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- Joined
- Jan 30, 2012
- Location
- Vaucluse, SC
The scent of the sea was on the air. It tasted of the storm that the grey sky and dark waves on the horizon promised was on its way. It came as if to mirror the tempest that was taking place inside her home. Beneath her bedroom window were a pair of reasons for her distaste standing where her own men should have been. They had come like a plague from the sea she had once loved and crept across the land with a will that had taken everything. Ardith was the last Deormund standing, Lord of Keep only because there was no man left to claim it. Ravenscar’s walls and towers had outlasted them, but her people had fallen one after the other, and just as Norman soldiers now invaded those walls and towers as if they belonged, one of their Lords had come to lay similar claim on Ardith.
The great conqueror wanted his spoils. He wasn’t the first Norman Lord to make some claim, but he had been the first to try to use marriage as his method of getting what he wanted. She had turned down every message he had sent without opening them until he had proven able to successfully turn her old wind-bag of an uncle into her enemy to make his will happen. Her jaw clenched as the memory of that day rushed back to her as fresh as if it had just happened. Eldwyn, as her father’s brother, had long been his advisor as well. He had been as keen to fight the invaders and their King as all the rest. Ardith mistrusted his change of heart as much as she had come to mistrust the man himself in recent weeks. Thanks to his bargaining, she now found herself with only two choices left to her: marry the Norman or give up her home.
She rested her hands on the stones of the windowsill to feel their cool touch beneath her palms. As surely as Ravenscar stood solidly beneath her feet, overlooking the cliffs and sea so far below, she knew she could not give up her home to the Norman and flee them. Only a coward would run from them, and to be such a coward would be a disgrace to her father’s memory. Osmundue the Deormund had been the great protector of the Rock, Ravenscar, and all her lands and people. How foul it would be to wear his name and not be the guardian it proclaimed her to be. Was it not bad enough that the demons came to strike her colors and replace them with their own?
Ardith frowned up at the gathering clouds, their color mirrored in her eyes, as she decided they were a fitting beginning. The winds sweeping in from the sea tugged at her hair, the long copper tresses braided and wrapped and smelling of heather. The gathering chill cut through the deep blue wool of what had been her mother’s wedding dress. It was as close as she would come to having her parents with her, that dress and her father’s braided leather belt and dagger that rested loosely on her hips. They were among the few things she had refused to allow her Uncle to change or dictate over the past weeks they had spent preparing to open the main gate and welcome their enemies like they were long lost friends. Those small things she clung to helped to ease the sting that he had left when he denied her a voice in negotiating her marriage. It appeared Norman women didn’t have such a luxury as having a voice in deciding their own futures, and Eldwyn had felt it better to keep to the new Lord’s customs rather than their own.
So, it was that she felt a prisoner in her own chambers in knowing that they were his in all the ways that mattered in this world. Ardith turned away from the open window to resume the pacing that had taken up the bulk of her day. The food she had been meant to break her fast with sat uneaten and stale by the bed, only the glass of wine she had asked for had been emptied. Ardith had requested more, and Eldwyn had already proven how weak her control over Ravenscar was becoming by ordering that she not receive another drop of the liquid courage she craved. Not until she ate something, but the thought of food was enough to make her stomach roll. The smell of it had been even worse.
As the morning had worn on into afternoon, the Norman and his small army had arrived. Ardith had mustered one last show of defiance by halting his progress there until someone had worked out why the Barbican Gate wouldn’t open and corrected her sabotage. It had been a delightful hour of watching them wait from the Main Gatehouse of Ravenscar’s curtain wall above the inner stronghold. When it had all come to its predictable end, she had been forced to abandon her place at the gate and cross the Lower ward to stay ahead of them. She had tucked herself back into the safety of the Great Hall while they had spilled out across the lower ward behind her. It had gone against her grain not to meet the man there. She felt he should have had to face her like the invader he was. Instead, she had been tucked away to remain unseen; put aside until she was needed to stand before God and lie with every word she spoke.
The day was wearing on into evening, the sun already well into its long track toward the western horizon to leave the eastern sky all the more dark and foreboding above the waves that churned beneath it, and Ardith felt ever more like a rat in a trap as the hours passed. Beneath her feet a great celebration was being prepared and she would soon be escorted to the little chapel that stood behind the Great Hall in the upper ward. Those widows and children that were left behind by the men that had died beside her father and brother, and the few that had come home, would be there to watch her humiliation for the travesty it was. She would never be able to hold her head high if she didn’t shake this feeling of being than man’s prey before she stood next to him at the altar.
Taking one last look around the spacious rooms, Ardith resigned herself to the understand that this was a thing she could not change, no matter how much she willed it to. If this was her future, she was damn well going to have a part in deciding it. She would not be a lamb led quietly to slaughter, and with her mind made up, Ardith tried the door to her chambers. She had expected to find someone waiting on the other side of the heavy wooden door, but it appeared her Uncle had surmised her relative silence throughout the day had been tantamount to her acquiescence. The truth was far from it. The Saxon woman had nothing left to lose, and she was ready to face her Norman demon and learn the truth of him for herself. The whispers that had passed between the servants had done little to paint an accurate picture of the man. They mixed with nightmarish stories of a monster on the battlefield and fanciful tales about courtly love, all of which she was certain were either false or blown so far out of proportion that they might as well have been.
While she had kept the Lord’s chambers for her use, the Norman had been forced to accept rooms reserved for guests. It had been a petulant thing to do, but he wasn’t the Lord here, not yet, and she would be damned if he took anything else from her before it was truly his to take. Ardith made her way down the halls barefoot and kept her long skirt away from the rushes to avoid making any noise. Finding her own rooms unguarded had been a surprise because she had felt certain someone would have been making sure she didn’t slip away unnoticed. Finding the Norman’s temporary chambers thoughtlessly unprotected while surrounded by potential threats was galling. If she were lucky, it would mean the man was an overconfident fool that was stupidly optimistic. Given recent events, she felt very unlucky, which meant it was more likely that he was confident for good reason.
Ardith took a deep breath to steel herself. Her steady heartbeat tipped into more aggressive pace as her adrenaline spiked and she pushed his door open to peer inside, Ardith’s sharp chin lifted a notch higher in order to look down her pert, upturned nose at whatever awaited her on the other side. Monster or Man, it was time to find out who and what her enemy truly was.
The great conqueror wanted his spoils. He wasn’t the first Norman Lord to make some claim, but he had been the first to try to use marriage as his method of getting what he wanted. She had turned down every message he had sent without opening them until he had proven able to successfully turn her old wind-bag of an uncle into her enemy to make his will happen. Her jaw clenched as the memory of that day rushed back to her as fresh as if it had just happened. Eldwyn, as her father’s brother, had long been his advisor as well. He had been as keen to fight the invaders and their King as all the rest. Ardith mistrusted his change of heart as much as she had come to mistrust the man himself in recent weeks. Thanks to his bargaining, she now found herself with only two choices left to her: marry the Norman or give up her home.
She rested her hands on the stones of the windowsill to feel their cool touch beneath her palms. As surely as Ravenscar stood solidly beneath her feet, overlooking the cliffs and sea so far below, she knew she could not give up her home to the Norman and flee them. Only a coward would run from them, and to be such a coward would be a disgrace to her father’s memory. Osmundue the Deormund had been the great protector of the Rock, Ravenscar, and all her lands and people. How foul it would be to wear his name and not be the guardian it proclaimed her to be. Was it not bad enough that the demons came to strike her colors and replace them with their own?
Ardith frowned up at the gathering clouds, their color mirrored in her eyes, as she decided they were a fitting beginning. The winds sweeping in from the sea tugged at her hair, the long copper tresses braided and wrapped and smelling of heather. The gathering chill cut through the deep blue wool of what had been her mother’s wedding dress. It was as close as she would come to having her parents with her, that dress and her father’s braided leather belt and dagger that rested loosely on her hips. They were among the few things she had refused to allow her Uncle to change or dictate over the past weeks they had spent preparing to open the main gate and welcome their enemies like they were long lost friends. Those small things she clung to helped to ease the sting that he had left when he denied her a voice in negotiating her marriage. It appeared Norman women didn’t have such a luxury as having a voice in deciding their own futures, and Eldwyn had felt it better to keep to the new Lord’s customs rather than their own.
So, it was that she felt a prisoner in her own chambers in knowing that they were his in all the ways that mattered in this world. Ardith turned away from the open window to resume the pacing that had taken up the bulk of her day. The food she had been meant to break her fast with sat uneaten and stale by the bed, only the glass of wine she had asked for had been emptied. Ardith had requested more, and Eldwyn had already proven how weak her control over Ravenscar was becoming by ordering that she not receive another drop of the liquid courage she craved. Not until she ate something, but the thought of food was enough to make her stomach roll. The smell of it had been even worse.
As the morning had worn on into afternoon, the Norman and his small army had arrived. Ardith had mustered one last show of defiance by halting his progress there until someone had worked out why the Barbican Gate wouldn’t open and corrected her sabotage. It had been a delightful hour of watching them wait from the Main Gatehouse of Ravenscar’s curtain wall above the inner stronghold. When it had all come to its predictable end, she had been forced to abandon her place at the gate and cross the Lower ward to stay ahead of them. She had tucked herself back into the safety of the Great Hall while they had spilled out across the lower ward behind her. It had gone against her grain not to meet the man there. She felt he should have had to face her like the invader he was. Instead, she had been tucked away to remain unseen; put aside until she was needed to stand before God and lie with every word she spoke.
The day was wearing on into evening, the sun already well into its long track toward the western horizon to leave the eastern sky all the more dark and foreboding above the waves that churned beneath it, and Ardith felt ever more like a rat in a trap as the hours passed. Beneath her feet a great celebration was being prepared and she would soon be escorted to the little chapel that stood behind the Great Hall in the upper ward. Those widows and children that were left behind by the men that had died beside her father and brother, and the few that had come home, would be there to watch her humiliation for the travesty it was. She would never be able to hold her head high if she didn’t shake this feeling of being than man’s prey before she stood next to him at the altar.
Taking one last look around the spacious rooms, Ardith resigned herself to the understand that this was a thing she could not change, no matter how much she willed it to. If this was her future, she was damn well going to have a part in deciding it. She would not be a lamb led quietly to slaughter, and with her mind made up, Ardith tried the door to her chambers. She had expected to find someone waiting on the other side of the heavy wooden door, but it appeared her Uncle had surmised her relative silence throughout the day had been tantamount to her acquiescence. The truth was far from it. The Saxon woman had nothing left to lose, and she was ready to face her Norman demon and learn the truth of him for herself. The whispers that had passed between the servants had done little to paint an accurate picture of the man. They mixed with nightmarish stories of a monster on the battlefield and fanciful tales about courtly love, all of which she was certain were either false or blown so far out of proportion that they might as well have been.
While she had kept the Lord’s chambers for her use, the Norman had been forced to accept rooms reserved for guests. It had been a petulant thing to do, but he wasn’t the Lord here, not yet, and she would be damned if he took anything else from her before it was truly his to take. Ardith made her way down the halls barefoot and kept her long skirt away from the rushes to avoid making any noise. Finding her own rooms unguarded had been a surprise because she had felt certain someone would have been making sure she didn’t slip away unnoticed. Finding the Norman’s temporary chambers thoughtlessly unprotected while surrounded by potential threats was galling. If she were lucky, it would mean the man was an overconfident fool that was stupidly optimistic. Given recent events, she felt very unlucky, which meant it was more likely that he was confident for good reason.
Ardith took a deep breath to steel herself. Her steady heartbeat tipped into more aggressive pace as her adrenaline spiked and she pushed his door open to peer inside, Ardith’s sharp chin lifted a notch higher in order to look down her pert, upturned nose at whatever awaited her on the other side. Monster or Man, it was time to find out who and what her enemy truly was.