• May 28, 2012 /  Memoir

    It is in the most troubled of times that people prove what stuff they are made of.  In adversity can we rise to the occasion, or falter.

    Paloma de Preston, the Duchess of the Farin at the time, stepped in to fill Farin’s seat on the regency council.  Gillian le Vanse, the elderly Duchess of Tubor, asked her heir, recently adopted Lithmorran ward Nicki le Vanse, to fill her seat.  I could write a chapter on each of them.  Perhaps I may, another day.  Their stories hardly end or begin here, but the measure I caught of each of them was self-serving.  Decisions were made based on friendships, or simply neglected altogether.

    And Vavard, my beloved home.  We can still not say with any certitude whether Duke Auberon dul Vericus executed his niece for patricide or assassinated the former duke and framed her for it.  I did not find him an incapable duke or ill-intentioned in any of my dealings with him, but there is little praise to be leveled, even without the questions of legitimacy.

    There are others who proved their mettle in those times, for the better, or less so.  I think, though, that the one that most sticks out in my mind, who truly blossomed in this time, is the young woman who would one day be queen.

    Before she was Queen, Royal Seneschal or even the Keeper of the Seal’s new bride, she was Cellan ab Chevalier, the timid daughter of the country count of Mont Innes.  If ever I had doubted that it was at least as much a difference from Vavard City to Lithmore City as it was from the country to the big city, meeting her would have certainly enlightened me.

    I met young Cellan freshly arrived in the city, and overwhelmed would perhaps be an understatement.  She was sweet, though, despite the shyness, and friendly.  Cecil dul Montaigne was an old family friend, which only commended her, though perhaps she relied a bit much on that old tie.  I would be glad to call her a friend from early on, discussing clothes we might put her in and such things as that.

    She certainly garnered attention.  More, I think, than she knew what to do with.  Prince Enakai for example, thought to court Cellan, and she looked to be uncertain of breathing in his presence. 

    When Cecil was granted the new-conquered March of Edessa, she married him, officially at Charmaine’s suggestion.  Many young ladies at court should have been reluctant to be tied to such a land, wartorn and precarious, but Cellan was ever content in the match.  I don’t think, then, she thought of what it meant, or that it would one day mean his life. 

    But then came Charmaine’s death, and the regency council.  And Cecil took his position within the council.  And in the turmoil of those days, the resistance against the council, the Keeper of the Seal’s new wife was a weak spot.  And a target.

    I remember clearly, early on in this time, Cellan huddled frightened beside Cecil as they stood there, speaking of spending time in Mont Innes, because this stress was too much for her.  The righteous anger that she should be submitted to it, simply for who she was married to. 

    It is true, perhaps, if one speaks in ideals; she had done nothing to deserve it.  But I was distinctly unimpressed.  That is the lot of one who dabbles in politics, and all who touch them.  She had been happy enough to see him in the position, but was now disillusioned of the political implications?  There were no attempts at her, merely talk of a threat.

    That might have been the end of it.  Cecil might have settled down, and Cellan might have been nothing more than any other dainty noblewoman, but I think there is really no sense in pretending it now, given everything.  Scant months later, I think she would have been surprised at herself, holding court amongst the city’s ladies, bravely facing what need be faced, and herself starting to politic.  Perhaps with a mix of resignation and understanding, she stepped up to the challenge, the first steps towards those later things.

    And though she may yet be delicate – she is after all a Lithmorran woman, for all my taking on the challenge to teach her Vavardi ways, on behalf of her Vavardi husband – despite that, she has found a strength as well.  And a fire, when she needs it.  The young Cellan I first met in the city would have hardly erupted on behalf of her infant twins, in protection of them against the talk of the omens, but the one she became certainly did.  And if I would not put my own force behind that issue, I can respect, and am glad to see, that she found that in her.

    And I cannot help but wonder if she would have come to it, if not for the testing of those days.

    Posted by Marisa @ 4:21 pm