Oh dear. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm unhealthily obsessed. But this idea came, and I couldn't not write it! This is the story of how Wyldon of Cavall married Vivienne of Heathercove. Not affiliated with any of my other works - this 'verse is purely VW, no future KW :). Probably only a few chapters. Enjoy!

Proud and Prejudiced

An Unwelcome Arrangement

"I won't," said the girl, stormy eyes flashing. "You can't make me."

"My dear girl, it's not a question of making. You simply will." Lord Aristaes of Heathercove folded his large hands on the desk and put on his sternest face. "Cavall is an old fief, wealthy and infamous for their dog breeding. To marry the eldest son is a great honor."

"But Father –"

"There will be no discussion, Vivienne. The papers have already been signed. When you were presented at court…"

"I haven't even met the man," she interrupted, deadly pale except for two flaming spots of red high on her shapely cheekbones. Even at fifteen and a half, Vivienne was shaping up to become a lovely young woman. Her skin was clear and pretty, if slightly tanned and dusted with freckles from much time spent out-of-doors. Her large eyes were blue-gray with flecks of brown, and her red-brown hair was dark and wildly curly; even now, so early in the morning, the pins that constrained it fought valiantly to keep her locks from escaping their serviceable chignon. She had begun the change from girl to woman early. Though slim and upright, she possessed the kinds of curves not often found on a girl her age. Right now, her entire body was clenched in anger and betrayal, and it was almost possible for her father to forget she was a tender young lady.

"You danced with him once, when you were presented last Midwinter."

"One dance is hardly enough time to determine a potential marriage," Vivienne snapped. "And as I recall, he was a formal, stiff plank of wood who couldn't even crack a smile!"

Lord Aristaes' mouth firmed. "That is enough, Vivienne." He sighed at the mulish expression on her face, relenting. "It will not be as terrible as you think. Combining Cavall's kennels with Heathercove's stables will be a great asset to the realm. I hope that you, my dear, will take the initiative there. Part of your dowry is a large portion of our finest mares and three studs. You know horses like nothing else. It will be up to you to ensure the Cavall boy doesn't ruin the Heathercove bloodlines."

Vivienne bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, and looked away. "Bloodlines. That's what this is about." Her light voice was taut with barely-controlled fury. "Bloodlines, and whether or not I can drop a healthy son!"

Her father sighed. "Partly, yes. I am sorry, Vivienne, to thrust this on you so young. But you know the customs of Tortall as well as I. The match will be made. You have six months to prepare before the wedding."

Vivienne drew herself up slowly, staring her father down behind the desk. "I am only a girl," she said evenly, "and I cannot think, act, or marry for myself. But one thing you cannot prevent is how I feel. And I will despise Lord Wyldon with everything I have, as I despise you." With that iron voice dangerous close to breaking, she spun on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her. It wasn't very lady-like or grown-up, but it did provide some satisfaction to the heartsick girl.

Vivienne went immediately to the stables. The one constant in her life was the horses, and whenever she found herself becoming swamped, she always returned to them. Her mother's death, the onset of womanhood, and now the threat of impending marriage to a total stranger all drove her here, seeking out more than riding for a lark; she sought the comfort, companionship, and solace that only the sweet, musty smell of hay and horses could provide.

One horse in particular had been her mainstay through the turbulence of adolescence. Startreader was a magnificent stallion, seventeen hands high at his powerful withers, with feathery hocks and a head built like an anvil. He was their main breeding stud for their destrier line, with a shiny brown-black coat and large brown eyes that regarded everything around him with idle curiosity. A blazing white star was formed precisely in the center of his forehead. A person who had not grown up around horses, as Vivienne had, would be frightened of him due to sheer size and strength alone; but she had helped foal him when she was eleven, had broken him to bridle, and had learned to ride a full-grown horse atop his wide back. He was her best friend.

"Hello, handsome," she cooed when she reached his stall, leaning over the wooden barrier. Startreader's large, furry ears perked forward, and he thrust his long nose into her face, tickling her with his long whiskers. "Of course I have treats you, silly – stop that!" she exclaimed, laughing when he dipped his head to snuffle under her arm. "Here you go, you great silly beast." Taking her arm from behind her back, she offered the apple on a flat palm. The stallion lipped at it briefly before taking it gingerly in his teeth and gulping it down.

Vivienne wiped horse saliva and apple juice splatters from her face, smiling through the tears that pricked her eyes. "I don't suppose you'd like to leave your nice comfy stall, would you? Go to a different place, with different horses, different humans to comb and brush you. It just wouldn't be the same."

Snack finished, Startreader lipped at the loose curls around her face, searching for more. This final act of comfort and familiarity pushed her over the edge, and she wrapped her arms as far around his thick neck as they would go, letting her tears overflow as she pressed her face into his mane.

"I don't want to go!" she whispered raggedly, voice breaking. "I don't want to marry a stranger, I don't want to have to have children! I'm not even sixteen, yet," she added, trying to breathe in the stallion's scent through her stuffy nose. "Isn't that just outrageous?"

Although he never made a reply, Startreader's calm presence gradually suffused Vivienne's trembling form. Eventually she released him and stepped back, regarding his face with bright, red-rimmed eyes.

"You're coming with me," she said at last, pleased with the measure of control she had over her words. "You're coming to Cavall with me if it's the last thing I do."

Vivienne made good on her promise. Five months later, after flurries of preparation, she went down to the stables to oversee the transportation of the horseflesh that was to be the main portion of her dowry. An investment for the future, her father had said, in one of the few conversations they had had since he'd given her the news. Careful to keep the bottoms of her fine skirts out of the muck of the stable-yard, she watched with eagle-eyes as their finest hostlers formed the mares into a small herd to be taken to Cavall. The stallions were kept carefully separate and confined as they were readied for the three-day trip.

Startreader, like his two fellows, took a lot of handling. Even the most gentle stallion can be easily distracted by the nearness of mares. But Vivienne stretched herself, drawing on the thin swirl of copper deep inside, and settled it like a fine blanket over the three stallions. Her connection with horses ran deeper than a surface admiration for the powerful animals; but her magic was too weak to be of much use, and so she kept it to herself. No doubt any hint of a Gift would bring her father sniffing around for more ways to put her up for profit.

With a twist of her lips, Vivienne turned her back on the proceedings and made her way back to the manor house. No doubt Elsa, once her nanny and now her personal maid, would want to make one last attempt to tame her hair before they departed.

"I will not ride into Cavall in a carriage like an insipid young lady," Vivienne announced. The set of her soft mouth drew it into a stubborn line. "There, at least, I refuse to pretend."

Lord Aristaes had convinced his daughter to be at least civil to her fiancé, to which she had reluctantly agreed. She had also agreed to ride in the carriage for the three-day trip. However, she was at the last threads of her patience, and even the Earl could see that to deny her wish would be asking for trouble.

"Very well. I expect you to ride side-saddle, not astride," he added, his craggy face a warning. "This is not the time for your foolish escapades."

"Yes, father," she replied, suspiciously demure.

Cavall was certainly magnificent. Vivienne felt her breath catch as they rounded the side of the hill, and immediately cut it off. I hate it here. I hate Cavall, I hate its lord, and I definitely hate the gorgeous scenery! At that point she decided to stop trying, and just resign herself to being in love with the estate.

It was nestled in between three hills, clearly not built for combat. Surrounded almost entirely by Fief Goldenlake, infamous for its hard-handed way of dealing with bandits and other trouble, there was little need to defend itself. The castle was ancient, built of weathered blue-gray stone; its high turrets thrust high above the trees that surrounded it. The wall was in slightly worse condition than the castle, with portions of it crumbling and even collapsed. But these areas had been fully exploited, whether by the villagers or the nobles, and bloomed with stone-growing flowers, moss, and tall, strong young trees. The village itself spread haphazardly around the outside of the wall and south. The homes were sturdy and well-built; many bore the intricate carving on gables and outer struts that told Vivienne a wood-craft artisan was in residence.

As the caravan passed through the main street of the village, the people came out of their homes to watch. They looked well-fed and well-dressed enough, like the people of her own fief. Vivienne wondered if the stiff lord she had met last winter was the same who took such good care of his people. Firmly, she pulled her mind away from its wanderings. It wouldn't do to begin feeling soft towards her enemy before she even met him. Instead, she returned the curious gazes of the villagers who watched their future lady ride by on an enormous warhorse.