Cardonaccum, The beauty of a thistle. Options

[haute ecole rider]

A/N: Hello all. This is a story I began writing for NaNoWriMo in 2011. Now that Julian has finished telling her story, Cora is impatient to take her turn. So without further ado, I will allow her to introduce herself and begin her story. Hopefully it won't be as long in the telling as Julian's. It is not as epic, nor does it have sweeping consequences, but as I see it, without Cora we would not have Julian's story at all.

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Chapter One

“Milady!” The lean form darted through the tall panels, the storm following hard on his heels. The doorkeepers struggled to close the doors against the pelting rain. For a moment, I could not see the courier’s face against the lightning flashes that limned his figure.

Finally he halted before me, bedraggled and breathless. Rain dripped from his sodden clothes, and plastered his black hair to his forehead. As my vision readjusted to the torches that lit the main hall of the donjon, I could recognize the young man. I stepped away from my comfortable chair and nodded at Jannet, who turned and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.

“Please sit down, Tavish,” I took the courier’s cloak and removed it from his shoulders. He reached for it reflexively, but I shook my head at him as Siné took the fabric from me and draped it near the fire to dry. I led him to my chair. He resisted briefly, but exhaustion enforced my quiet command, and he fell onto the soft cushion with a groan.

“I h- have n- news,” he met my gaze as I picked up the wine flagon and poured the mulled liquid into my goblet. I handed it to him with forced calmness. Around us gathered the thistlemen who had remained behind to defend the donjon, and those of our crofters who sought refuge from the oncoming winter in our snug shelter.

“I’m sure you do,” I answered quietly, gesturing for him to drink. “But partake of the wine first. You are shivering so much all of us can hear your teeth chattering!”

Jannet returned with more of the heated wine and warm blankets. She set the flagon down on the warming table beside the fire and turned to wrap the dry wool around Tavish’s shaking shoulders. He gulped at the goblet gratefully and snuggled deeper into the blankets before speaking again.

“Milord is at the Bluestone Tower,” the courier cradled the wine in both hands, seeking to warm his fingers against its heat. “The Colovian forces are there.”

“Who arrived first?” Robert Whitearm, the burly castellan, shouldered his way through the growing crowd to take his place at my right shoulder.

“Milord did,” Tavish responded. “But before he could take the high ground across the river, the Legions arrived. They possess the bluffs.”

I could see the dismay in Robert’s stony face as he absorbed the implications. From my own studies in milord’s library, I understood that Wallace had just lost the first battle. It would be far more difficult to take on the foe from downhill.

“How many are there?” Robert continued his line of questioning after a moment. Tavish met his gaze unhappily.

“There were three thousand there when I left,” he muttered into his wine. “Five cohorts worth. With more on the way.”

“Damnation!” Robert’s barely suppressed explosion lifted his heavy mustache away from his lips. I shook my head warningly at him. He fell silent, grumbling to himself like a cranky bear roused too early from his winter sleep.

“How are milord’s men?” I turned back to Tavish. He smiled bravely at me.

“They are in good spirits, m’lady,” he lifted the goblet at me. “The stores are full with provisions and arms, and their blades are keen.”

“Does milord require anything from us?” He shook my head at my question.

“M’lord asks that you see to the donjon.” His gaze shifted to Robert. “keep the men alert, and the crofters safe. Winter comes, and promises to be harsh this year.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I murmured, then turned to Robert. “Please send the patrol out one more time, to try and bring in the rest of the crofters. Things will be very hard for them this winter.”

“You know how they don’t want to leave their livestock,” Robert began. I drew myself up to my fullest height, though the top of my head still fell short of his broad shoulders.

“Then we must find room for all their livestock within the bailey,” I answered. “With so many men away, it’s the only way to keep them safe with the limited manpower we have.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Robert inclined his head in gruff acquiescence. He turned and stalked through the throng, shouting over their gathered heads for his lieutenant. I searched the surrounding faces. A lean man with a hatchet face stepped forward and bowed to me.

“Niall,” I said to the steward, “please see Tavish settled into the thistlemen’s dormitory. Get those wet clothes off of him before he catches bloodlung. And feed him something hot and filling before he falls asleep.”

“As you will, milady,” Niall inclined his upper body again and motioned for Tavish to follow him.

“No,” Tavish rose unsteadily to his feet. “I have a message for m’lady’s ears only.” He turned to me. “Please let me say it before you send me away.”

“Then we will go to milord’s study,” I turned toward the stair set into the wall at the north side of the donjon. “Niall, Jannet, with us please.” I caught the breath of protest the young courier drew and shook my head at him. “Come,” I waved him ahead. He moved forward and fell in behind me obediently.

Wallace’s study sat on the second floor, at the south wall of the donjon. When we reached the entrance, I waved Tavish through, and paused in the doorway. “Niall, Jannet, wait out here. I’ll not keep you long.” They nodded their acquiescence and I closed the door before them.

In the center of the book lined room, Tavish turned uneasily toward me. “This is a message from milord,” he spoke quietly. I stepped forward so we were mere inches apart.

“Tell me.” I said softly.

“Milord says to make the donjon ready to receive wounded,” Tavish’s blue eyes grew unfocused as he recalled Wallace’s exact words. “He expects massive casualties at the blades of the Legions.”

“Does he still expect to defeat the Colovians?” I asked. Tavish looked down at me. Not quite as tall as Sir Robert, he still had height on me, as did most of the residents of Cardonaccum. “Tell me the truth,” I demanded softly.

“Yes, m’lady,” Tavish answered. “Though Sir Laird and Sir Rodric do not agree. Sir Broc sides with milord.”

Of course he would. I kept my initial response silent. “How soon?”

“As soon as their General brings up the rest of his Legions,” Tavish responded. “Milord expects tomorrow or the day after.”

So soon? I hid my dismay and nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else, Tavish?”

“That is all,” the courier ducked his head and swayed slightly. “Milord said you would understand.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I returned to the corridor door and opened it. “Niall will see you settled for the night. Sleep well.”

“Milady,” Tavish bowed deeply to me. For a breath’s space I feared that he would pitch forward onto his face, but he recovered his balance and shuffled to the door and the waiting steward beyond. After the young man departed, I crossed the corridor to the sleeping quarters I shared with Wallace. Jannet followed me into the sitting room and closed the door behind her.

“I will make it an early night,” I said, turning for the connecting door that led to my sleeping room. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Jannet banked the sitting-room fire and tidied up the reading table while I changed into my nightdress. She peeked into the sleeping room as I pulled the bedcovers back. “Will milady be needing anything else?”

I shook my head at the older woman. “No, thanks very much. Sleep well, Jannet.”

“You as well, milady.” She closed the door after her, and I listened to her footfalls as she crossed the sitting room to her sleeping alcove at the opposite side.

I slipped into the bed and drew up the thick pelts over my lap. Leaning back against the stead, I picked up the book resting on my nightstand. One of Wallace’s volumes, it detailed the attempts of King Vrage of Skyrim to free the Bretons of High Rock from their supposed enslavement. As I opened it to the place marked by a dark green ribbon, something landed on my feet. I looked up as the big black-striped brown moggy padded along my legs to settle beside my right hip. She curled up contentedly and began purring squeakily.

I smiled at her attitude and reached my hand down to stroke the soft fur of her back. The purring rose to thunderous proportions, and she adjusted her position slightly for better gratification. “Cinnie, let me read a bit,” I whispered to the cat. Then I returned to the book. Crossing the River Bjoulsae. I had read it once before, when I married Wallace ten years ago. I had found it difficult to understand then. Not so much now, thanks to my husband’s guidance.

“What are you doing here, Cora?” Wallace’s gentle voice reached me from the doorway of his study. I jumped guiltily and clutched the heavy book to my bosom, afraid of dropping it. The sun shone warm on my back as I turned away from the window to face him. Instead of the wrath I expected to see, his weathered face held only surprise.

“I- I was c- curious,” I stammered, bowing my head in shame. “Forgive me, milord.” I moved to return the book to its place among its brethren on one of the library shelves. In a long stride Wallace placed his sword hand on my wrist, the calluses of its palm hard against my skin.

He plucked the book from my hands and glanced at the cover. “Crossing the River Bjoulsae?” He turned to me. “Look at me, Cora.” Hesitantly I obeyed, looking up into his lean visage. “Why are you reading a military history book? My first wife’s romances are over there.” He gestured to the opposite side of the room. I flinched at the reminder of my predecessor.

“Th- they’re n- not in- interesting.” I managed to get the words out. His grey brows rose, startled.

“Not interesting?” he repeated disbelievingly. “And this is?” He hefted the thick volume and regarded me thoughtfully. Silently I nodded. “Do you understand any of it?”

I had to shake my head. “I- it’s not e- easy, milord.”

He touched my lips. “It’s just the two of us, Cora. You don’t need to address me so formally.”

Again I lowered my eyes. “Yes, mi - Wallace.”

My husband set the book back on the shelf with greater ease than I had in obtaining it from its high perch. “Come, sit down a moment, Cora.” He drew me to one of a pair of leather upholstered chairs placed near the fireplace. “Why do you want to learn military history and tactics?”

I looked up at him as I took the indicated chair. He met my gaze when he had seated himself in the twin. When I didn’t answer, his brows rose. I found myself still fascinated by them. Wonderfully expressive they were, as were his stormy grey eyes. For all that he was so much older than me, by a good thirty years, Wallace was still clean-jointed, still limber and trim after years of fighting and training. Once again I saw the sadness in his gaze, the sadness that never left. Once again I renewed my private vow to dispel that private grief.

“When I sit with you and your men at dinner,” I made myself speak slowly. I didn’t stammer, and felt proud. “I want to be able to understand your conversation.”

He leaned back, his eyes steady on me. “Really? Even when their wives discuss things with you?”

I shook my head. “Talk of spinning and dyeing wool, of crocheting, of pickling and salting food for the winter doesn’t interest me.”

“They should,” he shook a callused finger chidingly at me. “The work of women are just as important as that of men. More so, even. For without their hard work, we’d be too hungry and too cold to fight!”

“And without men who know how to fight, there’d be no women to feed and clothe them!” I countered with some heat before I caught myself. My eyes sought the fire. “I’m sorry, mil - Wallace.”

“Don’t be,” Wallace’s tone turned gentle again. “Cora, are you truly interested in our conversations over dinner?”

I peeked warily at him. Unlike my guardian, who had scorned and ridiculed my interest in military tactics, Wallace seemed genuinely accepting. I nodded.

“Very well,” he set his hands on the arms of his chair. The leather-covered wood frame creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. “Then it would be wise to begin with this,” he moved back to his collection of military books and ran his finger along their spines. Finding the one he sought, he pulled it out. “This book is the first book I ever read. It will explain the basics you need to understand everything else, including Bjoulsae.” He tapped my ambitious selection with a knuckle, then returned to the hearth with the slimmer volume. “Start with this one, and work your way up to that one. We’ll talk about it some more after you finish reading it. Understood?”

I looked at the cover of the book he handed me. Art of War. Breathlessly, I looked up at him. He smiled, that sadness not quite disappearing, and waited for my answer. “Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I managed to whisper. He touched my cheek with his fingertips before turning and leaving me alone in his study.

“Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I whispered as my eyes refocused on the book in my lap. Cinnie picked her head up at the sound of my voice and yawned, before shifting back into sleep.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jul 1 2013, 03:03 AM

[haute ecole rider]

@SkyGuy: Thanks for catching that nit! I went back in and fixed it. I'm so glad you are enjoying this story as much as you are.

@McB: Never, ever apologize for loving a story so much that you feel you have to! I'm happy that this has become one of your guilty pleasures. May it continue to be so. Yes, I love Robert and Jannet - they're pretty awesome folks in their own right, and we will see more of that awesomeness in posts to come. I have kept Scotland (and some of Wales, too) firmly in my mind as I write this story, and I'm glad that you pick up on that. It's important to me that locals recognize their own homes or places they are very familiar with and not some stereotype image of the place.

@Official Condiment: How nice to see you here! I'm flattered that you think this story is worth reading, and that you are enjoying the characters so much. As for what Talos has planned, that will become apparent in upcoming posts, don't worry!

@Acadian: Thank you, for picking up on the soldiers' acceptance of Cora as the rightful successor to their fallen leader. As we will see, not everyone feels the same way. But Cora would have a much more difficult time holding on to her position and her place at Cardonaccum without the support of those soldiers.

@ghastley: According to the Lore, the Breton race is actually a mixture of Nedic, Altmer, and (in later years) the Nord races. I wanted to show that by the end of the Second Era we have a true melting pot in this corner of High Rock. The matrilineal race thing that is part of the game kind of drives me nuts, as it acknowledges no input from the fathers. I actually see Wallace as being from a Breton father and Nord mother, while Cora's father has a strong streak of Altmer in his makeup (which somehow skipped Cora herself, as did her mother's Nordic height). As for the issue of childbearing, in the old days, women were typically blamed for the absence of heirs, even when men are shooting blanks! So Cora is not alone in blaming herself here.

@SageRose: I think you are getting very close to the location of Cardonaccum. Yup, it's High Rock. Move up and a little bit right on the map and I think you have it! I have had a very difficult time finding a good map of High Rock that is as detailed as the one for Cyrodiil (or even Skyrim), so I had to fill in quite a few blanks here. As for the inevitable bid for power, you will see one soon!

@Grits: Interesting dance, indeed! It is flavored by Cora's having seen this same man in her nightmares for quite some time. I hope you continue to find this interesting as we progress.

The story so far: Wallace has been funerealed, and Talos has reminded Cora of her promise to hear him out. But can Cora find time for her grief yet?

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Chapter Six

“Thank you, milady,” Rodric smiled hesitantly at me as I handed him the steaming goblet. “Larena has gone to fetch the boys from the bailey.”

“That’s all right,” I assured him. “I just stopped in to see how our healer is treating you. You are comfortable, I trust?”

He took a sip of the wine and nodded. His limbs appeared more normal, with the right arm and left leg straight once more and encased in splints. “Siné? Yes, she is good at her task.” He regarded me thoughtfully. “Is it true? Milord is burned, not buried?”

I sat down beside the bed. “It is what milord wanted,” I said. “I know it’s hard to believe, but -“

He stopped me with a head shake. “I know that’s what he wanted,” he stated flatly. “I wasn’t sure if you would do it, though -“ His voice trailed off. His eyes sought the deep red of the wine as he sighed. “Milord loved you, you know. He didn’t think it could happen a second time, especially after the way Lady Elspeth died.”

I turned my face away at the reminder of my predecessor. The woman had died fifteen years before I came to Wallace. However, when I first arrived at Cardonaccum, I could sense her presence everywhere I turned in this donjon. Her portrait still hung in Wallace’s study, though after a week it had disappeared. I never asked where it went, but I still remembered her appearance very well. She was beautiful, with a graceful neck and round shoulders shown off to good effect by golden curls piled high on the top of her head. I had doubted that Wallace would ever love me after having that ethereal vision for a wife.

Elspeth

“I’m sorry to remind you of her,” Rodric’s voice brought me back to the present. “And I believe most of us were unfairly comparing you to her when you first came. You’re so different, it was difficult not to.” He shifted clumsily to place the goblet on the table next to his right shoulder. “But my wife and I soon realized that there is no comparison.”

“Of course not,” I answered, smiling to put him at ease. “I’m not beautiful like Lady Elspeth was. I don’t sew or embroider as well as she did. I can’t sing or play the clarsach. I -“

“You understand politics,” Rodric interrupted me. “And you make difficult decisions on your own.” He smiled again at my surprise. “Milord told me how he found you reading one of his military books rather than Lady Elspeth’s romances. Your head is firmly rooted in Nirn, not up in the clouds after flights of fancy. And Robert respects your mind.” He shook his head. “And yesterday, when my wife was so frightened, you took care of me. And with your husband dead in the chapel, you still made sure I got the care I needed. You made sure the wounded that came in after us saw the healer. And you did the difficult work - tending milord’s body. I could see you were heartbroken, I can still see it.”

I looked down at my folded hands resting in my lap, blinking back the tears. Rodric laid his left hand over mine. “That’s just part of the reason milord loved you, Lady Cora.” His fingers tightened in comfort. “I want you to know this: I believe he came to love you more than he ever loved Lady Elspeth.”

I met Rodric’s gaze. He looked back at me, his round face honest. I managed to smile again. “Thank you, very much, Sir Rodric. It means a great deal to hear this from you.”

“I know it’s meager comfort, especially now,” Rodric said. “And I also want you to know that he told me and Sir Laird of his funeral wishes. I understand Sir Laird tried to talk you out of it.”

I stared at Rodric. Laird knew Wallace’s last wish, and tried to deny him? But I thought he was a man my husband trusted! I took a deep breath and nodded. “He did.”

“And you will regret that you didn’t listen to me or Onchu, milady,” Laird’s voice reached us from the doorway. I glanced over my shoulder to see the older knight shaking the rain off his cloak. Onchu stood behind him, dripping onto the stone floor. Laird’s blue gaze shifted to Rodric. “And how are you, old friend?”

“Better than when we arrived here,” Rodric answered. I caught the narrowing in his gaze as another person entered the room. It was Sir Broc. The young knight bowed to Rodric with a pleasant expression that reminded me of a spider sitting in the center of its web.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Laird declared, stepping to Rodric’s cot opposite me. “Milady, we need to talk.” He made a circling gesture that included all the men in the room. “It’s important for all of us, for Cardonaccum.”

I remained motionless against the sudden unease that moved through my body. Why do I feel like these men are ganging up on me? I glanced at Rodric, but his eyes were on the counterpane across his lap. “Very well, Sir Laird, what is it?”

“We have been loyal to Lord Wallace,” Laird began, clasping his hands behind his back and tossing back his leonine mane. I leaned back in the chair and turned my head to face him squarely, keeping my hands still in my lap. “He has never had reason to doubt our fealty.”

Robert entered the room and silently moved to stand behind me, facing the others across Rodric’s bed. Laird scowled at him, but did not protest his presence.

“Of course, he never did,” I spoke to distract him from the castellan and to bring him back to the conversation he had begun.

“Even now, we continue to be loyal to milord’s ideals,” Laird continued. “But now Cardonaccum is at a crossroads. With no heir to carry on after him,” his blue eyes conveyed that it was somehow my fault that ten years of marriage hadn’t brought forth a son. I didn’t disagree. “With no heir, we must make a decision about the future of this holding.” Now his haughty expression softened slightly. “There is little doubt in anyone’s mind that milord loved you, Lady Cora. It is also the general agreement that you have been an outstanding Lady for Cardonaccum. But a woman cannot command fighting men alone. She cannot defend a rich holding against the depredations of neighboring robber barons. She cannot take to the field in battle.”

I drew breath to protest, but Robert’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. Instead, I remained quiet, my eyes on Wallace’s oldest sworn knight. What about Alessia? my mind snapped tartly. Or Baroness Vaina of Lainlyn? I remembered to keep my face neutral.

Laird seemed vaguely disappointed by my lack of response. “No one is proposing to disown you as Lady of Cardonaccum, of course,” he continued, his tone gaining in fervor. “Rather, it is felt that you should remain in this position while one of us step forward as Lord of Cardonaccum and assume the responsibilities of defense and protection.” He bowed stiffly to me. “As the oldest and most senior in milord’s service, I bring years of experience and knowledge of the surrounding lands that will be most useful for this holding.”

“Ah, but Sir Laird would not rule so long,” now Broc stepped forward. “And of course the holding would pass to his sons, and so out of Wallace’s line. But I,” he laid a beringed hand on his chest, “am young, healthy, and plan to live a long life. Better yet, I am as yet unmarried,” now a predatory gleam passed through his dark eyes, “we could join together and raise heirs that will continue Wallace’s line.”

I suppressed the involuntary shiver at the thought of being Broc’s wife. “Milord’s line ended with him, not me,” I answered. Broc shook his head.

“I beg to differ, milady,” he countered. “Lord Wallace and I are distantly related.”

“But not enough to lay familial claim to Cardonaccum!” Laird growled. “You are related through the sire line, not the dam!”

“Isn’t it ironic,” I said quietly, effectively halting the brewing argument, “that traditionally women are not considered strong enough to lead soldiers in war, yet blood inheritance is passed down from the mother?” As the two knights gawped at me, I shifted my gaze to Onchu, standing in Laird’s shadow. “And what of you, priest of Arkay? What is your opinion?”

He stepped forward, his double chins waddling with each stride. He cast a challenging gaze at me. “Cardonaccum has thrived for so many generations because of its close observance to Arkay’s teachings. Balance has been observed for hundreds of years, Death for Life, Life for Death; Feast and Famine, Flowers and Thistles, Sheep and Wolves, so on through the centuries.” His beady eyes glittered in the candlelight as he lifted a hand in proclamation. “If we allow a barefoot Witch, an unbeliever, to succeed our most devout Lord Wallace, Cardonaccum shall be abandoned by Arkay, mark my words!” His chubby finger stabbed the shadows lining the ceiling.

So now he is my enemy? I felt my jaw tighten at his condemnation. Instead of validating his oration with a protest, I turned my gaze to Rodric. “And you, my good Sir Rodric?”

He struggled into an upright position. I leaned forward to set the pillows more comfortably at his back. He glared at Onchu, then turned his gaze to Robert, still at his post behind me. I noticed that he pointedly ignored his fellow knights. The knot of tension that had grown within me eased slightly. They don’t agree among themselves. Can I use that to advantage?

“I am not a very intelligent man,” he began somberly. “I am blessed with a strong arm and a loyal heart, with a lovely wife and three wonderful children. I lack the ambition the others possess,” now he sent them an unreadable glance. “But I have been fortunate to have had the opportunity to serve milord Wallace for the past thirty years. Not as long nor in as distinguished a manner as Sir Laird, true, but well enough to satisfy our lord.” He nodded at the elder knight. “And well enough for Lord Wallace to confide a few things in me.” Now he met my gaze. “Enough so that I believe you should follow your own counsel as to what is best for Cardonaccum.”

“Sir Rodric!” Laird snapped, but clamped his mouth shut when I glanced at him. I considered him, his words, his manner towards me. He’s always been deferential to Wallace, despite being older. Wallace held his unwavering respect all these years. What was it Wallace told me about Sir Laird? “I trust the man deeply and implicitly. I know he is intensely loyal to me. But I can’t say the same of his loyalty and respect toward my wife. His hidebound ways prevent him from seeing ladies as being better than housekeepers and broodmares.” He sighed. “If I should die first, don’t trust Sir Laird to support you in any role other than that of Lady or even a plainwoman.”

Now I regarded Broc. The youngest of the three knights, he was by far the handsomest. Yet there was an edge of insatiable hunger about him, a hint of cruelty that gave me unease whenever I had to spend time around him. It didn’t help that he had a disconcerting habit of making inappropriate advances toward me when he felt no one was looking. So far I had found it easy to fend him off - he had a great fear of Wallace’s power over him. But with my husband gone, who would protect me? “I tolerate Sir Broc only for his father’s and his younger brother’s sake. Once little Tywin is of age, I intend to displace Broc and knight the young boy in his place. Tywin takes after his father and would be a good man at my side, and at yours.” And I intend to carry out Wallace’s plan for Northside Manor, if I can.

And Sir Rodric, what he said about himself mirrored Wallace’s opinion of him. A good man to have backing you, much like Robert Whitearm, I told myself.

“Well?” Laird interrupted my thoughts. “Do you agree, milady?”

I took a deep breath. “What of you, Robert?”

“You already know where I stand, milady,” his gruff voice steadied my heart. I rose to my feet.

“It is getting late,” I locked gazes with Laird. “And Sir Rodric needs his rest. I shall consider what each of you have said, and give all of you my answer tomorrow.” After I meet with General Talos, a little voice whispered. I had learned to listen to that voice long ago. Though the thought of holding audience with the man of my nightmares frightened me, I had made a promise and I must keep it. “We will meet again here at noon.” I turned to Rodric and smiled at him. “I will find your wife and send her back in to you.”