“So, Sir Tristan, did you pick up any news on your way here?”
That was the first order of business for the princeling as he sat down with his aunt and guard.
Tristan Raubannes was a member of the fourth bloodline, spiritually related to the Raviseuls, and was a knight of the highest order, formerly a royal guard to the king himself before being assigned to be Ulysses’ bodyguard after the boy’s mother mysteriously passed away. The two men had been good friends, since the time of their own fathers, the previous king and his shield. Tristan had even been named a godfather of the prince, so he took his duties very seriously.
Being unmarried, he had no other distractions like a wife or children of his own, so Ulysses was very much protected and cherished by the knight. Only the most dire of circumstances would have made him separate from his charge’s side.
And so he had to explain himself a little.
“I went to check on my family’s lands, your highness,” Tristan said, head bowed solemnly. “I could not make it to the walls of my home as the outer limits were being occupied. Sadly, I could not gather a battalion to come get you and bring you to our fortress in the north.”
“Considering the lot of you Raubannes are being laid siege to, heading north now would not be a good idea,” Minerva remarked, arms crossed as she listened in. “The Claridieu are most likely doing their best to cut off any support the Raviseul have left.”
Tristan grunted his agreement.
“I have no doubt that is their plan. I saw no banners to indicate faction, but only a fool would think that family would do otherwise.”
The man reached into a pouch at his belt, pulling out a crumpled missive. He gently straightened it out so everyone present could read what was written on it.
“I found this on a scoundrel who tried to rob me on the way here…it’s an order from the main cathedral.”
Minerva peered at the message, frowned and pushed it closer to her nephew. The prince took one look and mirrored his aunt, clearly unhappy with what he saw there.
“So, it’s as we thought,” Yule said, resignation in his voice.
On the vellum was a simple message, stamped with the official seal of the leader of the temple and current patriarch of the Claridieu family:
On behalf of the Goddess Tulilith, it is declared that all female children between the ages of 10 and 16 must be brought forth to the grand cathedral through whatever means necessary.
They must be brought back alive to go through the process of divine screening. This is of the highest order and must be prioritized over all else.
The false prince and his ilk are to be treated as heretics of Goddess Tulilith; show no mercy.
The message was crumpled by the young prince, almost angrily.
“Well, that explains a lot of the disappearances as of late,” stated Minerva. Meeting her nephew’s gaze, she traced a quick little spell as he tossed up the scrunched up message. It burned quickly in the air, becoming nothing, but ash. “We had our suspicions.”
“On top of everything else, naming the Raviseuls as heretics will cause no small amount of trouble for our allies,” Tristan supplied, having his own thoughts on the matter. The man looked at the young prince with great concern. “For the moment it will be too dangerous for Prince Ulysses to enter other towns.”
“So you’re saying I still have to hide.” Disappointment mixed with irritation was evident in the boy’s voice as the dire situation set in.
Aside from the outskirts of the kingdom, if he walked into any other place he would be in grave danger. Even trying to reach allied strongholds would pose a great risk. Although, on the other hand, staying in one place had its own cons. The longer he remained, the more likely he would be found and the more likely innocent people would be in danger. Ceralde had a lot of good people in it, his own close comrades notwithstanding.
And there was Penelope, the first divinely touched child in a long time, to think about.
Yule was running out of time to make a choice.
Penelope had nothing and everything to do with the conflict currently going on. It would only be a matter of time until she was discovered by the temple. They would stop at nothing to attain her and bend her to their will. Yule and Minerva had already explained that she should stay away from such people, but not the full extent of her own situation as to not scare her. The girl was both so sheltered and so traumatized; it was obvious she had so much to work through and Yule himself did not want her to get involved. But there may be no choice in the future.
From a political standpoint and as a friend, he dearly wished she could just live her life happily with her involvement in anything.
But he knew the moment she found out he was in trouble or needed help, she would offer it without thinking. She was that kind of girl.
As a future monarch, he had to think about his country, his people, what would happen in the future; the smart move would be to maneuver Penelope to his side. That was the same move the other side was hoping for. For a girl starved of love and kindness, it would be really easy. Yule had been guilty of making friends to get things he wanted before. Everyone with even a drop of noble blood acted this way from an early age, as the world of nobles and royals was very cut throat.
“By the by,” Tristan began, looking at Minerva. “That girl out there…did you and Ms Cynthia finally adopt?”
The woman laughed a little bitterly and shook her head. “No, but wouldn’t that be nice? No, no, no, she’s…how do I put this. She helped Ulysses on his way here. I wanted to return the kindness since she didn’t have anywhere else to go. She’s become something of a fixture here. I honestly don’t want to let her go. For many reasons.”
“What other reasons could there be?” the man asked, catching on that there was some secret to be told.
“Penelope is a divine child,” Yule explained simply, looking down at his lap.
The surprise on Tristan’s face was evident, his brows rising high into his hairline.
“Truly?” he intoned, in amazement. “She has strange colouring indeed, but she looks like any other child to me.”
Minerva and Yule explained to the man about the strange reborn girl. About what they knew of her abilities, of her life with them in Ceralde and what they knew of her life before them, as erroneous as they knew it anyways, not realizing everything Penelope had spoken of was her past life, before being reborn.
“...and her family had been intending to marry her off to some old man. Her. A little girl! I would drown them if I knew where they were.” The witch was decidedly very passionate about the topic and hated every moment she had to describe the literal abuse and neglect Penelope had suffered, thinking it was recent and not in the past. Her hands were curled into fists, nails digging into her skin as she held in the urge to shout about the injustice.
Tristan’s own face was grave, not at all pleased about what he had just heard himself.
“Agreed. It is good for her not to be sent back to that kind of home. It must have been difficult for her to leave.”
“I’d adopt her in a heartbeat, if that wasn’t hanging over our heads. There’s also the fact that the girl has moments of intense anxiety about everything. She thinks I don’t notice, but she’s around me almost all day,” Minerva groused. She was pinching the bridge of her nose again, a sign that she was truly upset. “You add in the trouble about her being a divine child blessed by the goddess and I know people would fight it once it got out. ‘Divine blessings belong to the people’ – bullshit! Nobody owes anyone anything!” Her fists slammed onto the kitchen table, shaking it and its contents with the weight of her fury.
“Those Claridieu assholes just want to keep their power over the masses! Look at what they did to Ulysses’ home. To my family–”
“Calm down, Aunt Minerva.”
Yule’s maternal side had suffered no small amount of ill intent from the temple and their supporters. Minerva herself had suffered quite a lot of ridicule from a young age, in no small part to those people. Yule’s home life had been torn due to the machinations of the Claridieu thanks to the scandal where a woman from that family slept with his intoxicated father in order to have a bastard heir of her own.
Their greatest sin had been the death of Yule’s mother, which the second family pretended they had not been responsible for as ‘there was no evidence’ to prove those claims. Anything that would point to them had been carefully erased or hidden away, so bringing it up would have made the first family look like fools.
“At any rate, what do you want to do now, Ulysses?”
The prince still had allies, it would seem, but everywhere he would go had great danger in exchange for gains. However, he could not continue to do nothing, either. Yet, as he was, he was also powerless. Lessons with Minerva notwithstanding, on the political landscape, Yule had very few places to turn to. His half-brother may be in a similar situation where his seat on the throne was precarious at best, however, he had the advantage of being protected.
Right now he had his aunt, a powerful witch and now, his bodyguard, a celebrated knight.
Aside from his immediate allies, everyone else was busy trying to survive the obvious purge of their forces by the enemy closer to the capital and all the way in the north.
“I want to take back my kingdom,” was his simple answer. “But I…”
Tristan looked to his godson, his deep set eyes looking harsher than he meant for them to be, but his tone was gentle as he settled a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I understand. There is a lot to think on. These decisions cannot be hastily done. However, I will impress upon you…the longer you wait to move, the worse it will be to deal with later. You have my counsel now, on top of your aunt’s. I will protect you, your highness, so that you may have the time to think on things.”
The boy nodded, understanding.
A silence stretched over them all as they contemplated the things discussed. Conversation slowly began to start again, moving from heavy topics, to more mundane ones. Discussion of where Tristan would be staying, what he would be doing in Ceralde, as there was no room for him at the shop. The children already had to share the only spare room they had, there was no place for the knight and his larger form.
There was also the subject of explaining to Penelope who he was.
“I most definitely scared her. I thought she had been lost and her parents allowed her to simply wander about unsupervised in the red light district – no child should be in there.”
“It’s not just brothels in that square, you know.”
“But they were very much there.”
Tristan had entered Ceralde a bit after the festival had finished, found lodgings already that he would now work into something more permanent. He explored the port in order to orient himself to his new surroundings, making escape plans for when they would be needed, when their enemies finally reached the port protected by Minerva. The square he and the girl had met in had been used to how clean entertainment, it was no secret to the adult population that the unmarked buildings were used for other pleasures…
Other than festivals, children rarely went there, unless to pass through quickly. Penelope had been fascinated by the ground and seemed to have been there a while, so he approached her to see if she had gotten lost. In his pursuit of the truth, he wound up actually chasing her, causing her no small amount of fright. It was something he was still agonizing about. He knew he was not exactly the cuddliest person in the world and could scare paint off a wall. He had only meant to help.
“Well, nothing like the present to have you two talk,” Minerva stated, getting up from her chair to go and call for the girl. “If you are going to be visiting the shop often, best to get it out of the way.”
The witch hollered for the girl to come back down, as she and Cynthia had been shooed away to their rooms. Turning to face the knight who, despite how stoic he was, was internally panicking at meeting Penelope again, the woman smirked.
“Try not to frighten her again, Tristan.”
Penelope stood in place, mentally fussing about the direction she needed to go. Looking to and fro from one identical road to another, she couldn’t quite figure out which path she was meant to go on, taking a long time to decide.
“It’s this way, Penelope,” came a deep rumble behind her.
She jumped, still unused to Tristan’s deep timbre. Turning around, she nodded at him to acknowledge she heard his words and then continued down the path.
Just how had it come to this?
When she came back, Tristan was properly introduced to her as Yule’s godfather and guardian. And actual guard, confirming for her the noble status of her friend. Flustered about it, Penelope had asked whether or not she should be referring to her friend more formally, but the boy had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he would hate it if she did that. The next thing she was concerned about was Yule declaring that Tristan should follow her around when she said she would be going out when the rain let up.
“If he’s your guard, shouldn’t be looking after you? He’s your godfather, too!” she protested.
“As my godfather and my guard, he’s in charge of protecting my best interests and right now, that’s you.”
“What does that even mean?!”
There had been no other explanation forthcoming; it was a done fact. Tristan himself did not look like he did not wish to fulfill this duty, either. Simply nodding in understanding of his current assignment. And the next day, he came to pick her up as the sun was peeking out, for a day of exploration of Ceralde. He had divested himself of his armor, wearing a plain shirt and slacks, yet it did nothing for his constantly grim aura. So much for having more freedom thanks to the lifting of restrictions. Once again, she had someone following her around.
The other day she had tried to make it to the port and couldn’t do it, so she would try once more.
Penelope had originally thought to take the same route to the docks using the square, but Tristan had steered her away from there.
“If you want to see the shore, the best way is through the market street,” he explained. “I have studied many paths and it is the best way to reach the shore.”
Apparently, there was a beach further down, away from the docks where working ships ported; a much better place to visit than a chaotic workplace. If her intent was to look at the sea, this was preferable.
Of course the delivery of his words were rumbly and grave, like a man talking of a route needed to be taken on a battlefield to siege an enemy territory rather than simple directions. However, if one ignored how frightful he looked, how much of a curmudgeon he sounded, the man was actually quite gentle.
He never held her hand like Yule or carried her like Cynthia, but he was there every step of the way as they traveled to Ceralde’s beach. He stood back and let her make her decisions and stepped in only when needed; just quietly observing her and being supportive to allow her to experience things on her own, but safely.
Honestly, it felt weird. Her own father in her old life stopped being supportive the moment she was able to start cooking for herself or travelling to and from school on her own. The man became as hands off as one could be and even beyond neglectful – he hurt her almost daily for decades. He had a friendly face for strangers, whenever he did go outside, pretending he and his eldest were close, taking pictures when able, showing it off. Just a facade.
Why do I want to cry so much?
Just on the edges of her eyes, there threatened red hot tears, but she held back on letting them fall freely. Sneakily rubbing at her face, feigning fatigue so she could wipe them away.
They only just met, it didn’t mean anything, she had to remind herself. Tristan was only here on orders of Yule, who wanted to look after his friend.
Yet, she couldn’t help but maybe pretend this is some positive male figure who walked with her as she walked through the beginnings of her young life. It was a warm and painful thought. She never figured to miss anything from her old life. There had been so much hurt, no sane person could miss it.
But she did. She missed it, because she never stopped hoping for change.
Quickly wiping her face again, she surged ahead with her large shadow following closely behind, with a pensive look in his deep set black eyes.
The beach was expansive, with a few groups already enjoying the springtime sun and the gentle sea breeze. The air was filled with the sound of children’s laughter and mingling voices of adults chastising them for making such a racket. Boys and girls younger than working age were just running around on the sand and in the shallowest part of the waves lapping up at the sandy shores. It was a very cheerful scene.
Of course, Penelope felt awkward about butting in on them as they were virtual strangers, so she directed for Tristan to follow her to an empty spot on the sand, away from everyone else.
“Don’t you want to go play with the others?” the knight asked as Penelope set them up. He got down to help her secure the blanket when he noticed she had trouble with it, placing sand on each corner to properly keep it from being blown away.
“Phew, thanks,” she said gratefully, sitting down with him on the large blanket. “And no…I don’t think I can.”
“And why is that?”
“It’d be weird.”
Looking up at him, there seemed to be something he wanted to say, but he chose to remain silent instead, just sitting and keeping watch. A professional, this one.
Part of her wanting to explore was to look around and find anything that could give her inspiration for a piece. Going through the same streets, the same shops, the same environment killed creativity, so a change of pace was good for the artistic soul.
The wind felt good on her skin, as was the warmth of the sun shining down on her. She had the urge to throw herself back and stretch as cats did and take a nap, but she fought it – there was sketching to do!
The sky meeting the sea in an ideal horizon, sprinkled in by playful children and their attending families was a lovely scene to see. It was a shame she didn’t have any colours, but maybe she could splurge on coloured pencils, if paint itself was too expensive. Ulfric’s store didn’t carry paint or whole bottles of coloured ink she could use for, possibly, sumi-e style paintings, so pencils may have to be what she used for the nxt while until she discovered a store that sold the supplies she wanted.
Only a half hour passed as she sketched out a draft of the beach and its denizens, imagining the splashes of colour she would one day add to this. This sort of thing deserved actual colour to really pop, she mused, as sand and water did not require much attention. And many of the people she drew were a good distance away, so she barely gave them much detail other than a presence within the full piece.
Penelope was a little disappointed at the actual lack of interesting things to draw.
The beach was nice, but she supposed it was meant more for enjoying in the moment, than to capture in a picture, unless there was something else in there to add to the scene.
Her clear blue eyes surveyed the area, hoping for something good. Perhaps it might have been better to go to the docks. Surely there would have been all kinds of ships to copy into paper, people coming in from other lands and cultures she could draw portraits of, compared to the peaceful atmosphere of the beach. What a let down. Not even a cute little crab walking across the sand for her to doodle…
Well, there was something interesting nearby, in all technicality.
Tristan.
He was sharp angles, a larger frame and a gaze that stared out into the far distance. Though he still had that unapproachable roughness to him, there was an attractiveness in his stoic, reliable mannerism that drew one in. His side profile was good, with all kinds of slopes and angles, dips and surprising roundness in certain places.
“Say,” she began before she could stop herself, “may I draw you?”
The question took them both by surprise. The man’s brows rose high, while Penelope was busy trying to mentally catch up with her mouth.
Tristan, battle hardened warrior that he was, was able to recover much quicker than the artist. He nodded in approval.
He moved to try and strike a pose, but Penelope found herself again and quickly waved her hands to stop him.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that just be, er…be natural. Just sit like how you were.”
“Is that so?” The man settled back down as he had been, sitting comfortably on the blanket. There was a marked difference this time, though, as he was aware someone would be watching him.
His face, at first glance, looked markedly the same, however the more she studied his profile, sketching out the fine lines on her paper, she noticed the small uptick of his lips. A smile. Barely noticeable, practically hiding in plain sight, was there when she went into the finer details of his face. It was a rough and rugged face, with shallow five o’clock shadow, as if he had shaved that morning and facial hair was setting in fast on his face regardless of his efforts. He had creases in his cheeks and by his eyes; he did smile, it seemed, because the deep dimple and crow’s feet did not come from sorrow or sadness.
Here was a man who knew joy, like anyone else. Yet, unlike others he had known the battlefield, of hardship, to a degree.
His skin was not perfect and she did her best to represent the little scars and imperfections she found into paper, though Penelope mused they seemed to fit perfectly on his face. There was one right over his left eye, but you would miss it if you didn’t look close enough. With how intimidating he could be, most wouldn’t think to look directly at his face. The more she studied his face, the more she could draw of him, the less she feared this giant of a man.
And by the time she got to the last line of pencil, there was little need for her to be so nervous.
Proud of her work, she showed the subject of her art the finished sketch of him.
In that moment the man’s eyes lit up, sparkling as those crow’s feet she noticed crinkled gently and the dimples showed in his cheeks as he beheld her work. He leaned close to her so they could look at it together.
“It is beautiful Penelope,” he told her, sincerity in his words.
And that was all she needed to hear to also be grinning radiantly, from ear-to-ear, proud of herself.
