Note : somes minors correction 02/04/20
Already the second chapter, you will have some French medieval terms in the text. Champart and cens are two seigniorial taxes. The first is a levy in kind on the production of lord's land cultivated by sharecroppers. The cens, on the other hand, is a tax paid in currency by all the peasants, every month. The grant is a toll which corresponds to a kind of customs installed at the entrance of the cities. It is paid by the merchants.
Vilain is in old French the term that corresponds to "villager". It took in French and especially in English (villain) the sense of bad man, because... noblemen despised the peasants.
Manant is another ancient French term for "villager" by opposition of men of "superior" extraction.
Tender Years
North of the Kingdom of Menevia, Wrothgar Mountains, High-Rock Imperial Province, Tamriel.
The summer of 402 of the Third Era of Akatosh was well under way. With the tillage finished, the common people had abandoned the plow for the false haying. In the shade of the grey and stocky silhouette of the castle of Tournelle, one could see the peasants getting busy.
As the heat helped, the vilains had taken off their blouses and worked with their bare chests while mowing the hay. Women helped them in their task. The sickle in hand, they finished the work where the scythe could not pass. Despite the hard-hitting sun, they remained very dressed. Out of decency, they simply lifted their skirts and went about their business surrounded by the frou-frou of their white skirts.
Tournelle was a strategic position, located in a strong and defensible place. Close to the mountains, the castle adjoined the main road of Stormhaven which crossed the plain of Menevia. Nearby, passed other axes serving Alcaire, the Gastemarch and the Gavaudon as well as many paths that radiated towards all the good cities of King Eadwyre.
More than a century had passed since a king's predecessor had ceded the castle to the Meaumont family. And, again, Tournelle had just changed hands. A marriage had made it the property of de La Roche.
Lord well seen in the entourage of the king of Menevia, de La Roche had brought with him strong foreign uses to the inhabitants of the country. Like the great lords, he had surrounded himself with a court of local importance with extravagant and often questionable customs. This declining aristocracy no longer shone in the arts of war. Too poor to participate in the tournaments, she had turned entirely towards a way of life of festivals, songs and amusements. Apart from extorting new champarts, cens, or grants to the peasants, their only concerns were esoteric. No Menevia Grand made a decision without the advice of his astrologer; even the little lords followed the fashion of the times.
The magus of the Lord of La Roche came from far away. Jo Za'urabi was a cabbalist Khajiit, this catman had fled the distant Elsweyr to find a powerful protector in Menevia. For the most part, his role was to make the astral theme of the residents of the castle. He also taught the children of the castle. This suited the old Khajiit who had long since given up the fame and worries of a more interesting life.
Jo Za'urabi looked at the armillary sphere placed on his desk, amidst the many books and parchment sheets that were cluttering him. The metallic globe represented the present position of the constellations...
Today will see the birth of a great king while a great king falls.
The "great kings" do not become great by building roads. They do not "fall" in times of peace... Jo Za'urabi shook her head with a restless look, folding her big feline eyes.
- Oh, Akatosh, Dibella, Stendarr, Talos, Khynareth, gods of Nirn, what new trial are you preparing for us?
Alain Draconis was a colossus, broad shoulder and powerful. He wore the armor of the guards of the castle, without the helmet, discovering a face chiseled and jovial. One hand on the pommel of his broadsword, he took hundred steps in front of a small house housed in a secondary yard of the castle. Although of low extraction, Alain had for two years directed the feudal sergeants who formed the garrison of the castle, under the orders of the seneschal directing the military household of the lord of La Roche.
One could say that for a non-noble, he had arrived as high as he could. Yet, at that moment, the courage with which he had fought the goblins coming out of their caves at nightfall, the anthropophagical trolls and especially the orcs coming from the mountains, seemed completely forgotten.
Isn't it said that a man endures the pain of childbirth as much as his wife?
As Éveline Draconnis - his wife - shouted inside the little house, Alain stopped worried. Somewhat stifled by the wall of wooden panels, the voice of the midwife reached the husband: "Push! I see the head. The baby is well positioned".
Alain began to walk back and forth, even more vividly. His hands were tense.
From the inside came strange noises... like pushing furniture. The midwife was busy giving orders to her helpers: "I said hot water, not lukewarm!" "Laissa, let her man in".
Understanding that this was in fact addressed to him, Alain approached the door and crossed it as soon as the so-called Laissa pushed the door away.
His first look was for his wife. Éveline had drawn and sweaty features... What would be surprising? Wasn't it said that giving birth was as painful as getting all the bones of the body broken with a hammer?
As Alain took his wife's hand and exchanged a few tender words with his young wife, Josiane, the midwife, finished bathing their first born... and worried. The baby had not cried when he was born and, immersed in the water, he still did not scream. However, his gaze was... surprisingly attentive. In fact, she had never seen a newborn child who had just come out of her mother's womb so awake. Was the child mute? Josiane slapped the baby's butt dry.
The unintelligible babble that came out of the baby's mouth meant nothing, but the tone clearly expressed anger and exasperation.
Alain laughs:
- The little man has character.
Josiane smiles while swaddling the baby:
- The "man" is a lady, Alain.
As she placed the child on her smiling mother's chest, her father leaned to discover his daughter:
- Oh... these green eyes! It promises its future beauty. I think I'll have to watch her window every night as soon as she has any shape... and the stick in hand.
Éveline Draconnis laughs:
- She has already conquered her father. What will we call this little treasure...
- Arthur, like my grandfather, cut the husband on a tone without reply.
The four women present - the wife, the midwife and her two assistants- exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Éveline shook her head:
- A girl's name maybe... unless you want to turn your child's life into an ordeal?
The husband had the good grace to blush.
- Uh... I promised my father to give his own father's name to my first child. I promised.
- A girl's name, like that of my aunt, for example, Asteria. It would be much better for a girl... who one day will need a nice name... so as not to frighten potential husbands.
The two spouses were not far from arguing under the gaze of their daughter who... seemed to listen to them by frowning... as if she were trying to understand what they were saying. Naturally, it was just a feeling... wasn't it?
After some exchanges on the same tone, Alain decided to give up some ground in the interest of household peace:
- Okay... okay, a girl's name...
He darkened his eyebrows. Perhaps there was a way to respect his word... Arthur... but his wife wanted Asteria. Arth... Arteria?... no... Arturia? Not feminine enough... oh!
- Why not... Artoria!?
As Alain was waiting for the reply of his wife who was frowning exasperated, a small voice gave a clearly affirmative cry. The parents discovered their baby who stared at them with an air of grave astonishment before shaking her head slowly and pushing her call a second time.
- She seems to like it!
Éveline capitulated by sighing:
- I agree with Artoria.
Lying in her cradle, arranged in a small barrel cut in half, the young Artoria Draconnis struggled against sleep. A fight that she would quickly lose... the newborns had little endurance. Her mind would have amazed her parents. They had enjoyed her reactions without understanding... how abnormal they were.
The infant's limited brain contained an infinitely rich memory. That of a woman... that of a knight... that of a king...
Artoria Pendragon... the Saber of the Fourth and Fifth Fuyuki Grail Wars. Reincarnated, however, she had not forgotten her previous existence. As sleep carried her away, she murmured, her immature vocal cords crippled the word:
- Shi... ro...
Hier arrival on the world of Nirn was certainly not a coincidence... especially not if one considered that hze new parents had made her regain her real name.
That same day, on the field of Cryngaine, King Lysandus of Daenia was assassinated. This death set in motion a veritable infernal mechanism.
The king is dead.
Long live the king.
Once again, the summer extended on Hight-Rock. Eight years had passed; it was in the year 410 of the Third Era.
Under the banner of de La Roche ("Gold with a bull of gules") slamming in the wind, was seated a ravishing little girl of eight years. Dressed like a peasant, she wore a skirt under a white apron. Her gray bodice covered her chest and upper arms. It was tight over a shirt that stopped at the wrists. The hairstyle, white sheet, was held by a headband that kept the hair back and made it possible to hide them entirely.
If her clothes were common, although clean and almost new, her looks were noticeable. Her pale skin and oval face barely prepared for the shock of her piercing green eyes. Her face showed attention that was not childish as she listened to the story of the two tower guards:
- ... so the two trolls were on us. Small but wide shoulder, they looked like three-eyed gorillas with brown fur. They hit the ground with their fists, uncovering their fangs and preparing to load. A troll is stronger than a man and it regenerates Not to mention that his fat protects him like an armor. So attacking him with the sword is futile. What have we done?
The child folded her eyes, thinking. Her eyes were on the two men at arms with their steel breasts, their gauntlets and their metal boots. One had a napkin salad as a helmet and the other had a bassinet. They both had a broadsword on their belts and a shield on their shoulders.
- You did not attack them directly, otherwise you would have died, and you did not have ranged weapons... it was at night, you said?
She nodded for herself:
- Yes... fire. You used your torches as a weapon since the grease of the trolls easily catches fire.
The two guards looked at each other, surprised.
- That's exactly what this is...
A footfall in the staircase caused the little girl to turn around while the guards tried to regain her composure. Fortunately, this was not a surprise inspection. A woman dressed almost identical to the girl arrived on the roof of the tower. Her gaze stopped at the child and she smiled:
- Artoria, I knew I'd find you there.
Saber rose with natural dignity, dusting her apron before greeting Éveline Draconnis with a nod:
- Mother.
The woman had a little sigh. Artoria was calm, polite, intelligent... a very intelligent child... she had walked early, she already read very well and had an amazing vocabulary for her age but... She was such a serious girl, so serious. Somewhere that worried her mother very much.
- Why aren't you playing with your friends?
- I am very well here, Mother. Do you need my help with any housework?
Once again, Éveline sighed. Some children ran away from their chores and made mistakes... no, all children... except Artoria. That, too, was one of the things that worried her mother. Again, she was not acting like a child of her age.
- No, I don't need your help, princess.
This was the nickname that naturally imposed itself on Éveline and her husband: "princess". Artoria behaved in a royal manner... even when she ate. Despite her appetite, she served herself with precise and quick gestures while keeping her face calm. This avoided the use of the term "bungling" to describe how she cleaned dishes. Maybe his greed was her only childish trait.
- Go stop disturbing the guards in their work and go play with your friends.
Saber remained thoughtful for a moment. She preferred to stay with the spotters to learn fighting techniques useful against the creatures of the Nirn world. However, after reflection, playing cat-perched could be seen as a kind of training. And she needed to be strong if she wanted to convince her father to support her in her goal of becoming a squire.
So she agreed:
- As you wish, Mother. Guard Ardin; guard Carmel, if you'll excuse me.
After an impeccable reverence, Artoria headed for the staircase in a screw-step that crossed the tower when the second guard called her back:
- Artoria, if you and your friends are going to play outside the castle, remembers to stay within the perimeter of the patrols.
- Thank you for your concern, Guard Carmel. I will see to it.
It was not just talk. From their guard station, the two men-at-arms had found that Artoria took adult warnings about the dangers of the forest very seriously. When she was with the other children, she always made sure they didn't do anything stupid.
After the little girl left, her mother apologized again that Artoria came to disturb them on their eve. Ardin laughed:
- You know it doesn't bother us, Éveline. Our chore is useless. We are just doubling the ford station of the great keep. Good thing Artoria's coming.
- She likes to be told about the monsters in the area. How to spot them, track them, neutralize them.
Éveline shook her head, apologizing she left the two guards, morose, who exchanged a tired glance before bursting to laugh at their own disappointment which they saw in the face of the other:
- Return to normal guard.
- Our princess, give us back our princess, said Carmel in a mocking tone.
Ardin mimed a devotee, turning his hands together towards the sun god:
- May Akatosh hear and hear you, my son.
After another burst of laughter, Carmel shook his head:
- What a strange little girl, she twists us around her little finger with a smile.
- And I don't think we've seen anything yet... give her... say six or seven years and, with eyes like this, all the local boys will yawn at his feet.
Time passed, the months became successive years. Despite the latent threats of war, life continued peacefully for most of the inhabitants, although the Lord of La Roche looked at the Wrothgar Mountains with growing concern.
Summer 3E 417 arrived. The commemoration of the "Tiber Day" celebrated each year on 24 midyear would be held the following day.
The courtyard of honour, flanked by the corner of a decorated scroll staircase, was surrounded by a two-storey peristyle, windows and doors leading to all nearby buildings.
Like every morning, the squires trained there under the orders of Messire Nicolas de Leslier, a knight of about forty years who limped and had his face disfigured by a nasty scar.
His students formed a double line, in a coat of mail and a helmet, wearing a tabard and a shield decorated with de La Roche's blazon. They use wooden practice swords .
Fifteen-year-olds were in their third year of apprenticeship. Before that, they had begun as a page, to serve the meals of the guests of the Lord of Tournelle. Since the age of twelve, they spent two hours every day at the hands of Sir Nicolas.
He alternated practical exercises, examples to imitate, problem-solving, course on the board, lessons to learn, towards mnemonics and even drawings.
And these three years had allowed only to touch the complexity of the fencing with the long sword. Contrary to popular belief, being strong and enduring was not enough. It was not a question of handling a punch against a tree, but of defeating a supposed intelligent opponent, experienced and educated in the way of handling a blade... in any case something more reactive than a piece of wood.
- Salute! Engage!
The two lines converged towards each other. The squires attacked those who were in front, each his own opponent. The techniques were fluid and fast. The sword was used in size, in estoc, and in flat. We linked by the left and by the right, we swapped sword and shield, we took the opponent by speed, and we committed ourselves to hand-to-hand. And all of this with eases.
Sir Nicolas insisted a lot on wrist movements. Arduous and very technical, they were difficult to master.
He frowned. The knight would have liked to say that he did not expect this...
A very small squire had just engaged the iron with a loud cry, repelling his opponent - however much bigger - with a powerful blow. He leaped to the side and struck him with his foot in the back of the knee before setting him down with an extension carried on the helmet.
Sir Nicolas approached:
- Student, take-off your helmet.
The teenager removed her bassinet to reveal an oval face surrounded by blonde highlights as powdered gold. The rest of the hair was gathered in a coiled mat at the back of the head. Her eyes were incredibly beautiful, the same green as the emeralds.
All around them the squires stopped. They watched, some holding their breath, others whispering. Clashes were frequent between their teacher and the "princess".
- Damsel Artoria, can you repeat what I told you about... voice disturbances?
- Yes, Sir Nicolas. A lady-knight fights in silence, with elegance.
- Oh, beautiful, Lady Artoria, you heard. Too bad you didn't apply. Another thing, I told you about your habit of using attacks like... that cheap shot. A knight uses his weapons honorably.
- May I answer, Sir Nicolas?
The veteran had a thin smile.
- Go ahead, Lady Artoria, have fun.
- A martial art is above all the art of being effective. Appropriate response combinations must be used to return the situation to its advantage. You only enter the battlefield to kill... or be killed. There are no disgraceful techniques, not in a real fight at least.
Sir Nicolas seemed furious.
- A knight fights with a sword and fights in accordance with the rules of fencing. A knight respects himself and respects his opponent by forbidding this kind of... fantasy!
- With the exception of Your Honour, Sir Knight, I do not see any low blow.
- You kicked your opponent to his knees and then you used his weakness to hit him! This is not chivalrous.
- I see. My concern is that the problem is in your definition of chivalry. Can I explain?
Sir Nicolas was compelled to remain calm:
- Go ahead, Lady Artoria. I think we all want to hear this.
- The chivalrous ideal is a daily art of life. The Chivalrous ideal asks every day, in every act, to respect the commandments of the Divine, the Emperor, the sovereign, the direct suzerain, the wife and the orphan, not to lay, not to cheat, not to break your word. Am I right, Sir Knight?
As Artoria stopped to question her teacher, he nodded:
- Yes.
- To do this, a knight must often take up arms. He must not run away from just combat and must protect the innocent.
- Just as always.
- If the knight is stronger. Is it permissible to use this strength? If he is more skilled at arms, does he have the right to use all his skill? Yes, he can. It can be said that fighting with all his resources is even a way to honor his enemy. Those who refuse to use their advantages by "chivalry" confuse the ideal of life and the fighting technique. A knight defends the good, he defends the innocent. Outside of a tournament, the knight cannot afford to jeopardize what he must defend by placing respect for courteous rules above concern for efficiency.
Sir Nicholas looked at Artoria in anger:
- That is why low-extraction manants cannot hope to become knights. A knight places honorability above all else, and he is proud to fight in accordance with courteous rules. Lady Artoria, perhaps you will at least understand this. Tomorrow, as your comrades celebrate "Tiber's Feast" in honour of the first Emperor Septim, the unifier of the continent, you will cut wood in the forest. It will probably be better for someone of your "quality"...
The next day, lumberjack axe in hand, Saber advanced into the forest.
She felt... furious. It was very difficult for her to persuade her father to pay her a squire's instruction. In High-Rock, knighthood was not reserved for nobility or men. Even women could become knights. Nevertheless, one had to have the financial means to buy weapons and expensive armor as well, especially as a war horse.
Nevertheless, learning was unequal. The nobles formed the majority of the squires and they created a bloc against the manants. The beauty of Artoria had not really benefited her. It was incredible what "noble" people could be shown to be infamous of themselves. The manner in which they had asserted their interest in her had not been discreet and to tell the truth, made Gilgamesh look like a perfect gentleman in comparison.
Saber sighed. Even after fifteen years on Nirn, this strange world, she still thought every day of Shiro... her Master. She was sure that he must have arrived on this world too. And Saber wanted more than anything to go looking for him.
As a result, she was not interested in boys. No doubt, it was not easy to push them away by making them feel how much they were bothering her.
To tell the truth, as the only girl and only non-noble among the squires, she was now well isolated. Not to mention that the learning... Saber shook her head, frustrated.
Breton knighthood was supposed to be an elite force. Only, despite incessant feudal wars, most knights had no idea what a real conflict was. They fought only among themselves by wearing a yoke of courteous rules reducing chivalry to a force of parade and review!
Saber smiled, shaking her head. Complaining did not resemble her at all, but she felt incredibly frustrated. Walking under the woods, the girl arrived at a clearing. Fallen trunks marked the tall grass. Saws, chop chopping wood adjoined with logs.
How many did she have to split, twenty? Yes, it had to be...
Her ordinary thoughts were swept away by a dark wave, a dreadful feeling. Something horrible was about to happen.
A shadow passed over the clearing and Artoria had the reflex to throw herself under the cover of a tree. With her eyes up, she discovered...
- A dragon! ?
Impossible! Nirn's dragons had been exterminated centuries ago by the Blades, the bodyguards of the Emperor of Tamriel. In fact... despite a striking resemblance, the flying reptile was smaller. It must have been some kind of cousin, a wyvern or a drake. An unintelligent relative of the dragon seen... that he was sealed like a horse and that two creatures with green skin were on his back, wearing studded leather armor and crude weapons. Goblins...
Others of these winged monsters passed over her, mounted by their own horsemen. In the distance, sounded the alarm bell of the Castel de Tournelle. Saber opened her eyes, horrified!
- No, not that...
Forgetting her usual prudence, losing all ability to reason, Saber began to run towards the castle. No, her parents! Armed with a simple lumberjack axe, wearing skirts and bodices, the girl thought only of her family, her friends. While she was in the woods, she heard explosions, cries... Crossing the edge of the forest, she discovered Tournelle on fire.
Goblins mounted on the wyvern threw black bundles that exploded against the towers and walls, creating new fires.
About ten winged lizards passed in formation. Their riders threw more explosives. Just before a fragment struck her at the temple and everything became black, Saber saw the ramparts disintegrate into a formidable deflagration.
First real chapter of Fate/ Dragoncrown. Ah, Saber at eight... so cuuuute! 3 The translation was complicated because the realms, the months, the places do not have the same names in the French version of the TES and in the original in English. In addition, there were many terms relating to heraldry or medieval weaponry.
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