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]

@SageRose: I'm one of those writers who like to reveal a little bit of my character's physical appearance little by little. In a culture where people are judged on their appearances, and being no supermodel myself, I want my readers to get to know my characters as people, not as cardboard appearances. That said, I'm glad you liked that little detail. And yes, maybe Lucius and Company would have had those cards with the images of Lady Cora and her retinue, much as American GIs had of Saddam Hussein and Co. in Iraq! We will see the sort of character Lady Edine is soon (just not in today's update). I rather suspect that having lived a traditional life, she, like Lady Cora, will soon figure out just the stuff she is made of and come into her own now that her husband's shadow is removed.

@Officer MyFavoriteCondiment: I rather liked Lucius, too. I really wanted to develop him more, but sadly enough, we won't be seeing more of him. I rather see him as being like Faramir in LOTR.

@ghastley: Yes, General Talos has thought long and hard about what he wants to do in High Rock. As I see it, he developed this plan around Wallace, but thought Lady Cora would be an acceptable alternative when things didn't work out the way General Talos wanted with Wallace.

@Acadian: You and I have the benefit of hindsight and the Lore, so we know that General Talos is going to be true to his word on this treaty. But Lady Cora doesn't know that yet. As for Lieutenant Alorius, I think you will like him very much. I certainly do! I doubt Lady Edine will disappoint you!

@McB: I try to treat my minor characters with as much care as my major ones - after all, they are living breathing beings with their own lives, emotions, and stories! More than once I've found myself going back and giving a minor character in one story their own . . .

The story so far: With Laird's precipitous departure and resulting death in a Legion ambush, Lady Cora has made the decision to go to General Talos and treat with him. The terms he has offered are reasonable and tolerable, though she still hates the idea of being submissive to a foreigner (ironic, as she is foreign to these parts herself - goes to show how much she loves Cardonaccum).

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Chapter Fifteen

It took us another hour to hammer out the details of the truce. As we worked, I could hear the murmurs of men gathering outside the tent. Talos ignored them, intently focused on the contract. Finally he set the quill down and handed me the parchment. I found it difficult to concentrate on the writing as the voices outside gradually crescendoed.

Talos inhaled sharply as if becoming aware of the men outside. “Excuse me a moment,” he said. I looked up briefly as he rose and moved to the tent flap. Grey light poured in as he flung it back. “Keep it down, gentlemen.” Silence followed his quiet command. “It will be just a few moments longer.” He returned to the table as I finished my review.

“That looks fine to me,” I said finally. “What now?”

“We get the scribe in here to make a copy of it.” Talos returned to the tent flap. “Lysander!”

“Sir!” A thin man, grey with cold, entered the tent. His gaze flickered at me, then he glanced back at Talos, startled.

“Lord Cardonaccum and I have written a truce,” Talos said. “I need you to make a neat copy of it.”

The scribe moved to the table and picked it up. His lips moved silently as he read it. With a nod of approval he seated himself in the chair Talos had used. “How many copies, sir?”

“Three,” Talos answered. The scribe set to work immediately, preparing a fresh quill and new parchment.

“It will take but a few minutes, sir.” He bent to the clean sheet and began writing. His own hand was much neater and crisper than Talos’s. The general observed me watching the scribe, and motioned me to join him near the samovar.

“That’s why I have a scribe,” he commented, refreshing my now-empty cup. “I’m surprised you could read my handwriting.”

“Yours is far better than mine, General,” I responded before taking a sip of the fresh klah. Yes, I could grow to like this. But the strong tea’s still better.

Talos clicked his cup softly against mine. “Here’s to a profitable alliance.” He regarded the dark liquid in his mug before swallowing it all down. “Too bad the wine is cold this time of day.”

“That would be more appropriate for a t- treaty signing,” I agreed. “But this is fine given the c- circumstances,” I waved the cup around the tent. “This setting’s not so ideal, either.”

Talos regarded me thoughtfully. “I knew I would like dealing with you, Lady Cora. You don’t put much stock in the trappings of politics and diplomacy. You’re about getting the job done.”

I met his gaze. “I don’t have t- time, and neither do you.”

Again I endured his penetrating scrutiny. “I shall have to be careful not to underestimate you, Lady Cora. Ever.” He glanced over at the scribe, then set his cup down beside the samovar and bowed to me. “Excuse me.” With long strides he crossed the tent to the entrance and flung the flap back. “Gentlemen, you may enter.”

Six officers, resplendent in polished Legion armor, entered the shelter. The cloaked figure that brought up the rear seemed incongruous next to these soldiers, yet I could not take my eyes off of him. I could sense the power that emanated from his hidden form. His hood shifted in my direction, and I turned my gaze away hastily. I sensed his consideration of my presence, then he bowed to me before moving to the shadows still filling the corners of the tent.

Lysander laid his quill down and rose to his feet. “It is done, sir,” he said to Talos.

The general moved to stand beside the older man and regarded the parchment. “Very good. Go ahead.”

Lysander shuffled two more sheets of clean parchment beneath the neat copy. Under his fingers the material glowed a soft green. As I watched, fascinated by a use of magicka I had never seen before, the inked letters glowed as if burning through the layers into the table. Yet the parchments remained intact. As the spell faded away, Lysander picked up the pieces and examined each of them. Satisfied, he handed them to Talos.

The General performed a similar scrutiny, then waved to me to join him. Difficult as it was to ignore the stares from the officers now ranged around the table, I moved to Talos’s other side. He handed me the parchments. “Are these acceptable, Lord Cardonaccum?” Murmurs drifted around the table at the mention of my title, but rapidly died down at a quelling look from Talos.

Talos was right, the scribe’s writing was much neater than his. I examined them carefully, and found them identical to Talos’s draft. I looked up and met his gaze. “More than acceptable, General.”

“Very well,” Talos picked up the quill the scribe had used. He held it out to me. “Now we sign it. After you, Lady.”

I hesitated a moment. Am I signing everything I promised Wallace away with this? But I can’t think of any way to make this more fair to Cardonaccum. As for dealing with the daedra, if that’s what it takes, I’m willing to give up my life for Wallace’s holding. My gaze moved from the quill to Talos’s face. Shadows hid his hazel eyes, but I could read no duplicity in his expression. And my little voice was silent.

My hands shook as I laid the parchment on the table. Talos seemed mildly surprised when I plucked the quill left-handed from his fingers. I took a deep breath to steady my hand, then signed my name times three: Cora Ruthven. Silently I handed the quill back to him.

The quill faltered over the parchments when he read my signature. “Ruthven? Not ap Askey?”

“That was my father’s clan name,” I replied. “Ruthven is my mother’s.”

Talos considered me a moment, then bent back to the sheets. “Makes sense,” he said as he signed with flourishes. He straightened up and sent another glance around the tent as Lysander gathered the sheets together and handed them to him. “Gentlemen,” he said to the gathered officers. “This is Lady Cora, Lord of Cardonaccum. She will stand as my ally here on the northern frontiers, and watch An Sloc. Any objections?”

Negative murmurs greeted his question. He nodded in satisfaction and turned back to me. “Here is your copy,” he handed me the first sheet. “And this is mine,” he laid the second on the table in front of him. “And Drusus, please take this for the officers.” He handed the third to the eldest soldier present. The older man, about the same age as Laird, took the parchment with a salute. “Make certain all the officers understand its terms. And send out the order to begin pulling the men back to Thistle Downs.”

Drusus saluted Talos again and left the tent. The General eyed the remaining officers. “Roos, Forsus, have the Rangers scout the road to Bluestone Tower and clear the way. Skvar, set the rearguard up here. And Odwalt, you have the prisoners, correct?”

“Yes sir.” The younger of the two Nord officers nodded. “Two of the men died of their wounds during the night,” he added. “Do you want me to get them ready for transport?”

“Not yet,” Talos turned back to me. “ Do you still wish to see Laird’s people?”

“Yes, please,” I answered.

“Very well,” Talos turned back to Odwalt. “Please take the Lady to see your prisoners. I shall join you at your camp in about an hour or so.”

“Yes sir,” Odwalt nodded, then turned his blue gaze on me. Unlike Robert’s shaggy mane, his flaxen hair formed a close-cropped cap on his head, and his beard was trimmed short, like Talos’s. I realized that these Legion men favored the shorter styles as it made wearing the closed helms more comfortable. Odwalt’s only concession to his Nord heritage was the long mustache that drooped down either side of his mouth past his chin.

Odwalt moved to the tent flap and held it open for me. “After you, Lady.”

I stepped out into a much different scene than the one just a couple of hours ago. No longer quiet, the camp now bustled with men in various kinds of armor, all moving purposefully from one place to another. Horses whinnied and stamped, and squires darted past carrying pieces of plate and miscellaneous weapons. Somewhere beyond the tents, I could hear the clear calls of drill sergeants and the unified footfalls of men moving in formation.

The big Nord led me through the maze of tents and soldiery in a southerly direction. “My camp is set up in the valley before Cardonaccum - you call it a dean, I believe?” he remarked over his shoulder.

“Yes, any steep-sided valley is a dean in th- these parts,” I answered. Odwalt grunted noncommittally. He paused near a picket line where horses waited and considered me thoughtfully.

“I’ll walk,” I said firmly. A dubious expression passed over his features.

“’Tis a long way,” he began.

“I know these parts well,” I answered. “And I can walk quite fast. You can ride, if you’d like.”

His blue eyes flashed briefly as he turned away from me and continued past the mounts - on foot. As we worked our way through the hills to the moor, I began to regret not accepting the unspoken offer of a horse. Each of Odwalt’s long strides ate up thrice as much ground as mine. But I kept up with him, gripping the baldric over my left shoulder to ease the weight of Thistlethorn.

The sun had risen higher when we passed Cardonaccum and reached the eastern edge of the dean. Odwalt found the goat’s trail, its brush cleared back to allow passage of horses and armed men single file, and started the descent. Tumbled boulders blocked the rough path for anything less nimble than the little creatures that thrived within the valley. Quite often Odwalt paused to assist me over obstructions.

“I did not know they taught chivalry in Skyrim,” I commented as his hand lifted me over yet another rock.

Odwalt glanced sidelong at me. “T’ain’t chivalry, Lady,” he said as I returned to the dirt of the track beside him. “’Tis self-preservation. The General would flay the blue off my skin if I let any harm come t’ ye.” He indicated the whorled tattoos that covered the backs of his hands and extended beneath the long sleeves of his leather jerkin.

“Were you the one who took Laird’s men prisoner?” I asked as we progressed further down the trail. Odwalt considered my question for several silent steps.

“Aye, my men did,” he said finally. “Laird spotted my outposts and attacked them.” He shook his head in disapproval. “Fool, that one.” His tone held a scathing censure. “Thought that was all there was to us. Apparently when the rest of my men came up the road, he was off guard.” Again he met my gaze briefly. “I’m sorry, Lady. T’ain’t no offense to the dead meant.”

“You just summed up Sir Laird’s nature quite accurately,” I answered. “He was always impetuous. Wallace always had to hold him back, make him wait while milord assessed the situation.”

“Too bad Lord Wallace is dead,” Odwalt said bluntly. “If General Talos had had the chance to speak with him like he wanted, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

I stopped in the center of the path. “And whose fault is th- that?”

Odwalt stopped a few strides away and turned back to me. “No one,” he answered as bluntly as before. “Lord Wallace did what he had t’do, and so did General Talos.” I stared at him, until he shifted his gaze away from me. “Forgive my rough speech, Lady. I know no courtly talk.”

I stepped toward him. “I’d prefer the rough speech, sir,” I said. “It’s honest.”

“’Tis truth,” Odwalt resumed his walk.

“It’s just that t- truth is often painful.” I added, eliciting a noncommittal response from the big Nord.

A/N: Odwalt is one of those characters who jumped fully formed into my mind as I was developing this scene. As much as I liked Lucius, for me Odwalt is much like General Camillus in another story. In any case, he has inspired me to pick up a pen/stylus and start sketching again.