A/N – Well, this is the beginning of Group Askew's 'chain story'. Please enjoy it… and I can promise it will only get better! By the way, I know that Delia only got life imprisonment (at least that's what I think), but it suits my purposes for her to be dead, so I am having her executed. Hope no one minds… after all, this is fan-fiction!
Chapter 1 - By Lady Muck
Eldorne was dead.
It had died years ago on Traitors' Hill, as the last breath left its rogue daughter's body, and it was never given a chance at resurrection.
Very few people went in and out of Eldorne any more. The roads had been reclaimed by grass and bracken, and the castle itself was camouflaged behind a thick sheet of ivy, unchecked by the squadron of gardeners that had tended to it in ages past. The gardeners were gone now, for the treasury was all but empty. Eldorne had been stripped of its wealth, its privileges, its pride… it had lost everything but its lands and its name.
And this was the greatest curse bestowed by the monarch it had betrayed. Had its name been taken too, Eldorne could have descended quietly into the plebeian world, free of the spite and the slander and the scorn. But Jonathon IV was a clever man. Far worse that stripping Eldorne of its title, he condemned it to an eternal limbo; shunned by the nobility, yet still head and shoulders above the commoners. Thus Eldorne, isolated from the rest of the world, became a world unto itself. A world inhabited by withdrawn, resentful drifters. It forgot the meaning of happiness, and shut itself off from the tormenting past, the indifferent present, and the bleak future. It was a dark world, but what's more, it was a stagnant, hopeless world. The dark holds no fear if one has faith that light will someday return, but Eldorne had lost that faith.
There would come a time, however, when beauty would rise from the sea of bitterness.
There would come a time for light to shine on Eldorne again.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
A free white dove – a hope-symbol, if you like - spiralled into the infinite blue above the forest. Higher and higher it soared, until, with a jerk and a burst of feathers, it tumbled into a clumsy, unconscious descent. As the dead bird hit the ground, its hunter wandered nonchalantly over, unstringing her bow, and placing the coiled strand in the pocket of her worn breeches. A curtain of dark hair swung across her creamy face as she carefully lifted her bounty and placed it in the leather satchel suspended from one slim shoulder. She turned towards the dilapidated castle in the distance, smiling slightly. The cook was one of the few servants that Fief Eldorne could still afford to employ, and her pigeon pie was legendary.
Though the reflection in the looking glass of the 'tower room' was every inch a lady, the agile hunter was still easily recognisable. Her pale turquoise gown was three years behind the fashion, and a little threadbare, but it complimented her unusual, blue-green eyes; and her waist-length hair - thick, straight and almost black - was wound elegantly around her head. The eyes and the hair were all her own, but the slender figure, the pert nose, the full red lips and the delicately arched eyebrows had been possessed by Eldorne women long before Aunt Delia had boasted them, and would most likely continue to make their way down the generational line for as long as there were still girls being born. Satisfied with her appearance, she pulled on a pair of delicate leather slippers, and wafted gracefully through the corridors of the castle towards the dining room, in a similar fashion, it must be stated, to the all-pervading perfume of baking meat and pastry emanating from the kitchens.
It could not really be said that there was any shortage of people around Eldorne. Indeed, the table on this particular evening was laid out for no less than fifteen diners. There were the hunter's parents, her grandparents, her numerous widowed aunts and their numerous subdued children. As the hunter entered the dining room, she found most of the aforementioned already assembled there.
'Oh, there you are, Aoife Mairi,' chided a woman who must have been her mother, as she didn't look enough like the rest of the congregated throng to have been born into the Eldorne line, 'we've been waiting for you. Cook's made pigeon pie tonight.'
'I know,' said Aoife Mairi, as she slipped decorously into her seat, inwardly grumbling at this use of both her names, when even just 'Aoife', with its unpronounceable jumble of vowels, gave her enough trouble. She opened her mouth to say something about it, but at that propitious moment, the cook entered, placed an enormous pie dish in the centre of the table, and bustled out again. The family was quickly served, and were soon all chewing appreciatively. Because thought Aoife cynically, if their mouths are full, no one can expect them to talk. Perhaps it was due to twenty years of isolation from the rest of the world, but, among the Eldornes, conversation had become something of a lost art. It was limited to the polite and the necessary - nobody ever actually told anybody else anything real, and for someone who had always had as much to say as Aoife, it had been an uncomfortable sort of environment to grow up in.
For as long as she could remember, she'd felt like something inside her was about to bubble over, as if there was too much that was being repressed; an animal in a cage that was slightly too small. All she knew for sure was that there had to be more to life than poor, dead, pathetic Eldorne. She wasn't a fighter or a scholar, and she had only a weak healing gift, but she knew that there was something more for her. Something that couldn't be found here, in a place where the only excitement dwelt deep in the long hidden memories of those who were old enough to recall better times. Someone stopped chewing for long enough to say,
'Pass the beans, Aoife Mairi.' There you go again, she thought, as she reluctantly obliged.
Under the cover of her pie, Aoife gazed around the table at the carefully guarded faces of her relatives. None of them gave any sign that they might once have been happy, yet she knew that they must have been. There were her grandparents, elderly now. Everyone, themselves included, knew that they had nothing left to live for, yet for some unfathomable reason, they were both still in admirable health, physically, at least. Aoife had no idea what it was that they did to occupy their time.
Her grandfather, who had been an advocate in Corus, had lost his position after his daughter's treason, and his wife, who's needlework had once been famed throughout the realm, had not been observed to touch so much as a pincushion for at least five years. Neither of them ever spoke or moved much, and while this made them less-than-thrilling companions, the fact that they never exerted unnecessary energy was no doubt contributing to their longevity.
Over there, of course, were the aunts, her father's three younger sisters; all in their thirties now. They had spent much of their girlhood with the shadow of disgrace hanging over them, and instead of making highly respectable marriages, which their beauty and pedigree would otherwise have assured, they had had to be content with the younger sons of lesser fiefs, knights, all of them, but not the most skilful of fellows, as was evidenced by the fact that all three had recently perished in the still ongoing Scanran war. Upon being widowed, the aunts had returned to Eldorne with their combined total of seven children, and had immediately adjusted themselves to the sombre mood of the place – not that it had taken much effort, as none of them had been particularly content in their new homes, either. Even their offspring were caught up in Eldorne's sobriety. One might expect such young children – the oldest was not yet ten years – to be immune to the demons of the past, but it did not seem to be so. They too were very quiet and entirely unremarkable, and spent a great deal of time indoors.
Aoife turned slightly in her seat, and her face settled on the visage of Diederich of Eldorne, her father. He was a tall man, and powerfully built, yet his appearance did not demand respect. Perhaps it was because of the way his once handsome face sagged around his sad, grey eyes, or perhaps it was due to the fashion in which his prowess with the sword and the lance had deteriorated after 'the shadow' fell on his family. Aoife knew that he blamed himself for what had happened. He had been a few years older that Delia, and when she was sent to Corus, he had been instructed to look out for her. Unfortunately, he had been hell-bent on courtship at the time, and the rest, as they say, is history. The object of his courtly affections, however, still sat beside him, and out of the whole miserable lot of them, her mother was the only one Aoife felt at all sorry for – mainly because she had been very unlucky.
Given the space of a few months, everything could have been much different for Lady Emese. Aoife had always thought it most unjust that someone who had only tried to do something right, by promising herself to a man who loved her rather than one who would treat her like a possession, had been so cruelly cheated by fate. She had wed Sir Diederich only a matter of weeks before 'the shadow' came, after having turned down marriage proposals from several more advantageous candidates. She had, at the time, of her betrothal, been called a fool for marrying for love, and after her new family was disgraced, the moniker seemed almost justified, but while the rest of the Eldornes seemed to have descended very comfortably into silence and moroseness, Aoife's mother was slightly different. It might just have been the fact that a riotous cap of carroty curls didn't really sit well with dreariness, but although Emese kept up the act as well as the rest of them, Aoife often got the feeling that, like herself, her mother actually had something to say, as if resignation to the Eldorne fate was more charade than reality. Unfortunately, though, she was very good at projecting and defending this façade, so much so that all her daughter's attempts at conversation were coolly and politely rebuffed.
Then, of course, there was Aoife herself. A beauty, naturally, but what was the point, she often reflected, of being beautiful when no one was ever likely to see you. Raised to be a lady, but through no conscious effort on the part of any tutor or governess, or even her mother. She had raised herself, in many ways, but it seemed that the stuffy halls of Eldorne demanded nothing less than perfection. She was happy to oblige; lady-like formalities were not a chore for her, as they were for some girls. The arts of the curtsey and the fan required as much concentration and precision as any weapons drill, and needed to be practised in an equally rigorous manner. Her only indulgence along those lines was her hunting.
Though she liked being a lady, a lot of the time being a lady of Eldorne was just too hard, and when the heavy weight of her family's misfortune descended upon her young shoulders, and the castle became suffocating, she could always go out into the fresh air that knew nothing of past sins, string up her bow, and kill something. It made her feel a lot better, and it wasn't exactly unladylike. Even Tortall's queen was known to do the same, on occasions, and in said monarch's younger years, her skill in the hunt had probably saved her life. Not that the rest of the Eldornes set much store by the monarchy any more. Aoife looked up from her musings as the door swung open and the cook entered, this time bearing a tray full of bowls, and the Eldornes - disgraced, derelict, and for the most part, completely forgotten - tucked into their pudding.
As soon as the plates had been scraped clean, the diners scarpered, lest the phenomenon of after-dinner conversation be unwontedly employed. Aoife, too, was eager to leave. The summer evenings were long, and a walk in the grounds beckoned, but as she turned to go, the unfamiliar sound of her father's voice stopped her in her tracks.
'Aoife Mairi, I will see you in my study, please.' This was unusual, but not entirely unexpected. The last time she had been called to her father's study, it was to be told that hunting was an unfit pursuit for young ladies, and in the light of the pigeon pie, a repeat performance would not be completely unwarranted. Not wanting the walk through the drab halls to be made even more unpleasant by her father's uncomfortable silence, she gave him a good five minutes head start before striking out on the same course.
Aoife was not exactly sure why Sir Diederich called this room his 'study'. She was fairly certain that he never actually studied anything in it. He seldom wrote or received letters, and as far as she knew, aside from overseeing the welfare of the few peasants who still tenanted Eldorne's lands, he had no other business. Most likely, she thought, it was just his particular private space for being alone with his misery. Everyone in the family, except for Aoife had a place like that, but the way she saw it, the times she spent with her relatives were gloomy enough. When she was alone, she much preferred to be happy. Or as happy as she knew how to be. Growing up at Eldorne provided very little initiation into the art of happiness.
But she had arrived at the study now. Taking a deep breath and clearing her face of all expression, she knocked on the polished oak door, a little dusty now, but still a fine example of craftsmanship. Interpreting the answering silence as an affirmative response, Aoife gently pushed it open. She was somewhat surprised by the sight that greeted her behind it. Not only was her father seated on the worn leather chair behind his desk, but her mother was standing beside him. Both were wearing very grave expressions, and if they had been any other people, Aoife might have been concerned by this, but these, after all, were Eldornes. It would, in all honesty, have been far more troubling if both their faces had been plastered with broad grins. But they obviously did intend to talk, and that in itself was rare enough. Sir Diederich motioned stiffly to an empty chair in front of his desk, and his daughter obligingly sat down in it. He sighed.
'You're seventeen now, Aoife Mairi.' Aoife gave her father a puzzled half-smile.
'I've been seventeen for more than six months.' He seemed momentarily caught off his guard.
'But it's the eleventh of June. That's your birthday.'
'No, that's Lerant's birthday,' she replied indulgently, 'He's twenty-one today.' Though he had a sneaking suspicion that his daughter might be inwardly laughing at him, Sir Diederich went right back to square one.
'Well, the fact remains, Aoife Mairi. You're seventeen now.'
'Which means?' Aoife prompted.
'Which means that you are of an age to make your debut at court.' Aoife stared. She had always rather liked the idea of being a court débutante, but had naturally assumed that the opportunity would be denied.
'But I've heard you say many times that no Eldorne would have anything to do with court ever again.' Sir Diederich cleared his throat uncomfortably.
'Well, er, circumstances change. When I said that, I didn't have a daughter of the age to be presented.'
'Father,' argued Aoife, 'we both know you're not doing this for me, even though it is what I want. What has really happened?' Her father's face began to take on a rather unbecoming purple colour, and in goldfish fashion, he opened and closed his mouth several times without so much of a sound escaping from it. Apparently, when you spent the most part of your life pretending that your vocal chords were defunct, it made it even more difficult than usual to be the bearer of bad news. Lady Emese laid a calming hand on her husband's arm.
'The thing is, Aoife Mairi,' she explained, 'the treasury is very low at the moment.' Aoife snorted.
'Mother, please. The treasury has been practically empty since before I was born!'
'Yes, but never this low. Recently the situation has become much more serious.' This came as no great shock to Aoife. After all, this was Eldorne. Anyone who lived here had to be used to bad news. But another thought struck her.
'Making a court debut is very expensive. Surely it's not a clever thing to do if we're already bankrupt.' With a rather frightening choking sound, Sir Diederich's throat came unstuck.
'It's a long term investment.'
'A what?'
'You heard me. We can get you to court on a budget. The crown will pay for your lodging for your debut season, at least, as it does for all the débutantes. And as for dresses, we have hundreds of court gowns lying around here, ones that belonged to your mother and your aunts. Your grandmother,' he paused, 'your grandmother kept all Delia's things. You can probably have them, too.' This was all starting to sound very, very weird.
'But how is any of that a long term investment?'
'I hadn't got to that yet. If we can get you married within the year, to someone of a reasonably well-off fief, our finances will be sufficiently relieved to support the rest of us here in relative comfort.' Yes, this was definitely weird. And not in a positive way, either. Aoife stuck out her chin defiantly.
'If marrying me off is so important, why not just negotiate a betrothal contract with someone; save yourself the expense of court?'
'Don't be ridiculous, Aoife Mairi,' came the voice of her mother, 'you know our social situation. Contracting a betrothal with an Eldorne isn't advantageous to anyone. That's why you're going to court instead. You will meet all the eligible bachelors, and hopefully, against his better judgement, one of them will fall in love with you and decide to marry you anyway.' Aoife's carefully hidden temper was beginning to rise, unbidden, to the surface.
'I don't believe I shall ever marry,' she declared passionately, 'I have no wish to contribute any more children to this gods-cursed line, for even if they bear another name, they will always be Eldornes. I hope I am the last of the us; I wouldn't wish this life on my worst enemy! So no, I will not marry, even if I get an offer from the crown prince himself!'
'You', said Lady Emese, blue eyes glittering icily, 'will do what is required of you by your fief. Perhaps you can restore to it some shred of its former glory.' Aoife laughed mirthlessly.
'It will take more than one good marriage to redeem Eldorne,' she said. And before either of her parents could voice the dismissal that she knew was coming, she rose elegantly from her chair and strode out of the room.
Well, she thought to herself, when she felt that she was a safe enough distance away to stop and collect her thoughts, I can't say that this is an ideal situation, but if that's what it takes to get a bit of interesting conversation around here...
A/N - stay tuned for chapter 2... it will be written by none other than our own Mage of Dragons... oh, and review, or you could possibly face the cyber gallows (just like delia!)
l.m xoxo
