Bouquet: Full Bloom, part one
Title: Bouquet, Full Bloom part one
Series: Fire Emblem 7: Rekka no Ken/The Blazing Sword
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama
Characters: Louise
(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo
Note the First: I use this and this other site for my Victorian flower translations. The second is more thorough than the first.
Summary: The beginning of the end.
Full Bloom, part one: Plum Tree
(i keep my promise)
It was dark, but the summer night was so warm that Louise decided to go without her cloak for now. Later, though, she knew it would be necessary if only because it would be too unusual to find two young women riding without a chaperone, and she did not wish for any more delays from her purpose.
"Lady Louise," called Celia's sweet voice, "Lady Louise, I've saddled her. Do you have everything?"
"Yes," Louise whispered, knowing that it would carry. Thankfully the stables were away from the house, but that did not mean they could tarry overlong. Shouldering her burden, she hurried to the front of the stable, where she could but make out the outlines of her dearest friend and docile Marion, who was harnessed just as Celia had promised. She was the first to climb atop the blue-gray mare, tying the two small bags that served as their luggage to either side of the saddle before reaching for Celia, who settled comfortably behind her.
"Would you like me to keep your bow?"
Louise turned, a little embarrassed now. "Is it in your way, Celia?"
"Not much," Celia was quick to assure her. "I just wondered if it was comfortable for you to wear it like that. You never kept your last bow strung too long, I remember."
"It should be fine. This is an iron bow, and metal won't bend too easily to twine, though the string might have too much of a give after long. But..." Louise looked ahead, gripping the reins as she could just about find the road they were to travel upon. "I think it will be fine. We don't know what dangers we will find on the way to Aquleia, so we must be prepared at all times."
"Oh," she could hear Celia murmur, and briefly she wondered if it would be best to ask her dear friend to stay behind, never mind that it would be quite the loss for her to bear. Then Celia wrapped her arms around Louise's waist. "Shall we be off, Lady Louise? Nothing will change as long as we stay here...not with their plans in place."
"Right!" Urging Marion forward, Louise kept her eyes on the road.
Mother and Father's plans...I'm sorry, but I cannot suffer them.
-0-
She had entered the house quietly, a tremble running through her hands that she could not easily dispel no matter how much she willed her hands to stay stiff and strong. Yet in her own way, she was also pleased because the ache that coursed through her fingers and along her shoulders and back were indications of newly-grown strength that could not be denied. It meant that she, too, could not be denied.
There were low murmurs as she crossed the foyer that caught her attention as soon as her ears caught them. She hesitated--when had her curiosity been anything more than a sword that cut twice in one swing?--before lightly making her way toward the voices, those of her beloved mother and father. They were speaking in normal tones within the confines of her mother's library, though what Louise had heard was a cresting of emotion that caused her parents' voices to momentarily rise, as if on the wings of a soaring falcon.
Without interruption, with barely a breath to sustain herself, this is what she heard:
"I just said I don't care for it, dearest, but what can I do but condone it? All she has now is her archery, though I don't care for how long she practices every day. It worries me."
"She's always had her archery. I would prefer she spend her time on that than something more destructive to herself." In Etruscan, "Though, when you worry that much you seem even more beautiful. You always were more suited to maternal concerns than you ever let yourself believe."
"What did you just say?"
"How is it that we have been married for seventeen years, yet you've picked up nothing of Etruscan?"
"I don't care for the dead and the dying."
"Why do you visit your father so much, then?"
"Oh, would you please get over your dislike of him? It's always so annoyingly masculine."
"He's made certain I'll never forget. You know this."
"Oh, Gérald...this has nothing to do with our daughter. I wish you would worry more, if only for my sake."
"Would you be less worried if she spent all day crying in her room, like before? I for one greatly prefer her as she is now, after the funeral, than before it."
"I just don't like it. There is something about her manner now that frightens me. I look at her, and I cannot recognize her as my own Louise."
"It is true she is much altered, but it is to be expected. Catherine..."
"I...I want my daughter back. Whatever can be done, I will do it with my own two hands if it would only restore her."
"There, Catherine. You still have your writing to occupy you. You've gone quite far in that manuscript as it is."
"I've still more to say, much more. Enough to shatter his foundation and bring him to his knees. For destroying my daughter's happiness, he deserves no less than divine retribution."
"I know it. I entrust the matter to you. Only, remember to fully repent afterward. To take joy from this act is no different than his dragonesque ways. I won't have you fall in your quest to make him falter."
"You make it sound so paltry. I don't mean to make him tumble; I will take his legs entirely."
"Catherine..."
"Hm...dearest, let's send Louise away for a time. I fear she cannot truly recuperate here. Hellene needed a different scenery entirely to regain herself, so perhaps..."
"I could send her to my sister, I suppose...I know, I know. You don't have to glare at me like that. It was only a thought."
"Well, I would prefer you thought more about my own comfort."
"What do you think I've dedicated my life to? That was what you requested."
"No, it was what you offered."
"Bold woman. Then, where should we send Louise? Not too far away, I hope."
"And Lycia isn't? But I wouldn't want her in such an uncouth place. Missur is very nearly civilized according to Luca, and the sea breeze would refresh her. We'll send Celia with her...no, Joshua. Joshua would be much better."
"Well, I would feel better if it were him, but I need him here. I could ask the good count for some of his men."
"No, no, that wouldn't do. It must be Joshua, because he needs a change as well."
"He only arrived here not even a year ago. What sort of change does he need?"
"Mm...perhaps in the image of the girl reflected in his eyes..."
"Another one of your schemes, Catherine?"
"Not quite, only that he could help her just by being near. And honestly, Celia is a dear, but she has already made her choice clear. You cannot say that you disapprove of such a match, dearest. Unless you liked him a great deal more than you ever let on."
"I don't know. I only know that it seemed easier over time to accept it after she left again. It is unsatisfactory that it ended this way, almost anti-climatic. But I suppose you're right. Joshua is very dependable, very suitable for her. If that is the choice she makes, I will support it. But Catherine, not before."
"You'll make the arrangements, then?"
"Yes. If that is all I can do for her, I will agree to any expense. I'm sure Aramis has property there."
"I'm sure."
"Catherine..."
"Hm...thank you, Gérald. Thank you for listening to my concerns."
"You are my wife."
"Yes...stay a little while longer, if you please. I find that the events of the last few months have made me more cautious to keep my happiness close to me. If he's mad enough to strike down a count after so many years, how much longer would he be willing to wait to do harm to you?"
"Don't worry. Only Saint Elimine's decree will separate us. There is no power below the heavens that can do the same. We've already proven that."
"Thank you, my dearest..."
Slowly, but without the hesitation that so characterized her girlhood, Louise stepped away from the door, her head bent and her heartbeat in a flurry. One small hand reached to tuck a lock of hair that had slipped out of the hold of her loose bun, and if it trembled in the least she could not have have known it. All she knew were her own thoughts, which could aptly be summed up as this:
Must that be...already? I can't, no matter how much I love you. I can't. Celia...
This is what Louise heard that day, three days before the night she fled Alloway to seek her own destiny. After all, on that regard she had learned from the best.
-0-
Her grandfather's townhouse in Aquleia looked little used when Louise and Celia arrived on the evening of the second day, Marion having safely delivered them at no faster than a spirited trot. Neither had minded, as it was far more important to seem a fixture on the road than an oddity on it, and what else would two young ladies on a single horse look but a most curious oddity?
After much-needed baths and all the necessary preparations for bed, Celia spoke in the night darkness of their shared room. "Lady Louise, do you think we'll be caught soon?"
"No," answered Louise in a thoughtful tone, "I wouldn't think so, since I left a note detailing our movements."
There was silence for a moment, then the sound of rustling sheets and displaced weight on the other bed attracted Louise's attention. "Ah, that was smart. They'll have no need to go after you if they're aware of where you are. But, suppose your lady mother sends a letter to your lord grandfather?"
"Then she sends a letter," Louise replied. "And it will not look good for me, but I have already decided on this. I will not go to Missur. She may think me better at Grandfather's manor instead and simply send a letter of warning about my arrival." She shifted on her bed, letting her blankets fall from over her bosom to just above her hips; the night air was unusually hot and stifling and neither had wished to open a window and attract any sort of attention, whether from a strolling guard alarmed that someone was now occupying the townhouse in such a fine district, or a passing would-be thief who made his rounds here. "Father might be angry, but Mother will see the wisdom in the act and decide to leave well enough alone. That's always been her way."
"But, does it not look strange that we departed in the middle of the night?"
Louise smiled in the darkness as she stared above her, unseeing. "Mother will choose to be lenient on me just this once. She will remember her own past and not wish to push the issue and have me separate permanently."
A sigh, and then, "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"
"Not everything. Who knows how Grandfather will react?"
"I'm a little scared," Celia murmured. "Steel bends before he does. I've always thought this."
Louise murmured her assent, and afterward there was nothing but restless sleep in a heat too difficult to be comfortable in.
-0-
Well-fed, well-watered, and somewhat rested, the three of them made for the grand manor of Duke Mersey, the retired Great General of Etruria, Yossas Trent. It had been many years since Louise had laid eyes upon her grandfather and she wondered now how much time had changed them and the tenuous bond of blood that tied the two together. She prayed he would be moved by her, touched by sentimentality, but knew different; the only reason why he recognized her mother as his trueborn daughter once again was not due to any softening of his heart but the fact that she was his only direct relative and had a head for all the business of nobility that he had to resign from in his bouts of failing health. He never asked for Louise to visit and seemed to hate the long blond hair that revealed her Etruscan lineage as plainly as the eye could see, but now she had little choice in the matter.
It was either here or Missur, and in the latter destination nothing could be done.
They stopped at a village approaching the manor and rented a room with what savings Louise had brought, enough to assure their passage at all the planned stops and at what few unplanned ones she could think of; perhaps her father would have been pleased at her scrupulous use of the coinage that was ubiquitous throughout Elibe, as it was he who taught her the value of money on every level great and small though she was only a girl. A lesser man, she knew, would not have wasted the time.
It was in that room where she revealed the elegant dress and fine undergarments packed across both saddlebags, for Grandfather would never accept a granddaughter dressed in common traveling clothes. In his home nobles were nobles and servants were servants; there was no inbetween. Celia worked to prepare her, her fingers moving with an expert grace from tying the corset to twisting golden hair into a perfect Etruscan braid. They had not carried makeup, so Louise endured quick pinches along both cheeks in order to suffuse the appropriate blush to her cheeks before Celia stepped back, her dear friend's hazel eyes taking in the sight with a critical gaze.
"It will have to do," she said after a few moments, speaking in Etruscan as she normally did when in a thoughtful mood. "I'm not certain it is up to your grandfather's exacting standards, though..."
"But because you helped me, I know I must look perfect in everyone else's eyes," Louise said with a grin. A troubled look briefly crossed Celia's lovely face.
"It was not good enough for the Reglay nobles."
Louise's lips twisted as if she had tasted something tart. "Not even Lord Pent. That was why..."
"Lady Louise, do you have the letter?"
Thankful for the interruption, Louise nodded. "I will write it immediately. Mother and Father will need to know, and after we arrive I know we will be separated."
Celia looked away, long, graceful fingers of one hand idly brushing her own copper locks behind her ears. "Physically, perhaps, but never in our hearts."
"Of course," Louise said, reaching forward to embrace her dearest friend. Valiantly fighting her tears, she murmured, "That will never change, no matter what may come."
-0-
Mersey Manor was a short ride north from Aquleia, no more than an hour in the best of conditions. In the August heat, forced to ride side-saddle due to her long skirts, and burdening patient Marion with the weight of two, they arrived at the manor by late afternoon. Not long after they dismounted in front of the mansion several servants seemed to pour out of the servants' entryway and flow towards them. Louise shared a look with Celia, only to have it broken by one of the older manservants as he bowed to Louise. "Milady, your grandfather the duke requests your presence as soon as you arrived."
Then Mother did write. Smiling, she held out a hand to Celia. "Let us go, then." A shadowed look seemed to cross over the old servant's face at the words.
"He has only requested for you, milady."
Louise did not alter her smile, not by a single degree. "I'm aware," she said as Celia brought forth the unstrung bow, which had been tied to Marion's side during the ride over. Taking the simple iron bow from her dear friend's hands, the two placed kisses on each other's cheeks. "Sister of my heart," she whispered in Etruscan.
"Yes," Celia murmured, following her cue to the last. "You may count on me."
And then she backed away, following two maids towards the servants' entranceway of the manor. With an acute sense of sorrow in her heart, Louise watched her go until Celia disappeared.
"Milady," the servant urged; to this, Louise let her gaze wander to the main entrance, where grand doors carved from red oaks and polished until it had a shine not unlike those pieces of her mother's jewelry set with semi-precious stones like onyx or jade. This was the entrance for guests and family, all of whom who, in one sense or another, carried the blood of nobility as they crossed the threshold.
She could not help but hate the fact that her grandfather was so set in making a difference between herself and Celia.
Without a word, she walked to the entrance and then inside, ignoring everything but her beating heart as she followed the manservant to the room where her grandfather awaited her presence. Belatedly she realized that she had left her quiver in one of the saddlebags; she would have to retrieve it later. The bow, solid in her grip, was the important thing, if only to absorb the energy in her hands at her more nervous points.
Grandfather saw everything, after all.
Opening the door, the manservant announced, "Milord, your granddaughter has arrived."
"Send her in."
The words were spoken in a neutral tone, something that did not signal either way her grandfather's mood. She entered just as she was ordered, her back as straight as her mother had ever gotten it to be, her eyes set forward. Her grandfather sat on a simple antique chair, his presence looming over her though he had not done much more than aim his gaze at her. Controlling her breathing, Louise curtseyed as deeply as her knees would allow her before she straightened herself and awaited his orders.
"Your arms are too thick. Is that why you come here in such indecent dress?"
Louise did her best not to spare a glance at her outfit; other than the short, ruffled sleeves it was quite conservative in cut from collarbone to just at her ankles. Even the colors of it, dark and light purples mixed with brown, was very ordinary and unobtrusive, or so she thought. She could therefore only bow her head and speak in softer tones than what she normally allowed, "Forgive me, Grandfather. The heat has been overbearing." She did not reply to the first remark of his, knowing as well as he did that the bow in her hand answered that well enough.
"You may have found yourself good fortune in betrothal to a count, but now that he is dead do you think such slovenly dress would attract another highborn noble?"
She flinched. She did not mean to, but she did so all the same. He noticed this as he did every mistake and frowned.
"Sit down, Louise. I mean to ask you some questions."
There was an undecorated chaise lounge nearby his chair; she sat down there and laid her bow across her lap. "Yes, Grandfather."
Her grandfather looked at her and she held his gaze. Though he had been much aged since he finally retired from the position of Great General of Etruria nearly five years ago, there was still an immenseness about him, a greatness that time never forgot. It was every bit as solid as his own body, every bit as intimidating. His dark eyes, covered liberally by his iron-gray eyebrows, saw everything, and the mind behind them forgot nothing. Her mother had a complicated relationship with him, while her father a very uncomplicated one, but Louise herself could see the good in him, often tempered by a coldness that could be seen in her own mother at the worst of times.
Did that same coldness lurk inside her, despite her affinity and gentle care? It did scare Louise to think so, but she was beginning to understand that it may be the only way to save herself---to protect what mattered to her most.
"You rode here with your maid."
"I did."
"Was it a pleasant ride?"
"It was."
"Did you stay at the townhouse?"
"Yes."
"I trust you cleaned up after yourself."
"Of course."
Pleasantries done, her grandfather peered down upon her as his posture, always perfect, seemed now to be even straighter than the lances he always carried. "Why are you here? Your mother attributes nothing to you as far as your plans go, only that you might want for some rest in a different landscape. But I do not care for letters arriving by hawk rather than a proper messenger, especially when you arrive not even two days later."
"Yes, Grandfather. I've come here to ask for your help."
"In what matter?"
"I would like to go to the Western Isles...Fibernia, to be exact."
There was a flicker of something in her grandfather's expression that disappeared nearly as soon as it had appeared. "The place where your fiancé died. You wish to see the place to end your grieving?"
"No, Grandfather. I wish..." She pressed her lips together, suddenly wanting for some water or tea. "I wish to save him."
"He is dead. If you wish to save his soul, you could do that well enough by praying at home."
"He is alive. I've discovered the proof of it."
Her grandfather had, at best, an expression of consternation that most showed along the deep wrinkles along his eyes and his mouth, what little there was not hidden by his full beard. "I do not pander to delusions," he warned. "Tell me the story and omit nothing, and I will decide what the truth is."
"Yes, Grandfather," she obeyed with ease, and then began to tell the story that had haunted her for months afterward, the memories that caused her heart to ache and fueled her body to develop her skills beyond what she had ever been capable of.
In short, the truth of Lord Pent's funeral.
-0-
Louise had not wanted to go to Lord Pent's funeral; she had barely wanted to leave her room at all. However, as Lord Pent's former fiancée, it was required that she attend lest she dishonor both himself and herself. The devastation that had wracked her body in the days since she had learned the news of his death had weakened her mind sufficiently that dishonoring herself seemed acceptable, but she could never do ill to Lord Pent's memory.
Never.
Her mother went with her, as well as Celia and Lisette; her father opted to remain behind. Joshua only kissed her brow and told her to take care of herself, while her father seemed most reluctant to let her go; only after many assurances from her mother did he finally relent. After the journey, which took about the same amount of time though she wished to never arrive, they were admitted to Reglay Castle. It was there she discovered that the family whose claimant had won the right to become the new head of House Reglay was the lord of House Tilley, who had mistreated her and her friends just within the last year. Though it was a time of gloom, a time to respect the dead and honor his memory, the main family of House Tilley, particularly the niece who had been adopted into the family as the Baron and Baroness were childless, paraded about the castle with a glee that wounded Louise dreadfully to see it. That anyone at all could show joy at Lord Pent's death, particularly these people...it was a most terrible wound upon her heart. And then there was also...
"Ah, the former Lady Mersey."
Louise was tugged along as her mother whirled around in the empty hallway--they had been traversing its length in order to avoid the worst of the crowd, as advised by a somber Raike. It had taken a moment to reorient herself and wonder about the man who had hailed her mother, and why he looked so familiar. She could not recall it in her own memory until she had looked at her mother's profile and saw a tightness to that lovely face, a scene of hatred so vivid that she knew instantly she would cry if it were ever directed at her.
That man is...
A cruel twist of her lips distorted Louise's image of her mother, who was sometimes cold but never like this. "Amazing. And here I thought the servants would have swept away the dirt for their master's funeral, if nothing else."
"It is indeed interesting at what they've allowed inside, considering your arrival," that man who was at the birthday party over a year ago responded, a crooked smile on his face. Despite his extravagant style, the cut of his clothes indicating he was a highborn noble with military expertise, his cutting words struck Louise as being completely the opposite of his appearance. "But then, you would know all about laying in the dirt, wouldn't you, Catherine?"
Louise had started forward, the imprecation too much to bear, only to be stopped by the vise-like grip of her mother's hand on her arm. "Careful, Alfred," her mother seemed to purr, "we wouldn't want to sound like a hypocrite, would we? Because those clothes, as nice as they are, simply aren't up to the challenge of hiding the filth you're made from."
Cringing at the words that had come from her mother's mouth, Louise could only stand still, overtaken by a vague sense of horror. The only thing worse at the moment had been looking up only to find the nobleman's eyes upon her. "So that girl was the means to your resurrection, was she? Your kindling for the former Count Reglay's flames, and from the smoke a new 'Lady Catherine' would emerge?"
"You...please don't talk about my mother in such a way!" Louise had shouted. She felt her mother's grip slacken with shock and took full advantage of it, stepping forward as if to challenge him. "My mother would never use me, and Lord Pent is not the sort of man who would agree to such a thing. Lord Pent is far too considerate to do anything so sad...how can you say something like that inside his own home?"
The strange man's expression did not noticeably change, although there was something to his eyes that had made her wish for her bow; not to shoot it, of course not, but merely for the comfort of its weight in her hands. Then his smirk became a smile, though not a pleasant one. "You mean, was."
Louise had flinched back as if struck, the very words causing an involuntary reaction as tears came to her eyes. That her mother's arms came around her in the next moment did not save her from beginning to cry in front of the cruel man, and furthermore she had to bear the humiliation of her mother taking her place at the front while she was to remain behind her mother like nothing more than a child. "You'll regret those words, Alfred Minart," her mother had said with a disquieting calm. "I will destroy you and everything you've ever built up, just as you destroyed one of Etruria's most promising youths."
"Dangerous words, I would think," he had replied. "You don't fully understand your position compared to mine. In fact, Catherine, you understand so little that it's amazing you can even stand here before me, spitting your venom, without drowning in your own ignorance. I'm the knight general, I'm one of the king's most trusted advisors, I'm the son your father wishes you had become, and you are nothing. You chose to be nothing, and you will come to understand just how powerless you truly are." The look he gave in that moment her mother was nothing short of horrendous, malevolence and pride both revealing themselves keenly upon his face. "And to think you would accuse me of such a thing when I had even purchased with my own money the lordling's casket. Now, any last witty repartees, Catherine?"
"...Louise, we'll be late to the service if we don't leave now," her mother had said. Trailing behind her mother, Louise noticed that her mother had refrained from even glancing in the man's direction before she turned around and headed to the chapel where the funerary service was to be held. The man her mother said had caused Lord Pent's death somehow...yet, she could feel her own powerlessness in his presence.
He was everything, and she nothing. There was no way to prove his hand had been the one to guide the forces that lead to Lord Pent's destruction.
The service had passed her by in a haze of prayers and songs, and by the end of it all Louise had wanted was to go back to her room and cry. That desperate need to hold back was the only thing that had saved her, for she knew if she let herself indulge in her grief now she would never stop, not even with the audience in attendance. It had been for her mother's sake she held back, knowing that her mother had patiently borne her terrible surges of grief since that dreadful day and would prefer at least a break for them, as well as the fact that it would embarrass her mother were she to let go of her good sense now.
Lord Pent, too...she had never cried in front of Lord Pent, even when she had deserved to at that time when he revealed that he was to go so far away from her; now, now it seemed improper to cry when all there was to comfort her was his coffin. The chapel had emptied quickly after the priest's last words, for even in their funerary services Tower Elimineans were altogether too brief. She hated this, for Lord Pent deserved more, so much more, but she also had to admit a certain measure of comfort, for she had dearly wanted to be alone with him.
Just him and her, just like it had been once upon a time.
She told her mother her wishes and her mother had complied, getting rid of anyone else who would be an audience to her daughter's grief. The priest and his assistants had only been too happy to go, and so too a handful of servants who had come to peer upon their master's coffin before it was interred in the family mausoleum. Then, and only then, had Louise been alone. Approaching the coffin in front of the chapel altar with a timidity she felt Lord Pent would have laughed at her for were he alive, she had laid her hands upon it and found it was cold, so cold. It had been a modern coffin, made of the finest metal and with a silver rendition of Saint Elimine upon its lid. She had wondered if Lord Pent would have approved such a thing; he had loved magic so much that even she would have preferred seeing his beloved anima drawings (which he had drawn for her in some of his letters when she had asked about learning its symbology) upon his resting place rather than even an assurance that he would be taken to God's country.
Of course he would, she knew. Lord Pent is--had been such a good person. So good...
With a hand still laid upon the sleek lid, she had begun to walk the perimeter of the coffin just as it was proper for Lighter Elimineans to do; saying goodbye close to the departed rather than at a distance like the Tower Elimineans advocated. She fought her tears when the knowledge that this was the only closeness they had now, in these few moments, had pricked at her mind. Unfortunately she could not trust her voice at the moment, so she could not even sing a hymn for him. When she had reached the other side of where she had begun, she stopped as a shudder ran down her body with a ferocity that could not be denied. It was a precursor to her breaking down utterly, and though she tried to stave it off she could feel an enormous pressure within her to throw aside the tattered remains of her dignity and cry.
That was when it had happened: a queer feeling overcame her, but she knew her own emotions intimately enough to know that this was, rather, an outside influence. It had not been too powerful nor malevolent, but it was foreign and she had nearly panicked until the thought occurred to her in the rush of her mad wonderings that it might be a message--a message from the Voice of God, Saint Elimine. Then she had calmed, or tried to, and let these odd emotions wash over her like cold water. There had been the feeling of cold winds, which caused her to shiver, a feeling of being enclosed by the natural darkness, there was...there was...
sadness loneliness regret
"Lord Pent?" she whispered.
desperation fear
Trembling, she fell to her knees, wide-eyed and staring at nothing as the last feelings caressed her.
warmth happiness louise i
And then it was gone.
"...Lord Pent, that was..."
Those had not been her feelings, they had been his. Somehow, despite their distance, despite his death, his feelings had reached her.
She had risen on unsteady feet and stared at the coffin. On this side she could see latches. In this moment, her skin still humming with Lord Pent's presence, she could not be blamed for what she had done.
She had reached out and undone them.
Lord Pent, although I know it will be a terrible sight, let me at least say goodbye this way. Even if this is blasphemy, even if I am destroying everything good in this moment, let me say goodbye this way.
She had opened the coffin.
It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at as she peered inside the coffin, but once she did she had only stared harder, perplexed.
Aren't these...stones?
They had been five in number, good-sized stones wrapped in some wool and paper. She had picked one up and tapped it against the inside of the metal coffin, frowning at the dull sound emitted. It had been heavy and with obvious sides, so it wouldn't roll; furthermore, if it had, the sound would be muffled and not attract undue attention.
But where's Lord Pent's body?
She had almost considered that they couldn't find one and that was the reason for this farce, but then she had realized what it meant if they could not find the body. And then that man's words had come back to her--
And to think you would accuse me of such a thing when I had even purchased with my own money the lordling's casket
--and then she had known there was no body. Lord Pent was alive.
-0-
"...I knew no one would believe me if I dared say such a thing. It would be considered the ramblings of a lost woman, and I did not want that. I decided to bid my time until I could go for myself to see with my own eyes the truth of the Western Isles, but Mother and Father are planning to send me to Missur as an enforced vacation. That was when I knew I had to leave, and do it quickly."
Her grandfather, who had not shown a single decipherable emotion during her story, scoffed at this. "Why not tell your parents? They would believe their only child."
Louise stared at the bow laying demurely on her lap. "I'm afraid not. My father would probably not hear anything beyond my opening Lord Pent's casket, and that would only hasten my trip to Missur, or a convent. Mother may believe me, but I think it would only bring enmity between them were I to come out with this story."
"So you came to me, as if I would be more receptive to your...tale."
"Yes, Grandfather. I assumed you would almost have to be."
"Why?"
"Because it concerns your protégé."
He seemed to consider her for a moment. "And what if I took you for a madwoman and forcibly sent you back to those parents of yours?"
"I...don't think you would do so, Grandfather," Louise murmured. "This is a matter of honor. You were never the type to shrink back, not when you could discover the truth with your own eyes."
No words passed between them for the rest of the day; he did not even invite her to have dinner with him. She found time to retrieve her quiver from Celia, and ate very little within the confines of her room.
Two days of fretful anxiety later, a servant led her to the front grounds of the manor, where an outfitted carriage drawn by four horses awaited her. Her grandfather's face was stern, but he helped her into the carriage without a word regarding either her bow or her quiver, and, after he entered the carriage, directed the driver to head north to the port town of Piraeus.
The supply port to the Western Isles.
-end-
Series: Fire Emblem 7: Rekka no Ken/The Blazing Sword
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama
Characters: Louise
(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo
Note the First: I use this and this other site for my Victorian flower translations. The second is more thorough than the first.
Summary: The beginning of the end.
Full Bloom, part one: Plum Tree
(i keep my promise)
It was dark, but the summer night was so warm that Louise decided to go without her cloak for now. Later, though, she knew it would be necessary if only because it would be too unusual to find two young women riding without a chaperone, and she did not wish for any more delays from her purpose.
"Lady Louise," called Celia's sweet voice, "Lady Louise, I've saddled her. Do you have everything?"
"Yes," Louise whispered, knowing that it would carry. Thankfully the stables were away from the house, but that did not mean they could tarry overlong. Shouldering her burden, she hurried to the front of the stable, where she could but make out the outlines of her dearest friend and docile Marion, who was harnessed just as Celia had promised. She was the first to climb atop the blue-gray mare, tying the two small bags that served as their luggage to either side of the saddle before reaching for Celia, who settled comfortably behind her.
"Would you like me to keep your bow?"
Louise turned, a little embarrassed now. "Is it in your way, Celia?"
"Not much," Celia was quick to assure her. "I just wondered if it was comfortable for you to wear it like that. You never kept your last bow strung too long, I remember."
"It should be fine. This is an iron bow, and metal won't bend too easily to twine, though the string might have too much of a give after long. But..." Louise looked ahead, gripping the reins as she could just about find the road they were to travel upon. "I think it will be fine. We don't know what dangers we will find on the way to Aquleia, so we must be prepared at all times."
"Oh," she could hear Celia murmur, and briefly she wondered if it would be best to ask her dear friend to stay behind, never mind that it would be quite the loss for her to bear. Then Celia wrapped her arms around Louise's waist. "Shall we be off, Lady Louise? Nothing will change as long as we stay here...not with their plans in place."
"Right!" Urging Marion forward, Louise kept her eyes on the road.
Mother and Father's plans...I'm sorry, but I cannot suffer them.
-0-
She had entered the house quietly, a tremble running through her hands that she could not easily dispel no matter how much she willed her hands to stay stiff and strong. Yet in her own way, she was also pleased because the ache that coursed through her fingers and along her shoulders and back were indications of newly-grown strength that could not be denied. It meant that she, too, could not be denied.
There were low murmurs as she crossed the foyer that caught her attention as soon as her ears caught them. She hesitated--when had her curiosity been anything more than a sword that cut twice in one swing?--before lightly making her way toward the voices, those of her beloved mother and father. They were speaking in normal tones within the confines of her mother's library, though what Louise had heard was a cresting of emotion that caused her parents' voices to momentarily rise, as if on the wings of a soaring falcon.
Without interruption, with barely a breath to sustain herself, this is what she heard:
"I just said I don't care for it, dearest, but what can I do but condone it? All she has now is her archery, though I don't care for how long she practices every day. It worries me."
"She's always had her archery. I would prefer she spend her time on that than something more destructive to herself." In Etruscan, "Though, when you worry that much you seem even more beautiful. You always were more suited to maternal concerns than you ever let yourself believe."
"What did you just say?"
"How is it that we have been married for seventeen years, yet you've picked up nothing of Etruscan?"
"I don't care for the dead and the dying."
"Why do you visit your father so much, then?"
"Oh, would you please get over your dislike of him? It's always so annoyingly masculine."
"He's made certain I'll never forget. You know this."
"Oh, Gérald...this has nothing to do with our daughter. I wish you would worry more, if only for my sake."
"Would you be less worried if she spent all day crying in her room, like before? I for one greatly prefer her as she is now, after the funeral, than before it."
"I just don't like it. There is something about her manner now that frightens me. I look at her, and I cannot recognize her as my own Louise."
"It is true she is much altered, but it is to be expected. Catherine..."
"I...I want my daughter back. Whatever can be done, I will do it with my own two hands if it would only restore her."
"There, Catherine. You still have your writing to occupy you. You've gone quite far in that manuscript as it is."
"I've still more to say, much more. Enough to shatter his foundation and bring him to his knees. For destroying my daughter's happiness, he deserves no less than divine retribution."
"I know it. I entrust the matter to you. Only, remember to fully repent afterward. To take joy from this act is no different than his dragonesque ways. I won't have you fall in your quest to make him falter."
"You make it sound so paltry. I don't mean to make him tumble; I will take his legs entirely."
"Catherine..."
"Hm...dearest, let's send Louise away for a time. I fear she cannot truly recuperate here. Hellene needed a different scenery entirely to regain herself, so perhaps..."
"I could send her to my sister, I suppose...I know, I know. You don't have to glare at me like that. It was only a thought."
"Well, I would prefer you thought more about my own comfort."
"What do you think I've dedicated my life to? That was what you requested."
"No, it was what you offered."
"Bold woman. Then, where should we send Louise? Not too far away, I hope."
"And Lycia isn't? But I wouldn't want her in such an uncouth place. Missur is very nearly civilized according to Luca, and the sea breeze would refresh her. We'll send Celia with her...no, Joshua. Joshua would be much better."
"Well, I would feel better if it were him, but I need him here. I could ask the good count for some of his men."
"No, no, that wouldn't do. It must be Joshua, because he needs a change as well."
"He only arrived here not even a year ago. What sort of change does he need?"
"Mm...perhaps in the image of the girl reflected in his eyes..."
"Another one of your schemes, Catherine?"
"Not quite, only that he could help her just by being near. And honestly, Celia is a dear, but she has already made her choice clear. You cannot say that you disapprove of such a match, dearest. Unless you liked him a great deal more than you ever let on."
"I don't know. I only know that it seemed easier over time to accept it after she left again. It is unsatisfactory that it ended this way, almost anti-climatic. But I suppose you're right. Joshua is very dependable, very suitable for her. If that is the choice she makes, I will support it. But Catherine, not before."
"You'll make the arrangements, then?"
"Yes. If that is all I can do for her, I will agree to any expense. I'm sure Aramis has property there."
"I'm sure."
"Catherine..."
"Hm...thank you, Gérald. Thank you for listening to my concerns."
"You are my wife."
"Yes...stay a little while longer, if you please. I find that the events of the last few months have made me more cautious to keep my happiness close to me. If he's mad enough to strike down a count after so many years, how much longer would he be willing to wait to do harm to you?"
"Don't worry. Only Saint Elimine's decree will separate us. There is no power below the heavens that can do the same. We've already proven that."
"Thank you, my dearest..."
Slowly, but without the hesitation that so characterized her girlhood, Louise stepped away from the door, her head bent and her heartbeat in a flurry. One small hand reached to tuck a lock of hair that had slipped out of the hold of her loose bun, and if it trembled in the least she could not have have known it. All she knew were her own thoughts, which could aptly be summed up as this:
Must that be...already? I can't, no matter how much I love you. I can't. Celia...
This is what Louise heard that day, three days before the night she fled Alloway to seek her own destiny. After all, on that regard she had learned from the best.
-0-
Her grandfather's townhouse in Aquleia looked little used when Louise and Celia arrived on the evening of the second day, Marion having safely delivered them at no faster than a spirited trot. Neither had minded, as it was far more important to seem a fixture on the road than an oddity on it, and what else would two young ladies on a single horse look but a most curious oddity?
After much-needed baths and all the necessary preparations for bed, Celia spoke in the night darkness of their shared room. "Lady Louise, do you think we'll be caught soon?"
"No," answered Louise in a thoughtful tone, "I wouldn't think so, since I left a note detailing our movements."
There was silence for a moment, then the sound of rustling sheets and displaced weight on the other bed attracted Louise's attention. "Ah, that was smart. They'll have no need to go after you if they're aware of where you are. But, suppose your lady mother sends a letter to your lord grandfather?"
"Then she sends a letter," Louise replied. "And it will not look good for me, but I have already decided on this. I will not go to Missur. She may think me better at Grandfather's manor instead and simply send a letter of warning about my arrival." She shifted on her bed, letting her blankets fall from over her bosom to just above her hips; the night air was unusually hot and stifling and neither had wished to open a window and attract any sort of attention, whether from a strolling guard alarmed that someone was now occupying the townhouse in such a fine district, or a passing would-be thief who made his rounds here. "Father might be angry, but Mother will see the wisdom in the act and decide to leave well enough alone. That's always been her way."
"But, does it not look strange that we departed in the middle of the night?"
Louise smiled in the darkness as she stared above her, unseeing. "Mother will choose to be lenient on me just this once. She will remember her own past and not wish to push the issue and have me separate permanently."
A sigh, and then, "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"
"Not everything. Who knows how Grandfather will react?"
"I'm a little scared," Celia murmured. "Steel bends before he does. I've always thought this."
Louise murmured her assent, and afterward there was nothing but restless sleep in a heat too difficult to be comfortable in.
-0-
Well-fed, well-watered, and somewhat rested, the three of them made for the grand manor of Duke Mersey, the retired Great General of Etruria, Yossas Trent. It had been many years since Louise had laid eyes upon her grandfather and she wondered now how much time had changed them and the tenuous bond of blood that tied the two together. She prayed he would be moved by her, touched by sentimentality, but knew different; the only reason why he recognized her mother as his trueborn daughter once again was not due to any softening of his heart but the fact that she was his only direct relative and had a head for all the business of nobility that he had to resign from in his bouts of failing health. He never asked for Louise to visit and seemed to hate the long blond hair that revealed her Etruscan lineage as plainly as the eye could see, but now she had little choice in the matter.
It was either here or Missur, and in the latter destination nothing could be done.
They stopped at a village approaching the manor and rented a room with what savings Louise had brought, enough to assure their passage at all the planned stops and at what few unplanned ones she could think of; perhaps her father would have been pleased at her scrupulous use of the coinage that was ubiquitous throughout Elibe, as it was he who taught her the value of money on every level great and small though she was only a girl. A lesser man, she knew, would not have wasted the time.
It was in that room where she revealed the elegant dress and fine undergarments packed across both saddlebags, for Grandfather would never accept a granddaughter dressed in common traveling clothes. In his home nobles were nobles and servants were servants; there was no inbetween. Celia worked to prepare her, her fingers moving with an expert grace from tying the corset to twisting golden hair into a perfect Etruscan braid. They had not carried makeup, so Louise endured quick pinches along both cheeks in order to suffuse the appropriate blush to her cheeks before Celia stepped back, her dear friend's hazel eyes taking in the sight with a critical gaze.
"It will have to do," she said after a few moments, speaking in Etruscan as she normally did when in a thoughtful mood. "I'm not certain it is up to your grandfather's exacting standards, though..."
"But because you helped me, I know I must look perfect in everyone else's eyes," Louise said with a grin. A troubled look briefly crossed Celia's lovely face.
"It was not good enough for the Reglay nobles."
Louise's lips twisted as if she had tasted something tart. "Not even Lord Pent. That was why..."
"Lady Louise, do you have the letter?"
Thankful for the interruption, Louise nodded. "I will write it immediately. Mother and Father will need to know, and after we arrive I know we will be separated."
Celia looked away, long, graceful fingers of one hand idly brushing her own copper locks behind her ears. "Physically, perhaps, but never in our hearts."
"Of course," Louise said, reaching forward to embrace her dearest friend. Valiantly fighting her tears, she murmured, "That will never change, no matter what may come."
-0-
Mersey Manor was a short ride north from Aquleia, no more than an hour in the best of conditions. In the August heat, forced to ride side-saddle due to her long skirts, and burdening patient Marion with the weight of two, they arrived at the manor by late afternoon. Not long after they dismounted in front of the mansion several servants seemed to pour out of the servants' entryway and flow towards them. Louise shared a look with Celia, only to have it broken by one of the older manservants as he bowed to Louise. "Milady, your grandfather the duke requests your presence as soon as you arrived."
Then Mother did write. Smiling, she held out a hand to Celia. "Let us go, then." A shadowed look seemed to cross over the old servant's face at the words.
"He has only requested for you, milady."
Louise did not alter her smile, not by a single degree. "I'm aware," she said as Celia brought forth the unstrung bow, which had been tied to Marion's side during the ride over. Taking the simple iron bow from her dear friend's hands, the two placed kisses on each other's cheeks. "Sister of my heart," she whispered in Etruscan.
"Yes," Celia murmured, following her cue to the last. "You may count on me."
And then she backed away, following two maids towards the servants' entranceway of the manor. With an acute sense of sorrow in her heart, Louise watched her go until Celia disappeared.
"Milady," the servant urged; to this, Louise let her gaze wander to the main entrance, where grand doors carved from red oaks and polished until it had a shine not unlike those pieces of her mother's jewelry set with semi-precious stones like onyx or jade. This was the entrance for guests and family, all of whom who, in one sense or another, carried the blood of nobility as they crossed the threshold.
She could not help but hate the fact that her grandfather was so set in making a difference between herself and Celia.
Without a word, she walked to the entrance and then inside, ignoring everything but her beating heart as she followed the manservant to the room where her grandfather awaited her presence. Belatedly she realized that she had left her quiver in one of the saddlebags; she would have to retrieve it later. The bow, solid in her grip, was the important thing, if only to absorb the energy in her hands at her more nervous points.
Grandfather saw everything, after all.
Opening the door, the manservant announced, "Milord, your granddaughter has arrived."
"Send her in."
The words were spoken in a neutral tone, something that did not signal either way her grandfather's mood. She entered just as she was ordered, her back as straight as her mother had ever gotten it to be, her eyes set forward. Her grandfather sat on a simple antique chair, his presence looming over her though he had not done much more than aim his gaze at her. Controlling her breathing, Louise curtseyed as deeply as her knees would allow her before she straightened herself and awaited his orders.
"Your arms are too thick. Is that why you come here in such indecent dress?"
Louise did her best not to spare a glance at her outfit; other than the short, ruffled sleeves it was quite conservative in cut from collarbone to just at her ankles. Even the colors of it, dark and light purples mixed with brown, was very ordinary and unobtrusive, or so she thought. She could therefore only bow her head and speak in softer tones than what she normally allowed, "Forgive me, Grandfather. The heat has been overbearing." She did not reply to the first remark of his, knowing as well as he did that the bow in her hand answered that well enough.
"You may have found yourself good fortune in betrothal to a count, but now that he is dead do you think such slovenly dress would attract another highborn noble?"
She flinched. She did not mean to, but she did so all the same. He noticed this as he did every mistake and frowned.
"Sit down, Louise. I mean to ask you some questions."
There was an undecorated chaise lounge nearby his chair; she sat down there and laid her bow across her lap. "Yes, Grandfather."
Her grandfather looked at her and she held his gaze. Though he had been much aged since he finally retired from the position of Great General of Etruria nearly five years ago, there was still an immenseness about him, a greatness that time never forgot. It was every bit as solid as his own body, every bit as intimidating. His dark eyes, covered liberally by his iron-gray eyebrows, saw everything, and the mind behind them forgot nothing. Her mother had a complicated relationship with him, while her father a very uncomplicated one, but Louise herself could see the good in him, often tempered by a coldness that could be seen in her own mother at the worst of times.
Did that same coldness lurk inside her, despite her affinity and gentle care? It did scare Louise to think so, but she was beginning to understand that it may be the only way to save herself---to protect what mattered to her most.
"You rode here with your maid."
"I did."
"Was it a pleasant ride?"
"It was."
"Did you stay at the townhouse?"
"Yes."
"I trust you cleaned up after yourself."
"Of course."
Pleasantries done, her grandfather peered down upon her as his posture, always perfect, seemed now to be even straighter than the lances he always carried. "Why are you here? Your mother attributes nothing to you as far as your plans go, only that you might want for some rest in a different landscape. But I do not care for letters arriving by hawk rather than a proper messenger, especially when you arrive not even two days later."
"Yes, Grandfather. I've come here to ask for your help."
"In what matter?"
"I would like to go to the Western Isles...Fibernia, to be exact."
There was a flicker of something in her grandfather's expression that disappeared nearly as soon as it had appeared. "The place where your fiancé died. You wish to see the place to end your grieving?"
"No, Grandfather. I wish..." She pressed her lips together, suddenly wanting for some water or tea. "I wish to save him."
"He is dead. If you wish to save his soul, you could do that well enough by praying at home."
"He is alive. I've discovered the proof of it."
Her grandfather had, at best, an expression of consternation that most showed along the deep wrinkles along his eyes and his mouth, what little there was not hidden by his full beard. "I do not pander to delusions," he warned. "Tell me the story and omit nothing, and I will decide what the truth is."
"Yes, Grandfather," she obeyed with ease, and then began to tell the story that had haunted her for months afterward, the memories that caused her heart to ache and fueled her body to develop her skills beyond what she had ever been capable of.
In short, the truth of Lord Pent's funeral.
-0-
Louise had not wanted to go to Lord Pent's funeral; she had barely wanted to leave her room at all. However, as Lord Pent's former fiancée, it was required that she attend lest she dishonor both himself and herself. The devastation that had wracked her body in the days since she had learned the news of his death had weakened her mind sufficiently that dishonoring herself seemed acceptable, but she could never do ill to Lord Pent's memory.
Never.
Her mother went with her, as well as Celia and Lisette; her father opted to remain behind. Joshua only kissed her brow and told her to take care of herself, while her father seemed most reluctant to let her go; only after many assurances from her mother did he finally relent. After the journey, which took about the same amount of time though she wished to never arrive, they were admitted to Reglay Castle. It was there she discovered that the family whose claimant had won the right to become the new head of House Reglay was the lord of House Tilley, who had mistreated her and her friends just within the last year. Though it was a time of gloom, a time to respect the dead and honor his memory, the main family of House Tilley, particularly the niece who had been adopted into the family as the Baron and Baroness were childless, paraded about the castle with a glee that wounded Louise dreadfully to see it. That anyone at all could show joy at Lord Pent's death, particularly these people...it was a most terrible wound upon her heart. And then there was also...
"Ah, the former Lady Mersey."
Louise was tugged along as her mother whirled around in the empty hallway--they had been traversing its length in order to avoid the worst of the crowd, as advised by a somber Raike. It had taken a moment to reorient herself and wonder about the man who had hailed her mother, and why he looked so familiar. She could not recall it in her own memory until she had looked at her mother's profile and saw a tightness to that lovely face, a scene of hatred so vivid that she knew instantly she would cry if it were ever directed at her.
That man is...
A cruel twist of her lips distorted Louise's image of her mother, who was sometimes cold but never like this. "Amazing. And here I thought the servants would have swept away the dirt for their master's funeral, if nothing else."
"It is indeed interesting at what they've allowed inside, considering your arrival," that man who was at the birthday party over a year ago responded, a crooked smile on his face. Despite his extravagant style, the cut of his clothes indicating he was a highborn noble with military expertise, his cutting words struck Louise as being completely the opposite of his appearance. "But then, you would know all about laying in the dirt, wouldn't you, Catherine?"
Louise had started forward, the imprecation too much to bear, only to be stopped by the vise-like grip of her mother's hand on her arm. "Careful, Alfred," her mother seemed to purr, "we wouldn't want to sound like a hypocrite, would we? Because those clothes, as nice as they are, simply aren't up to the challenge of hiding the filth you're made from."
Cringing at the words that had come from her mother's mouth, Louise could only stand still, overtaken by a vague sense of horror. The only thing worse at the moment had been looking up only to find the nobleman's eyes upon her. "So that girl was the means to your resurrection, was she? Your kindling for the former Count Reglay's flames, and from the smoke a new 'Lady Catherine' would emerge?"
"You...please don't talk about my mother in such a way!" Louise had shouted. She felt her mother's grip slacken with shock and took full advantage of it, stepping forward as if to challenge him. "My mother would never use me, and Lord Pent is not the sort of man who would agree to such a thing. Lord Pent is far too considerate to do anything so sad...how can you say something like that inside his own home?"
The strange man's expression did not noticeably change, although there was something to his eyes that had made her wish for her bow; not to shoot it, of course not, but merely for the comfort of its weight in her hands. Then his smirk became a smile, though not a pleasant one. "You mean, was."
Louise had flinched back as if struck, the very words causing an involuntary reaction as tears came to her eyes. That her mother's arms came around her in the next moment did not save her from beginning to cry in front of the cruel man, and furthermore she had to bear the humiliation of her mother taking her place at the front while she was to remain behind her mother like nothing more than a child. "You'll regret those words, Alfred Minart," her mother had said with a disquieting calm. "I will destroy you and everything you've ever built up, just as you destroyed one of Etruria's most promising youths."
"Dangerous words, I would think," he had replied. "You don't fully understand your position compared to mine. In fact, Catherine, you understand so little that it's amazing you can even stand here before me, spitting your venom, without drowning in your own ignorance. I'm the knight general, I'm one of the king's most trusted advisors, I'm the son your father wishes you had become, and you are nothing. You chose to be nothing, and you will come to understand just how powerless you truly are." The look he gave in that moment her mother was nothing short of horrendous, malevolence and pride both revealing themselves keenly upon his face. "And to think you would accuse me of such a thing when I had even purchased with my own money the lordling's casket. Now, any last witty repartees, Catherine?"
"...Louise, we'll be late to the service if we don't leave now," her mother had said. Trailing behind her mother, Louise noticed that her mother had refrained from even glancing in the man's direction before she turned around and headed to the chapel where the funerary service was to be held. The man her mother said had caused Lord Pent's death somehow...yet, she could feel her own powerlessness in his presence.
He was everything, and she nothing. There was no way to prove his hand had been the one to guide the forces that lead to Lord Pent's destruction.
The service had passed her by in a haze of prayers and songs, and by the end of it all Louise had wanted was to go back to her room and cry. That desperate need to hold back was the only thing that had saved her, for she knew if she let herself indulge in her grief now she would never stop, not even with the audience in attendance. It had been for her mother's sake she held back, knowing that her mother had patiently borne her terrible surges of grief since that dreadful day and would prefer at least a break for them, as well as the fact that it would embarrass her mother were she to let go of her good sense now.
Lord Pent, too...she had never cried in front of Lord Pent, even when she had deserved to at that time when he revealed that he was to go so far away from her; now, now it seemed improper to cry when all there was to comfort her was his coffin. The chapel had emptied quickly after the priest's last words, for even in their funerary services Tower Elimineans were altogether too brief. She hated this, for Lord Pent deserved more, so much more, but she also had to admit a certain measure of comfort, for she had dearly wanted to be alone with him.
Just him and her, just like it had been once upon a time.
She told her mother her wishes and her mother had complied, getting rid of anyone else who would be an audience to her daughter's grief. The priest and his assistants had only been too happy to go, and so too a handful of servants who had come to peer upon their master's coffin before it was interred in the family mausoleum. Then, and only then, had Louise been alone. Approaching the coffin in front of the chapel altar with a timidity she felt Lord Pent would have laughed at her for were he alive, she had laid her hands upon it and found it was cold, so cold. It had been a modern coffin, made of the finest metal and with a silver rendition of Saint Elimine upon its lid. She had wondered if Lord Pent would have approved such a thing; he had loved magic so much that even she would have preferred seeing his beloved anima drawings (which he had drawn for her in some of his letters when she had asked about learning its symbology) upon his resting place rather than even an assurance that he would be taken to God's country.
Of course he would, she knew. Lord Pent is--had been such a good person. So good...
With a hand still laid upon the sleek lid, she had begun to walk the perimeter of the coffin just as it was proper for Lighter Elimineans to do; saying goodbye close to the departed rather than at a distance like the Tower Elimineans advocated. She fought her tears when the knowledge that this was the only closeness they had now, in these few moments, had pricked at her mind. Unfortunately she could not trust her voice at the moment, so she could not even sing a hymn for him. When she had reached the other side of where she had begun, she stopped as a shudder ran down her body with a ferocity that could not be denied. It was a precursor to her breaking down utterly, and though she tried to stave it off she could feel an enormous pressure within her to throw aside the tattered remains of her dignity and cry.
That was when it had happened: a queer feeling overcame her, but she knew her own emotions intimately enough to know that this was, rather, an outside influence. It had not been too powerful nor malevolent, but it was foreign and she had nearly panicked until the thought occurred to her in the rush of her mad wonderings that it might be a message--a message from the Voice of God, Saint Elimine. Then she had calmed, or tried to, and let these odd emotions wash over her like cold water. There had been the feeling of cold winds, which caused her to shiver, a feeling of being enclosed by the natural darkness, there was...there was...
sadness loneliness regret
"Lord Pent?" she whispered.
desperation fear
Trembling, she fell to her knees, wide-eyed and staring at nothing as the last feelings caressed her.
warmth happiness louise i
And then it was gone.
"...Lord Pent, that was..."
Those had not been her feelings, they had been his. Somehow, despite their distance, despite his death, his feelings had reached her.
She had risen on unsteady feet and stared at the coffin. On this side she could see latches. In this moment, her skin still humming with Lord Pent's presence, she could not be blamed for what she had done.
She had reached out and undone them.
Lord Pent, although I know it will be a terrible sight, let me at least say goodbye this way. Even if this is blasphemy, even if I am destroying everything good in this moment, let me say goodbye this way.
She had opened the coffin.
It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at as she peered inside the coffin, but once she did she had only stared harder, perplexed.
Aren't these...stones?
They had been five in number, good-sized stones wrapped in some wool and paper. She had picked one up and tapped it against the inside of the metal coffin, frowning at the dull sound emitted. It had been heavy and with obvious sides, so it wouldn't roll; furthermore, if it had, the sound would be muffled and not attract undue attention.
But where's Lord Pent's body?
She had almost considered that they couldn't find one and that was the reason for this farce, but then she had realized what it meant if they could not find the body. And then that man's words had come back to her--
And to think you would accuse me of such a thing when I had even purchased with my own money the lordling's casket
--and then she had known there was no body. Lord Pent was alive.
-0-
"...I knew no one would believe me if I dared say such a thing. It would be considered the ramblings of a lost woman, and I did not want that. I decided to bid my time until I could go for myself to see with my own eyes the truth of the Western Isles, but Mother and Father are planning to send me to Missur as an enforced vacation. That was when I knew I had to leave, and do it quickly."
Her grandfather, who had not shown a single decipherable emotion during her story, scoffed at this. "Why not tell your parents? They would believe their only child."
Louise stared at the bow laying demurely on her lap. "I'm afraid not. My father would probably not hear anything beyond my opening Lord Pent's casket, and that would only hasten my trip to Missur, or a convent. Mother may believe me, but I think it would only bring enmity between them were I to come out with this story."
"So you came to me, as if I would be more receptive to your...tale."
"Yes, Grandfather. I assumed you would almost have to be."
"Why?"
"Because it concerns your protégé."
He seemed to consider her for a moment. "And what if I took you for a madwoman and forcibly sent you back to those parents of yours?"
"I...don't think you would do so, Grandfather," Louise murmured. "This is a matter of honor. You were never the type to shrink back, not when you could discover the truth with your own eyes."
No words passed between them for the rest of the day; he did not even invite her to have dinner with him. She found time to retrieve her quiver from Celia, and ate very little within the confines of her room.
Two days of fretful anxiety later, a servant led her to the front grounds of the manor, where an outfitted carriage drawn by four horses awaited her. Her grandfather's face was stern, but he helped her into the carriage without a word regarding either her bow or her quiver, and, after he entered the carriage, directed the driver to head north to the port town of Piraeus.
The supply port to the Western Isles.
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