Lady Vera of Beit-Orane (v_eritas) wrote in caeleste, @ 2008-08-12 21:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | eithne savastian, elemmírë, eragos feareborne, the people of aumazahd, vera of beit-orane |
Of Bees and Changing Wind { Elemmírë, Eithne, Eragos }
I am exhausted, I am exhausted----
Pillar of white in a blackout of knives.
I am the magician's girl who does not flinch.
The villagers are untying their disguises, they are shaking
hands.
Whose is that long white box in the grove, what have they
accomplished, why am I cold?
-- The Bee Meeting, Sylvia Plath
Her bandages were ultra white against her skin even in the orangish glow of fire light. It was difficult to ignore them when her next visit with the priestess was due. The healing hands of Lorien's follower were welcome and Vera was suddenly glad for her elf friend's connections within the country, even if she knew little of them. But the idea of ridding herself of the worst of her pains was distracting Vera. The thoughts that kept spiralling back to the things she had to accomplish in Tyrus' court and what had occured on the road...they chipped at her focus too.
Floorboards shook beneath her as Vera dipped her pen into the inkwell by her knee. The celebrations had begun the second night after arriving in Tyrus, after the proper pause was taken for the ones everyone mourned. Vera tried to stay away from the villagers and her friends, for her ability to smile was nearly as wounded as her body. She feared pulling them all into the blackness she'd inhabited since waking in one of the wagons. Eragos had lifted her up from the mud, they'd said. He'd carried her for some undetermined amount of time despite his wounds. No one would tell her how long, as if it were some type of betrayal of trust. She'd given up asking the villagers, but there were phantoms of memory: seeing his face in the rain, feeling the shadows of his hood. She wasn't so sure that what stirred in the depths of her chest, the thing that kept distracting her above all else, was shame...but it should have been.
Vera dipped her pen in the ink and wrote:
'Captain Agrippa...'
The name was drawn with care, the sharp scratch of the pen tip ringing over the subtle shaking of the room. Vera paused and listened for a moment, then leaned over the parchment, her heart squeezing tight in her chest. Pen strokes came in a sweeping rush, slanting like fire against the paper. And she knew this letter would burn her. She was telling him everything, as her honesty with the Captain was always brutal and forthright. When she returned to Simanel with broken pieces of her mask in hand to receive the Captain's judgement, his words would be worse than lashes from a whip. Vera refused to fear him. Or the consequences.
This would be the last trial she would endure for the sake of Tyrus. After Sisenand.
***
The rain was pouring down again when she arrived back at the inn. Four days after their arrival and the City of Tyrus was still plagued by bad weather. Vera hurried quickly from her carriage and under the overhang, careful to keep her cloak from dragging in the mud. The expensive slippers she wore were ruined and she found herself wishing it was practical for ladies to wear boots...
"Did the King see you?" Martine asked.
He was holding the door to the inn open for her as she stepped through. Her hood was drawn over her hair, which was still half-pinned with elaborate curls, and her borrowed cloak trailed behind her on the floor. The night air was cool, so when she came inside the warmth of the inn and adjacent tavern made her cheeks flush. Vera was suddenly glad for her hood and the over-sized cloak that transformed her into something unremarkable. No one could see the fine fabric of her skirts or the shine of her jewelry beneath the thick, brown wool. When Martine offered to take her outer layer, Vera shook her head. A noble lady in a tavern stood out too much and buying all the rooms for the villagers had garnered her enough attention. Eragos could have helped, might have insisted, but she'd beat him to it. And he'd just have to live with that.
"Yes," Vera said to Martine, finally. "Sisenand saw me. He is organizing and sending out the Guardsmen."
**
"I am not in control of my country?"
"You are control of your cities, but your countryside is in disarray."
The King's expression was furious. He slammed his hand down on the table.
"You wanted the opinion of a White Rider," Vera said, after a moment of silence.
There was a snort from the King. "A White Rider wouldn't sit alone in a room with the King of Tyrus to speak so freely."
Vera knew this had been coming when she flashed a smile at him, from behind the shoulders of ladies taller than she. She straightened her back, for all the good it did her.
"If you are asking for what a daughter of Beit-Orane has to say...I will give it to you. But you will not like my response."
**
She could tell from the look on the Rider's face that he'd expected a story. He'd expected her to tell him how difficult it'd been to see the King this evening and what she'd had to do, to convince him. Vera ignored his disappointment. Not because she wasn't used to storytelling, but because she didn't want to think on her discussion with Sisenand. She didn't know if she could discuss that with Martine. Though she'd expected to gain a few more scars on her soul with Sisenand, Vera hadn't expected the pain inside of her to flare so viciously. Scars were a sign of weakness. And she wasn't willing to share with him.
The evening had been terrible, no matter what good she'd done. What good she'd accomplished. There was so little Vera could feel. At least she could admit that to herself, privately.
So instead of allowing Martine a glimpse into the time she'd had at the King's court, Vera looked into the tavern where everyone was drinking or talking. The White Riders were preparing to leave Tyrus. She had no idea where Alatáriël would go, but it was clear that their work was as finished as it could be. A country had to be able to step up and defend itself, if it truly wished to be a country. No White Rider was going to give Tyrus the backbone it needed to gain.
Vera stepped into the tavern and sat down. She would seek everyone out in a moment to tell them the news. But right then, she needed an obnoxiously large mug of ale.