Post by journeycat on Aug 22, 2010 17:13:40 GMT 10
Title: The Chronicles of a Man
Rating: PG
Length: 10,000 words
Summary: The life of Wyldon of Cavall through the bitter and the sweet and everything in between, told in 90 drabbles with a 1,000 word ending.
Author's Note: Happy birthday, Lisa! ♥
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412 H.E.
The labor was not a difficult one, but it was a long one, and Elasa could be heard groaning for a night and a day, and well into the next day. The healer was a friend of hers, and she was dedicated to presiding over the labor. Every now and then, she would send her assistant out to assure Lord Benjen that all was well, and that it was coming along fine.
And then, late into the night, she produced a healthy son, and Ben rejoiced for his heir.
They named him Wyldon, and a star was born to Cavall.
-----
417 H.E.
Wyldon never really remembered a time without his brothers. Nolan was born almost right after him, not even a year between them, and little Jaxon’s birth was a vague memory in the back of his mind. They were always there, and by the time he was five, they were best friends, the three of them.
When Lady Elasa’s belly rounded again, Wyldon was the only one who knew what it meant.
“She’s havin’ another brother,” he explained.
Jaxon looked excited, but Nolan, their mother’s favorite, looked upset. “I don’t want another.”
“It’ll be fun,” Wyldon stressed. “You’ll see, I promise.”
-----
418 H.E.
Wyldon and his brothers peeped over their mother’s bed to catch a glimpse of the murmuring thing she held. Lord Benjen picked Wyldon up and held him over the bed so that he had a better view.
“Meet your sister,” Elasa said, her smile weary but content. “Say hello to Elasabenne, Wyldon.”
“Hello, Elasabenne,” he said dutifully.
Ben patted his hair. “You look out for your sister, now,” he said. “She’s very delicate, because she was born early.” He set Wyldon down with his little brothers. “You all need to look out for her, you hear?”
“Yes, Father,” they chorused.
-----
419 H.E.
It was silent but for the heavy rainfall as they lowered Lady Elasa’s body into the ground in Cavall’s private cemetery. As the eldest, Wyldon was the first after Benjen to go to the grave and toss his lone violet into her grave. He thought he should cry, but nothing would come.
“Goodbye, Mother,” he said formally.
Later that night, Benjen set down his glass of brandy and took his eldest son into his arms. “Your mother was just too weak after Elasabenne, you understand, she never recovered,” he said scratchily. “She just—couldn’t—”
And then he began to weep.
-----
422 H.E.
“Ah, Lord Benjen,” Duke Gareth said as he ushered them into the room, “please come in. It’s good to see your sons have such high aspirations.”
“Well, this one does, anyway,” Benjen said, bestowing a proud look on Wyldon that warmed his heart. “Will you accept him?”
Gareth leveled a long stare at him. “Can you handle hard work, lad?”
“I can, Your Grace,” he said gravely.
The man gave a ghost of a smile. “I believe it. Lord Benjen, we’re honored to have him.”
“Excellent.” Benjen beamed. “Don’t let me down, son.”
“I won’t, Father,” he said fiercely.
-----
423 H.E.
“Come on, I want to play, too!”
“You can’t,” Jaxon taunted, “you’re a girl.”
Elasabenne’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed up at her brothers in the tree. Wyldon took pity on her.
“She’ll just tell Da,” Wyldon sighed. “Then he’ll spank us for being mean—Elasabenne, get down!”
She was climbing up the tree, and she glanced up at him in puzzlement—and then the fragile branch under her foot. The fall was long and silent, and the sickening crunch at the end was horrible.
Their father ended up spanking them after all, after her arm was mended.
-----
424 H.E.
“Jaxon!” Wyldon whooped, throwing an arm around his brother. “Welcome to the palace!”
Jaxon grinned up at him, his face typically cheery. “This’ll be fun,” he said. “The Cavall brothers, training side by side to be knights. We’ll be unstoppable.”
“I’ll be your sponsor,” Wyldon said. “That way you don’t get stuck with someone awful.”
“Do you really get to wait on the king himself?”
“Only when you’re an older page. The best part is when you wait on the queen. She’s beautiful.”
“Why, brother, are you smitten with the queen of Tortall?” Jaxon teased. “You have such lofty aspirations!”
-----
426 H.E.
“I’ve seen you tilt,” an unexpected voice said. “You’re pretty good. How are you with a sword?”
Wyldon turned to face Lord Martin of Meron. “Milord, I—I’m good, I suppose.”
Martin studied him. “I like that. No hubris, just fact.”
Wyldon fidgeted under his sharp gaze. Then the man said, “How would you like to be my squire?”
He gaped at him, then blurted out, “I’d love it, milord.” He blushed at his own audacity.
Surprisingly, Martin grinned crookedly at him. “Well, get packing, boy. We’re moving out to the Desert in one day. You’ll meet your first Bazhir.”
-----
427 H.E.
Wyldon tired of the desert quickly, and unfortunately, it was where he spent the majority of his time. It was too hot, too open, and it felt like a tomb. Still, he wasn’t going to deny that Martin was a superb knight-master. And he was fascinated by the Bazhir, with their hard men and their veiled women.
And their horses—! They bred such splendid creatures, and Wyldon resolved that one day he would have a Bazhir stallion in his stables. Gods, wouldn’t that be something. His father would be ecstatic.
Maybe it’d help ease the ache his mother left.
-----
428 H.E.
“Take care of yourself,” Wyldon told his sister seriously. “The convent is scary.”
“Yeah,” Nolan said, equally solemn, “I hear the women there whip unruly girls—”
“Oh, stop it,” Elasabenne said, crossing her arms. “You’re just being mean.”
Jaxon grinned contagiously. Wyldon swept his baby sister up in a hug, and graciously accepted her kiss.
“Maybe you’ll actually be a lady when you come out,” he teased.
She turned her nose up at him. “I already am a lady,” she said loftily.
Not yet, but she would be. She was going to be as beautiful as their mother had been.
-----
429 H.E.
He never expected to bury his father so soon.
Elasabenne clutched at his hand, weeping unabashedly. Nolan, the sensitive one, wept as well, though he tried to hide it. Again, as the eldest—and now, though the word was foreign, the lord of Cavall—he led the procession to his father’s open grave. He tossed a violet into it, because violets had been his mother’s favorite flowers and, therefore, his father’s.
“Da,” Elasabenne wept, “oh, Da.”
Wyldon put his arm around her and pulled her close. Nolan’s arm went around his other shoulder, and Jaxon put his arm around Nolan.
-----
430 H.E.
The midwinter of year 430 was when Wyldon of Cavall became a man.
His Ordeal would linger in his head for all the years to come, as it did with everyone: crippled by injuries too horrible to heal, he was stuck as a desk knight, unable to live at his own fief without the aid of a nursemaid, unable to care for the hounds and horses for which Cavall was known.
Just an Ordeal, he reminded himself, as King Roald struck his shoulders with his sword. It won’t come true.
He repeated the oath, and swore that it never would.
-----
432 H.E.
His father was barely buried when Wyldon lay Jaxon to rest next to Benjen and Elasa. He was killed, slaughtered, truthfully, by Tusainie bandits. This time Nolan did not weep, but stared blankly at the ground. Wyldon’s our leader, Jaxon used to say, and Nolan’s the brains, and I’m the sword arm.
Well, the sword arm was gone. His brother was barely out of his Ordeal before he was in his grave. It was up to Wyldon, now, to defend his last brother and sister, his family. And he would defend it to the death, what was left of it.
-----
433 H.E.
“We need to marry Elasabenne to someone,” Nolan said wearily. He had aged ten years since Jaxon’s death. “I want to keep her around, you know I do—but she needs a proper house. She shouldn’t live in this house anymore. It’s too dreary.”
Wyldon wanted to stomp his feet and say no, but he knew there was wisdom in it. Still, it was difficult to give up his sister.
“There’s that boy,” he said reluctantly, “from Josu’s Dirk. He’s shown interest in her. It’s a good match.”
“Josu’s Dirk...that would be nice. It’s close to Cavall, at that.”
-----
434 H.E.
The threat of the Sweating Sickness had been gone for a couple years now, and none of Wyldon’s family had been affected, thankfully. There were pockets still existing, mostly in secluded areas around Tortall where families had taken it from Corus. But that was not much of a threat to them, after all.
Trust Nolan, who never left Cavall, who never ventured very far, to carry it back from his one trip to the City of the Gods. He had come in contact with a caravan, he said, and he probably contracted it from them.
Wyldon buried his last brother.
-----
435 H.E.
“This is war, eh?” Paxton called over his shoulder, handsome face grinning ferociously. “Nothing like killing men over a strip of water.”
Wyldon brought up his sword to parry, and took the enemy’s brief pause to cut deep into his belly. The man went down, and Wyldon’s heart hurt when he turned to fight another enemy—he couldn’t even give the last man mercy, so that he had to die slowly. War, he decided angrily, was not worth the death it brought.
“Yes,” he said, leaning heavily on his sword after he took down another man, “nothing quite like it.”
-----
He met her in Tusaine near the Drell River, among negotiations and love songs. She was young and free, and she was like a shining sun in the midst of his jaded world. War had taken so much out of him, a knight fresh from his Ordeal, and she had given so much back to him.
She handled a bow gracefully and she rode her horses so skillfully that even he was impressed. She made him laugh with her tart answers to his prying questions.
“Marry me,” Wyldon said.
“I’ll think about it,” Vivenne replied, but her eyes said yes.
-----
They married on the border, appropriate for a couple on opposites sides of the war. Cavall was not close to Tusaine, and she was adamant that she be wed among her sisters and sole brother, with her father and his wives. He felt his brothers’ absence poignantly; they would have loved to see him married.
Elasabenne came, but her hard face told him exactly what she thought about his marriage. Wyldon loved his sister dearly, but this time he would not bow to her demands: he would marry Vivenne.
They were married under the radiant warmth of an autumn sun.
-----
The night came fast, and with it the moment he both greatly anticipated and, oddly, feared. He allowed her privacy an hour or so before, to prepare herself for her ordeal to come. When he finally came to his rooms, he was surprised to find her there, bravely waiting for him in bed. She was naked, her body gleaming white in the ghostly light coming through the window.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She tilted her head, looking nervous and also excited.
“Yes,” she said simply.
A lifetime of love awaited them, and so did all that came with it.
-----
436 H.E.
“You’re leaving?”
Her voice was sad, and it was hard for Wyldon to bear her sorrow. Her small hands rested protectively over the round bulge of her belly, in which stirred a life of his and hers. The king called him to Corus, but his heart called him here. It would be their first child.
“I must,” he said regretfully, resting his hands over hers, engulfing them. “But I swear it, Vivenne, I will be back in time for the baby. It will not be born without its father to welcome it.”
And she smiled, but her eyes were scared.
-----
True to his word, he had arrived in time for the birth of their first child. It was almost unbearable. Her cries, her great groans—and he sat out here, helpless, listening to this Great Mystery that brought his wife so much pain.
That, of course, was quickly forgotten when the midwife came out of their chambers and said, “Your daughter has been born, milord.”
A daughter, Wyldon thought, pleased, as he entered. I hope she looks like Vivenne.
She did, and more. She was so small, so breakable, so beautiful—and theirs.
They called her Eiralys, for Vivenne’s mother.
-----
Later that year, Wyldon saw his little sister married off. It was bittersweet, and he remembered the two of them when they were younger, with Nolan and Jaxon, playing in the orchards around Cavall. But the fief had been too difficult for her, and she had lived at the palace since Nolan died. She didn’t believe him when he said Cavall was bright now, tinged with sadness but no longer burdened by it.
He knew he did the right thing. Already Elasabenne seemed cheerier, excited, and she squeezed his hand fondly as he walked her toward her soon-to-be husband.
-----
437 H.E.
They welcomed their second daughter nineteen months later. This time Wyldon named her, mostly because Vivenne was too tired to come up with anything proper. She slipped into sleep quickly, with the healer assuring him there was no problem—a labor of thirteen hours was no easy feat.
He fretted about the name while Eiralys tugged demandingly on his sleeve, wanting to see the baby who had stolen the attention from her. He didn’t want to pick a stupid name, or one Vivenne would dislike. He wanted something feminine, bright, not quite as harsh as Eiralys.
He decided on Sunarine.
-----
That midwinter, a shock wave sent ripples throughout Tortall: the duke of Conte conspired to kill King Roald, and his plot was discovered by Alan of Trebond—who, as it turned out, was not even a boy. She was Alanna, a woman, who had not only made it through page training and had squired to the prince himself, but had also survived her Ordeal.
Wyldon never had liked the lad; maybe it was because he had suspected he—or she—was a liar. At least she killed Roger, at any rate.
He had, after all, killed Nolan with his disease.
-----
438 H.E.
“Why didn’t you name one for me?”
Wyldon came to Josu’s Dirk to visit with his sister and now wished he hadn’t. She had been so precious to him, the little girl who trailed after her brothers and did everything that they did. Now all they did was argue, mostly about Vivenne and how she wasn’t good enough for him and also, it seemed, the dishonor they did her by not naming a daughter after her.
“Because we didn’t,” he said wearily. “Leave it alone.”
Elasabenne scowled at him, balancing her own son on her hip, and said nothing more.
-----
Vivenne founded him morosely peering at his reflection in the mirror.
“Husband,” she sighed, “what are you doing?”
Wyldon continued stroking the shiny plate on his head. “My head,” he said. “Vivenne, I—I’m bald.”
“You’ve been bald.”
He stared at her in horror. “You noticed?”
“Your hair was thinning when we first met” she pointed out.
He scowled at her and returned to his reflection. Should he comb it over...? That would make it less obvious, maybe.
“Well, I’m going for a ride,” she said airily. “And for gods’ sake, don’t comb it over—it’ll just show your gray.”
-----
A year passed, and his daughters grew bigger and more beautiful with each passing day. Vivenne’s belly rounded once more. She prayed for a son, but Wyldon was content with whomever he was given. After all, Eiralys and Sunarine were proven gifts.
Then something happened that gave him real chills, that made him slip into his daughters’ room each night to be with them, to make sure their hearts still beat a steady rhythmic song.
Roger returned.
It was sorcery of the blackest nature, courtesy of Alanna’s cursed twin, Thom. Dead men could not be brought back, but Roger walked.
-----
439
The day their third daughter was born, a messenger came to say the king had died in a hunting accident, with a strange emphasis on accident. Be it murder or suicide, Wyldon didn’t know, but he knew Roald’s heart had never been the same since the good queen died.
Everything crumbled around him. It was civil war—no matter how young and untried Jonathan was, Wyldon fought for him, because the only alternative was Roger. He would never bow to him.
So many dead, so many traitors. He was only sorry Cathrea had been born in the middle of this.
-----
As though it wasn’t bad enough, Jonathan announced his engagement to some woman from the badlands of Sarain. She was said to be peerless in her beauty.
She was still a barbarian, he ranted to Vivenne, who ho-hummed and said nothing one way or the other. She simply nursed Catry by the fire, while Eiralys and Sunarine played with their dolls. She was diplomatic like that.
Finally, his steam puttered out, and he secluded himself in his stables to grumble to the horses. There were good ones this year, real champions. At least he would always have his horses.
-----
440 H.E.
When the healthy prince was born, all of Tortall celebrated. Even Wyldon, with his misgivings over his half K’miri queen, was pleased—she was not another Lianne, doomed to suffer stillbirths and miscarriages. There was an heir, and that was all he cared about. Tortall was stabilizing.
No more were born to Cavall, and Wyldon suspected Vivenne made sure of it. He didn’t blame her; they had three girls close in age, and she disliked using nurses—she was on her own, when he was away. If she wanted no more, he was content with the three ladies he had.
-----
442 H.E.
“We need a man like you,” Jonathan said gravely. “The pages need a firm and experienced hand. You’re the only one I trust.”
Wyldon already had the answer. “No.”
The king didn’t look surprised. “Why?”
“I’m needed on the field.”
“You’ll be closer to your daughters,” Jonathan said slyly. “And there’s little happening, now—do you want to be off fighting bandits the next decade?”
It’s better than being a training-master, he thought. But he had no real excuse, because I don’t want to was not acceptable.
“But you accept girls now,” Wyldon blurted.
Jonathan merely cocked an eyebrow.
-----
Wyldon carefully guided Eiralys’ hands around the bow, showing her how to hold it carefully. He let her attempt to put her feet in the proper position as he turned his attention to Sunarine, still trying to string her bow.
“Here,” he said, “you need to bend the bow like this—” He showed her, continuing, “and then you place your hands like so...very good.”
His daughters beamed at him.
“This is fun,” Sunarine chirped.
He raised his eyebrows. “Then I must not be doing it right.”
They giggled, and he smiled in return as he continued to instruct them.
-----
443 H.E.
Another prince was born, in addition to Roald and Princess Kalasin. They named him Liam, for the man who had died for them. Wyldon approved; one could do worse than name a son after the Shang Dragon.
Alanna also had a son, named for her dead necromancing brother. He hated to think about what that boy would turn into—another necromancer, probably.
He did not enjoy teaching pages, but it was tolerable. If he had one good student, it would be worth it, perhaps, but they were all the same. They would make great knights, but there were no Jaxons.
-----
444 H.E
One day, Vivenne came to him and put his hand on her belly. It was still flat, but he knew what it meant. He swept her up in a kiss and said, “I’m glad.”
“Even if it’s not a boy?”
“I never cared if I had a son or not,” Wyldon said, and meant it. “You gave me Eiralys, and Sunarine, and Catry, and they’re beautiful.”
“Then I’m glad, too,” she whispered. “Do you love me?”
She so rarely asked it, and so he gave the answer readily: yes, of course, always.
Another baby, he thought, and kissed her again.
-----
445 H.E
Their last daughter came into the world screaming like a hellion, louder than the others and twice as furious. “I don’t need a son,” Wyldon muttered, eyeing the squalling infant warily. “I have this creature.”
Vivenne laughed out loud and hugged the baby close, looking pleased. “Can we name her for my sister? Margarry is the Tortallan translation of Margarethe, I think—can we name her that?”
It would be an even split, and he said, “Of course. Margarry is lovely.”
“I see great things for her,” she said softly.
Wyldon thought of lady knights, and shuddered: not his daughter.
-----
446 H.E
With the birth of Princess Vania, the king and queen completed their family. Three princes and three princesses was a handsome size, and there were no shortage of heirs and potential alliances. Wyldon was relieved; he had not forgotten Roger’s exploitation of Jonathan’s tenuous hold on the throne.
His own family was large, female, and merry. Eiralys had left for the convent with tearful goodbyes from her mother and sisters, but she wrote often. Sunarine overtook the role as bossy eldest, although it was useless: Catry was a solemn girl who went her own way, and Margarry followed no one.
-----
447 H.E
Soon, Sunarine, too, followed her sister to the convent. This time, Wyldon accompanied her. Monsters had appeared in Tortall and no one could explain them. He was not about to risk his daughter’s life by placing her in an escort’s care.
They called some of them spidrens, others were Stormwings, and there were more. They were the stuff his grandda’s tales were made of, the stuff of myths and nightmares.
It was Carthak’s doing, he was told. Their black-robe mages opened a door and released the monsters.
Margarry had nightmares about them, but his strange little Cathrea barely blinked.
-----
450 H.E
Eiralys returned from the convent for the summer, as she did every year, but she was so different now. She carried herself more confidently, spoke with more diplomacy. She was filling out like a woman, Wyldon noted uncomfortably. He didn’t know why he was surprised—she was fourteen, after all. He just hadn’t realized she was growing up.
“We’ve gotten offers,” Vivenne said quietly. “Synthia, Veldine, Wellam...”
“Not Synthia.”
“Wellam is well-connected,” she suggested. “We can’t do much better.”
He paused. “No, we can’t. I’ll speak to Turomont about his grandson.”
And his grandson better be damn near perfect.
-----
452 H.E
The high shriek of terror rang like a death-toll in Wyldon’s ears, and he skidded to a halt and immediately doubled back down the corridor. It was a child’s scream, and it came from the one place that could strike such fear in his heart: the royal nursery. Gods, no, he thought, not them.
Like a nightmare, Wyldon thundered into the nursery, sword drawn. The children howled as a hurrock lunged, missing only because of the bloodied, raging nursemaid who defended them.
The injuries Wyldon sustained from that fight were worth Jon’s wordless gratitude, Vania’s kisses, the princes’ respect.
-----
She stood before him with a blank face, with and yet somehow independent of her father. I want to be a page, her letter had said. He’d had his misgivings then, which was why he lobbied so hard for her probation; now, looking at her, he regretted even allowing the probation.
Keladry of Mindelan was of thick build, but so were plenty of girls before they lost the baby fat and grew curves. She had a pretty face, despite the short hair, and her dreamer’s eyes were hardly that of a warrior’s.
He knew what kind of girl she was.
-----
453 H.E
“Father,” a solemn voice said in the doorway, “I have a calling.”
Wyldon glanced up, disconcerted, as always, by the seriousness and not-quite-there of Cathrea. For a frightening moment, he thought she meant knighthood, but then reality righted itself and he knew, sadly, exactly what she wanted. She had quietly resisted the convent for about two years, and having been around enough seers and priestesses and mages in Corus, he knew her for what she was.
“You want the Temple.”
He would not deny her. He had always known, somehow, that his Catry was destined for the gods.
-----
Who are you, probationer? Wyldon wondered, not for the first time this year. Who are you that the boys follow you and the servants love you? What sets you apart from the other girls, and even the other boys?
She was waiting for his dismissal, he knew, waiting for him to tell her to leave and abandon this ludicrous path. The words were on the tip of his tongue. After all, how long would she last in the real world?
But she had proven herself. She had stood fast, been brave.
He had no choice but to let her stay.
-----
That October, Eiralys was wed to the lad from Wellam. It was a good match, better than Wyldon had hoped her to make, for the boy would inherit Wellam (quite far down the road, of course, as Turomot didn’t look to die anytime soon) and his lovely daughter would be well taken of. She was all of seventeen, a true lady, and as she stood at the altar for her godly blessing, he was stricken suddenly by her likeness of Vivenne.
The thing about daughters, Wyldon thought with a clenching sorrow, is that they leave their fathers all too soon.
-----
456 H.E
Her maid, for Mithros’ sake. She forsook the very crucial final examinations for her maid.
Wyldon couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that fact, even as he waited by Mindelan’s bed for her to wake. It was stupid, what she did—what if the judges decided against allowing her to make them up? Would she do the unthinkable and actually take page-training over? He sat there beside her, and suddenly wondered why he was so mad.
Then, he knew.
Out of all the boys he trained, he found no heroes. He had forgotten that girls could be heroes, too.
-----
He found Vivenne weeping in her sitting room, and knelt by her side to gaze at her with worried eyes.
“Vivenne,” he said. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
She shook her head and managed to gasp, “Eiralys.”
He felt a shiver of fear, and tried to remain calm. “What happened?” he asked in a strained voice. “What happened to her?”
She shook her head again. Wyldon was beginning to become angry when she finally hiccuped, “She’s pregnant. I just received the letter.”
He blinked, and sat back on his heels. Eiralys was...pregnant? His lady, pregnant?
Well, he thought. Well.
-----
One can do worse than have Raoul as a knight-master.
The man was a jackass but he was worthy of the title sir; Mindelan deserved one who could give her experience in the field. She would be working with his men, as well, and Wyldon hoped she would be able to sharpen those commanding skills he had noticed she had. Raoul knew a commander when he saw one—he was a fine one himself—so he would recognize her as one.
Alanna picked Queenscove. He debated feeling sorry for him, then just shrugged and decided they deserved each other.
-----
That autumn saw Sunarine married into Legann, and it was no easier to give her away than it was with Eiralys. There were flowers in her long hair, and her eyes were bright as she looked up at her new husband. Another daughter gone, Wyldon thought. Another daughter lost.
After the wedding, he and Imrah slipped away for hearty tankards of brandy. Imrah had seen his daughter married off a mere week ago, and so together they drunkenly lamented the only downfall of a man: the women he loved.
But at least Imrah gained a daughter. Wyldon only lost one.
-----
He returned to Cavall after Stone Mountain’s kidnapping trial, wanting to wash the sour taste from his mouth with the cool clear waters of his home. But when he arrived, he merely stood in the foyer, and heard the emptiness.
He had forgotten his Margarry had left for the convent that fall.
Now all his daughters were gone, and all Wyldon wanted back right now were those days when Eiralys directed fake tea parties with a commanding air, when Sunarine wove flowers and strange Cathrea stared at the moon and Margarry ran through fields with the wind in her hair.
-----
457 H.E
Wyldon was not able to escape his duties to visit Wellam, but he got hefty letters from both Vivenne and Eiralys detailing the birth of Turomont, his first grandson. He was named for his great-grandfather, who apparently was much beloved by Eiralys’ husband and refused her suggestion to even name him for himself.
Turo, as Eiralys calls him, is a fat, healthy son, and she’s just fine, too, Vivenne wrote. Oh, I love him already—even if he did make me a grandmother before my time.
Eiralys wrote simply, Now I know what it is to love someone unconditionally.
-----
Only in June was he able to return to Cavall, where Eiralys was visiting to show off baby Turomont. He was a bawling boy, and never seemed quite happy with anything. When Vivenne gently suggested Eiralys stop giving him everything he wanted, she only bristled and told her to mind your own business, Mother, thank you.
Wyldon wasn’t about to let that slide—perhaps she got away with that backtalk at Wellam, but she wouldn’t here. But then she burst into tears when he scolded her, and Vivenne started weeping, and through the whole mess the baby cried as well.
-----
Rapists, kidnappers, failures.
“You’re the kind of knight I want to be,” she said.
Wyldon looked at her and saw that she was serious, and he knew what it was to be devoured by guilt. Guilt, because he had wanted her gone. Guilt, because she was the truest person he had ever known and he had tried to take that away from her.
“I am not,” he said, aching. “But that you think so is the greatest compliment I will ever receive.”
He meant it. Perhaps she would be the knight he wanted to be.
He took Owen to Cavall.
-----
To Wyldon’s delight, upon his return to Cavall he was met with a squealing figure who hurled herself at him in greeting.
“Margarry,” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“The convent let me come home,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Did you really pick a squire?”
(“The convent let her come home,” Vivenne later snorted. “They made her come home for three weeks to rethink her conduct!”)
“He is. And no tricks!”
She grinned impishly at him and flounced away. He didn’t notice Owen staring bemusedly after her. It’s good to be home, he thought.
-----
458 H.E
Seeing Cathrea was a rare thing, as she was carefully cloistered in the Temple, doing mysterious Goddess things. The role of a priestess was not taken lightly, and his solemn Catry, with her strange eyes and not-quite-there demeanor, was certainly well suited for it.
“It’s good to see you, Father,” she said warmly, kissing him on both cheeks. Her voice was adult, low and husky like a priestess.
“And you, my dear,” he replied. “Temple life suits you well.”
“I like to think so. Would you like to pay your respects to the Mother?”
“I think I would.”
-----
459 H.E
Wyldon was always on edge during Ordeals. It used to be merely that they were his students and he wanted them to succeed, for Tortall, and because it reflected on himself. Myles once told him that all teachers were selfish like that, but he tended to disregard a lot of what Myles said.
But this was Keladry of Mindelan’s Ordeal, and he wanted her to succeed because she was a good girl, and she would make a good knight.
When she stumbled out of the Chamber, more shaken than he had ever seen her, he breathed a sigh of relief.
-----
460 H.E
Sunarine delivered a daughter, and while once again Wyldon was not there, it was said Imrah rejoiced the new addition. He, like Wyldon, recognized the beauty of daughters, and he welcomed one more lady to his household. The daughter was born worrisomely early, but the midwife deemed her healthy nonetheless.
She was named Vivetta for Vivenne and an ancestor of her husband. It was a frilly name, but out of all his daughters Sunarine had always proved to be his merriest lady, so it came as no surprise that she would choose that name.
Two grandchildren, he thought, already tired.
-----
Give her command of the refugee camp, Wyldon had thought. That’s a great idea. She’s certainly the best one for the post.
And what did that get him no few gray hairs in what little he had left and a session of self-deprecation where he berated himself for underestimating the girl who risked page training for her maid.
Now she stood before him, unashamed and awaiting her punishment. She had rescued the refugees she swore to protect, against his command, because she took her vows seriously.
He realized she was just like him, and took pride in her bravery.
-----
461 H.E
Although Tortall had been stable for years now, and Roger’s conspiracy had long since been buried, Wyldon found that his heart truly eased when Prince Roald married his Yamani bride, securing the throne. While he would have preferred he wed a native lady, he couldn’t help but approve of Princess Shinkokami. She was calm, diplomatic, and gently reared, but she was not ignorant to weapons; it was said she wielded a few quite well. She reminded him a bit of Vivenne.
The future was secure for his daughters, and for their children. And he had faith in Roald, his prince.
-----
462 H.E
Mistress Daine gave birth to a crazy baby.
Well, not really (okay, kind of), but the baby caused quite a stir. With Eiralys toward the end of term with her second child, Wyldon could only really count his blessings that the Gift or wild magic did not run in his family. Daine couldn’t even name it, because it didn’t just change shape, it changed sex. He liked her very much and sympathized with her—being a first-time parent was difficult enough without birthing a shapeshifter.
Luckily, her goddess-mother whipped the baby into shape, and Daine named her Sarralyn.
-----
463 H.E
Wyldon was relieved when the year 463 was done and over with.
First, it felt like the entire world was made of women—Sunarine was pregnant again, Daine was pregnant again, and, importantly, Princess Shinkokami awaited the birth of a prince or princess. He half-expected Vivenne to announce she was also with child and decided if she ever did so he would just keel over and die. And then Tortall was nervous because of the serious unrest in the Copper Isles—the young king was murdered, so they put the Isles under a trading ban.
And then, finally, peace.
-----
464 H.E
Peace, Wyldon thought, stumped. When did I ever think there would be peace?
“I want to marry him, Da,” Margarry said boldly, her dark stare very much like what he saw in the mirror. “I love him, and he loves me.”
Owen was a courageous lad, and fresh from his Ordeal. But was he good enough for his youngest? Perhaps he should have betrothed her properly, but she had always been a free spirit. Only Owen would allow her to be everything that she was.
“Well, at least he’s half-broken to bridle,” he muttered, and left it at that.
-----
Lianokami was born to Tortall later that year. Her name denoted the Tortallan fondness for family names and Yamani divinity, and while he didn’t much care for it—didn’t they see that she was really only one-fourth Tortallan, and that that would alienate her later?—he celebrated with the rest of Tortall the birth of their pretty princess.
What many people didn’t know was that she would one day rule, not as consort, but in her own right. Thayet, especially, had seen to that. Oddly, Wyldon didn’t mind.
Keladry had taught him that women were worthy of being followed.
-----
Not long after that, his Margarry married Owen and became Margarry of Jesslaw, blessed by Cathrea herself. They looked so young and merry, with sparkling eyes and beaming faces and Wyldon found himself thinking of he and Vivenne, long ago, when they were young and wild and free. He hoped their marriage would be as joyful as his had been, and still was.
No more of his daughters remained, no more belonged to Cavall—for even Catry was lost to him, belonging solely to the Goddess. It was just him and Vivenne now, like it was all those years before.
-----
466 H.E
After the treaty with Scanra was signed, Prince Liam wed the daughter of a powerful warlord to seal the cautious relationship. Definitely better him than Jasson, Wyldon figured, because Liam was known to think with his sword (both of them) and his hot blood was well-suited to the violent Scanran north. Sure enough, the marriage was barely blessed when she—and several others—waxed with child and he manage to kill a couple rebellious warlords in the meantime.
Keladry still couldn’t knock him out of the saddle and Owen went hunting bandits and lost a finger for his trouble.
-----
467 H.E
There was something very comfortable about riding with Keladry. They weren’t in competition like most men, and she didn’t chatter like flighty women. It was just a morning ride through the forest, but it was refreshing, a brief reprieve in the midst of a pointless war.
He glanced at her slyly. “I hear you’ve been courting.”
To his amusement, she reddened. “Perhaps.”
“You could do worse than Hollyrose,” he mused.
“I’m glad you think so, sir,” she said, and he was touched to see that she was pleased.
You’re a good girl, Keladry, he thought. And Hollyrose better know this.
-----
469 H.E
A couple years passed, during which time there was a lull in action, and Tortall seemed to sleep. Wyldon actually had time to spare and spent his days with Vivenne, walking with her, loving her, reminiscing. She was heavily lined but beautiful in her elegant aging. His daughters were no longer young: Eiralys had proven fruitful and ruled her brood of children with a firm hand, Sunarine contented herself with three pretty daughters, Cathrea rose in the Temple ranks and Margarry, unbroken, still ran with wind in her hair, only now she had Owen by her side.
Life was good.
-----
470 H.E
“They share a room now,” Ansil sneered. “Does she have no honor?”
Wyldon frowned sharply. “Daine shared a room with Master Numair. I never heard you complain about that.”
“She’s common. The Mindelan chit is noble, though you wouldn’t know it.”
“Perhaps it’s none of your business.”
“Excuse me?”
“I suggest you leave her alone, Ansil. She’s a good knight, and she’s a good person. That’s that. Who are you to scorn her lifestyle?”
Ansil was quiet for a long moment. “So this is how it is now.”
“No,” Wyldon said wearily, “this is how it always should have been.”
-----
War with Tusaine was declared, and Wyldon was torn from his wife. Its new king thought to take back the Drell River—so insignificant in the scheme of things, Wyldon kept thinking, mystified, when there were other territories to take—but Tortall, of course, had other ideas.
Sometime during the war, Princess Shinkokami bore her second child, a princess named Jessamine. Roald rejoiced; the healers said he was excited for another girl. Wyldon related to that. There wasn’t anything quite like coming home to chirping, giggling girls that were all yours.
And that was when Margarry said, “Papa, I’m pregnant.”
-----
471 H.E
Wyldon woke in a sick sweat, vomit rolling in his stomach. He was on leave at Cavall recovering from a wound, but the injury was the last thing on his mind as he trembled through the fading throes of his nightmare.
He saw all of Corus ravaged at the hands of Tusainie hands, knights and commoners alike cut down by the sheer number of Tusainies and Scanrans. The entire royal family was publicly executed, although he had this strange sensation that Lianokami was safe, spirited away by—Keladry?
He didn’t go back to sleep. He was afraid he’d dream again.
-----
“We named him Dell, for my father,” Owen said proudly. His face fell a little, though, as he said, “I hope you don’t mind, sir—it’s just my dad raised me all alone, you know...”
Wyldon stared at him, surprised. “I never expected you to name him after me. A son should name his son for his father. It’s natural.”
Owen looked relieved. “Well, next son, sir—he’ll be Wyldon.”
Wyldon couldn’t suppress a smile. “I look forward to it.”
The boy grinned. “Do you want to see him? He’s beautiful...”
“Of course.”
He discovered that Dell truly was beautiful.
-----
Like before, the Second Drell River Conflict ended quickly and in Tortall’s favor. King Jonathan once again traveled there to negotiate terms of peace, and granted Wyldon permission when he formally requested leave for he and his wife to visit her relatives. She hadn’t seen them in about thirteen years, since she attended her father’s funeral. It was too difficult to get away.
They arrived at her family’s house, among great celebration. She wept on her brother’s shoulder, and bestowed kisses on Idranna, who was no longer a little pet. And he realized he was happy to see them, too.
-----
Elin hosted grand parties, and all the sisters attended. Their husbands’ estates were near enough to his that they could visit all the time, which made Vivenne both happy and sad, Wyldon guessed—happy, that she could visit Elin and have all her family attend, for her father’s widows still lived with him, but sad that she and she alone was so far away from them.
“Why don’t you stay until spring?” Elin murmured to him. “Rest awhile. Take a break. It’ll be good to have my sister with me again.”
Wyldon agreed—Owen could look after Cavall just fine.
-----
472 H.E
They left Tusaine with tears from all sides—except Wyldon and Elin, of course, who just clapped each other on their shoulders and shook their heads as the women wept all over each other.
He felt rejuvenated, watching them wave frantic farewells. He hadn’t had a parental family in so long, not since his parents passed when he was much younger, that it was wonderful to know that here was a family willing to take him in as their own son.
As he settled in the saddle, his thoughts turned to Owen. And he suddenly knew what he must do.
-----
“S-Sir...?”
Wyldon observed Owen, with his gray eyes wide with surprise and his round, guileless face slack with similar emotion, and knew he made the right decision.
“I want to make you the heir to Cavall,” he repeated gravely. “The primogeniture is strict, so it couldn’t go to Eiralys. I would rather it go to family than revert back to the Crown.”
Owen bowed his head, silent for a long moment. And then, in a scratchy, choked voice, “I’m flattered, sir. And I’ll make sure to lead Cavall to the best of my ability.”
“I know you will, boy.”
-----
473 H.E.
He found her in the stables, grooming her gelding. There was gray on his muzzle, and he knew she rarely used him now, but she cared for him daily, and he respected her for that.
Wyldon cleared his throat. She glanced up, eyes red.
“I know what it’s like to lose a father,” he said quietly. “Especially one you love dearly. Walk with me, Keladry. Let’s talk.”
And she did. She wept on his shoulder and apologized and he simply patted her hand and said he didn’t mind, because he didn’t. He let her have her grief, and comforted her.
-----
That winter, Wyldon gave her away in place of her father. He was surprised to feel as sad as he did when he gave away his own daughters. She didn’t need to be given away, really—she was thirty-two after all, no longer a maiden—but she had asked, and he loved her, so he said yes.
That was the day she became Keladry of Hollyrose, when she wed her hot-tempered lover. And he saw them as he did all those years ago: as pages before they were trained, and as children before they lost their precious innocence.
-----
474 H.E.
Margarry bore another child, much to Dell’s delight. He was three and desperate for companionship, and Wyldon was amused to see him squeal so over his new baby sister. They named her Ariani for Owen’s late mother.
“I don’t know if I want any more,” Margarry said wearily. “Having babies is hard, Papa. I don’t know how Mama had four. I don’t know how Eiralys had seven.”
“Women are braver than men,” he agreed.
She grinned at him, beautiful as ever. “That makes me love you even more,” she teased, and kissed him sweetly. “You’re a great father, you know.”
-----
475 H.E.
“Nealan is a family name, too, you know,” a familiar voice said loudly. “They could have named him that.”
“Oh, stop,” Keladry scolded. “Nealan is a family name on your mother’s side. Baird has been the name of kings for hundreds of years.”
Queenscove actually pouted, and Wyldon resisted the overwhelming urge to strangle him. Princess Lianokami looked amused.
“If I have a son, I’ll name him Nealan,” she promised.
“At least someone likes me,” Queenscove sniffed.
She’s just being nice, Wyldon thought, exasperated. But he forgot all about Queenscove as the herald officially announced the birth of Prince Baird.
-----
476 H.E.
“I’m sixty-four today,” Wyldon said aloud, and cringed. “That’s awful.”
Vivenne looked like she was holding in laughter. “It’s not so very old,” she soothed. “Besides, you still look handsome.”
As he preened, she held out to him a small parcel. “This came for you. It’s from Lady Knight Keladry. She told me what it is—I think you’ll like it.”
He unwrapped the package, and found a small, breakable cat figurine, strangely posed as though it was waving.
“The Yamani hold these dear,” she said. “It’s for luck or something.”
He smiled, and slipped it in his pocket.
-----
Wyldon was managing refugees from Galla on the border, where they were escaping the cruel hand of its new king, when he got the letter.
Dear Wyldon, it read. I hope this letter reaches you before the news does, because I wanted to tell you myself. I finally had the baby—three weeks late, naturally—and he’s a healthy baby boy. Merric’s beside himself with joy. I hope you don’t mind, but we named him Wyldon in honor of you. He’s strong and fearless already, like you.
There was more, but Wyldon couldn’t see for the unexpected tears that came.
-----
477 H.E.
“Look at him,” Merric boasted, beaming with fierce pride. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
All parents said that, but Wyldon saw there was truth to this. Keladry watched him as he held the baby up in front of his face to study him. He was hefty, a sure sign of strength, and his blue eyes were straight from Hollyrose, although that would change as all babies did. The down on his head was brown without a trace of red.
“He’s the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen,” he said honestly.
Keladry smiled and kissed him on his cheek. “He looks like his namesake.”
-----
“Grandda,” Ariani twittered, tugging on his sleeve, “story.”
“Ariani, leave your poor grandfather alone—”
“Ah, no, it’s okay, Margarry. I don’t mind.”
He settled back in his chair with a groan, feeling old. Dell joined his little sister by his feet, although he had claimed that, at six, he was too old for children’s story time.
“What story should I tell?” he mused.
“The one about Aunt Kel!”
“No, the one about the Immortals War!”
“I wanna hear about Queen Thayet!”
“Well, I want to—”
“How about,” Wyldon interrupted, searching for neutral ground, “I tell about Daine Salmalin, the Wildmage?”
-----
478 H.E.
“Ahh,” Wyldon sighed, nodding approvingly. “This is a fine boy, as well. You and Merric have handsome sons.”
She blushed with pleasure, watching him rock Raoul. The boy rested peacefully, his face a mirror of hers. The hair on his head was tinted red, but the rest of him belonged to her.
“Wyldon and Raoul...an unlikely duo, to be sure.”
Raoul, senior, snorted. He seemed casual, but his pink cheeks and over-bright eyes belied his true emotions. Little Wyl sat on his knee.
“I named my boys,” she said quietly, “for the most important men in my life.”
-----
“Your Majesty,” Wyldon said, bowing to Roald, “I have a question for you, if it pleases.”
Roald half-smiled. “Yes?”
“Do you plan on taking the princess on as your squire?”
The prince tilted his head, his eyes curious. “No,” he said slowly, “my father broke the tradition, and I see no reason to bring it back.”
“I’d like to take on one more squire,” Wyldon said. “And I’d like to take Lianokami.”
He looked surprised. “Truly? Well, that’s an honor to my family, sir. Please, tell the training-master.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I look forward to squiring her.”
-----
479 H.E.
“I still can’t believe she didn’t knock you out of the saddle,” Liano said enthusiastically. “I mean you’re so—” she swallowed her words at his scowl and continued blithely, “—you’re so talented, but, I mean, so is she.”
“I’ll tell you this,” Wyldon said. “She came close. If you ever attend international jousting tournaments, make sure Keladry is your champion. She’ll win them every time.”
“But why can’t you be my champion, if you’re better than her?”
“My dear, I’m barely better than her nowadays, and by the time you’re queen and in need of a champion, I’ll be dead.”
-----
480 H.E.
Wyldon awoke from a dream that had the odd almost-true feel to it that Lianokami’s dream did years ago, but it was a good dream, sweet, mysterious. In it he had a son, and he called him Ewain, but the woman who bore him was not the same woman who bore his daughters.
The face escaped him, though he called to mind a kind smile and husky, melodic voice, familiar to him even after he wakened. He somehow knew that Vivenne was dead, and while it hurt, he knew he had found happiness again.
Strange, he thought. Very strange.
-----
481 H.E.
When Dell decided to try for his knighthood, Wyldon felt a bittersweet tug of memory. Because as he stood tall and certain before his father and said that he had made his decision, and Margarry murmured worriedly and Owen grinned ear to ear, all he saw was Jaxon.
They were identical, though the gray eyes were Jesslaw through and through. But he walked like Jaxon, spoke like him, his face matched his perfectly and most of all, he smiled like him. That was what Wyldon remembered most: Jaxon’s perpetual smile, and now he saw it live again in his grandson.
-----
482 H.E.
He felt like he made history when Princess Lianokami knelt before the king, her grandfather, and was struck on each shoulder by his sword.
“You are dubbed Lady Knight Lianokami of Conte,” Jonathan said solemnly. “Remember your vows and service to the Crown. Remember your promise of chivalry.”
She was knighted among thunderous applause, his not the least of it. Beside him, Vivenne clapped merrily. She and Thayet were close, and so she knew Liano well.
You’ll never be my queen, he thought regretfully. But I know you’ll do a damn good job of it for my children and grandchildren.
-----
483 H.E.
The prince of Tusaine was the same age as Princess Jessamine, and there was general approval, tinged with apprehension, when Roald announced he and the Tusainie king agreed on a betrothal. Tortall and Tusaine have always been contentious, but this held hope they would find peace.
Liano was a pretty princess, and her bravery captured the heart of everyone, but Jessamine was the beauty. She was only thirteen, and she would only grow lovelier as the years passed. After their first meeting, the Tusainie prince declared he would love no one else, which was stupid, because he was only fourteen.
-----
485 H.E.
“Ariani’s decided to try for her knighthood,” Dell said after he cared for his horse at the stable. His knight-master let him visit Cavall during Midwinter. Owen and Margarry would arrive in another day. “Ma’s in tears. You know, her little girl and all.”
Vivenne fretted, “But she’s so delicate...”
Dell snorted loudly. “Don’t let her fool you. Aunt Kel taught her the glaive, and she can wield it pretty well.”
“Only one of Eiralys’ children showed interest,” Wyldon remarked, knowing his disappointment was plain. “And Sunarine’s daughters are too proper. I’m glad both of you will be knights.”
-----
486 H.E.
“Do you remember,” Vivenne said one night as they lay in bed together, exhausted from lovemaking, “when Catry was a little girl, and she used to stare at the moon every time it was full? It was so strange.”
“It was,” he agreed. “I remember how Eiralys used to boss the younger girls around. It made Sunarine so mad, because they weren’t far apart in age.”
“I remember Owen, first coming here,” she murmured. “And I remember the way he looked at Margarry, and I think I knew.”
“We’ve lived a good life, haven’t we?”
“The best.” She kissed him.
Rating: PG
Length: 10,000 words
Summary: The life of Wyldon of Cavall through the bitter and the sweet and everything in between, told in 90 drabbles with a 1,000 word ending.
Author's Note: Happy birthday, Lisa! ♥
-----
Chapter One: Chronicles
412 H.E.
The labor was not a difficult one, but it was a long one, and Elasa could be heard groaning for a night and a day, and well into the next day. The healer was a friend of hers, and she was dedicated to presiding over the labor. Every now and then, she would send her assistant out to assure Lord Benjen that all was well, and that it was coming along fine.
And then, late into the night, she produced a healthy son, and Ben rejoiced for his heir.
They named him Wyldon, and a star was born to Cavall.
-----
417 H.E.
Wyldon never really remembered a time without his brothers. Nolan was born almost right after him, not even a year between them, and little Jaxon’s birth was a vague memory in the back of his mind. They were always there, and by the time he was five, they were best friends, the three of them.
When Lady Elasa’s belly rounded again, Wyldon was the only one who knew what it meant.
“She’s havin’ another brother,” he explained.
Jaxon looked excited, but Nolan, their mother’s favorite, looked upset. “I don’t want another.”
“It’ll be fun,” Wyldon stressed. “You’ll see, I promise.”
-----
418 H.E.
Wyldon and his brothers peeped over their mother’s bed to catch a glimpse of the murmuring thing she held. Lord Benjen picked Wyldon up and held him over the bed so that he had a better view.
“Meet your sister,” Elasa said, her smile weary but content. “Say hello to Elasabenne, Wyldon.”
“Hello, Elasabenne,” he said dutifully.
Ben patted his hair. “You look out for your sister, now,” he said. “She’s very delicate, because she was born early.” He set Wyldon down with his little brothers. “You all need to look out for her, you hear?”
“Yes, Father,” they chorused.
-----
419 H.E.
It was silent but for the heavy rainfall as they lowered Lady Elasa’s body into the ground in Cavall’s private cemetery. As the eldest, Wyldon was the first after Benjen to go to the grave and toss his lone violet into her grave. He thought he should cry, but nothing would come.
“Goodbye, Mother,” he said formally.
Later that night, Benjen set down his glass of brandy and took his eldest son into his arms. “Your mother was just too weak after Elasabenne, you understand, she never recovered,” he said scratchily. “She just—couldn’t—”
And then he began to weep.
-----
422 H.E.
“Ah, Lord Benjen,” Duke Gareth said as he ushered them into the room, “please come in. It’s good to see your sons have such high aspirations.”
“Well, this one does, anyway,” Benjen said, bestowing a proud look on Wyldon that warmed his heart. “Will you accept him?”
Gareth leveled a long stare at him. “Can you handle hard work, lad?”
“I can, Your Grace,” he said gravely.
The man gave a ghost of a smile. “I believe it. Lord Benjen, we’re honored to have him.”
“Excellent.” Benjen beamed. “Don’t let me down, son.”
“I won’t, Father,” he said fiercely.
-----
423 H.E.
“Come on, I want to play, too!”
“You can’t,” Jaxon taunted, “you’re a girl.”
Elasabenne’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed up at her brothers in the tree. Wyldon took pity on her.
“She’ll just tell Da,” Wyldon sighed. “Then he’ll spank us for being mean—Elasabenne, get down!”
She was climbing up the tree, and she glanced up at him in puzzlement—and then the fragile branch under her foot. The fall was long and silent, and the sickening crunch at the end was horrible.
Their father ended up spanking them after all, after her arm was mended.
-----
424 H.E.
“Jaxon!” Wyldon whooped, throwing an arm around his brother. “Welcome to the palace!”
Jaxon grinned up at him, his face typically cheery. “This’ll be fun,” he said. “The Cavall brothers, training side by side to be knights. We’ll be unstoppable.”
“I’ll be your sponsor,” Wyldon said. “That way you don’t get stuck with someone awful.”
“Do you really get to wait on the king himself?”
“Only when you’re an older page. The best part is when you wait on the queen. She’s beautiful.”
“Why, brother, are you smitten with the queen of Tortall?” Jaxon teased. “You have such lofty aspirations!”
-----
426 H.E.
“I’ve seen you tilt,” an unexpected voice said. “You’re pretty good. How are you with a sword?”
Wyldon turned to face Lord Martin of Meron. “Milord, I—I’m good, I suppose.”
Martin studied him. “I like that. No hubris, just fact.”
Wyldon fidgeted under his sharp gaze. Then the man said, “How would you like to be my squire?”
He gaped at him, then blurted out, “I’d love it, milord.” He blushed at his own audacity.
Surprisingly, Martin grinned crookedly at him. “Well, get packing, boy. We’re moving out to the Desert in one day. You’ll meet your first Bazhir.”
-----
427 H.E.
Wyldon tired of the desert quickly, and unfortunately, it was where he spent the majority of his time. It was too hot, too open, and it felt like a tomb. Still, he wasn’t going to deny that Martin was a superb knight-master. And he was fascinated by the Bazhir, with their hard men and their veiled women.
And their horses—! They bred such splendid creatures, and Wyldon resolved that one day he would have a Bazhir stallion in his stables. Gods, wouldn’t that be something. His father would be ecstatic.
Maybe it’d help ease the ache his mother left.
-----
428 H.E.
“Take care of yourself,” Wyldon told his sister seriously. “The convent is scary.”
“Yeah,” Nolan said, equally solemn, “I hear the women there whip unruly girls—”
“Oh, stop it,” Elasabenne said, crossing her arms. “You’re just being mean.”
Jaxon grinned contagiously. Wyldon swept his baby sister up in a hug, and graciously accepted her kiss.
“Maybe you’ll actually be a lady when you come out,” he teased.
She turned her nose up at him. “I already am a lady,” she said loftily.
Not yet, but she would be. She was going to be as beautiful as their mother had been.
-----
429 H.E.
He never expected to bury his father so soon.
Elasabenne clutched at his hand, weeping unabashedly. Nolan, the sensitive one, wept as well, though he tried to hide it. Again, as the eldest—and now, though the word was foreign, the lord of Cavall—he led the procession to his father’s open grave. He tossed a violet into it, because violets had been his mother’s favorite flowers and, therefore, his father’s.
“Da,” Elasabenne wept, “oh, Da.”
Wyldon put his arm around her and pulled her close. Nolan’s arm went around his other shoulder, and Jaxon put his arm around Nolan.
-----
430 H.E.
The midwinter of year 430 was when Wyldon of Cavall became a man.
His Ordeal would linger in his head for all the years to come, as it did with everyone: crippled by injuries too horrible to heal, he was stuck as a desk knight, unable to live at his own fief without the aid of a nursemaid, unable to care for the hounds and horses for which Cavall was known.
Just an Ordeal, he reminded himself, as King Roald struck his shoulders with his sword. It won’t come true.
He repeated the oath, and swore that it never would.
-----
432 H.E.
His father was barely buried when Wyldon lay Jaxon to rest next to Benjen and Elasa. He was killed, slaughtered, truthfully, by Tusainie bandits. This time Nolan did not weep, but stared blankly at the ground. Wyldon’s our leader, Jaxon used to say, and Nolan’s the brains, and I’m the sword arm.
Well, the sword arm was gone. His brother was barely out of his Ordeal before he was in his grave. It was up to Wyldon, now, to defend his last brother and sister, his family. And he would defend it to the death, what was left of it.
-----
433 H.E.
“We need to marry Elasabenne to someone,” Nolan said wearily. He had aged ten years since Jaxon’s death. “I want to keep her around, you know I do—but she needs a proper house. She shouldn’t live in this house anymore. It’s too dreary.”
Wyldon wanted to stomp his feet and say no, but he knew there was wisdom in it. Still, it was difficult to give up his sister.
“There’s that boy,” he said reluctantly, “from Josu’s Dirk. He’s shown interest in her. It’s a good match.”
“Josu’s Dirk...that would be nice. It’s close to Cavall, at that.”
-----
434 H.E.
The threat of the Sweating Sickness had been gone for a couple years now, and none of Wyldon’s family had been affected, thankfully. There were pockets still existing, mostly in secluded areas around Tortall where families had taken it from Corus. But that was not much of a threat to them, after all.
Trust Nolan, who never left Cavall, who never ventured very far, to carry it back from his one trip to the City of the Gods. He had come in contact with a caravan, he said, and he probably contracted it from them.
Wyldon buried his last brother.
-----
435 H.E.
“This is war, eh?” Paxton called over his shoulder, handsome face grinning ferociously. “Nothing like killing men over a strip of water.”
Wyldon brought up his sword to parry, and took the enemy’s brief pause to cut deep into his belly. The man went down, and Wyldon’s heart hurt when he turned to fight another enemy—he couldn’t even give the last man mercy, so that he had to die slowly. War, he decided angrily, was not worth the death it brought.
“Yes,” he said, leaning heavily on his sword after he took down another man, “nothing quite like it.”
-----
He met her in Tusaine near the Drell River, among negotiations and love songs. She was young and free, and she was like a shining sun in the midst of his jaded world. War had taken so much out of him, a knight fresh from his Ordeal, and she had given so much back to him.
She handled a bow gracefully and she rode her horses so skillfully that even he was impressed. She made him laugh with her tart answers to his prying questions.
“Marry me,” Wyldon said.
“I’ll think about it,” Vivenne replied, but her eyes said yes.
-----
They married on the border, appropriate for a couple on opposites sides of the war. Cavall was not close to Tusaine, and she was adamant that she be wed among her sisters and sole brother, with her father and his wives. He felt his brothers’ absence poignantly; they would have loved to see him married.
Elasabenne came, but her hard face told him exactly what she thought about his marriage. Wyldon loved his sister dearly, but this time he would not bow to her demands: he would marry Vivenne.
They were married under the radiant warmth of an autumn sun.
-----
The night came fast, and with it the moment he both greatly anticipated and, oddly, feared. He allowed her privacy an hour or so before, to prepare herself for her ordeal to come. When he finally came to his rooms, he was surprised to find her there, bravely waiting for him in bed. She was naked, her body gleaming white in the ghostly light coming through the window.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She tilted her head, looking nervous and also excited.
“Yes,” she said simply.
A lifetime of love awaited them, and so did all that came with it.
-----
436 H.E.
“You’re leaving?”
Her voice was sad, and it was hard for Wyldon to bear her sorrow. Her small hands rested protectively over the round bulge of her belly, in which stirred a life of his and hers. The king called him to Corus, but his heart called him here. It would be their first child.
“I must,” he said regretfully, resting his hands over hers, engulfing them. “But I swear it, Vivenne, I will be back in time for the baby. It will not be born without its father to welcome it.”
And she smiled, but her eyes were scared.
-----
True to his word, he had arrived in time for the birth of their first child. It was almost unbearable. Her cries, her great groans—and he sat out here, helpless, listening to this Great Mystery that brought his wife so much pain.
That, of course, was quickly forgotten when the midwife came out of their chambers and said, “Your daughter has been born, milord.”
A daughter, Wyldon thought, pleased, as he entered. I hope she looks like Vivenne.
She did, and more. She was so small, so breakable, so beautiful—and theirs.
They called her Eiralys, for Vivenne’s mother.
-----
Later that year, Wyldon saw his little sister married off. It was bittersweet, and he remembered the two of them when they were younger, with Nolan and Jaxon, playing in the orchards around Cavall. But the fief had been too difficult for her, and she had lived at the palace since Nolan died. She didn’t believe him when he said Cavall was bright now, tinged with sadness but no longer burdened by it.
He knew he did the right thing. Already Elasabenne seemed cheerier, excited, and she squeezed his hand fondly as he walked her toward her soon-to-be husband.
-----
437 H.E.
They welcomed their second daughter nineteen months later. This time Wyldon named her, mostly because Vivenne was too tired to come up with anything proper. She slipped into sleep quickly, with the healer assuring him there was no problem—a labor of thirteen hours was no easy feat.
He fretted about the name while Eiralys tugged demandingly on his sleeve, wanting to see the baby who had stolen the attention from her. He didn’t want to pick a stupid name, or one Vivenne would dislike. He wanted something feminine, bright, not quite as harsh as Eiralys.
He decided on Sunarine.
-----
That midwinter, a shock wave sent ripples throughout Tortall: the duke of Conte conspired to kill King Roald, and his plot was discovered by Alan of Trebond—who, as it turned out, was not even a boy. She was Alanna, a woman, who had not only made it through page training and had squired to the prince himself, but had also survived her Ordeal.
Wyldon never had liked the lad; maybe it was because he had suspected he—or she—was a liar. At least she killed Roger, at any rate.
He had, after all, killed Nolan with his disease.
-----
438 H.E.
“Why didn’t you name one for me?”
Wyldon came to Josu’s Dirk to visit with his sister and now wished he hadn’t. She had been so precious to him, the little girl who trailed after her brothers and did everything that they did. Now all they did was argue, mostly about Vivenne and how she wasn’t good enough for him and also, it seemed, the dishonor they did her by not naming a daughter after her.
“Because we didn’t,” he said wearily. “Leave it alone.”
Elasabenne scowled at him, balancing her own son on her hip, and said nothing more.
-----
Vivenne founded him morosely peering at his reflection in the mirror.
“Husband,” she sighed, “what are you doing?”
Wyldon continued stroking the shiny plate on his head. “My head,” he said. “Vivenne, I—I’m bald.”
“You’ve been bald.”
He stared at her in horror. “You noticed?”
“Your hair was thinning when we first met” she pointed out.
He scowled at her and returned to his reflection. Should he comb it over...? That would make it less obvious, maybe.
“Well, I’m going for a ride,” she said airily. “And for gods’ sake, don’t comb it over—it’ll just show your gray.”
-----
A year passed, and his daughters grew bigger and more beautiful with each passing day. Vivenne’s belly rounded once more. She prayed for a son, but Wyldon was content with whomever he was given. After all, Eiralys and Sunarine were proven gifts.
Then something happened that gave him real chills, that made him slip into his daughters’ room each night to be with them, to make sure their hearts still beat a steady rhythmic song.
Roger returned.
It was sorcery of the blackest nature, courtesy of Alanna’s cursed twin, Thom. Dead men could not be brought back, but Roger walked.
-----
439
The day their third daughter was born, a messenger came to say the king had died in a hunting accident, with a strange emphasis on accident. Be it murder or suicide, Wyldon didn’t know, but he knew Roald’s heart had never been the same since the good queen died.
Everything crumbled around him. It was civil war—no matter how young and untried Jonathan was, Wyldon fought for him, because the only alternative was Roger. He would never bow to him.
So many dead, so many traitors. He was only sorry Cathrea had been born in the middle of this.
-----
As though it wasn’t bad enough, Jonathan announced his engagement to some woman from the badlands of Sarain. She was said to be peerless in her beauty.
She was still a barbarian, he ranted to Vivenne, who ho-hummed and said nothing one way or the other. She simply nursed Catry by the fire, while Eiralys and Sunarine played with their dolls. She was diplomatic like that.
Finally, his steam puttered out, and he secluded himself in his stables to grumble to the horses. There were good ones this year, real champions. At least he would always have his horses.
-----
440 H.E.
When the healthy prince was born, all of Tortall celebrated. Even Wyldon, with his misgivings over his half K’miri queen, was pleased—she was not another Lianne, doomed to suffer stillbirths and miscarriages. There was an heir, and that was all he cared about. Tortall was stabilizing.
No more were born to Cavall, and Wyldon suspected Vivenne made sure of it. He didn’t blame her; they had three girls close in age, and she disliked using nurses—she was on her own, when he was away. If she wanted no more, he was content with the three ladies he had.
-----
442 H.E.
“We need a man like you,” Jonathan said gravely. “The pages need a firm and experienced hand. You’re the only one I trust.”
Wyldon already had the answer. “No.”
The king didn’t look surprised. “Why?”
“I’m needed on the field.”
“You’ll be closer to your daughters,” Jonathan said slyly. “And there’s little happening, now—do you want to be off fighting bandits the next decade?”
It’s better than being a training-master, he thought. But he had no real excuse, because I don’t want to was not acceptable.
“But you accept girls now,” Wyldon blurted.
Jonathan merely cocked an eyebrow.
-----
Wyldon carefully guided Eiralys’ hands around the bow, showing her how to hold it carefully. He let her attempt to put her feet in the proper position as he turned his attention to Sunarine, still trying to string her bow.
“Here,” he said, “you need to bend the bow like this—” He showed her, continuing, “and then you place your hands like so...very good.”
His daughters beamed at him.
“This is fun,” Sunarine chirped.
He raised his eyebrows. “Then I must not be doing it right.”
They giggled, and he smiled in return as he continued to instruct them.
-----
443 H.E.
Another prince was born, in addition to Roald and Princess Kalasin. They named him Liam, for the man who had died for them. Wyldon approved; one could do worse than name a son after the Shang Dragon.
Alanna also had a son, named for her dead necromancing brother. He hated to think about what that boy would turn into—another necromancer, probably.
He did not enjoy teaching pages, but it was tolerable. If he had one good student, it would be worth it, perhaps, but they were all the same. They would make great knights, but there were no Jaxons.
-----
444 H.E
One day, Vivenne came to him and put his hand on her belly. It was still flat, but he knew what it meant. He swept her up in a kiss and said, “I’m glad.”
“Even if it’s not a boy?”
“I never cared if I had a son or not,” Wyldon said, and meant it. “You gave me Eiralys, and Sunarine, and Catry, and they’re beautiful.”
“Then I’m glad, too,” she whispered. “Do you love me?”
She so rarely asked it, and so he gave the answer readily: yes, of course, always.
Another baby, he thought, and kissed her again.
-----
445 H.E
Their last daughter came into the world screaming like a hellion, louder than the others and twice as furious. “I don’t need a son,” Wyldon muttered, eyeing the squalling infant warily. “I have this creature.”
Vivenne laughed out loud and hugged the baby close, looking pleased. “Can we name her for my sister? Margarry is the Tortallan translation of Margarethe, I think—can we name her that?”
It would be an even split, and he said, “Of course. Margarry is lovely.”
“I see great things for her,” she said softly.
Wyldon thought of lady knights, and shuddered: not his daughter.
-----
446 H.E
With the birth of Princess Vania, the king and queen completed their family. Three princes and three princesses was a handsome size, and there were no shortage of heirs and potential alliances. Wyldon was relieved; he had not forgotten Roger’s exploitation of Jonathan’s tenuous hold on the throne.
His own family was large, female, and merry. Eiralys had left for the convent with tearful goodbyes from her mother and sisters, but she wrote often. Sunarine overtook the role as bossy eldest, although it was useless: Catry was a solemn girl who went her own way, and Margarry followed no one.
-----
447 H.E
Soon, Sunarine, too, followed her sister to the convent. This time, Wyldon accompanied her. Monsters had appeared in Tortall and no one could explain them. He was not about to risk his daughter’s life by placing her in an escort’s care.
They called some of them spidrens, others were Stormwings, and there were more. They were the stuff his grandda’s tales were made of, the stuff of myths and nightmares.
It was Carthak’s doing, he was told. Their black-robe mages opened a door and released the monsters.
Margarry had nightmares about them, but his strange little Cathrea barely blinked.
-----
450 H.E
Eiralys returned from the convent for the summer, as she did every year, but she was so different now. She carried herself more confidently, spoke with more diplomacy. She was filling out like a woman, Wyldon noted uncomfortably. He didn’t know why he was surprised—she was fourteen, after all. He just hadn’t realized she was growing up.
“We’ve gotten offers,” Vivenne said quietly. “Synthia, Veldine, Wellam...”
“Not Synthia.”
“Wellam is well-connected,” she suggested. “We can’t do much better.”
He paused. “No, we can’t. I’ll speak to Turomont about his grandson.”
And his grandson better be damn near perfect.
-----
452 H.E
The high shriek of terror rang like a death-toll in Wyldon’s ears, and he skidded to a halt and immediately doubled back down the corridor. It was a child’s scream, and it came from the one place that could strike such fear in his heart: the royal nursery. Gods, no, he thought, not them.
Like a nightmare, Wyldon thundered into the nursery, sword drawn. The children howled as a hurrock lunged, missing only because of the bloodied, raging nursemaid who defended them.
The injuries Wyldon sustained from that fight were worth Jon’s wordless gratitude, Vania’s kisses, the princes’ respect.
-----
She stood before him with a blank face, with and yet somehow independent of her father. I want to be a page, her letter had said. He’d had his misgivings then, which was why he lobbied so hard for her probation; now, looking at her, he regretted even allowing the probation.
Keladry of Mindelan was of thick build, but so were plenty of girls before they lost the baby fat and grew curves. She had a pretty face, despite the short hair, and her dreamer’s eyes were hardly that of a warrior’s.
He knew what kind of girl she was.
-----
453 H.E
“Father,” a solemn voice said in the doorway, “I have a calling.”
Wyldon glanced up, disconcerted, as always, by the seriousness and not-quite-there of Cathrea. For a frightening moment, he thought she meant knighthood, but then reality righted itself and he knew, sadly, exactly what she wanted. She had quietly resisted the convent for about two years, and having been around enough seers and priestesses and mages in Corus, he knew her for what she was.
“You want the Temple.”
He would not deny her. He had always known, somehow, that his Catry was destined for the gods.
-----
Who are you, probationer? Wyldon wondered, not for the first time this year. Who are you that the boys follow you and the servants love you? What sets you apart from the other girls, and even the other boys?
She was waiting for his dismissal, he knew, waiting for him to tell her to leave and abandon this ludicrous path. The words were on the tip of his tongue. After all, how long would she last in the real world?
But she had proven herself. She had stood fast, been brave.
He had no choice but to let her stay.
-----
That October, Eiralys was wed to the lad from Wellam. It was a good match, better than Wyldon had hoped her to make, for the boy would inherit Wellam (quite far down the road, of course, as Turomot didn’t look to die anytime soon) and his lovely daughter would be well taken of. She was all of seventeen, a true lady, and as she stood at the altar for her godly blessing, he was stricken suddenly by her likeness of Vivenne.
The thing about daughters, Wyldon thought with a clenching sorrow, is that they leave their fathers all too soon.
-----
456 H.E
Her maid, for Mithros’ sake. She forsook the very crucial final examinations for her maid.
Wyldon couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that fact, even as he waited by Mindelan’s bed for her to wake. It was stupid, what she did—what if the judges decided against allowing her to make them up? Would she do the unthinkable and actually take page-training over? He sat there beside her, and suddenly wondered why he was so mad.
Then, he knew.
Out of all the boys he trained, he found no heroes. He had forgotten that girls could be heroes, too.
-----
He found Vivenne weeping in her sitting room, and knelt by her side to gaze at her with worried eyes.
“Vivenne,” he said. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
She shook her head and managed to gasp, “Eiralys.”
He felt a shiver of fear, and tried to remain calm. “What happened?” he asked in a strained voice. “What happened to her?”
She shook her head again. Wyldon was beginning to become angry when she finally hiccuped, “She’s pregnant. I just received the letter.”
He blinked, and sat back on his heels. Eiralys was...pregnant? His lady, pregnant?
Well, he thought. Well.
-----
One can do worse than have Raoul as a knight-master.
The man was a jackass but he was worthy of the title sir; Mindelan deserved one who could give her experience in the field. She would be working with his men, as well, and Wyldon hoped she would be able to sharpen those commanding skills he had noticed she had. Raoul knew a commander when he saw one—he was a fine one himself—so he would recognize her as one.
Alanna picked Queenscove. He debated feeling sorry for him, then just shrugged and decided they deserved each other.
-----
That autumn saw Sunarine married into Legann, and it was no easier to give her away than it was with Eiralys. There were flowers in her long hair, and her eyes were bright as she looked up at her new husband. Another daughter gone, Wyldon thought. Another daughter lost.
After the wedding, he and Imrah slipped away for hearty tankards of brandy. Imrah had seen his daughter married off a mere week ago, and so together they drunkenly lamented the only downfall of a man: the women he loved.
But at least Imrah gained a daughter. Wyldon only lost one.
-----
He returned to Cavall after Stone Mountain’s kidnapping trial, wanting to wash the sour taste from his mouth with the cool clear waters of his home. But when he arrived, he merely stood in the foyer, and heard the emptiness.
He had forgotten his Margarry had left for the convent that fall.
Now all his daughters were gone, and all Wyldon wanted back right now were those days when Eiralys directed fake tea parties with a commanding air, when Sunarine wove flowers and strange Cathrea stared at the moon and Margarry ran through fields with the wind in her hair.
-----
457 H.E
Wyldon was not able to escape his duties to visit Wellam, but he got hefty letters from both Vivenne and Eiralys detailing the birth of Turomont, his first grandson. He was named for his great-grandfather, who apparently was much beloved by Eiralys’ husband and refused her suggestion to even name him for himself.
Turo, as Eiralys calls him, is a fat, healthy son, and she’s just fine, too, Vivenne wrote. Oh, I love him already—even if he did make me a grandmother before my time.
Eiralys wrote simply, Now I know what it is to love someone unconditionally.
-----
Only in June was he able to return to Cavall, where Eiralys was visiting to show off baby Turomont. He was a bawling boy, and never seemed quite happy with anything. When Vivenne gently suggested Eiralys stop giving him everything he wanted, she only bristled and told her to mind your own business, Mother, thank you.
Wyldon wasn’t about to let that slide—perhaps she got away with that backtalk at Wellam, but she wouldn’t here. But then she burst into tears when he scolded her, and Vivenne started weeping, and through the whole mess the baby cried as well.
-----
Rapists, kidnappers, failures.
“You’re the kind of knight I want to be,” she said.
Wyldon looked at her and saw that she was serious, and he knew what it was to be devoured by guilt. Guilt, because he had wanted her gone. Guilt, because she was the truest person he had ever known and he had tried to take that away from her.
“I am not,” he said, aching. “But that you think so is the greatest compliment I will ever receive.”
He meant it. Perhaps she would be the knight he wanted to be.
He took Owen to Cavall.
-----
To Wyldon’s delight, upon his return to Cavall he was met with a squealing figure who hurled herself at him in greeting.
“Margarry,” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“The convent let me come home,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Did you really pick a squire?”
(“The convent let her come home,” Vivenne later snorted. “They made her come home for three weeks to rethink her conduct!”)
“He is. And no tricks!”
She grinned impishly at him and flounced away. He didn’t notice Owen staring bemusedly after her. It’s good to be home, he thought.
-----
458 H.E
Seeing Cathrea was a rare thing, as she was carefully cloistered in the Temple, doing mysterious Goddess things. The role of a priestess was not taken lightly, and his solemn Catry, with her strange eyes and not-quite-there demeanor, was certainly well suited for it.
“It’s good to see you, Father,” she said warmly, kissing him on both cheeks. Her voice was adult, low and husky like a priestess.
“And you, my dear,” he replied. “Temple life suits you well.”
“I like to think so. Would you like to pay your respects to the Mother?”
“I think I would.”
-----
459 H.E
Wyldon was always on edge during Ordeals. It used to be merely that they were his students and he wanted them to succeed, for Tortall, and because it reflected on himself. Myles once told him that all teachers were selfish like that, but he tended to disregard a lot of what Myles said.
But this was Keladry of Mindelan’s Ordeal, and he wanted her to succeed because she was a good girl, and she would make a good knight.
When she stumbled out of the Chamber, more shaken than he had ever seen her, he breathed a sigh of relief.
-----
460 H.E
Sunarine delivered a daughter, and while once again Wyldon was not there, it was said Imrah rejoiced the new addition. He, like Wyldon, recognized the beauty of daughters, and he welcomed one more lady to his household. The daughter was born worrisomely early, but the midwife deemed her healthy nonetheless.
She was named Vivetta for Vivenne and an ancestor of her husband. It was a frilly name, but out of all his daughters Sunarine had always proved to be his merriest lady, so it came as no surprise that she would choose that name.
Two grandchildren, he thought, already tired.
-----
Give her command of the refugee camp, Wyldon had thought. That’s a great idea. She’s certainly the best one for the post.
And what did that get him no few gray hairs in what little he had left and a session of self-deprecation where he berated himself for underestimating the girl who risked page training for her maid.
Now she stood before him, unashamed and awaiting her punishment. She had rescued the refugees she swore to protect, against his command, because she took her vows seriously.
He realized she was just like him, and took pride in her bravery.
-----
461 H.E
Although Tortall had been stable for years now, and Roger’s conspiracy had long since been buried, Wyldon found that his heart truly eased when Prince Roald married his Yamani bride, securing the throne. While he would have preferred he wed a native lady, he couldn’t help but approve of Princess Shinkokami. She was calm, diplomatic, and gently reared, but she was not ignorant to weapons; it was said she wielded a few quite well. She reminded him a bit of Vivenne.
The future was secure for his daughters, and for their children. And he had faith in Roald, his prince.
-----
462 H.E
Mistress Daine gave birth to a crazy baby.
Well, not really (okay, kind of), but the baby caused quite a stir. With Eiralys toward the end of term with her second child, Wyldon could only really count his blessings that the Gift or wild magic did not run in his family. Daine couldn’t even name it, because it didn’t just change shape, it changed sex. He liked her very much and sympathized with her—being a first-time parent was difficult enough without birthing a shapeshifter.
Luckily, her goddess-mother whipped the baby into shape, and Daine named her Sarralyn.
-----
463 H.E
Wyldon was relieved when the year 463 was done and over with.
First, it felt like the entire world was made of women—Sunarine was pregnant again, Daine was pregnant again, and, importantly, Princess Shinkokami awaited the birth of a prince or princess. He half-expected Vivenne to announce she was also with child and decided if she ever did so he would just keel over and die. And then Tortall was nervous because of the serious unrest in the Copper Isles—the young king was murdered, so they put the Isles under a trading ban.
And then, finally, peace.
-----
464 H.E
Peace, Wyldon thought, stumped. When did I ever think there would be peace?
“I want to marry him, Da,” Margarry said boldly, her dark stare very much like what he saw in the mirror. “I love him, and he loves me.”
Owen was a courageous lad, and fresh from his Ordeal. But was he good enough for his youngest? Perhaps he should have betrothed her properly, but she had always been a free spirit. Only Owen would allow her to be everything that she was.
“Well, at least he’s half-broken to bridle,” he muttered, and left it at that.
-----
Lianokami was born to Tortall later that year. Her name denoted the Tortallan fondness for family names and Yamani divinity, and while he didn’t much care for it—didn’t they see that she was really only one-fourth Tortallan, and that that would alienate her later?—he celebrated with the rest of Tortall the birth of their pretty princess.
What many people didn’t know was that she would one day rule, not as consort, but in her own right. Thayet, especially, had seen to that. Oddly, Wyldon didn’t mind.
Keladry had taught him that women were worthy of being followed.
-----
Not long after that, his Margarry married Owen and became Margarry of Jesslaw, blessed by Cathrea herself. They looked so young and merry, with sparkling eyes and beaming faces and Wyldon found himself thinking of he and Vivenne, long ago, when they were young and wild and free. He hoped their marriage would be as joyful as his had been, and still was.
No more of his daughters remained, no more belonged to Cavall—for even Catry was lost to him, belonging solely to the Goddess. It was just him and Vivenne now, like it was all those years before.
-----
466 H.E
After the treaty with Scanra was signed, Prince Liam wed the daughter of a powerful warlord to seal the cautious relationship. Definitely better him than Jasson, Wyldon figured, because Liam was known to think with his sword (both of them) and his hot blood was well-suited to the violent Scanran north. Sure enough, the marriage was barely blessed when she—and several others—waxed with child and he manage to kill a couple rebellious warlords in the meantime.
Keladry still couldn’t knock him out of the saddle and Owen went hunting bandits and lost a finger for his trouble.
-----
467 H.E
There was something very comfortable about riding with Keladry. They weren’t in competition like most men, and she didn’t chatter like flighty women. It was just a morning ride through the forest, but it was refreshing, a brief reprieve in the midst of a pointless war.
He glanced at her slyly. “I hear you’ve been courting.”
To his amusement, she reddened. “Perhaps.”
“You could do worse than Hollyrose,” he mused.
“I’m glad you think so, sir,” she said, and he was touched to see that she was pleased.
You’re a good girl, Keladry, he thought. And Hollyrose better know this.
-----
469 H.E
A couple years passed, during which time there was a lull in action, and Tortall seemed to sleep. Wyldon actually had time to spare and spent his days with Vivenne, walking with her, loving her, reminiscing. She was heavily lined but beautiful in her elegant aging. His daughters were no longer young: Eiralys had proven fruitful and ruled her brood of children with a firm hand, Sunarine contented herself with three pretty daughters, Cathrea rose in the Temple ranks and Margarry, unbroken, still ran with wind in her hair, only now she had Owen by her side.
Life was good.
-----
470 H.E
“They share a room now,” Ansil sneered. “Does she have no honor?”
Wyldon frowned sharply. “Daine shared a room with Master Numair. I never heard you complain about that.”
“She’s common. The Mindelan chit is noble, though you wouldn’t know it.”
“Perhaps it’s none of your business.”
“Excuse me?”
“I suggest you leave her alone, Ansil. She’s a good knight, and she’s a good person. That’s that. Who are you to scorn her lifestyle?”
Ansil was quiet for a long moment. “So this is how it is now.”
“No,” Wyldon said wearily, “this is how it always should have been.”
-----
War with Tusaine was declared, and Wyldon was torn from his wife. Its new king thought to take back the Drell River—so insignificant in the scheme of things, Wyldon kept thinking, mystified, when there were other territories to take—but Tortall, of course, had other ideas.
Sometime during the war, Princess Shinkokami bore her second child, a princess named Jessamine. Roald rejoiced; the healers said he was excited for another girl. Wyldon related to that. There wasn’t anything quite like coming home to chirping, giggling girls that were all yours.
And that was when Margarry said, “Papa, I’m pregnant.”
-----
471 H.E
Wyldon woke in a sick sweat, vomit rolling in his stomach. He was on leave at Cavall recovering from a wound, but the injury was the last thing on his mind as he trembled through the fading throes of his nightmare.
He saw all of Corus ravaged at the hands of Tusainie hands, knights and commoners alike cut down by the sheer number of Tusainies and Scanrans. The entire royal family was publicly executed, although he had this strange sensation that Lianokami was safe, spirited away by—Keladry?
He didn’t go back to sleep. He was afraid he’d dream again.
-----
“We named him Dell, for my father,” Owen said proudly. His face fell a little, though, as he said, “I hope you don’t mind, sir—it’s just my dad raised me all alone, you know...”
Wyldon stared at him, surprised. “I never expected you to name him after me. A son should name his son for his father. It’s natural.”
Owen looked relieved. “Well, next son, sir—he’ll be Wyldon.”
Wyldon couldn’t suppress a smile. “I look forward to it.”
The boy grinned. “Do you want to see him? He’s beautiful...”
“Of course.”
He discovered that Dell truly was beautiful.
-----
Like before, the Second Drell River Conflict ended quickly and in Tortall’s favor. King Jonathan once again traveled there to negotiate terms of peace, and granted Wyldon permission when he formally requested leave for he and his wife to visit her relatives. She hadn’t seen them in about thirteen years, since she attended her father’s funeral. It was too difficult to get away.
They arrived at her family’s house, among great celebration. She wept on her brother’s shoulder, and bestowed kisses on Idranna, who was no longer a little pet. And he realized he was happy to see them, too.
-----
Elin hosted grand parties, and all the sisters attended. Their husbands’ estates were near enough to his that they could visit all the time, which made Vivenne both happy and sad, Wyldon guessed—happy, that she could visit Elin and have all her family attend, for her father’s widows still lived with him, but sad that she and she alone was so far away from them.
“Why don’t you stay until spring?” Elin murmured to him. “Rest awhile. Take a break. It’ll be good to have my sister with me again.”
Wyldon agreed—Owen could look after Cavall just fine.
-----
472 H.E
They left Tusaine with tears from all sides—except Wyldon and Elin, of course, who just clapped each other on their shoulders and shook their heads as the women wept all over each other.
He felt rejuvenated, watching them wave frantic farewells. He hadn’t had a parental family in so long, not since his parents passed when he was much younger, that it was wonderful to know that here was a family willing to take him in as their own son.
As he settled in the saddle, his thoughts turned to Owen. And he suddenly knew what he must do.
-----
“S-Sir...?”
Wyldon observed Owen, with his gray eyes wide with surprise and his round, guileless face slack with similar emotion, and knew he made the right decision.
“I want to make you the heir to Cavall,” he repeated gravely. “The primogeniture is strict, so it couldn’t go to Eiralys. I would rather it go to family than revert back to the Crown.”
Owen bowed his head, silent for a long moment. And then, in a scratchy, choked voice, “I’m flattered, sir. And I’ll make sure to lead Cavall to the best of my ability.”
“I know you will, boy.”
-----
473 H.E.
He found her in the stables, grooming her gelding. There was gray on his muzzle, and he knew she rarely used him now, but she cared for him daily, and he respected her for that.
Wyldon cleared his throat. She glanced up, eyes red.
“I know what it’s like to lose a father,” he said quietly. “Especially one you love dearly. Walk with me, Keladry. Let’s talk.”
And she did. She wept on his shoulder and apologized and he simply patted her hand and said he didn’t mind, because he didn’t. He let her have her grief, and comforted her.
-----
That winter, Wyldon gave her away in place of her father. He was surprised to feel as sad as he did when he gave away his own daughters. She didn’t need to be given away, really—she was thirty-two after all, no longer a maiden—but she had asked, and he loved her, so he said yes.
That was the day she became Keladry of Hollyrose, when she wed her hot-tempered lover. And he saw them as he did all those years ago: as pages before they were trained, and as children before they lost their precious innocence.
-----
474 H.E.
Margarry bore another child, much to Dell’s delight. He was three and desperate for companionship, and Wyldon was amused to see him squeal so over his new baby sister. They named her Ariani for Owen’s late mother.
“I don’t know if I want any more,” Margarry said wearily. “Having babies is hard, Papa. I don’t know how Mama had four. I don’t know how Eiralys had seven.”
“Women are braver than men,” he agreed.
She grinned at him, beautiful as ever. “That makes me love you even more,” she teased, and kissed him sweetly. “You’re a great father, you know.”
-----
475 H.E.
“Nealan is a family name, too, you know,” a familiar voice said loudly. “They could have named him that.”
“Oh, stop,” Keladry scolded. “Nealan is a family name on your mother’s side. Baird has been the name of kings for hundreds of years.”
Queenscove actually pouted, and Wyldon resisted the overwhelming urge to strangle him. Princess Lianokami looked amused.
“If I have a son, I’ll name him Nealan,” she promised.
“At least someone likes me,” Queenscove sniffed.
She’s just being nice, Wyldon thought, exasperated. But he forgot all about Queenscove as the herald officially announced the birth of Prince Baird.
-----
476 H.E.
“I’m sixty-four today,” Wyldon said aloud, and cringed. “That’s awful.”
Vivenne looked like she was holding in laughter. “It’s not so very old,” she soothed. “Besides, you still look handsome.”
As he preened, she held out to him a small parcel. “This came for you. It’s from Lady Knight Keladry. She told me what it is—I think you’ll like it.”
He unwrapped the package, and found a small, breakable cat figurine, strangely posed as though it was waving.
“The Yamani hold these dear,” she said. “It’s for luck or something.”
He smiled, and slipped it in his pocket.
-----
Wyldon was managing refugees from Galla on the border, where they were escaping the cruel hand of its new king, when he got the letter.
Dear Wyldon, it read. I hope this letter reaches you before the news does, because I wanted to tell you myself. I finally had the baby—three weeks late, naturally—and he’s a healthy baby boy. Merric’s beside himself with joy. I hope you don’t mind, but we named him Wyldon in honor of you. He’s strong and fearless already, like you.
There was more, but Wyldon couldn’t see for the unexpected tears that came.
-----
477 H.E.
“Look at him,” Merric boasted, beaming with fierce pride. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
All parents said that, but Wyldon saw there was truth to this. Keladry watched him as he held the baby up in front of his face to study him. He was hefty, a sure sign of strength, and his blue eyes were straight from Hollyrose, although that would change as all babies did. The down on his head was brown without a trace of red.
“He’s the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen,” he said honestly.
Keladry smiled and kissed him on his cheek. “He looks like his namesake.”
-----
“Grandda,” Ariani twittered, tugging on his sleeve, “story.”
“Ariani, leave your poor grandfather alone—”
“Ah, no, it’s okay, Margarry. I don’t mind.”
He settled back in his chair with a groan, feeling old. Dell joined his little sister by his feet, although he had claimed that, at six, he was too old for children’s story time.
“What story should I tell?” he mused.
“The one about Aunt Kel!”
“No, the one about the Immortals War!”
“I wanna hear about Queen Thayet!”
“Well, I want to—”
“How about,” Wyldon interrupted, searching for neutral ground, “I tell about Daine Salmalin, the Wildmage?”
-----
478 H.E.
“Ahh,” Wyldon sighed, nodding approvingly. “This is a fine boy, as well. You and Merric have handsome sons.”
She blushed with pleasure, watching him rock Raoul. The boy rested peacefully, his face a mirror of hers. The hair on his head was tinted red, but the rest of him belonged to her.
“Wyldon and Raoul...an unlikely duo, to be sure.”
Raoul, senior, snorted. He seemed casual, but his pink cheeks and over-bright eyes belied his true emotions. Little Wyl sat on his knee.
“I named my boys,” she said quietly, “for the most important men in my life.”
-----
“Your Majesty,” Wyldon said, bowing to Roald, “I have a question for you, if it pleases.”
Roald half-smiled. “Yes?”
“Do you plan on taking the princess on as your squire?”
The prince tilted his head, his eyes curious. “No,” he said slowly, “my father broke the tradition, and I see no reason to bring it back.”
“I’d like to take on one more squire,” Wyldon said. “And I’d like to take Lianokami.”
He looked surprised. “Truly? Well, that’s an honor to my family, sir. Please, tell the training-master.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I look forward to squiring her.”
-----
479 H.E.
“I still can’t believe she didn’t knock you out of the saddle,” Liano said enthusiastically. “I mean you’re so—” she swallowed her words at his scowl and continued blithely, “—you’re so talented, but, I mean, so is she.”
“I’ll tell you this,” Wyldon said. “She came close. If you ever attend international jousting tournaments, make sure Keladry is your champion. She’ll win them every time.”
“But why can’t you be my champion, if you’re better than her?”
“My dear, I’m barely better than her nowadays, and by the time you’re queen and in need of a champion, I’ll be dead.”
-----
480 H.E.
Wyldon awoke from a dream that had the odd almost-true feel to it that Lianokami’s dream did years ago, but it was a good dream, sweet, mysterious. In it he had a son, and he called him Ewain, but the woman who bore him was not the same woman who bore his daughters.
The face escaped him, though he called to mind a kind smile and husky, melodic voice, familiar to him even after he wakened. He somehow knew that Vivenne was dead, and while it hurt, he knew he had found happiness again.
Strange, he thought. Very strange.
-----
481 H.E.
When Dell decided to try for his knighthood, Wyldon felt a bittersweet tug of memory. Because as he stood tall and certain before his father and said that he had made his decision, and Margarry murmured worriedly and Owen grinned ear to ear, all he saw was Jaxon.
They were identical, though the gray eyes were Jesslaw through and through. But he walked like Jaxon, spoke like him, his face matched his perfectly and most of all, he smiled like him. That was what Wyldon remembered most: Jaxon’s perpetual smile, and now he saw it live again in his grandson.
-----
482 H.E.
He felt like he made history when Princess Lianokami knelt before the king, her grandfather, and was struck on each shoulder by his sword.
“You are dubbed Lady Knight Lianokami of Conte,” Jonathan said solemnly. “Remember your vows and service to the Crown. Remember your promise of chivalry.”
She was knighted among thunderous applause, his not the least of it. Beside him, Vivenne clapped merrily. She and Thayet were close, and so she knew Liano well.
You’ll never be my queen, he thought regretfully. But I know you’ll do a damn good job of it for my children and grandchildren.
-----
483 H.E.
The prince of Tusaine was the same age as Princess Jessamine, and there was general approval, tinged with apprehension, when Roald announced he and the Tusainie king agreed on a betrothal. Tortall and Tusaine have always been contentious, but this held hope they would find peace.
Liano was a pretty princess, and her bravery captured the heart of everyone, but Jessamine was the beauty. She was only thirteen, and she would only grow lovelier as the years passed. After their first meeting, the Tusainie prince declared he would love no one else, which was stupid, because he was only fourteen.
-----
485 H.E.
“Ariani’s decided to try for her knighthood,” Dell said after he cared for his horse at the stable. His knight-master let him visit Cavall during Midwinter. Owen and Margarry would arrive in another day. “Ma’s in tears. You know, her little girl and all.”
Vivenne fretted, “But she’s so delicate...”
Dell snorted loudly. “Don’t let her fool you. Aunt Kel taught her the glaive, and she can wield it pretty well.”
“Only one of Eiralys’ children showed interest,” Wyldon remarked, knowing his disappointment was plain. “And Sunarine’s daughters are too proper. I’m glad both of you will be knights.”
-----
486 H.E.
“Do you remember,” Vivenne said one night as they lay in bed together, exhausted from lovemaking, “when Catry was a little girl, and she used to stare at the moon every time it was full? It was so strange.”
“It was,” he agreed. “I remember how Eiralys used to boss the younger girls around. It made Sunarine so mad, because they weren’t far apart in age.”
“I remember Owen, first coming here,” she murmured. “And I remember the way he looked at Margarry, and I think I knew.”
“We’ve lived a good life, haven’t we?”
“The best.” She kissed him.