Fight Like A Girl
Chapter 8
The Madness of Ophelia - Part II
AN: Thank you to everyone for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Congratulations to 'Me', who got what was going on with Ophelia - yay! Evilstrawberry, well, no one knows what you thought it was but you, but I hope you had the right idea too ( At any rate, thanks for reviewing, and
onward to the second half of Ophelia's madness.
~~~
Ophelia spun around, her hair undone, cascading down over her shoulders. She looked mad and beautiful, and she laughed.
"Oh, Delia," she said to me, "I am in love!"
My first thought was to laugh at her and demand that she stop telling stories. I'm afraid I've always had a rather cynical view towards romance, and I thought that Ophelia was playing upon the inherent sense of the romantic that all women are assumed to have, the sort that makes it so that the moment someone brings up flowers or nighttime serenades all logical thoughts and arguments go out of their heads. I'm happy to say that there isn't the flower grown or the song written that could make me lose my head. It was a different case with Ophelia. I very quickly realized that this tale of love was no lie on her part.
"What happened?" I demanded, my mind whirling to discover what this might mean for me, for my hard-earned social standing. "Tell me from the beginning."
She looked for a moment as though she would refuse. She should have. If I had been foolish enough to ever let affairs of the heart interfere with my ambition I should never have admitted to anybody. Ophelia, however, was too far gone in this business to care about repercussions. Hers was the disease of infatuation that leads its victims to believe that everything outside of their transient joy is immaterial, and she wanted only to share her happiness with me. Fool.
She waltzed to the window with the air of a dramatic player and began her story. "Do you recall the day I returned from town angry and cursing? When I yelled at all the girls in the sitting room?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered, remembering all too clearly the day that, in my mind at least, marked her descent into this strange manic haze that she named love.
"On that day I heard from my father that we did not have enough money to buy me more than three dresses for the new season. Just three! How could a respectable young lady start out the season with only three dresses?"
I nodded in agreement. No wonder she had been distraught - I myself had no less than three dozen dresses for the next season. You may laugh and call this vanity, but understand that for a lady such as myself a fine gown is as necessary as a good sword is for a knight. You would not begrudge a knight his varied armory, nor should you begrudge me mine.
"In the carriage my father and I fought once more. I despaired that we were paupers, and he claimed that I was acting as uncouth as one. I announced - perhaps foolishly, though I cannot regret it now - that if I was dressed as a pauper and acting like one, then the transformation should be complete. I jumped out of the carriage determined to walk to short distance back to the Cloisters."
This in itself was enough to dumbfound me. She might solely credit her newfound love for the drastic change in her decorum, but that could not be all. The old Ophelia should never have acted in this manner. Not only was it dangerous, but it was an admission of her poverty. She would never have admitted to having less than the other girls. To do so would be an acknowledgment of inferiority, and she had always believed herself superior to every girl at the Cloisters. I believe that the threat of a season with a pauper's wardrobe and the cruel reception that she knew would receive when the season came unhinged her, and that any claims of love she might make stemmed from that madness whose seed lay in her poverty.
However, I kept these thoughts to myself and listened quietly as she unfolded the rest of her tale.
"As I was walking away, I met a boy named Thomas. He expressed sympathy for me and my predicament. For a moment I was shocked. I thought he knew who I was, knew of my family's troubles. But no, that's not the case at all! He thought - now, Delia, this is very shocking, so you may wish to sit down at this point - he thought that I was a prostitute! Before you say anything, it was merely because I was a young woman storming out of a noblemen's carriage, and that my dress was not as fine as it should have been, and that I was so angry. And you see, this is really just an instance of his inherent sweetness - he was kind and sympathetic even to a supposed streetwalker!"
Yes, she was quite mad. To excuse such a slight to her character.no lady could ever forgive that. And she had been quite angry at first, as she related: "I became so angry, Delia! I believe I actually swore at him - yes me, I swore - before I informed him of my status. He apologized - oh, he is such a sweet dear when he stutters! - but I was already so angry that I stormed off once more before I arrived at the Cloisters and spoke so to the girls here."
"But why did you ever meet with him again? I should never have wanted to even see such a wretch again! How could you have sought him out?" I asked, egging her on in her story, attempting to piece together the full series of events.
"Oh, but he sought me out. Truly, he is as kind as any knight. He wished to apologize to me! I would not see him at first, of course, but then he convinced me.he made such a claim, Delia. He said he had spoke to me at first because he wanted to know me, and that whether I was a streetwalker or a great lady, he still wanted to be near me. I was so very confused.a streetwalker and a lady are so far apart, they cannot possibly be compared! But he believed that who I was, my very essence, did not depend upon my status or my wealth. And that was what attracted him to me. Can you imagine, Delia?" she asked, her eyes wide with the madness that I was beginning to think bore some resemblance to freedom.
I understood why she had fallen so for that common boy. It was not his kindness, as she claimed, or good looks, or any other of the often cited causes for romance. He had offered her a point of view that she had never considered before - the idea that she was a person independent of her family, of her name, of her wealth. This person would be unassailable. She might lose all her money, even her title, but this person would be untouched. This notion might not be so foreign to others, but to one such as Ophelia, whose sense of identity from the cradle onward had been so tied up in titles and bloodlines and, of course, wealth, the idea of a being that was apart from all of that, that was simply Ophelia, was revolutionary. Perhaps it is cynical, but I believe that she fell in love more with the notion of this independence than with Thomas himself. In a time when all that she defined herself by was falling away, she clung with the force of impassioned youth to the harbinger of the idea that she was more than her wealth, and that she could survive this fall.
As for myself, I have always had a distinct understanding of who I am, apart from station. I am ambitious, perhaps to a fault, but rather than seeking favor or advancement to further define myself, to make myself worthwhile, I seek such things because the act of seeking, of climbing, of grasping for more is who I am. It is in my very nature to see a situation and want control, power- in short, to want more. I would be the same were I grasping for a few more crumbs of bread in a poverty-stricken orphanage or grasping for a crown in a glittering court. Though it pains me to say it, I think I might be like that girl, Alanna, in this respect. Were I, through a different course of events, thrown into the physical training of a knight, I would have practiced, just as she had, I would have sweat and bled and tried until I was the best too, for that is the measure of power in the brotherhood of knights and squires. But I was not in that arena of brutally straightforward physicality; I was in the cunning world of the Cloisters, and would be part of the even more cunning world of the Court. So I practiced, worked till I nearly cried and fainted, until I was the best, and had gotten control of as much as possible. And then it all fell apart.
But now is the time for Ophelia's story, not my own laments.
"We saw each other near every day from then on," Ophelia continued. "He swears he loves me, and I love him, and we shall be together forever from now on!"
I could not let this naïve statement pass without censure. "But Ophelia, show a little sense. You will have to go to Court, to marry at the least, and then this.affair.with your Thomas-"
"I shall not marry!" she interrupted with an air of defiance she had never before exhibited. "I shall not marry anyone but Thomas, and he shall marry no one but me, and there is nothing that anyone can do to stop it - not my father, not my uncle, not even the King himself!"
"And just how do you expect to prevent some nobleman, or rich merchant with an eye on your title, from marrying you? Your parents will force you; you wouldn't be the first woman pushed into an unwanted, loveless marriage," I said in exasperation, perhaps a little cruelly.
She was not perturbed. "But I have thought of that, Delia. No man will ever marry me, for I have already given myself, and not to any nobleman or merchant, either."
For a moment my blood seemed to stop. A shock of incredulity, amazement, accompanied by an undercurrent of glee went through me as visions of too-bright eyes, undone hair, and a blood-stained dress filled my mind.
"What have you done, Ophelia?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.
She threw back her head and, with the air of one reciting a revolutionary manifesto, declared, "I have given myself to him and he to me. No other man shall ever marry me for I am no longer a virgin."
I sat down heavily on the bed, ostensibly from shock, but really to allow myself time to think. This was it, this was the monumental blunder I had been waiting for. I could destroy her with this, could be that much closer to sole rule of the Cloisters. The pack was ready to turn on Ophelia, and she had opened herself to the perfect attack. The pretentious Ophelia who traced her bloodlines farther back than the Contés themselves, ruining that precious lineage by rutting with a commoner. The group would shun her. More than shun her - they would make her life here a misery. Her family might even disown her. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. She could have her common boy if that was what she wanted - and I, I would have the Cloisters. I would be the undisputed leader of these girls, equal only to Cybil.
"Ophelia, I'm afraid your thrilling tale has worn me out. If you'll excuse me.?"
"Of course, dear. Go to your rooms and take your flowers. I feel better now that I've told you. I hope that one day you can take part in a happiness as great as mine!" she announced with a wild grin.
She shoed me off, humming to herself a love song, and I went to bed, scheming and plotting to bring her down the very next day. The moment I had been anticipating for so long, the moment of my ascension, was at hand.
As I dropped off to sleep, plans for my first great betrayal filling my head, I looked over to where Ophelia's flowers lay on the side table. They were violets, for faithfulness.
Chapter 8
The Madness of Ophelia - Part II
AN: Thank you to everyone for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Congratulations to 'Me', who got what was going on with Ophelia - yay! Evilstrawberry, well, no one knows what you thought it was but you, but I hope you had the right idea too ( At any rate, thanks for reviewing, and
onward to the second half of Ophelia's madness.
~~~
Ophelia spun around, her hair undone, cascading down over her shoulders. She looked mad and beautiful, and she laughed.
"Oh, Delia," she said to me, "I am in love!"
My first thought was to laugh at her and demand that she stop telling stories. I'm afraid I've always had a rather cynical view towards romance, and I thought that Ophelia was playing upon the inherent sense of the romantic that all women are assumed to have, the sort that makes it so that the moment someone brings up flowers or nighttime serenades all logical thoughts and arguments go out of their heads. I'm happy to say that there isn't the flower grown or the song written that could make me lose my head. It was a different case with Ophelia. I very quickly realized that this tale of love was no lie on her part.
"What happened?" I demanded, my mind whirling to discover what this might mean for me, for my hard-earned social standing. "Tell me from the beginning."
She looked for a moment as though she would refuse. She should have. If I had been foolish enough to ever let affairs of the heart interfere with my ambition I should never have admitted to anybody. Ophelia, however, was too far gone in this business to care about repercussions. Hers was the disease of infatuation that leads its victims to believe that everything outside of their transient joy is immaterial, and she wanted only to share her happiness with me. Fool.
She waltzed to the window with the air of a dramatic player and began her story. "Do you recall the day I returned from town angry and cursing? When I yelled at all the girls in the sitting room?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered, remembering all too clearly the day that, in my mind at least, marked her descent into this strange manic haze that she named love.
"On that day I heard from my father that we did not have enough money to buy me more than three dresses for the new season. Just three! How could a respectable young lady start out the season with only three dresses?"
I nodded in agreement. No wonder she had been distraught - I myself had no less than three dozen dresses for the next season. You may laugh and call this vanity, but understand that for a lady such as myself a fine gown is as necessary as a good sword is for a knight. You would not begrudge a knight his varied armory, nor should you begrudge me mine.
"In the carriage my father and I fought once more. I despaired that we were paupers, and he claimed that I was acting as uncouth as one. I announced - perhaps foolishly, though I cannot regret it now - that if I was dressed as a pauper and acting like one, then the transformation should be complete. I jumped out of the carriage determined to walk to short distance back to the Cloisters."
This in itself was enough to dumbfound me. She might solely credit her newfound love for the drastic change in her decorum, but that could not be all. The old Ophelia should never have acted in this manner. Not only was it dangerous, but it was an admission of her poverty. She would never have admitted to having less than the other girls. To do so would be an acknowledgment of inferiority, and she had always believed herself superior to every girl at the Cloisters. I believe that the threat of a season with a pauper's wardrobe and the cruel reception that she knew would receive when the season came unhinged her, and that any claims of love she might make stemmed from that madness whose seed lay in her poverty.
However, I kept these thoughts to myself and listened quietly as she unfolded the rest of her tale.
"As I was walking away, I met a boy named Thomas. He expressed sympathy for me and my predicament. For a moment I was shocked. I thought he knew who I was, knew of my family's troubles. But no, that's not the case at all! He thought - now, Delia, this is very shocking, so you may wish to sit down at this point - he thought that I was a prostitute! Before you say anything, it was merely because I was a young woman storming out of a noblemen's carriage, and that my dress was not as fine as it should have been, and that I was so angry. And you see, this is really just an instance of his inherent sweetness - he was kind and sympathetic even to a supposed streetwalker!"
Yes, she was quite mad. To excuse such a slight to her character.no lady could ever forgive that. And she had been quite angry at first, as she related: "I became so angry, Delia! I believe I actually swore at him - yes me, I swore - before I informed him of my status. He apologized - oh, he is such a sweet dear when he stutters! - but I was already so angry that I stormed off once more before I arrived at the Cloisters and spoke so to the girls here."
"But why did you ever meet with him again? I should never have wanted to even see such a wretch again! How could you have sought him out?" I asked, egging her on in her story, attempting to piece together the full series of events.
"Oh, but he sought me out. Truly, he is as kind as any knight. He wished to apologize to me! I would not see him at first, of course, but then he convinced me.he made such a claim, Delia. He said he had spoke to me at first because he wanted to know me, and that whether I was a streetwalker or a great lady, he still wanted to be near me. I was so very confused.a streetwalker and a lady are so far apart, they cannot possibly be compared! But he believed that who I was, my very essence, did not depend upon my status or my wealth. And that was what attracted him to me. Can you imagine, Delia?" she asked, her eyes wide with the madness that I was beginning to think bore some resemblance to freedom.
I understood why she had fallen so for that common boy. It was not his kindness, as she claimed, or good looks, or any other of the often cited causes for romance. He had offered her a point of view that she had never considered before - the idea that she was a person independent of her family, of her name, of her wealth. This person would be unassailable. She might lose all her money, even her title, but this person would be untouched. This notion might not be so foreign to others, but to one such as Ophelia, whose sense of identity from the cradle onward had been so tied up in titles and bloodlines and, of course, wealth, the idea of a being that was apart from all of that, that was simply Ophelia, was revolutionary. Perhaps it is cynical, but I believe that she fell in love more with the notion of this independence than with Thomas himself. In a time when all that she defined herself by was falling away, she clung with the force of impassioned youth to the harbinger of the idea that she was more than her wealth, and that she could survive this fall.
As for myself, I have always had a distinct understanding of who I am, apart from station. I am ambitious, perhaps to a fault, but rather than seeking favor or advancement to further define myself, to make myself worthwhile, I seek such things because the act of seeking, of climbing, of grasping for more is who I am. It is in my very nature to see a situation and want control, power- in short, to want more. I would be the same were I grasping for a few more crumbs of bread in a poverty-stricken orphanage or grasping for a crown in a glittering court. Though it pains me to say it, I think I might be like that girl, Alanna, in this respect. Were I, through a different course of events, thrown into the physical training of a knight, I would have practiced, just as she had, I would have sweat and bled and tried until I was the best too, for that is the measure of power in the brotherhood of knights and squires. But I was not in that arena of brutally straightforward physicality; I was in the cunning world of the Cloisters, and would be part of the even more cunning world of the Court. So I practiced, worked till I nearly cried and fainted, until I was the best, and had gotten control of as much as possible. And then it all fell apart.
But now is the time for Ophelia's story, not my own laments.
"We saw each other near every day from then on," Ophelia continued. "He swears he loves me, and I love him, and we shall be together forever from now on!"
I could not let this naïve statement pass without censure. "But Ophelia, show a little sense. You will have to go to Court, to marry at the least, and then this.affair.with your Thomas-"
"I shall not marry!" she interrupted with an air of defiance she had never before exhibited. "I shall not marry anyone but Thomas, and he shall marry no one but me, and there is nothing that anyone can do to stop it - not my father, not my uncle, not even the King himself!"
"And just how do you expect to prevent some nobleman, or rich merchant with an eye on your title, from marrying you? Your parents will force you; you wouldn't be the first woman pushed into an unwanted, loveless marriage," I said in exasperation, perhaps a little cruelly.
She was not perturbed. "But I have thought of that, Delia. No man will ever marry me, for I have already given myself, and not to any nobleman or merchant, either."
For a moment my blood seemed to stop. A shock of incredulity, amazement, accompanied by an undercurrent of glee went through me as visions of too-bright eyes, undone hair, and a blood-stained dress filled my mind.
"What have you done, Ophelia?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.
She threw back her head and, with the air of one reciting a revolutionary manifesto, declared, "I have given myself to him and he to me. No other man shall ever marry me for I am no longer a virgin."
I sat down heavily on the bed, ostensibly from shock, but really to allow myself time to think. This was it, this was the monumental blunder I had been waiting for. I could destroy her with this, could be that much closer to sole rule of the Cloisters. The pack was ready to turn on Ophelia, and she had opened herself to the perfect attack. The pretentious Ophelia who traced her bloodlines farther back than the Contés themselves, ruining that precious lineage by rutting with a commoner. The group would shun her. More than shun her - they would make her life here a misery. Her family might even disown her. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. She could have her common boy if that was what she wanted - and I, I would have the Cloisters. I would be the undisputed leader of these girls, equal only to Cybil.
"Ophelia, I'm afraid your thrilling tale has worn me out. If you'll excuse me.?"
"Of course, dear. Go to your rooms and take your flowers. I feel better now that I've told you. I hope that one day you can take part in a happiness as great as mine!" she announced with a wild grin.
She shoed me off, humming to herself a love song, and I went to bed, scheming and plotting to bring her down the very next day. The moment I had been anticipating for so long, the moment of my ascension, was at hand.
As I dropped off to sleep, plans for my first great betrayal filling my head, I looked over to where Ophelia's flowers lay on the side table. They were violets, for faithfulness.