m sorry, that was crass of me. I try to joke when I’m nervous, you see.”

She shook her head. “No, it was fine. I just…” She let her eyes drift over to him for a moment. In the flickering light, she finally saw him for the first time. After years of his name in her head, she had a face. It wasn’t what she expected in the least. His father was somewhat scruffy, a traditional vagabond, his mother was the basilisk. She assumed he would have the same look to him. But he didn’t. He had a surprisingly strong jawline, that same dark hair as his parents but it was cut short and well maintained. His eyes were smaller than she expected, but that may have been from the squinting due to the torchlight. He did have some scruff, but she wasn’t disgusted. She shook her head. “I was still deciding.”

“Ah, yes. Mother said she gave you the option to decide whether or not you wanted to go through with it.” He nodded and offered over his cloak. “Here, wrap up.”  She took the cloak and struggled to wrap it around her shoulders with the torch in hand. He reached over and pulled one side over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” She spoke softly.

“It is my honor, Lady d’Argent.” He replied with a succinct nod. “Once you’re warm, I’ll help you up the hill and we can get you back to the manor.” He paused a moment, “Can I ask which way you are leaning?”

“No.” She said sternly, looking away from him for a moment. She sighed, “I do love Milae, though.”

“They are loveable. But you miss the villages of the Coast and the people there. It must be com-“

“No, there isn’t a village at the Temple,” She interrupted.

“Wait, so just you and your family and servants?”

“Yes. Magi don’t administer to people in social matters. Not like the Astier do.” She said softly. “I’ve enjoyed walking with the people. Days and nights with just parishioners are a bit less engaging.” She paused for a moment, “This isn’t what I imagined as a girl.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” Sarus spoke with a nod.

She looked to him for a moment and then paused. “My father sent me a gift.” Her eyes welled up at the words, a little crack of her voice and quiver of her lip as she fought back another wave of sobbing.

“What gift drove you to the woods in the snow?”

“A black stiletto.”

Sarus swallowed and shook his head. He clearly didn’t know how to respond. “So, he said go through with it, or kill yourself?”

She whimpered out a small, “Yes.”

There was a moment they sat in the snow silently before Sarus spoke up again. “I’ll break it off, then, if you want. It saves you from either, and I doubt a little dishonor will sink my standing at this point.” He reached out a hand, “I don’t know you, but you don’t deserve to be forced into a life you hate just to fit the whims of our father’s.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment again before her hand reached up and took his. She shook her head. “No…” She spoke with a little choke, “I think I’ve made my decision. I think I had before tonight…” She said with a nod.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough on that.” He spoke and stood, “Are you ready to head home?”

She gave a nod and stood with him, stepping back out from under the willow. “I am.” She shook her head a bit. “You weren’t supposed to see me until the wedding.” She added again as they moved towards the hillside and began the trek back up.

“I know. I won’t tell anyone.” He said as a joke.

“I’m sure they’ll find out one way or the next.” She responded, “You wyverns do have a knack for it.”

“True.” He paused to help press her up and over the edge of the hill, letting most of her weight press down onto his arms as she stepped up and across the bank. Then he was surprised as her hand was offered down to him. He gave a small smile and took the offer, and they reached the top. Then, joined by Sarus’ guardsman, they began the walk back to the village.

They didn’t say a word until they almost reached the outskirts when Sarus did finally speak up again. “My lady d’Argent,” He started, quietly and close to her. “I am serious. What your father did, I will never understand. But, if you feel that this is not the path for you, send word to me. I will end it.”

She paused, stopping both in the falling snow. “You are serious aren’t you?” She asked quietly. “I know the culture of the Wyverns, my lord. Do you?”

“I do,”

“So, you’d be willing to dishonor your family, never be allowed to marry, and have to repay my dowry… just to keep me alive.” She spoke plainly.

He never answered verbally. He just nodded. It was enough for her at that moment.

They had stood long enough. “We should get you in soon. I’m afraid this is where we need to part ways though.” Sarus spoke softly. “We can’t be seen together yet.”

“Of course.” She spoke with a smile and a nod, removing his cloak and offering it back to him. “Thank you for finding me, and making sure I was able to return safely.”

He took the cloak and nodded, “It is my honor, Lady d’Argent.” He gave her a low bow and stepped aside.

She then walked back to the manor alone, through the town of Milae. She hadn’t moved more than a hundred meters before one of the townsfolk rushed out of their home to her, with a warm cloak in hand. They draped it over her shoulders and walked with her. Soon enough, a militiaman had met up with them as well – and before she reached the manor it was a small cadre of citizens making sure she reached her home safely.

Before her father had sent her a message, before that hideous gift, if she was honest with herself, she had already made up her mind. Meeting Sarus didn’t change that. This was her duty to her family and his duty to his. If he was a brute she would still have her own name to fall back upon. Her father wanted to force her hand, but in truth, she had always wanted to be away from him. She was just lucky that this village was where she would end up. Milae had become like her home, her people driving her to want nothing more than to stay in the village. As she thought, she realized that wasn’t true. This place had become her home long ago.

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Marches – Chapter 06

Author’s notes – This is another Chapter in Marches that I am not particuarly proud of. Luckily, it isn’t from Mirabelle’s perspective, so it was going to get cut. When it was originally written, I did not have a good grip on who Sarus was, and as the writing went on his character shifted to something a bit different. He is still a wyvern, but his reputation became less of a violent one. The story isn’t necessary to the plot, and I don’t think it added that much. I tried later on to bring this plot back, but am not happy with how that turned out.

That said, I think Mirabelle learning about Sarus before meeting him is very important. This will be rewritten, but more of her finding out about him from the people of the village and the legends, rather than an actual story about him. I think that’ll make the introduction of Sarus more impactful in the following chapters. There isn’t much else to say about this chapter though. Pieces will survive, but it will be better to switch the perspective and change the style of learning about her future husband.

This chapter won’t be in the next draft, but as always I thought it might be a waste to just have it forgotten. I hope you enjoy.

Sarus Astier

Sarus Astier was not the usually young noble in many ways. His father began training him early to help take on court life, and before he was fifteen winters, he was already appearing in court. He had a knack for the art, it seemed. He was not unlike his father in that regard. He had a knack for finding weak points in others. However, he was hot-headed and tended to run his mouth before he had secured his win.

This gave him a bit of a reputation as having quite the bark, but he was often derided as not having much of a bite to his words. He was not a large and imposing man, and despite having raised quite a few objections and argued his points in court with his father, but he was rarely taken seriously. Still, he had become a very common feature of the courts in Vouivre. While at first, he was often alongside his father, he became more and more often seen on his own. His quick objections and unflinching and often open rebukes and arguments earned him a nickname quickly. He was soon known as le Chien, the Hound.

This seemed to bother him at first, and after a few years of court life, it did reach a boiling point. In one instance, another noble of the province goaded the young man into a confrontation. His constant pressing of an issue caused Sarus to lash out – despite the objections of his father. The act was particularly egregious as he had been in court with the Grand Duc de Vouivre, the highest-ranking noble of the province, and a member of the royal family by marriage. He was swiftly humiliated, in such a way that it took his father quite a bit of political capital to even get him safely out of the meeting.

Since then, Sarus had been relegated to local affairs, but he was not content with such things. He studied the man that had humiliated him. As his future wife arrived in Milae, he discovered the man was going to be in court again with the Grand Duc, and Sarus would not miss such an opportunity. And so, he traveled to the city of Iacessa, deep in the mountains of his homeland, with a single goal in mind. It was not a political move, nor something that would gain him any true benefit, but the Hound was on the hunt. The name would stick after this display.

Sarus reached the city of Iacessa early in the morning, just as the sun rose above the horizon. He wore a new mask at this time, a motif of the hound. He traveled with only two attendants, leaving his guards and servants back at his home. The message was clear when the first noblemen spotted him walking the dew-covered streets. He was here for himself.

Shortly after the first-morning meal, the young noble had arrived at the hold of the Comte de Iacessa, where the nobles of the region were meeting. The hold was only accessible by a large carven staircase laid into the mountainside. A large palatial manor was built on a small plateau, which is where the nobles met today. The guards held any who approached at the base of those great stairs. Sarus paused a few paces before reaching that final path. He did not come in under the banner of his house but declared himself as confidently as if he had a thousand men behind him.

“I am Lord Sarus Astier de Nid du Vouivre, known as le Chien by the men of the court. I am a servant of Grand Duc Marcomir Alaric de Nid du Vouivre, and of her Majesty.” He called out to the guards. “I am here to speak with Marquis Teias Valia de Precis.” He stood firm in his location, settling in for a long while. “I will await him here.”

Of course, the guards sent the message, but returned with the simple message of, “His honor Marquis Valia respects your bravery, but asks that you return home.”

To which, Sarus would bark a reply. “The Marquis must face me. By rights, I deserve to meet and speak with him. Should he not, I will remain here throughout the noble’s meet.”

The guards again took the message and returned with yet another reply. “Our master says, then you will wait. It will be a lesson in patience.”

“Please send the following message. So it shall be.” Sarus adjusted, “But I believe the lesson will be for others.”

“You have a lot to learn still, boy.” Was the response the guards brought after that.

“Sir, I humbly request that you refer to me in my official parlance.” The guards were growing tired of this as they jogged back up the stairs to give yet another message to the Marquis.

“Don’t be so quick to judge, little lord, after all, you are but a boy.”

“A boy who understands how to properly address his peers, marquis,” Sarus responded.

Every response, Sarus sent the guards to reply to him. Time and time again, they were bound to interrupt the noble meet to give the message to the Marquis. The other nobles would chuckle as the Marquis was flustered with each and worked to come back with a witty response. Still, it clearly wore on his demeanor. As other nobles argued points on defense and trade, he was distracted and every more and more frustrated. Finally, the Marquis had enough and asked to be excused.

This caused the Grand Duc to become annoyed with the situation himself. He agreed, but due to the situation, he told the Marquis he wanted to see him handle the young noble. So, the nobles took a recess and moved to the stairs.

“I see your patience reached its tipping point, Marquis.” Sarus barked from the bottom of the stairs. “Perhaps a refresher is in order?”

“Listen here, boy. You’ve had enough fun. You are interfering with royal business.” The Marquis shouted back at him.

“I merely meant to respond in a timely fashion to each of your requests. Our last meeting was unfortunate, and I’d like to be sure that we stay on the right foot moving forward.” Sarus smiled, though no one could see it. “Did the guardsmen disturb the meeting unduly?”

“Yes, of course, they did. At your order.”

“I made no such order. Guard’s, did I ask you to interrupt?” The young noble shouted. They shook their heads. He shook his head and motioned towards them.

“Implicit orders are still orders.”

“Yes, you know that very well, Marquis.”

There was a pause as the Marquis seemed a bit bothered by that response.

“While I have you here, I’d like to speak with you at your earliest convenience, Marquis. I will be in town if you would like.” Sarus raised his hands with a quiet bow.

The Marquis said nothing.

“About what?” Another noble asked, “Trying to get your honor back, little hound?”

Sarus shook his head, “No, my lord. I freely admit my mistakes. One of my villagers trades with a small hamlet known as Rianoll. It is in the Marquis’ territory.”

The Marquis’ eyes widened at the name, but he did not respond. Unfortunately, the response did not go without notice by some of the others.

The Grand Duc waved to a nearby attendant and said something, quietly with a displeased scowl crossing his lips.

“I have never heard of such a place.” The noble responded with a little smirk, “Why come all this way for a merchant?”

“In a town as small as Milae, every trade connection matters,” Sarus spoke softly. “I see the Marquis cannot speak about it now. Nothing will change if he takes his time. I can wait for answers. Rianoll isn’t going anywhere.”

“Surely the hound doesn’t come all this way without a purpose. You don’t have a banner with you.” One of the nobles seemed to realize. “You smelled blood, didn’t you? What is it about Rianoll that brings you here.”

“I wouldn’t dare. It is the Marquis’ territory.”

“There is nothing to tell. It is a small hamlet, not even on the maps or on any roads.” The Marquis finally spoke. “I can barely remember it is in my holds. What does it trade? I doubt you need timber.”

“They crafted the most wonderful glass. There was a man there of great talent. My man would bring fresh sands for his art.” Sarus responded.

The Marquis steadied himself and nodded, “Ah yes. I seem to remember some glass trinkets being traded in the towns. Some were sent as tax collection, I believe.”

“Kind of you to accept,” One of the nobles said as he adjusted out of the way of the returning attendant, who handed off a piece of parchment and a pen dripping ink to the Grand Duc, who wrote something down and returned the document down.

“Of course, they hardly grew enough food to support themselves.” The Marquis said softly, brushing a hand along his neck.

Sarus smiled a bit wider. Some of the nobles too had picked up on that particular word. The Grand Duc shook his head and handed the paperback.

“Sarus,” The Duc shouted. “Whatever you needed, wouldn’t have been easier to go to the village?”

“Yes, your grace. Except there were no maps I could find with adequate directions.” He responded. “So, I had the merchant take me.”

The Marquis stumbled back for a moment, his façade shifting quickly as he realized what was about to happen. He quickly interrupted. “Fine, Sarus, I’ll speak to you – let’s not waste any more of the meet’s time.”

“So, you don’t want them to know the village was a smoldering ruin?” Sarus barked up at him. “That the people tried to claw their way out of the shrine you boarded up?”

The Marquis stood as still as stone.

“Or maybe that it was over a stupid mistake. What exactly happened? Did she rebuff your advances? Maybe the glassmaker messed up a project?”

“None of this is true. This is just a thinly veiled attempt to damage my honor because I humiliated you. Admit it, boy.”

“No. This is because men under your house banner burned women and children alive.” Sarus shouted up at him. “I’ll admit, I stumbled on it because I wanted to find your dark little secret. I assumed you would have some hidden thing. Some pathetic perversion I could press you on that would make you snap, and everyone could see the petulant coward that was left when you broke.” He gave a nod. “I thought my father’s tactics would be more than enough. And let’s face it, you would have given me anything to have your little secret stay secret wouldn’t you?”

The nobles stepped away from the man, as he looked around for some semblance of support.

“I did keep one thing from my father’s teaching, though.” Sarus stepped forward. “I know the real secret. I know why you burned those people alive – why their screams haunt your every night’s sleep.” The hound pulled a scroll from his cloak and held it. He took a long breath. “And while these men are disgusted with your actions. You know what is in here – written for the Grand Duc to bring down your punishment.”

“You have nothing. This is all a farce.” The Marquis shouted, throwing his arms down quickly. “You besmirch my honor and try to bring ruin to my name. You accuse me of heresy and stand there like some savior. I will cut you down where you stand and bring an end to this charade.”

“I accept,” Sarus spoke simply, offering the parchment to one of his. “Swords – and if you want me silenced, I suggest you choose now as the time.”

“Then now it shall be.” The Marquis turned towards a guard. “Your sword.”

As the guard unhooked and handed over a sword, another noble spoke up to the Grand Duc, begging. “Stop them. There is no point to this bloodshed.”

“There is a point.” The Grand Duc said quickly. “Our people are bound by honor, and one of these men speaks the truth, and that will only be revealed as one of them lays bloodied on the ground. The duel has been called. We cannot stop it. To the death, with swords. As was spoken by the duelists.”

“Yes, but if…”

The nobles stopped speaking as the Grand Duc just raised a hand, “Just witness.”

The Marquis stepped down the stairs and drew the guardsman’s blade, tossing aside the scabbard as Sarus’ bodyguard offered over his own drawn blade to his master. The young noble just stood calmly waiting though, the broadsword held lightly in his left hand.

The Marquis reached the bottom of the stairs and shook his head. He raised the blade and gripped to the hilt tight with both hands. Sarus took a breath but didn’t seem to enter any sort of duelist’s stance. For a moment they just stared at one another before the Marquis rushed at the young noble. The young man was quick, though, and he ducked out of the way of the first swing. He brought the sword up to block the Marquis’ next strike, and then it was over. The hound’s blade slid along the Marquis’, and a finely timed twist pierced the long sword blade deep into his shoulder.

The Marquis screamed and dropped his blade as the arm went limp, and blood began to seep through his clothes and down the arm. He fell to his knees, and he shook his head. “How did you…?”

“You think everyone is lower than you. You attack from a high point, and when you miss, you strike low.” Sarus answered. “Your debates mirror your swordsmanship. Just like your pathetic little plots.”

“You don’t have anything.”

“Actually,” Sarus smiled, “You are right. I don’t.” He wanted to laugh for a moment and then shook his head. “You see, I sent my evidence ahead of me, but not just to the Grand Duc.” He whispered. “You’ve made more enemies than you know.”

“Sarus, the duel was to the death.” The Grand Duc bellowed. “Finish him.”

“With all due respect, your grace, I cannot do that,” Sarus replied, slashing his blade through the air to fling the blood from the tip. “While it brings me no great pleasure to let him live, I am to be married in a few months.”

“And why would that stop you?” The Grand Duc barked, an impressive and powerful voice for such a shriveled old man.

“I am marrying a daughter of Lune. While the Seas and Moon have no strict rules about honorable killings, they do have a ritual peace during the lunar year leading up to a union.” Sarus spoke with a slight bow. “I ask that you let him live, and face the pain brought to him by his action in a hamlet who believed him their protector.”

The Grand Duc was visibly displeased with that answer and shook his head wide. “Fine. I know who it is you marry, and I’d rather not order you to do something that may upset her father.” He waved at a guard, “Take the marquis, throw him in the dungeons. We’ll let him die there or string him up like the common bandit he is.” The guards snapped to the job given them, and the Grand Duc turned to the nobles. “We have a meet to finish. Back to the work.” The old man turned and gave a wave of his hand. He paused for a moment and turned back to Sarus. “Astier, do not let yourself forget where your loyalties lie. I’ll deal with Precis, but you press my patience and I will deal with you as well. Do you understand.”

“I will remember, your grace.” Sarus ended with a quiet bow.

Then the Marquis was dragged away, and Sarus gathered his things and left it at that. There was a change from the name le Chien after this event. He was no longer about his bark, but about the hunt and from then on he’d be known as Le Limier, the bloodhound. Now, it spoke to his hunt and the man’s unyielding drive to finish whatever had been started. His humiliation due to his quick actions was rapidly forgotten, and the rumors spread even before he was able to return home from that expedition. Most importantly, there was a distinction between the man and his father now.

For a long time, he was just a shadow of his father – and everyone expected him to work in much the same way. He had turned his father’s talent into something else though. Valamir had learned how to find weaknesses and exploit them. He had inherited that, for sure, but with much more of his mother’s aggressive stance. His father was an opportunist, but Sarus was a hunter – and once the hound smelled blood, he would seek it until he had the source squarely in his sights.

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Marches – Chapter 04 Notes

For today I am posting up the fourth chapter of my novel in progress, Marches. This chapter, for those of you reading along, was meant to be a short transition from the Silver Coast to the land of the Wyverns. It was originally just a chapter I wanted to use to introduce some concepts, places, and characters. Looking back, and it did that passably. It was important to see Mirabelle’s first look at her new home, and the surprise she has that people would be excited.

 

This original draft ended up being more of a means to an end though. Some of the characters introduced here are more important than others and likely deserved more focus. Many of the concepts are only touched on and would be better served if they were explored in depth. The biggest one that jumped out at me when editing this chapter was Roheis’ wedding. Now, Roheis doesn’t make a big impact before this point, but her wedding would be the perfect opportunity to show just how vast the differences are between the lands the d’Argent inhabit and those of the Astier. I think that is missed in the actual wedding chapter, and it would be something that gave a little bit more insight into how the world works in this setting.

 

In addition, I think showing the two as close sisters will clarify their relationship more before Roheis’ later appearances. Ghislain, her husband, would likewise be a good person to introduce. He plays more major roles in important sections and seeing him earlier on and in more detail would do the story well.

 

This chapter is also the first chapter with Bastien and Ervig in it. These two become Mirabelle’s closest advisors in her new home. Bastien, as I mentioned in another set of notes, needs to have been introduced earlier. Why did I wait four chapters originally? Because I didn’t come up with the character until chapter four. But he should appear in the earliest chapter if he is to be believed in his backstory in this one. Ervig, on the other hand, was planned to start when Mirabelle arrived. He was not intended to be a pivotal character at this point, but I grew to like him as time went on and it only made sense that he would be in many of the later stories. Expanding on him, and bringing him more in line with his character as portrayed later would be essential.

 

One last note on essential changes. I originally called the village in the Astier territory Mileo, but soon changed it to Milae. This is a little thing, I know. But in my printed edit copy it was still Mileo here. Just a fun note. I like Milae better, so that’s the name I’ll be sticking with throughout.

 

As for changes coming to this chapter, it will be one of the first major rewrites for the introduction. I’d like to focus on Roheis’ wedding. It is the final chance to show the differences for a while and will give a little more time to expand on their characters. Bastien will be introduced earlier, so he will mostly stay the same, but be brought closer in line with later appearances. The ideas of this chapter will still serve as the breakpoint from her life as she knew it to her new life, but I think they’d do well to be expanded upon.

 

As always, I hope you enjoy this look into one of my first draft chapters.

 

Fair Winds,

 

Museless Bard

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Marches – Chapter 04

Mirabelle comes to the Vouivre

Mirabelle had dwelled on the thoughts for some time since Tienette left. After about six seasons, the time for her sister’s wedding came. It was decided that after the wedding, she and her entourage would leave for Vouivre. There would be no returning home for her. She knew that going in, and she had been able to collect a few things to take with her. Most importantly, she had decided it was for the best. A few weeks with her sister, and then a year in the province of her ancestor’s enemy to see if she could even go through with her own wedding.

For those few weeks, she concentrated on Roheis, though. She traveled with her, spoke to her, watched her as her nerves ran rampant. The journey was long, but as soon as they were free of their father’s eyes, the girls were quick to be themselves.

Roheis had grown up into a tall, slender woman. She was like her siblings in that she had her stark white hair, and her eyes were a pale clouded gray. It gave a strange look to her face, one that had a certain etherealness to it, but a deep and sometimes disturbing look of distance. Her eyesight, however, was not poor or diminished. Quite the opposite. She had been blessed with an astonishing sight. Unlike Mirabelle, she had not shown an aptitude for courtly intrigue, and after much convincing her father relented to allow her to train with more martial affairs.

It worked out well, though. Her martial prowess caught the eye of a nearby family who had a son seeking a bride. With old ties between the two families, it was fortuitous, to say the least. Roheis had even been lucky enough to meet him a few times before the arrangement was finalized.  They even had started a sort of friendly relationship. Though, thanks to tradition, that ended when their marriage was announced. She felt an entirely different sort of anxiety from her sister as they prepared for her wedding. She looked forward to her arrangement.

 Her husband to be was Marquis Ghislain Girardin de Tirmont. He was the only son of the Girardin family and inherited his father’s lands and rank young. There was no way around describing him as perhaps the best of men. He was kind, generous, selfless, and the epitome of chivalric. He was powerfully built, and handsome – with bright golden hair and deep green eyes. He was an experienced and renowned knight, a champion jouster. The list could go on, and on. To his credit, one would never have guessed he would have had that many accomplishments under his belt by talking to him. He was humble, and genuinely more interested in others than himself. Still, for Mirabelle, it was hard not to dislike him a little bit because of it. Or maybe she was just upset that she was betrothed to some vagabond, and her sister was bound to the epitome of Republic chivalric thought.

Envy did not particularly suit her, though, and she would chase away the thoughts as soon as she could. Instead, concentrating on the excitement her sister showed. The wedding was small, and a relatively private affair, however. It took place in the Tirmont Castle, overlooking their small province. A priest, some family, and a few friends of the bride and groom, and that was it. Then it was over, and everyone went their separate ways. Including Mirabelle.

 She spent the next few weeks on the road, with a mere handful of attendants. Coralie came with her, as did her long-time personal bodyguard, a templar by the name of Sir Avent Bastien. Bastien was not the largest or most powerfully built man. He was not a young man. He had served as her bodyguard from the time she was born, his sole duty to protect the children of the house of Lune. He was getting older now, his hair graying and face beginning to show the wrinkles and marks of age. His skill with a sword had not been needed for a long time, and she hoped it would stay that way. She had a handful of other servants and guards with her as well.

Much of the journey was pleasant, as it was still late spring. They passed through Ava and into the great fields of the Licorn banner lords. Their lands were untamed, but the Licorn respected the Ava, and by association the people of Cote d’Argent – so for a young noble on her way to wed, they were sure to keep the way clear and safe. It was an uneventful journey. They rarely even saw the Licorn riders, a fact that Mirabelle was a bit disappointed with, by the time they reached Vouivre territories.

As they crossed the border into the territories of Vouivre, she felt that the very plants and sky changed. Everything seemed darker and colder. The looming mountains in the distance likely didn’t help things either. It was sparsely populated along the roads. They rarely passed by peasants or traders, and when they stopped in various villages, it was quiet and often people treated them with suspicion or distrust. It was a long journey still for them, as the Astier were a border family. She spent much of her time there in the carriage, partly due to the anxiety of the event, but partly due to her view of the countryside around her.

After weeks of journeying, they finally arrived in the evening, just as dusk was beginning to set in and she was called by Bastien.

“My lady d’Argent. We’ve arrived at the frontier village of Mileo.” His gruff voice bellowed back towards her.

It almost startled her, but she didn’t say anything back for a moment. Coralie, on the other hand, was quick to sit up and move about the carriage, collecting items for her lady. For a moment, she watched and finally nodded, “Thank you, Bastien. Let us know when we reach the manor.”

“With all due respect, Lady Mirabelle, you may want to see this.” The old man’s voice. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She sighed and shook her head. She moved to the carriage door and pushed it open, the mounted templar catching it as it opened. Their group continued moving, and she glanced out to him. With a gauntlet covered hand, he pointed out towards the village that they approached. She turned, and for the first time her eyes fell on the place, and it took her breath away.

Along the road, there were two great willows marking the border of the town. They were enormous trees, who’s branches reached out over the road and created an almost natural arch. Dangling willow branches were scattered throughout the arch and hanging from some of the branches were small lanterns, flickering lightly in the wind. As she looked about, the lanterns were everywhere in the village that she could see. They hung from the eaves of houses and shops, from the trees and paths, illuminating the way for weary travelers.

Below the trees though, were the banners of her house – the silver crescent on a blue shield supported by white stags on either side. The full coat of arms of her house hung under the willows’ branches, with small versions hanging from countless buildings. The people of the village had gathered to see her arrive as well. Not the nobility, the people. As the first spotted her out of her carriage she heard a cheer. The cheer grew, and people shouted. She could barely hear them, but it was impossible for her to miss the words Fille de Lune. They were certainly waiting for her.

She glanced at Bastien, who merely smirked at her. “I think they’re excited to have you, my lady.”

“Why?” She asked, but she never got an answer. A horse rode to meet them and Bastien spurred his own on to meet the rider.

“Hail, travelers! Welcome to Milae.” The chain mail-clad rider spoke, putting a fist to his chest in salute, as the other hand held tight the reins of his steed.

“Hail, rider,” Bastien called back as he road to meet him. “I am Sir Bastien, templar of Lune, and protector of Lady Mirabelle d’Argent. We are here at the invitation of Marquis and Marquise Astier.” He spoke.

“Wonderful! We’ve been expecting you and hope your travels have been pleasant and uneventful. I am Ervig de Milae, the Astier family has allowed me to act as the steward of this village, and I am honored to serve as Captain of her militia.” He spoke proudly, waving back to the village. “Our people wished to welcome the lady themselves. I hope that isn’t a problem. They don’t grasp the security problems that presents.”

“No, I think it is a good sign.” Bastien spoke frankly, “Though, it has taken my lady aback, it seems.”

“I feared it may be a bit -,” Ervig was surprised when he saw Mirabelle wave a hand.

“It is a bit much,” Mirabelle called out from the carriage. “I want to walk from here.” She was not asking, she was doing. She stepped out of the carriage and onto the dirt path below. Coralie jumped out after her and fell into line.

“My lady, we’re honored. But for your security,” Ervig spoke swiftly, noticing the templar shaking his head and starting to dismount.

“Is it unsafe?” She asked as she approached the front of the line and began to pass the horses.

“Yes, any situation with this many people can be dangerous.” Ervig watched as she passed by him, and then he seemed to panic a bit. Her templar had not even caught up with her yet, and she was walking down the road towards the mass of villagers. He swallowed and quickly dismounted, barely getting off the horse before the old man had stepped past him as well. “In addition, you are a daughter of the Duc du Cote d’Argent… we are on the border.”

She was not listening, instead, she set her pace faster. Coralie and Bastien kept pace with her, with the rest of her guards following suit with the horses and carriage. Ervig rushed to catch up with her. She didn’t know what to do, but she had decided she wanted to know why these people came to meet her, why they were excited. It was, perhaps, dangerous. If they were to be her people though, she wanted to start off right. Or at least, what she thought of as right.

As she approached, the crowd seemed to grow a bit less boisterous if only out of surprise. She slowed a bit at that but then moved forward to the first of the villagers that met her eye and stepped forward. It was a young mother holding a child. She gave a warm smile, and the mother gave as low a bow as she could.

“My lady, you honor us.”

“No, no,” Mirabelle said softly. “You honor me. I didn’t expect any fanfare or welcome – much less to see your home lit up with my colors.”

“We want you to feel at home, my lady,” The mother said with a little bit of a crack in her voice as nerves caught up to her. Around her, others tried to but into the conversation, and Mirabelle seemed to adjust and respond to as many as she could.

“We brought in foods from your homeland,” A local cook called out.

“Our minstrels have learned your songs,” Another person added.

“We even planted flowers from the Coast in gardens around town,” There were so many more words cast to her though.

Mirabelle gave a smile and finally replied. “Thank you all.” She raised her hands, “I don’t know how to repay you.” She admitted, “But, I also want to know your culture. Your foods, your songs, your flowers.” She gave a warm bow. “After I’ve settled in, I hope you’ll allow me to get to know those things with you. For now, this will…” She nodded, “This will help me feel at home.”

“We’re glad, my lady.” The mother spoke to her quickly.

“We hope it will be your home,” Ervig admitted from behind. “Someday.”

“Ervig, Bastien,” Mirabelle turned back towards them. “I’d like to walk to the manor. Can you order the carriage to follow at a distance? And Ervig, please introduce your people as you can.”

They did as ordered, and for the next few hours, the lady and her entourage made slow progress through the village. They met and spoke with so many villagers. She never lost her spirit and spoke to so many guests her voice threatened to fail her. Eventually, though, the end of the crowd was reached. While many still played music and cheered behind her, they did seem to stop following at the gates of the manor house.

Valamir and Tienette were standing at the doors of the manor when she arrived, flanked by their personal guards and a few manor guards. They were still masked, but they seemed different. Maybe it was the conversations she had during all those nights with Tienette. Neither were dark unknown figures. They were like her, and like the people of the village, they were excited to see her.

Tienette spread her arms and stepped out to greet her, foregoing the normal noble greeting of a bow, and offering a more familial expression. “Mirabelle, it is good to see you well,” For whatever reason, Mirabelle was excited to see her, and fell into her arms – and the two embraced like family.

“It is good to see you as well, Tienette,” Mirabelle replied hoarsely.

“My lady, please,” Bastien spoke swiftly, before bowing to the lord of province. “Forgive her familiarity, my lord. She has had a long day.”

Valamir laughed at the templar, “No, no. She has earned it.” He offered a hand out to the man, “We are genuinely glad to have her, and her attendants with us. You are?”

“Sir Avent Bastien,” Bastien spoke as he took the hand and stood.

“A templar. Vedast was worried about dark magic?” Valamir spoke quietly.

“No, sir. Not that I am aware of. When I was a young squire, I had visions of a white stag. One night, it led me to the Temple. It was the night Lady Mirabelle was born. I saw the stag again for nights after. It was never far from her.”

“Gods. That’s a clear sign.” Valamir smiled as he put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I am not a devout follower of Lune, but even I can understand that one. Bessus doesn’t have as good a story for me.”

“I do not, sir.” The Marquis personal guard said from nearby.

Tienette and Mirabelle had been talking for a few moments when the Marquise started to guide her into the manor. Mirabelle stopped her though, “Marquis, I did not mean to leave you out of the greeting. I am glad to see you as well.”

“No need to worry, my lady,” Valamir said with a dismissive wave. “I’m elated that you were excited to see Tienette. I know I still have a long while to earn that sort of greeting from you.”

 

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Marches – Chapter 03

Mirabelle

Ten years had passed since that fateful night when the Astier had come to her home, and despite her father’s attempts, the proposal was officially accepted and a plan for marriage put underway. Before that, though, there was one more meeting required between the two families – excepting the bride and groom would not be allowed to meet. As the weeks before their second visit to her home came and went, she found herself unable to do much but continue her studies. She poured over information about the Wyverns, specifically the Astier. She was not bashful about hoping that she would be able to find some way to refuse them, something to excuse her from this duty.

In truth, she was terrified. Her parents had spent much of her life explaining the horrors of the people of Nid de Vouivre. They were descended from barbarians and bandits and gave no weight to the honor that the rest of the nations so firmly stood by. Nothing she found changed her mind, but she could not square that away with the fact that her Majesty would call on them often as advisors and members of her court. A lady of virtue and honor, who trusted a veritable band of thieves.

Mirabelle had grown well, her looks straying away from her mother a bit as she aged. While her pale eyes and snow-white hair were as striking, she had grown thin and tall for a woman of her kin. Most importantly though, she was intelligent – much more so than her sister, or perhaps even besting her older brother. She learned quickly and was incredibly well-read and observant in all things, but especially with those actions of the people around her. She had become a natural in court and was even trained alongside other future ladies of her Majesty’s Court. Her mastery of the Masquerade grew from her people’s natural grace and the strict codes they followed to ensure their path was a pure one.

A waste, now that she would be cast with devils.

One morning after they had returned, when the sun was still low, Mirabelle sat in her room watching the wisps of snow tossed about by the wind. It was still warm enough that the snow would not amount to much, at least not for some time – but it had begun to freeze to the stone windowsills and shaded patches of earth around her home. Her handmaiden entered her chambers after a small knock. She was a timid young thing, from some distant foreign part of the kingdoms.

“My lady,” She said in a whisper, bowing and holding herself low to keep from drawing her mistress’ ire. “Marquise Tienette Astier is here and she asks if you would like to join her for a walk along the seashore.”

“Tell her no.” Mirabelle said with a shake of her head. “Give her whatever excuse you like.”

“Yes, madam.” The handmaiden spoke, backing out of the room.

This scene was growing old for the young woman. She wondered at the Marquise persistence and willingness to be rejected at every turn. She had no intention of spending time with them and hoped it would drive a wedge between them early. Despite her father’s demands and threats, she would not be moved to give them an inch.

Then something odd happened. Sitting in her room, she spotted a woman walking along the shore. She was alone, with one hand held out before her pausing to catch and examine snowflakes as they fell around her. Mirabelle was a bit confused. She had thought, like everything else, that it was an attempt to speak to her and put a dent in her resolve. The Wyverns’ were all tricksters, all working some scheme to get their way. She shook her head. “Coralie, come in here please?” She asked loud enough for her handmaiden to hear.

“Yes, madam?” The timid girl spoke as she pushed the oaken door open.

“Did the Marquise take her walk?”

“She is still on it. Yes.” The handmaiden spoke as she gave a quick bow.

“And yesterday, when she asked if I would join her for dinner?”

“I don’t understand the question, my lady. I’m sorry.” Coralie nervously replied.

“Did she adjust her plans?”

“No, my lady. She ate alone when you declined.”

“And the did she walk the gardens?”

“Yes, madam. I believe she even picked a few of the winter bloom flowers.” The handmaiden gave a nervous shrug, “She did ask for a weight to press them, though I believe that is the only change from the invitation she gave to you.”

Mirabelle turned to her handmaiden. “Has she spent the entire time she has been here alone?”

“Yes, madam. When not with your mother or father, or at another function required of her, she has reliably asked me to give you an invitation to join her and then carried on as invited.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry, madam, she hasn’t shared that with me,” Coralie said softly.

“Coralie, bring me a coat – and get one for yourself,” Mirabelle ordered, standing from her position. She quickly moved to find her boots, and her handmaiden soon returned with a warm furred coat. She was quick to wrap it about her shoulders and headed out of her room and into the complex.

Coralie struggled to keep up, walking fast behind the young lady. As they passed through the corridors, she spoke to no one and eventually turned out of the main complex and followed the paths out to the beach.

Soon enough, she found herself a few lengths away from the Marquise, who stood just at the waterline watching the snowfall over the cold gray waters of winter. Mirabelle couldn’t think of anything to say at first. The woman she saw was so different than what she was used too. She didn’t wear the silken gowns she was used too, instead a blouse and pants. While they were nicer than many, they were practical and well worn – and at her hip she wore a blade. Then there was the mask. That basilisk mask hid her eyes and much of her face. Even the dark colors gave a foreboding look to her, but here she seemed different.

“My lady, you honor me.” Tienette’s voice broke the silence, but she didn’t turn to greet the young woman. “I didn’t expect you to join me today. Your girl said it was too cold.”

“What are you doing?” Mirabelle asked with little empathy in her voice.

“Enjoying the snow on the beach.” The woman responded softly.

“You are Tienette au Basilic. But you are walking the beach alone?”

 The woman laughed softly, “Yes, I am. I thought it might be something we both enjoyed. There is little prettier than light snow over the sea, is there not?”

“Why did you eat alone last night?”

“Because you did not join me.” Tienette paused and turned to the young lady finally.

“You could have eaten with another or your husband.”

The woman sighed. “I suppose. But to be honest, I was in no place to go see eat with another.”

“Why?”

“Honestly, because my husband does not like to see me cry.”

There was a long pause. Mirabelle was silent. “Why would the Basilisk cry?”

There was a moment when she caught a glimpse under that mask. Flushed cheeks, an awkward twist of her lips. It was bittersweet, the only way to describe it. It was a sad look. “I…” She shook her head, and then there was a small smile that crept across her lips. “I had this fantasy on my way here.” She took a breath, “I knew you would be resistant. I was when my marriage was decided. But I thought maybe I could find something we both enjoyed, some way to bond and find some common ground to stand upon.” She let out a chuckle at herself, “The fantasy was that you and I would actually be fast friends. When you were a girl, you were not scared of anything. Or at least your curiosity overruled your fear. Something we shared.”

She paused for a moment, before giving a shake of her head. “Truthfully, in the stories I hear, I see myself a lot. I hoped we would be close.” She let out a long breath, “Unrealistic, even in the best situations. I hope you’ll forgive me – it isn’t something to put on you.”

Mirabelle was a bit confused by the display. It seemed genuine. More than genuine even. She glanced at Coralie with an inquisitive look, and the girl simply gave back a quick nod. It hastily confirmed the sincerity of the woman’s admittance. It was something she didn’t understand, that she couldn’t understand.

“Why?” Mirabelle asked. “Why did you hope?”

“Because, my mother in law is a challenge, but we did connect over dueling.” Tienette gave a soft shake of her head and then looked away to the sea one more time. “It made the transition to a wife much easier for me.” She took a long breath of the sea air and gave a sideways glance across to the young woman. “You don’t believe me.”

“I,” Mirabelle started to say something, but she realized she had been blindsided a bit. “I don’t know.”

“My lady, if I may…” Tienette spoke quietly, “Wyverns have a reputation, often well deserved, but just as often one they cultivate. But we are her Majesty’s subjects, just like you. Our worlds are not so different.”

“You are monsters.”

Tienette laughed at the term and gave a nod. “I see you remember our first meeting. My husband loves nothing more than to play into the stories.” She stepped towards the sea. “Why am I called Basilisk?”

Mirabelle didn’t say anything.

“You studied us, did you not?”

The girl gave a nod and finally answered. “You are Tienette au Basilic,” She swallowed, “You kill with a single glance, more poisonous than the deadliest viper.” She paused a moment, glancing across the woman and letting her eyes fall to the blades at her hip. “And you are never without your Fangs.”

Tienette nodded and spoke softly. “When you face the Basilisk, you are already dead. To turn towards her is to invite death, as even a single gaze will steal the life from your blood. The only way to win against such a creature is to look away.” She took a breath, “Exaggerations, I assure you. I am a competent duelist and have been lucky. I simply never denied the other stories and they grew from there. Do you know what I spend most of my time doing?”

Mirabelle shook her head.

“I handle our estate’s books. I make sure that everything run’s smoothly. My husband is often dealing with our province’s court dealings, so that leaves the day to day things to me. So, I spend a lot of time working with the villages under our care.” She smiled to herself. “It is not as glamorous as the claims that I am some great assassin.”

Mirabelle just stared for a moment more, saying nothing. With the wind coming in along the coast, she took a breath of the cold sea air and finally relented. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I misread your intentions.”

“No, you were cautious.” Tienette corrected. “A bit prejudiced, yes, but all the same. That is something our people hold higher than most of the other kingdoms. Still, I only want to get to know you. I hope to find some common ground, of course, but perhaps more importantly, I am still a mother. I want to know I’ve made the right decision for my son.”

Mirabelle nodded, speaking softly. “Then, a small dinner tonight? To make up for the others missed.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Tienette admitted with a little bit of excitement in her tone. “Thank you, lady d’Argent.”

The young lady was not sure what to say, and merely let the words lie there with a bow before she turned and headed back to the towers. She looked back after some time, with Coralie following behind her as close as she could. The air was chilling more as the day pressed on, and she knew that meant more snow would come. Coralie’s breath was already beginning to show with each exhalation. It was the sign of a storm, the air continuing to cool despite the day wearing on. She noticed that Tienette had not moved much, though. Instead, she took a seat there on the sand, watching the sea.

The Basilisk would stay there for nearly another hour, before finally heading inside to prepare for their meal, and the young silver lady would return to her quarters to do the same. She began to read a bit more, calling on Coralie to fetch everything they could about the province that Tienette and Valamir oversaw. There were the legends she had always heard of the Wyverns’ Nest, but now she needed to know more.

In the stories, the place was under the shadow of the Great Mountains, hidden away and well protected, but with dangers around every turn – from bandits and raiders to monsters and worse. It was described as a scary place, but in looking through the books and scrolls she had been brought, she found the province of her prospective family to be anything but that. Located in the foothills of the Great Mountains, it was a lightly forested region known for crags and rock formations in the hills, but with a lot of fertile valleys thanks to the abundance of streams. To the north, it was bordered by the Great River, and to the south the dense forests of the Rane province.

When she looked up the holdings of the Astier family, she was surprised to find they were on the borders of the Rane province and the Wylds to the East. The couple hamlets and single village in their domain were small. They had a few farms that kept the populous fed and happy, but really it was just a small region with little of import. That was, except for may the road. It was the only Kingdom rode between Rane and Vouivre, and in turn, was the only way to get from the outer provinces and kingdoms to places like Ava by foot. But even then, it was rarely visited, as it was generally faster to travel up the river or by sea.  It was just a small, poor, corner of the Republic.

There was a bit of curiosity that climbed into her thoughts as she flipped through the tomes that she had collected, all spread out across the room and opened to their appropriate location. She was used to having to find answers herself, and this was no different. As she searched, she found herself almost disappointed that there was nothing more groundbreaking. For the rest of the day though, she would study up on as much as she could, knowing that nothing would really prepare her in a day, but knowledge of the region would make her meal a little bit easier if nothing else.

As the evening approached, Mirabelle changed into simple dinner attire and went to meet with Tienette. The dinner that night was surprisingly pleasant, if mostly uneventful. The cooks prepared a few light courses for the two, and they sat in a small antechamber and talked.  Before the young girl had realized it though, hours had passed and they were still talking. It was mostly of little things, soft conversation designed to be more or less unimportant. It gave some great insights for both though, she found that Tienette was a fan of dry wit, that she painted when she had the spare time, and that she enjoyed snow so long as she was able to just watch it. Apparently, their manor was surrounded by willows, and with light snow, there was little the Marquise found more beautiful. Mirabelle was similar in a lot of ways, though she still was not willing to admit it. More importantly, both women were straightforward and a bit brash.

For the first time, that night, she saw the Marquise as just another woman, though. Despite the fact that she still wore the basilisk mask, she wasn’t a monster. She was bound by the same sort of honor rules. They were odd, in ways, but they did pique her curiosity. So, for the next few days, they would have a meal together and chat. The snows came, and they laid heavy upon the island. Mirabelle was astonished to watch the Marquise walk along the paths of snow so happily each day, and they would trade stories over meals at night. Finally, after a couple of weeks, though. This came to an end. They met again, and while she knew they would leave soon, she found herself not looking forward to that day.

Tienette joined her for a meal that last night, as she had for many days, but seemed quiet at first. Then, as questions bounced back between the two, one question was hung in the air that all of her training and etiquette could not find a polite answer for.

“Do you want to marry my son, Mirabelle?”

There was a long pause. Neither moved or spoke and for that pause neither woman would move or adjust. It was as if time froze with the question.

Finally, “No.” was the word that slipped from the young woman’s lips. She shook her head. “I’m not ready to marry yet, and while I know these things are arranged for me, I…” She sighed. “I don’t know him, or your culture or people.” She shook her head quickly, “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s the right answer. You’ve never met him.” Tienette spoke softly. She let a lingering sigh escape her lips and then turned away from the young woman. “Would you consider coming and living in our old manor for a year?”

“What? I’m not sure I understand…”

“Traditionally, a woman of marrying age will come live near her husband for a few months.” The Basilisk’s words were calm, “I thought, maybe, if you came early and lived among our people you might not find everything so daunting.” Her head shook softly, and she reached up to adjust her mask for a moment. “You’d be allowed your own support. Your girl, some guards, whoever you like really, could come with you and stay with us for the time. I could keep having meals with you. You could meet my daughter and youngest son. And maybe,” She huffed, “Get to know my fool of a husband when he isn’t living up to his reputation.” She turned back to Mirabelle.

For a moment Mirabelle started to speak, but then her eyes landed on the woman’s fingers. They gently pressed against the bottom of her mask, pressing up and raising it softly. For the first time, she saw the woman’s face. She was, well, normal. There were no monstrous scars, no ethereal or wicked beauty, no disfigured face – she was just a woman. She was, actually, disarming. Her face was rounded softly, with lower cheekbones than most. Her eyes seemed bright and were a striking blue that differentiated her well from the other men and women of her province, but the mask cast shadows and kept such things well hidden. She had a slightly crooked nose too, once you got to where the mask normally rested. She smiled and tilted her head softly to one side before she removed the mask fully and sat it down on the table.

“And if after half a year, still three months out from your marriage, you can let me know if you want to stay or go.” She spoke quietly, “No tricks, no cost to you. Just a promise from one woman to another.” She offered her hands over to her, crossing the table with a warm if nervous smile on her lips.

Mirabelle was astonished. This wasn’t something that she had expected, or even really considered. She saw the offered hand, turned up towards her and laying on the table waiting. Her eyes drifted to the mask, and then back to Tienette. She didn’t know what to say. “How will you get permission from my father?”

“I’ll ask.” Was the only reply.

For a moment Mirabelle was terrified about the prospect. She didn’t know what to say or what to do. She was scared, and it showed on her face for a time. She didn’t know how her father would react, or even if it was something she should do or that she wanted to do. But as she dwelt on the topic for a few more minutes, she finally showed her decision with a slow nod.

“I think I will agree.” She said, resting her hands atop Tienette’s. “I’d like to see your home. But it will need to wait until after my sister’s wedding.”

“Of course. Family first.” Tienette said giving a quick squeeze to the girl’s hand. “Leave everything to me.”

 

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Marches – Chapter 02

At the Silver Coast

               Cote d’Argent was a land without parallel in its natural beauty, at least to many people. Named for the long silver sand beaches that stretched across its shore with the Great Seas, it was almost paradise to so many. The crown jewel was the home of its noble family, the Palais de la Lune. This palatial complex was sat atop a small, hilly island just off the silvered coast. Its white stone towers rose out of the sea like a beacon, all surrounding one massive cathedral at its center. These spires were a sign of hope for so many. The Palace itself was open to the public, all save for one section reserved for the family.

               Since the beginning of the nation, and even before, the noble family of Cote d’Argent had served as caretakers of the temple. They were a lineage of Magi, powerful but honorable, and blessed by the goddess of the moon and sea with abilities and quirks that set them apart from many of the other houses. This was no different for Duc Vedast. Vedast was a striking man, tall, well built, and undeniably handsome. His skin was warmly toned, bathed by the light of the sun along the beaches. His eyes were bright, with a defined twinkle to them behind those blue starlight colors. His position afforded him many comforts, and he was always dressed in the finest clothes that tailors of the kingdoms could provide, with vibrant blues a favored color. He was marked with the sign of his family as well. His hair, from birth, had been a crisp white, as bright as a blanket of fresh snow. His voice was deep, calming, and he was a natural orator – and he served proudly as the high priest of Lune.

               With an entourage of his servants and guard, he stood on the bridge connecting the small island to the mainland. It was ornately decorated, with intricate imagery of the goddess they served carved into the massive curved planks that made up the bridge. On this day, it was unseasonably warm, and the Sun was high in the sky as they waited, dressed in finery to greet their guests. As the horses were seen in the distance, Vedast could not help but fidget anxiously at the approach. He glanced to his side, where stood his wife, Lutisse – a tall and slender woman, also blessed by Lune with striking white hair, now pulled up into an elaborate style ordained and tied with gold and jewels of every sort. Her dress was just as ornate, and in a matching blue color to that of her husband.

               She glanced back to him with a soft smile, pulling her children a bit closer to her. Two of her three children were there – both of her daughters. She was protective of them, holding them tight to her body, with only the occasional glance to her husband or a guard. The young ladies were dressed somewhat more conservatively and did not quite seem to understand why they had to stand atop the bridge and wait. They fidgeted and moved back and forth, scolded by their father from time to time when they started to slip from their mother’s grasp.

               The wait seemed to drag on and on before finally the entourage of Marquis Valamir arrived. There was a collective shiver that rolled through the men and women of the Argent Coast as he and his party came into view. While not dressed for war, his entire party came with their masks adorned. Made from the feathers of Wyverns, each mask bore the visage of some great monster. While for many, it was simply an interpretation of a wyvern, there were a few that were more ornate. Valamir stood out, but none more than the mask of his wife.

               Sitting atop a steed next to her husband, she bore a twisted and deformed mask resembling and basilisk. When paired with her otherwise simple dress and accouterments, it seemed almost out of place – but then one’s eyes were almost drawn to the twin blades at her hip. The scabbards and hilts were all that was visible, but they brought to image the blades within rather quickly. They were pristine and exquisitely made of finely crafted leather. The hilts were wrapped in scarlet cloth, and the pommel inlaid with obsidian stone. She was Tienette Astier, Marquise du Nid de Vouivre, and she had a reputation to match that of her husband.

               Vedast gave a warm smile and opened his arms wide in greeting, stepping forward towards the riders. He gave one last glance across them before settling on Valamir. “Hail traveler, and welcome to the Palais de la Lune. May the Goddess of the Moon and Sea smile upon your arrival, and bless you while you are guests in our home.”  He spoke warmly. “I am Duc Vedast d’Argent, and this is my wife Lutisse, and our two daughters – the eldest Roheis, and our youngest Mirabelle.” He motioned to the two young girls. They both had their mother’s eyes and hair, and the resemblance to their mother was astonishing.

               Valamir smiled from his horse and dismounted before speaking. “You honor us, your grace.” He spoke as he dusted off his black and red clothes – which matched the general formal style of the Duc but were of much simpler construction and material. He gave a bit of a bow. “I am Marquis Valamir Astier du Nid de Vouivre, and this is my wife, Tienette.” He motioned up to her, and she likewise dismounted. “Our son is young, so we did not want to risk bringing him on such a long journey. A few months with his grandmother and uncles will likely do him well, though.”

               The Duc was a tilted his head and then gave a slow nod. “Of course, perfectly understandable.” His voice was quiet, and he spoke slowly for a time his eyes glued to the newcomers. “I was surprised to see your letter – and then to receive one from Duc Gilles.” He twisted about and raised one hand back towards the island and his home, “Come, let us walk and talk. I’d like to show you my abode, and perhaps we can enjoy a meal before we get deep into the conversations at hand.”

               “Of course, your grace. A wonderful idea.” Valamir spoke before walking up next to the Duc. The two were quick to fall into benign conversation, and as they walked those behind them fell into step. For nearly an hour, they walked the grounds. Despite a decent tour, not a single word of importance was shared between the two. They spoke of unimportant and distant ideas. There were some common ground topics that were brought up, such as the health of Gilles, but beyond some of these nothing seemed to transpire.

               Eventually, they were taken to eat a meal. The families enjoyed a large meal together, one that would be a feast in nearly any other house. It was a show of wealth and comfort, as had been the tour. Vedast hoped that showing off might dissuade the Marquis from continuing in this errand. He had no intention of letting his daughter marry a wyvern, and his reluctance to even broach the topic in the slightest made that abundantly clear to everyone who walked with them. This was all a formality to both families. Both men had seemingly made up their minds, and it was a long time until any decision had to be made for such an arrangement.

               There was a token acceptance of the Astier right to be considered, and that was all. The families began to separate ways and head to quarters to rest for the night. The silence was broken by the voice of the young Mirabelle. “Why do you wear masks?”

               It caused the families to pause. “Mirabelle, it is impolite to speak out of turn.” Her father responded quickly. “My apologies.”

               “No, it is a good question,” Valamir spoke, before glancing at the young girl. “Has your father explained the Masquerade?”

               “No.” She said with a bounce up in her voice.

               “She is young,” Her mother explained but gave no details beyond that.

               “Yes, well, the Masquerade is our Court – where we nobles go to speak. We wear masks to hide our faces, so we can speak freely.” Her father explained. “The Vouivre wear masks at all noble functions, and many day-to-day.”

               “Why?”

               “They say your mask is the face you present at court,” Tienette spoke, kneeling to the girl’s level and offering a smile from behind that mask. Realizing the girl was still very young, she reworded her sentence. “You act one way in temple, and one way at home, right?”

               “Right.”

               “Well, we do the same in court. So, we wear masks to show who we are right then.” She continued, motioning between her and her husband, “We, and others from our provinces, believe differently though. We are the masks.”

               “Why monsters?”

               “Because we are monsters,” Valamir spoke softly, before giving her a twisted smirk. “Just like the stories you will hear all of your life.”

               The girl did not have a response to that, but her father quickly ended the conversation with a quiet rebuttal of the idea and a promise that he would explain it more as she grew older. The families split apart for the evening and went to their separate quarters, but the lords would meet again that night to speak to one another about the real reason they had met. Late, long after their wives and children were away, Valamir and Vedast met in the Magi’s study. This conversation was spoken in hushed tones, with even the attendants at an arm’s length to make sure that none could overhear them, at least to any detail that would matter if leaked out from these chambers.

               The room was filled from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with massive book and scroll cases. Thousands of tomes and countless loose scrolls and paper surrounded the central object in the room – a small sitting area and writing desk. It was here, by flickering candlelight, that the two men would speak frankly to one another about the purposes of this visit. For this night, for this conversation, the two sat across from one another. Valamir was calm and collected, sitting with his back straight and emotive motions of his arms as he spoke.

               Vedast, however, lacked such composure. “You think I’d ever let a daughter of Lune marry into the Wyverns?” He spat the words. “What are you really here to accomplish?”

               “Just that. Our people are more powerful together. A marriage would be mutually beneficial, granting you the resources of the Nest, and the specialists she trains.” Valamir crossed his legs and leaned back, barely raising a hand as he seemed to yield the floor.

               “Or, she could marry one of Ava, or of the Dunelan – Cael Varin de Auduna, Theirry Matisse de Ava, even Eponninia Vania de Rigani have all been put forward by their parents.” Vedast took a breath and leaned forward, “Why would I let her marry a poisoner and schemer… You said it yourself… a monster?”

               Valamir’s lips curled into a smile, the eyes under the mask catching a shadow moving along the wall of the corridor beyond the study. “Why not?” He spoke, and then a coldness returned to his voice, and almost cruel bite, “She is the daughter of monsters…”

               The sound in the Marquis’ tone sent a shiver up the Magi’s spine. He knew that tone. It was a tone of knowledge, “You can’t possibly,” The Magi spoke softly, a quiver in his voice as he looked to the floor.

               “I do, Duc,” The Marquis spoke, an uplifted and almost happy tone in his words as he pushed on the topic a little, “I found the evidence,” His hand waved lightly in the air in front of him. “Well, disturbing seems such an understatement.”

               “So.” Duc Vedast shook his head. “How did you find out?”

               “Your mistake in the Last Watch.” The Marquis spoke. “You covered yourself well there mind you. It was not easy.”

               The Duc nodded, “And what will you do to her?”

               “Nothing. You have my word.” The Marquis said, and then there was a silence that hung in the air.

               “I don’t believe you.”

               “Very well. My proposal is this. Your daughter Mirabelle and my son Sarus are married when they come of age. We shall come and visit, from time to time, before. Should she refuse her duty, we’ll allow it, given you accept the fault.” Valamir said with a little tilt of his head to one side. “Then, they take over our Manor, and live peaceful lives overseeing a village on the borders.” He raised his hands, offering a pause before adding. “That is all.”

               “What is your end game, Valamir?” Vedast asked, raising his head. “If I am to share a family with you…”

               Valamir’s smile widened, “Then perhaps I’ll tell you when that is official.” He paused a moment. “But,” He reached a hand to pull his mask away from his face, for the first time, “To show you I am serious… I have no plan to include our children in it.”

               Vedast shook his head. “Fine, Wyvern.” He all but growled the words, “It is not as if I have a choice.”

 The next morning, they had planned to meet again, but Vedast was suddenly called away due to some political trouble in the region, and it was decided that the Astier would leave. After their conversation, Valamir was not surprised that something would come up. He knew Vedast would set to work to head off this plan, as best as he could.

 

 

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Marches – Chapter 02 Notes

This chapter is another casualty of the change in perspective. Originally, the first few chapters were laying the groundwork for Mirabelle’s change in experience, and at first, I was very confident with that choice. But as I read back over while editing the first draft, I found that the story was solely hers, it was from her perspective, despite what I had planned originally, or even tried to continue a little later in the stories. With this original set up, there was very little time to set up just how different Mirabelle’s life would be with the arranged marriage to the Astier. 

 

The story itself in this chapter was the first introduction of Mirabelle and the first interaction with the couple that would become her inlaws. Elements of that, I believe, are important to hold to the story – but could be done in a much better way. This chapter, the chapter before, and the original prologue are being re-written to bring them into a new sort of prologue, to lay the groundwork for the story, but be separate. These people set Mirabelle’s story in motion, but from her perspective, they didn’t enter it until much later.

 

Still, this was the first chapter where I started to see the story coming together, so I wanted to post it up. Pieces of it will survive the edits, but I am honestly not sure how much. I think it works better if Mirabelle doesn’t remember them at all, or only vaguely, on their first meeting in the early chapters. So, we’ll see where the rewrites take me.

 

That all said, I just want to take a moment to highlight Tienette. She was literally a late addition, and I thought ‘oh, she needs a cool title’. So I settled with calling her the Basilisk. This wasn’t meant to be anything at the beginning. I really thought of her as a background character, whereas Valamir would be the main member of the Astier family that made appearances. Beyond Mirabelle’s, as yet unseen husband to be.

 

That did not last. It is part of the nature of how I write. Marches was a much different beast for me. It didn’t start with worldbuilding. It started with a single idea, and I built characters to fit that idea, and the world formed around them. Normally, I do the reverse – build the world, so that the characters react more naturally with it. But this way was interesting. Why did, even in these early chapters, Tienette feel different? I don’t know. 

 

Basilisk was too cool of a name. And for that matter, so was Tienette. So I latched on to her. By the next chapter I had shifted gears, and it was Tienette who became Mirabelle’s drawn into the world of the Wyverns. In these early chapters I still didn’t know the characters, but as strange as it might sound, Tienette was the first one that I thought I might have someone else in the setting to connect onto – especially outside the setting as a whole. 

 

Anyway. This chapter was alright. Nothing special. There are elements I’d like to keep, but the perspective had to be changed, and so, it needs to be completely rewritten. So, as always, here is the original for you all to enjoy. 

 

Fair Winds,

 

Museless Bard.

 

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Marches – Chapter 01

Valamir at Ava

The autumn had set upon Ava fast in that year. The sounds of the harvest were upon the countryside, and the color of the leaves of the forests had begun to shift to the vibrancy of oranges and reds. There was still a warmth in the air in the day, brought on by the sea’s wind leisurely meandering in from the coast. With it, it brought showers. In the sky, light grey clouds blocked the sun and a soft drizzle of rain fell across the lands. It was enough to dampen the paths but only enough to give a shimmer. This was not a rainstorm, but rather a soft reprieve from the toil of the harvest season.

Traveling along the roads this autumn was a small cadre of men atop horses. Their barding was of mail and leather, well worn and seasoned from years of war. At their hips, they wore quivers and blades. Each man’s was slightly different than the last. Some wore thick broadswords or great long blades. Some held arrows with fletching of red or black. All wore armor similar to the barding of their horses – a mix of mail and leather, adorned with warm furs. All including the man at the horse in the center.

This man was Valamir, the Marquis du Nid de Vouivre. Not a piece of his armor would have made him stand apart from the men who protected him. The chained mail layered over boiled leather was of a practical form. A noble of his stature should have been adorned with shining plate, but instead, he wore the same protection as his men. His blade was in a simple scabbard, and the old hilt that was visible was tarnished with age, and seemingly hastily repaired after some damage to it long ago. The man himself appeared no more noble than his comrades either. His hair was of a deep brown, nearly black and was wavy, unkempt, and dirty from the long ride from home. He was scruffy, with a normally well kept and styled beard having grown out and beyond its usual boundaries, and not too evenly at that. He was of an average build, perhaps slightly larger than the average man, but a head taller than most. What stood out the most was his smile, though. It was without a doubt a contagious one, marred with lines and cracks from a lifetime of laughter and speaking, but as genuine a smile as one could find anywhere.

For weeks they had ridden to Ava, and there was little more any in the band desired but to find a comfortable place to sleep, and perhaps a warm meal and bath to soothe the aches in their bones. Finally, that was within sight for them. As the Chateau de Ava appeared over the hills, and the smell of the sea air began to reach them, their pace began to hasten just a bit.

A few hours later, they would arrive at the gates to the abode of the Duc de Ava. This was no small manor house, but a great walled tower atop a cliff overlooking the sea. As guards opened the gate for the precession, they entered the once lavish gardens of the Duc. Now, the plants here were unruly with some growing beyond their containers or plots, and weeds split the walkways. The Marquis asked his men to dismount and to find suitable arrangements for their rest. They agreed, and after the master had dismounted his own horse and gathered his pack, they took their leave of him.

Except of course for the Marquis personal guard and attendant, Bessus and Eberwolf. These three men walked through the gardens to the main entrance, where they were taken into the tower itself by one of the maids of the manor. They were then escorted to the entrance to the Duc’s court. There, Valamir and his men pulled masks from their belts and slipped them on to their faces. While his guards had simple wyvern feather half masks covering their mouths, the master wore an intricately made visage of the wyvern itself, in a deep red color. Once on, Valamir pushed through the doorway to the court chambers.

“Hail, your grace,” Valamir called out as he entered, giving a low sweeping bow as he entered the room. “I hope this evening finds you well.”

The words had barely slipped from the Marquis’ lips when he finally gazed upon the Duc. The Duc was a different sort of man, a portly man whose balding had seemed to give up halfway back along his head, transitioning from pockmarked bald head to a wispy tuft of gray hairs still holding on to the back of his head. He was bare faced and rosy-cheeked, and despite his recent experiences, he too wore a warm smile. He stood at the entrance, his legs shivering and hand quaking slightly as he tried to find his balance during the trip to his feet. Finally, in a cracking and weary voice, he spoke up. “Marquis Valamir,” The man said with a distinct smack of his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a Wyvern in my court?”

“Your grace, you have been kind enough to invite us to your home to discuss a proposal.” Valamir had raised back up at this point and moved closer to the Duc, who was flanked by a few attendants. The attendants pushed forward slightly, one guard going so far as to pointedly rest a hand upon the iron pommel of his sword and put himself between the Duc and Marquis.

“Get to the point, Marquis,” The old man laughed. “I don’t want to waste time dancing around the courtly traditions.”

Valamir nodded, and then stood up straight. “Good. I’ve always appreciated that about you.” He took a breath, slow and long before he finally spoke. “My son has reached his fifth year. I’d like to begin planning for his eventual marriage.”

“And you chose to come to Ava?” The Duc could not contain a belly laugh. His entire form moved and jiggled at the laugh, “Surely you jest.”

The Marquis just shook his head.

“You are serious.” The Duc’s face turned away from the joviality it had displayed, noticeably darkening at the thought. “No noble of Ava would willingly give a daughter to a Wyvern.” He trailed off quickly, waving a hand dismissively at the man. “Let alone one with your holdings or reputation…” The Duc stepped back. “If you are seeking my favor in asking one of the other nobles of Ava, you are on a fool’s errand. I will not help you.”

As the Duc spoke, the Wyvern-masked marquis motioned to one of his men, Eberwolf, who in turn stepped forward. He pulled from an old leather bag a simple linen roll and offered it to his master. In turn, the Marquis offered the swaddled object over to one of the Duc’s men. “I expected your response. So, I come with an offer. My lord could never say this himself.” He waited as the Duc’s man brought to him the linen wrapped item and passed it over to the lord of region. “But your station is falling. You are losing grip on your lands. And soon, age and frailty will let another step into your role.”

“And you offer your lord’s assurances and aid?” The Duc laughed and shook his head unwrapping the item.

“No,” Valamir spoke quietly. “Nothing so sincere.”

There was silence in the room as the item was revealed. It was an old tarnished seal, emblazoned with ancient lettering and script, and the image of a dragon rising etched in the precious metals. The Duc visibly swallowed and wrapped the item back up. His breathing heightened, and he shook his head quickly. “You can’t possibly…” The man had been reduced to a stutter, his fingers trembling on the item. He clearly didn’t want to hold the item any longer, and hurriedly tried to push it off on his nearest attendant. The attendant stepped back, his face twisted in a mix of disgust and fear for a moment.

The marquis’ hand was offered. “Duc Gilles,” He said coldly. “There is a Magi in your duchy, of noble birth and high standing.” He motioned to the man to hand over the item. The Duc forced the seal into the marquis hand and quickly stepped back to his seat, falling into the cushions and quilts that adorned the simple throne. He took a swift breath and put a hand on his chest, looking to his attendants for some aid but finding nothing offered. “Your grace, will you arrange a meeting with him?”

The Duc shook his head violently. “How did you find that? Where did,”

“Duc, I’ve taken great pains to keep my reputation exactly where you found it…” The Marquis spoke swiftly. “Those are answers you cannot seek. Don’t worry,” He said as he tossed the item back to Eberwolf, who deftly slipped the item back into the deer hide bag. “Your past is your own to regret. I am much more interested in the sins of a certain Magi.”

“How dare you! Have you no honor? You dredge up trinkets and lies to blackmail a great man into submission to your schemes.” One of the Duc’s attendants finally spoke on his behalf, drawing the eye of all three of the men visiting the court, each cast at a slight cant from beneath the masks they wore.

“There is only honor in service to her Majesty or the gods.” Valamir spoke with a bit of a bite in his tone, a sharp decline and a glance to the Duc.

“How does this act in service to her Majesty?”

“Enough…” Duc Gilles spoke through a few pained and hacking coughs as he collected himself. “Enough.” He slumped in his seat and sighed. “There are none of us here saints.” He smacked his lips again and struggled for a moment to sit up. When he finally rose to an upright seat, he gave a soft nod. “Do you have an answer to that question, Valamir?”

“I do.” The Marquis spoke without hesitation.

The old man groaned and shook his head. “I have seen your work first hand. Now twice in my life.” The Duc spoke quietly. “An accomplishment few can claim.” He took a long breath, which ended in a bit of a wheeze. “I’ll set up your meeting, on once final condition.” He put his wait on one hand and rose the other to point a gnarled finger at the Marquis. “You leave your son and the girl out of it. Whatever your endgame is here, they live a quiet life.”

Valamir stood quietly for a moment, until a smile appeared on his lips, twisting up under the mask slightly to make it unclear if it was genuine, or more of a smirk. “On the Mother, you have my word.”

“Fine, I’ll pen the letter. Duc Vedast de la Cote d’Argent, correct?” The Duc spoke as he waved at one of the attendants, who hesitantly rushed off to find parchment and ink.

“Yes.” The Marquis said with a quiet nod.

“He’ll never agree to this. No matter what you think you have on him.”

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Marches – Chapter 00

Our Narrator Sets the Scene

In my earliest days, I found myself with one unique talent – and that was to remember and repeat. I had no skill in sports or war, no particular talent for speech or craft, but when a man would say to me a thing, I could repeat that thing years later with a precision that many considered to be nearly otherworldly. This would draw the attention of a man of the court. This man, Duc Gilles de Ava, saw my talent and felt he had a place for it in his court. He raised me up from little more than a merchant’s son to be a member of his own court, bound to his own honor and tasked with chronicle the stories and histories of Les Principautés Unies de la Grande République de Sa Majesté et Les États sous sa tutelle estimée. More succinctly, I was to be a historian of the Grand Republic of Her Majesty.

When I was young, most of this revolved around the simple. I wrote what was before me in Duc de Ava’s court. His words, the words of his guests and family, and everything no matter how small found its way into my writings. Then something changed. Or perhaps, everything changed, and I found myself writing of one single family, and one that would eventually grow larger, and play an impossibly important role in our nation’s survival in this our turbulent world. I speak to you now in the first person only to set the general stage for the events that would follow. An old man rambling on about the past does little to drive the minds of those listening to lose themselves in the story. My opinions and thoughts on the matters presented are immaterial. I did not live these stories, but rather only merely compiled them for future generations. They were told to me by witnesses and confidants, and I hope to present them in such a way that they may continue on and be told for years to come.

The year was 1529, as recorded by the Servants of the Goddess of Stars. For a few years prior, the principalities had been consolidating power. Her Majesty had grown old, and with no heirs adopted or otherwise, it was looking as if there would soon be a war for the right of succession. This was well known to the noble courts, and allegiances and plots were then already beginning to fall into place. Now, Duc de Ava was an honorable man, above reproach in many ways which I cannot begin to list, but in one place he stumbled. This was his opinion of the Masquerade. He believed that to be himself in court was the only way to succeed, and this weakened him greatly. He realized that in this year. His enemies had plotted for the fall of Ava in such a way that he felt there was little way out beyond seeking the aid from her Majesty. Any hope he had of this plan was taken off course with a shift of winds, and the arrival of Marquis Valamir Astier du Nid de Vouivre.

The Marquis was a man of ambition, one who laid out his plans so far in advance that even he would likely never see them truly come to completion. He had eyes on much grander things than most of his station could see. His genius was unparalleled in the courts of the Grand Republic, but his plans did not necessitate this being evident to most. A few, such as Duc Gilles de Ava, knew his potential. Perhaps most important to understand is that Valamir was not playing the game for himself, but rather he was setting the board for his children. It was his son, Sarus, and his future wife, that would benefit from these plans. Valamir’s story is the story of his descendants. This is the story of that family, the family that would become known as the Silver Wyverns.

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