Post by Shhasow on Nov 15, 2010 11:32:42 GMT 10
When Dragons Fly
Summary: Wyldon finds a young girl in the corridors of the Royal Palace.
Rating: G
Part 1 of 9 (so far)
Huge thanks to Ankhiale for beta-ing.
_________
Lord Wyldon, the training master at the Royal Palace, always walked the corridors the first few days of each new batch of pages.
The halls were literally labyrinthine, designed that way on purpose in case of siege, and it was not uncommon for permanent inhabitants to take a wrong turn and end up somewhere unfamiliar.
The new pages, therefore, had no chance whatsoever, unless they were bright enough to latch onto their sponsor.
Most were, but every year after the first training session, hungry and exhausted first year pages blundered their way into the palace irrespective of liberal warnings, and almost every year Wyldon found at least one page. He was usually lucky enough to head them off before they lost themselves too far.
The lost were generally the most bold and the most meek; the bold felt they had no need of a guide after the first few days before lessons began, while the meek were too timid to take initiative and demand their sponsor show the way, especially if the sponsor himself was dismissive.
If Wyldon were a betting man, he would lay a gold noble on that fool Bertram of Darkamelin.
Of course, he did have insider knowledge after a footman reported to him of Darkamelin’s previous misadventures in the crypts of the palace.
Therefore he was sweeping the corridors in his usual mile-eating stride, soft boots making little noise on the polished floor.
Intimidation and correction were remarkably more effective when the page was taken unawares, not to mention, though he never would admit it, more entertaining for him. Not that his pupils could ever imagine his taking enjoyment out of anything, even their suffering.
He was passing the corridor leading to foreign delegations when he heard the noise. A soft sob, unable to be stifled but breaking out through closed lips. His first reaction was distaste, and his mouth twisted unpleasantly. What self-respecting boy would cry at the advanced age of ten, especially one meant to be a knight.
Tempted to continue on and leave the weak boy to find his own way to the dining hall – for his sake, Wyldon hoped it wouldn’t be too late as the older pages particularly despised waiting for first years – he stopped when another soft cry echoed through the hall.
It sounded distinctly feminine.
What was a young girl doing in this part of the palace?
Was there – ah yes, a delegation from the Yamani Islands was here to work out agreements about fishing rights or some such nonsense, as a prelude to a permanent peace treaty. Bloody savages.
Still, the odds that it was a foreign child was high enough that he should investigate. Wyldon had no wish to instigate an international incident by overlooking a lost child.
It had nothing at all to do with the fact that the quiet sobs reminded him of his own dear girls.
Quietly, he walked towards the sounds, peering down hallways until he found her.
Well, she was not Yamani.
He saw a young girl, maybe older than his youngest daughter, with light brown hair leaning against the wall. She was dressed in a nondescript tunic, her arms wrapped around her and her face a picture of absolute misery.
She reminded him forcibly of his Margarry, though of course his daughter would never wear breeches. He moved without conscious thought.
The training master, the terror of the training yards, whom five years of pages would solemnly swear had no kinder feelings than annoyed ambivalence at best, sat on the floor next to the girl and folded her into his lap as he would his own child. He rubbed her back and muttered soothing words. Startled at first, she went stiff as a board but at his continued comfort she quickly melted and wrapped her arms around his chest, crying openly into the soft fabric of his tunic.
They sat together for a spell, rocking very slightly as her sobs diminished and eventually ceased. Even so, it was not until she pulled her head from his now damp shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes, studying his worn and craggy face, that he loosened his arms around the child. Wyldon removed his handkerchief and wiped her eyes before instructing her to blow. She did and, as if only now realizing what had happened, she blushed a bright red and scrambled from his lap.
The girl bowed to him deeply, hands on her thighs, as he slowly rose and stowed the soiled linen in a deep pocket.
“I am very sorry, my lord,” she said in a subdued voice still lined with tears and embarrassment, though it was obvious that she tried to suppress it.
Lord Wyldon nodded silently, unsure of how to proceed. If it had been one of his girls, they would already be spilling their woes and sorrows, expecting him to fix the problem. If it had been a page, well, the past ten minutes would not have happened; they would all be eating lunch by now, and the armory would have an able assistant for the next few weeks.
“What are you doing in this wing of the palace, are you lost?”
She shook her head, eyes downcast. “My parents are with the Yamani delegation, my lord.”
That explained her presence but not much else. “Are you hurt?”
“No sir.”
At least the girl was polite. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back looking expectantly at her. It always worked when he needed information from unwilling pages.
“Sir, I-I went to watch the pages. I knew they were starting today, and I wanted to go see. I did-didn’t mean to be a distraction, but they were learning how to fall and I learnt how to fall and they kept doing it wrong, sir. I just wanted to help,” she broke off.
“Take a deep breath and continue, child.”
She took several and lifted her head to meet his eyes, a mask of calm and blankness falling over her face, all traces of sadness well-hidden.
Lord Wyldon resisted the urge to shudder. It was unnatural for a girl her age to seem so lifeless. If he had any doubts before, he knew for certain that she was telling the truth about belonging with the Yamani delegation. A man should learn how to hide pain, but a little girl should act like a little girl.
“I showed one of the pages how to fall correctly but he,” she swallowed, “didn’t want to learn from me.”
Wyldon could well imagine. “It hurts a man’s pride to be showed up, especially by a girl.”
She broke her mask just long enough to scowl at him indignantly.
“They aren’t men, they’re just stupid boys.”
He could not help but give a short barking laugh, but sobered quickly for her sake, nodding at her to continue.
Her words started cool and measured, as any soldier in the field giving a report, but her composure soon broke and the words tumbled out in a spill.
“Then, my lord, they laughed at me and said they did not have to listen to me because they were going to be knights. I told them I was too. Some of them got angry and one of the pinched me here.” She rubbed the inside of her upper arm. “They shouldn’t have done that. Knights should be honorable and honest and kind but they kept laughing. They called me stupid and weak and I didn’t want them to know that I was hurt so I ignored them and didn’t let them see. But then one of them said I looked like a lump and the rest laughed and they all said it so I ran.”
She blushed slightly. True knights don’t run.
True knights don’t pick on the defenseless. Wyldon was deeply annoyed at the thoughtless first year pages. All of them had sisters, cousins, or nieces, yet they thought it perfectly appropriate to tease a young girl until she cried. They would be getting a long lecture about chivalry very soon, and he no longer felt the slightest guilt about making the pages wait for their food. If it got cold, that was their own problem and knights rarely ate hot meals in the field.
“They are going to be knights. However,” he held up his hand to forestall her indignant response, “that does not excuse their behavior, but makes it more appalling.
“Girls cannot be knights, child, but they can serve the realm in other ways.”
She lifted her head defiantly. “Girls can so be knights, my parents told me, and I’m going to be the first.”
Wyldon could not contradict her again. She would find out soon enough; he did not have to contribute to her sorrow by preemptively crushing her dreams. Female warriors were weaker than their male counterparts, prone to tears, liable to freeze up in battle, and he would fight girl pages until dragons came to Tortall.
Still, a little advice now would be generous, chivalrous. If she was still so inclined in a few years, she could join those blasted Riders.
“If that is so, then you have to start training now. Run, build muscles, learn the law,” he lectured, speaking as he would to one of his charges, or his son if he had ever had one. “Knights are strong both in arms and at heart. They must be to uphold the Code of Chivalry and the laws of the realm. A true knight of Tortall is calm, courageous, defends the weak, and punishes oath-breakers. He does not show weakness or pain, ever, and words mean nothing to him.”
The girl listened, eyes wide, soaking in his words. She vowed to herself that she would be that ideal, that defender of truth and justice. She could do it. She would do it.
“Names are simply an attempt to deal with the unknown and the unknowable. You are outside the pages’ knowledge of the possible and they reacted to control your reaction. Defeat them by becoming better.
“Do not give someone the power to control you, and they cannot hurt you. Pain is only in the mind, both physical and mental. It is a weakness but like all weaknesses, can be overcome.”
He paused. Her rapt attention was vaguely gratifying. Most pages only pretended to pay attention when he lectured about abstract ideals, but this little girl seemed to understand the importance and implications almost before he spoke.
“You do know that you can join the Queen’s Riders when you are fifteen. You do not have to be a knight.”
She shook her head. “If I stay in Yaman, I can learn how to fight, but I don’t want to.
“I will be a knight.”
Lord Wyldon read the determination in the girl’s eyes and for a second, believed that she would.
Summary: Wyldon finds a young girl in the corridors of the Royal Palace.
Rating: G
Part 1 of 9 (so far)
Huge thanks to Ankhiale for beta-ing.
_________
Lord Wyldon, the training master at the Royal Palace, always walked the corridors the first few days of each new batch of pages.
The halls were literally labyrinthine, designed that way on purpose in case of siege, and it was not uncommon for permanent inhabitants to take a wrong turn and end up somewhere unfamiliar.
The new pages, therefore, had no chance whatsoever, unless they were bright enough to latch onto their sponsor.
Most were, but every year after the first training session, hungry and exhausted first year pages blundered their way into the palace irrespective of liberal warnings, and almost every year Wyldon found at least one page. He was usually lucky enough to head them off before they lost themselves too far.
The lost were generally the most bold and the most meek; the bold felt they had no need of a guide after the first few days before lessons began, while the meek were too timid to take initiative and demand their sponsor show the way, especially if the sponsor himself was dismissive.
If Wyldon were a betting man, he would lay a gold noble on that fool Bertram of Darkamelin.
Of course, he did have insider knowledge after a footman reported to him of Darkamelin’s previous misadventures in the crypts of the palace.
Therefore he was sweeping the corridors in his usual mile-eating stride, soft boots making little noise on the polished floor.
Intimidation and correction were remarkably more effective when the page was taken unawares, not to mention, though he never would admit it, more entertaining for him. Not that his pupils could ever imagine his taking enjoyment out of anything, even their suffering.
He was passing the corridor leading to foreign delegations when he heard the noise. A soft sob, unable to be stifled but breaking out through closed lips. His first reaction was distaste, and his mouth twisted unpleasantly. What self-respecting boy would cry at the advanced age of ten, especially one meant to be a knight.
Tempted to continue on and leave the weak boy to find his own way to the dining hall – for his sake, Wyldon hoped it wouldn’t be too late as the older pages particularly despised waiting for first years – he stopped when another soft cry echoed through the hall.
It sounded distinctly feminine.
What was a young girl doing in this part of the palace?
Was there – ah yes, a delegation from the Yamani Islands was here to work out agreements about fishing rights or some such nonsense, as a prelude to a permanent peace treaty. Bloody savages.
Still, the odds that it was a foreign child was high enough that he should investigate. Wyldon had no wish to instigate an international incident by overlooking a lost child.
It had nothing at all to do with the fact that the quiet sobs reminded him of his own dear girls.
Quietly, he walked towards the sounds, peering down hallways until he found her.
Well, she was not Yamani.
He saw a young girl, maybe older than his youngest daughter, with light brown hair leaning against the wall. She was dressed in a nondescript tunic, her arms wrapped around her and her face a picture of absolute misery.
She reminded him forcibly of his Margarry, though of course his daughter would never wear breeches. He moved without conscious thought.
The training master, the terror of the training yards, whom five years of pages would solemnly swear had no kinder feelings than annoyed ambivalence at best, sat on the floor next to the girl and folded her into his lap as he would his own child. He rubbed her back and muttered soothing words. Startled at first, she went stiff as a board but at his continued comfort she quickly melted and wrapped her arms around his chest, crying openly into the soft fabric of his tunic.
They sat together for a spell, rocking very slightly as her sobs diminished and eventually ceased. Even so, it was not until she pulled her head from his now damp shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes, studying his worn and craggy face, that he loosened his arms around the child. Wyldon removed his handkerchief and wiped her eyes before instructing her to blow. She did and, as if only now realizing what had happened, she blushed a bright red and scrambled from his lap.
The girl bowed to him deeply, hands on her thighs, as he slowly rose and stowed the soiled linen in a deep pocket.
“I am very sorry, my lord,” she said in a subdued voice still lined with tears and embarrassment, though it was obvious that she tried to suppress it.
Lord Wyldon nodded silently, unsure of how to proceed. If it had been one of his girls, they would already be spilling their woes and sorrows, expecting him to fix the problem. If it had been a page, well, the past ten minutes would not have happened; they would all be eating lunch by now, and the armory would have an able assistant for the next few weeks.
“What are you doing in this wing of the palace, are you lost?”
She shook her head, eyes downcast. “My parents are with the Yamani delegation, my lord.”
That explained her presence but not much else. “Are you hurt?”
“No sir.”
At least the girl was polite. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back looking expectantly at her. It always worked when he needed information from unwilling pages.
“Sir, I-I went to watch the pages. I knew they were starting today, and I wanted to go see. I did-didn’t mean to be a distraction, but they were learning how to fall and I learnt how to fall and they kept doing it wrong, sir. I just wanted to help,” she broke off.
“Take a deep breath and continue, child.”
She took several and lifted her head to meet his eyes, a mask of calm and blankness falling over her face, all traces of sadness well-hidden.
Lord Wyldon resisted the urge to shudder. It was unnatural for a girl her age to seem so lifeless. If he had any doubts before, he knew for certain that she was telling the truth about belonging with the Yamani delegation. A man should learn how to hide pain, but a little girl should act like a little girl.
“I showed one of the pages how to fall correctly but he,” she swallowed, “didn’t want to learn from me.”
Wyldon could well imagine. “It hurts a man’s pride to be showed up, especially by a girl.”
She broke her mask just long enough to scowl at him indignantly.
“They aren’t men, they’re just stupid boys.”
He could not help but give a short barking laugh, but sobered quickly for her sake, nodding at her to continue.
Her words started cool and measured, as any soldier in the field giving a report, but her composure soon broke and the words tumbled out in a spill.
“Then, my lord, they laughed at me and said they did not have to listen to me because they were going to be knights. I told them I was too. Some of them got angry and one of the pinched me here.” She rubbed the inside of her upper arm. “They shouldn’t have done that. Knights should be honorable and honest and kind but they kept laughing. They called me stupid and weak and I didn’t want them to know that I was hurt so I ignored them and didn’t let them see. But then one of them said I looked like a lump and the rest laughed and they all said it so I ran.”
She blushed slightly. True knights don’t run.
True knights don’t pick on the defenseless. Wyldon was deeply annoyed at the thoughtless first year pages. All of them had sisters, cousins, or nieces, yet they thought it perfectly appropriate to tease a young girl until she cried. They would be getting a long lecture about chivalry very soon, and he no longer felt the slightest guilt about making the pages wait for their food. If it got cold, that was their own problem and knights rarely ate hot meals in the field.
“They are going to be knights. However,” he held up his hand to forestall her indignant response, “that does not excuse their behavior, but makes it more appalling.
“Girls cannot be knights, child, but they can serve the realm in other ways.”
She lifted her head defiantly. “Girls can so be knights, my parents told me, and I’m going to be the first.”
Wyldon could not contradict her again. She would find out soon enough; he did not have to contribute to her sorrow by preemptively crushing her dreams. Female warriors were weaker than their male counterparts, prone to tears, liable to freeze up in battle, and he would fight girl pages until dragons came to Tortall.
Still, a little advice now would be generous, chivalrous. If she was still so inclined in a few years, she could join those blasted Riders.
“If that is so, then you have to start training now. Run, build muscles, learn the law,” he lectured, speaking as he would to one of his charges, or his son if he had ever had one. “Knights are strong both in arms and at heart. They must be to uphold the Code of Chivalry and the laws of the realm. A true knight of Tortall is calm, courageous, defends the weak, and punishes oath-breakers. He does not show weakness or pain, ever, and words mean nothing to him.”
The girl listened, eyes wide, soaking in his words. She vowed to herself that she would be that ideal, that defender of truth and justice. She could do it. She would do it.
“Names are simply an attempt to deal with the unknown and the unknowable. You are outside the pages’ knowledge of the possible and they reacted to control your reaction. Defeat them by becoming better.
“Do not give someone the power to control you, and they cannot hurt you. Pain is only in the mind, both physical and mental. It is a weakness but like all weaknesses, can be overcome.”
He paused. Her rapt attention was vaguely gratifying. Most pages only pretended to pay attention when he lectured about abstract ideals, but this little girl seemed to understand the importance and implications almost before he spoke.
“You do know that you can join the Queen’s Riders when you are fifteen. You do not have to be a knight.”
She shook her head. “If I stay in Yaman, I can learn how to fight, but I don’t want to.
“I will be a knight.”
Lord Wyldon read the determination in the girl’s eyes and for a second, believed that she would.