This is the first of many, I hope. I am sorry if some of the language is off. I do not usually speak English, but I am trying. Please tell me what you think! R&R
Pronunciation: Eirlys (AYR lis), Maeve (MAYV), Fallon (FAL lin)
Disclaimer: I own no one except Eirlys-Maeve, Griffith-Pryce, or their parents. Though I truly wish I did... ;)
{}-{~C'est La Vie~}-{}
I was brought into this world during the early winter of 1634 to Vaughan Fallon and Lynwen Rianon. They named me Eirlys-Maeve in honour of our families thriving season, 'Gwyn Codwm'. I was the first of the children. In 1640 my mother gave birth to my younger brother, Griffith-Pryce, who slowly in time became my greatest companion.
In 1643 my father uprooted us from our village in Wales and moved us far to the countryside of France. With the money he had he ordered a grand home be built in Chartres for us. He became vastly prosperous in his work and bought more land surrounding us for my mother to have the cultivating orchards she always dreamt about.
Hired help was brought in to live and work on the land from neighboring towns. They watched over my brother and me carefully from day to day while my parents were engrossed with work. My mother began selling the fruits of her labour and my father had his carriages.
When we were old enough, tutors were also inked to teach Griffith and myself. We learned mathematics in the early mornings, literature at midday, history was around supper, astronomy when night fell, and battle ethics was fit whenever the chance arose. Griffith was taught to use a sword as I was taught to use the silver sais that had been passed down through my mother's side of the family. They had been given to my great-great grandmother when she and her husband had traveled Japan to visit a friend.
By the spring of 1645 our country home was prospering and grand, housing nearly 63 rooms which welcomed commoners from Versailles, who had lost their homes. Our home quickly became a sanctuary for many and soon we expanded further to house 120 or more with three stories, a barn, orchards, a rose garden, and fields for our own crops and enjoyment.
One night in late autumn, a boy named Philippe was brought to us by a priest and an old woman, whom called themselves his guardian. We took all three of them in without reluctance, giving each a room within our home. I became attached to Philippe in the same manner I was with Griffith. He became a younger brother in my eye.
My father died in the summer of 1648 from malaria he had received at his trip to England. We held a funeral that lasted three days like it would have been if he had passed in Wales. Everyone that lived at the sanctuary came to honour his life. My mother was not long behind him. She passed away in 1650 during the night of Saint Dwynwen; patron saint of lovers.
I took over as luminary and tended to issues that arose within the home. Griffith aided me in anyway he could, but I could see his dream of becoming a musketeer was slowly drifting away. I sent him to Versailles with what little money I had and was given training by a man named Porthos. By all his fame, he seemed a decent musketeer, but also to have a legend for being a philanderer. I felt I could trust him to care for my brother the way I had and returned to the situations I had at the sanctuary.
Philippe became a great remedy for when I needed aid. He helped with cooking in the kitchen, the best to his abilities, and took up helping me in the orchards. He helped plant the vegetables when it came time and pick them when they were suitable. Wherever I went, it appeared that he followed closely behind.
In 1652 problems arose in France. Due to King Louis's lifestyle and the costs of war, the people were being forced to suffer hunger and poverty. Griffith had returned to the sanctuary to tell us of his becoming a musketeer and the problems it seemed the country was about to face. Philippe and I tried our best to govern the issues that had been laid at our feet at home. Many that had stayed at our sanctuary departed either from sickness or from wanderlust, leaving many rooms open for others that came in scads.
A short time later in 1653, I had gone to see Griffith and his mentor Porthos in Versailles. Porthos was a very high spirited man and it seemed as though some of his spirit had worn off on Griffith. My time spent was short and soon I returned to the house in a riot.
Philippe had taken from the sanctuary by the King's soldiers, leaving the old woman there. I became furious and resented the person I had once called 'My King'. A priest came to me in the dead of night months later and implored his desire for the use of my sanctuary to host the Jesuit Order. I agreed, but only under one condition that he had to withhold:
"I must divulge that you warrant me investiture into the Order."
I must say that he seemed all to smitten with the idea and promptly agreed. Jesuits soon arrived and took residence in the abandoned rooms.
In 1654 I tried to infiltrate the prison Philippe was being held captive within. The sortie proved fruitless for I was caught outside his cell and nearly captured before I could liberate him. Wrathful and malevolent, some time later I infiltrated the palace. I was determined on removing the King from his crown by any means necessary. I made sure to hide my face when I ran through the secret passages, wearing the silk royal blue hooded cape my mother had left behind.
Even if I had not been detected by his faithful Capitan, I could not have killed him. I could not...I now understood the motivation behind the kidnapping and masking of Philippe. I understood why they needed to keep him in imprisoned on an island far out to sea. I evaded from the King's guards and hastily left palace and city, cursing the King in vain.
I ran swiftly throughout the country of France and in some parts of Germany, afraid of leading the King's soldiers to either the Jesuit Order or Griffith. I soon was declared as an assassin and ordered to be rendered to the Kingdom when found. I concealed myself away from the world. I harkened for enlightenment as to the station in France and myself.
The answer to my beseeching came a year later when a whisper of plan to replace the King with a young man found in an iron mask...
In the words Porthos had spoken to me:
"C'est la Vie, Eirlys"