Written By Ouida
Feb. 3, 2019, 1:53 p.m.(7/4/1010 AR)
It is not often that I find myself shy or tongue tied, when it comes to things of curious note. And yet, this is where I find myself in regards to one fascination in particular.
There are times when one is free to leap forward and pursue one's fancy, be it a person, or a task, or an exploration...but others when one should and must set aside the most obvious path to learning more and chasing that dream in order to meet one's vows to those one serves. It is not that it is forever out of reach, though of late there is a grief in my heart that whispers I hope falsely that perhaps it shall soon be so. Perhaps my path is simple not yet illuminated. Or perhaps it is another dream to be cherished but laid upon the altar of duty.
All I know is that my heart was moved at the ceremony of lanterns, and as mine rose alongside hundreds of others, fueled by the giving of memories and hopes, of desires left unfulfilled forever and those with some promise of blooming, I could not hide my tears. For what one was, and lost before even awakened, for what sings through my dreams even now that I do not understand, and the desire to hold what I can while it still lingers.
There are times when one is free to leap forward and pursue one's fancy, be it a person, or a task, or an exploration...but others when one should and must set aside the most obvious path to learning more and chasing that dream in order to meet one's vows to those one serves. It is not that it is forever out of reach, though of late there is a grief in my heart that whispers I hope falsely that perhaps it shall soon be so. Perhaps my path is simple not yet illuminated. Or perhaps it is another dream to be cherished but laid upon the altar of duty.
All I know is that my heart was moved at the ceremony of lanterns, and as mine rose alongside hundreds of others, fueled by the giving of memories and hopes, of desires left unfulfilled forever and those with some promise of blooming, I could not hide my tears. For what one was, and lost before even awakened, for what sings through my dreams even now that I do not understand, and the desire to hold what I can while it still lingers.
Written By Ouida
Jan. 27, 2019, 5:50 p.m.(6/18/1010 AR)
In the midst of difficulty and uncertainty, sometimes the gods smile upon you. Our cousin Lady Adelphie Harthall has arrived in Arx, or will very soon! It will be lovely to have her here with us, to bring even more Harthall presence to the city (and perhaps even, let us hope, some fun sparring in the Keep yard!).
Written By Ouida
Jan. 27, 2019, 2:06 p.m.(6/18/1010 AR)
And just like that, something that I once feared and avoided even thinking about becomes something that I anticipate with joy. There is a little bittersweetness in letting go of one's final childish dreams go--but perhaps more sweet than bitter if one focuses upon the excitement and potential of finding new ones to hold in one's heart.
Written By Ouida
Jan. 27, 2019, 2:02 p.m.(6/18/1010 AR)
Though I am not terribly excited about the reasons behind them, I will admit that the best part of the current state of the Compact has been the discussions that I have been fortunate to attend and participate in with those from almost every conceivable station and path, both public and in private.
I have seen many discussions of gains, and what might be lost, physically, morally, spiritually. But the missing piece that I have found in almost every single one is this: who will you sacrifice? Because there always is a sacrifice to be made, and many times it is not who you envision. Even a battlefield commander knows that not only must you keep the goal within your thoughts, and the method, but you also need to know what you /will/ sacrifice when the time comes. And who.
So many people I have spoken to would say "I would sacrifice no one and nothing of import!" And that is on the surface an honorable sentiment and one that I think is what most of us would choose to tell ourselves in our hearts. But realistically, in times of dire danger, sometimes being unable to sacrifice anything actually means sacrificing everything. We oft like to think that our intentions matter over everything else. But my experience is that those most harmed by one's good and even right intentions are rarely grateful for it. It takes strength, courage, and humility to be able to bear witness to the suffering one has caused by their good intentions. Regardless of what is chosen, I wonder if we are prepared to do just that. I hope so, together.
I have seen many discussions of gains, and what might be lost, physically, morally, spiritually. But the missing piece that I have found in almost every single one is this: who will you sacrifice? Because there always is a sacrifice to be made, and many times it is not who you envision. Even a battlefield commander knows that not only must you keep the goal within your thoughts, and the method, but you also need to know what you /will/ sacrifice when the time comes. And who.
So many people I have spoken to would say "I would sacrifice no one and nothing of import!" And that is on the surface an honorable sentiment and one that I think is what most of us would choose to tell ourselves in our hearts. But realistically, in times of dire danger, sometimes being unable to sacrifice anything actually means sacrificing everything. We oft like to think that our intentions matter over everything else. But my experience is that those most harmed by one's good and even right intentions are rarely grateful for it. It takes strength, courage, and humility to be able to bear witness to the suffering one has caused by their good intentions. Regardless of what is chosen, I wonder if we are prepared to do just that. I hope so, together.
Written By Ouida
Jan. 20, 2019, 3:57 p.m.(6/4/1010 AR)
Onward, ever onward. One foot in front of the other. With hope and many prayers said that I shall never have to face ones I have loved and caroused with across the field of battle.
Until then, it is honorable and sacred duty to continue extending a hand, to help others to their feet, to work alongside those that would have you do so, until even the eleventh hour.
I have little voice in what happens in regards to interactions of beyond our borders. I do not think that the High Lords would give much weight to an upjumped knight of a House not one of the mighty of reputation or power might wish or wonder. And I have made my peace with that.
There is still plenty to do in the meantime, to try to see that the coming apart at the seams does not happen more rapidly with such uncertainty.
I am not favored with personal knowledge of the metallics and their legacy bearers. Nor do I know those of the Emperor, nor the administrators of Cardia. Or whatever else may rise in the next hour, day, week, or month.
But I when I close my eyes and think of who I have loved, and served, and bled and wept and laughed with joy for since I first came in to service, I see the people of the Compact, in a circle ever expanding. Quarrelsome, bitter, selfish, impetuous, hypocritical, bold, compassionate, merciful, and unintentionally humorous though we may be. And gods help me, despite the fear and anger I might feel at times or any given moment, what grows large and more quickly than the shadow is love, in expansion.
I do not know what the future will hold. The choices and paths are thrilling and terrifying, and I hope that whatever comes I shall conduct myself with honor. But for now, one foot in front of the other, ever forward, in hope, faith, and love.
Until then, it is honorable and sacred duty to continue extending a hand, to help others to their feet, to work alongside those that would have you do so, until even the eleventh hour.
I have little voice in what happens in regards to interactions of beyond our borders. I do not think that the High Lords would give much weight to an upjumped knight of a House not one of the mighty of reputation or power might wish or wonder. And I have made my peace with that.
There is still plenty to do in the meantime, to try to see that the coming apart at the seams does not happen more rapidly with such uncertainty.
I am not favored with personal knowledge of the metallics and their legacy bearers. Nor do I know those of the Emperor, nor the administrators of Cardia. Or whatever else may rise in the next hour, day, week, or month.
But I when I close my eyes and think of who I have loved, and served, and bled and wept and laughed with joy for since I first came in to service, I see the people of the Compact, in a circle ever expanding. Quarrelsome, bitter, selfish, impetuous, hypocritical, bold, compassionate, merciful, and unintentionally humorous though we may be. And gods help me, despite the fear and anger I might feel at times or any given moment, what grows large and more quickly than the shadow is love, in expansion.
I do not know what the future will hold. The choices and paths are thrilling and terrifying, and I hope that whatever comes I shall conduct myself with honor. But for now, one foot in front of the other, ever forward, in hope, faith, and love.
Written By Ouida
Jan. 15, 2019, 2:18 a.m.(5/12/1010 AR)
It is not really true that a burden shared is less of a burden. At least, it is not always true.
But nevertheless, it is still good to feel the clasp of a friend's hand.
There are very very few choices that one makes, even those in the heat of the moment where we feel there is not other option or ones that we intend to be the most valiant, that do not have unintended consequences. Sometimes the consequences are so small that luckily no one but you notices. Other times a minor misstep can cause cascades that feel like utter ruin, at least in that moment.
It is not solely tied to the merit of one's intent. I know I have made decisions that would likely cause others to blanch and turn away from me were they to think on them--or to only see me in that moment of time. And yet, in the years or months since I do not find them plaguing my dreams. And yet other decisions I have made that had me toasted in one lord's hall or another, or that won me accolades and respect amongst my peers--those are the ones that I relieve in my nightmares, seeing all the other pathways that could have been chosen, seeing all of what was snuffed out in a single moment of decision.
I believe that often times in the quiet hours most of us are the sternest issuer of rebukes and penance directed inward, than any authority would demand.
If I could bestow one thing no matter how fanciful, upon every single living person in Arvum, it would be this: that when we are lost to worry and the unknown, as the ripples of the pebble we have just thrown into the world are still spreading and we do not know when it will end, that all should have someone come to take their hand, or stand beside them even silently to know that they will not face what echoes back alone. There is nothing wrong with feeling anger, hurt, betrayal, sadness. I have found that those who have stood most strongly beside me as friend and loved one are those who are quite capable of holding more than one feeling at a time, in regards to something that they think I have done. I do not deserve the riches I have been given in that regard. It is my most fervent prayer that I might be a source of them to others in my lifetime.
The choices we make are important.
But so is how we react to the choices that others have made, and that too has unknown consequences that may echo just for a few minutes of a brief spat, or generations of near blood feud. There are so many reminders of how fragile peace can be, how easily resentments can spark or be formed to spark another day. I do not know that we could ever be truly rid of this, it seems to be in our deepest natures. Perhaps it is a good first step to remember that there are almost always choices to be made. And if even if you do not like what another has chosen, you look past your own ability to make choices at the peril of all around you.
But nevertheless, it is still good to feel the clasp of a friend's hand.
There are very very few choices that one makes, even those in the heat of the moment where we feel there is not other option or ones that we intend to be the most valiant, that do not have unintended consequences. Sometimes the consequences are so small that luckily no one but you notices. Other times a minor misstep can cause cascades that feel like utter ruin, at least in that moment.
It is not solely tied to the merit of one's intent. I know I have made decisions that would likely cause others to blanch and turn away from me were they to think on them--or to only see me in that moment of time. And yet, in the years or months since I do not find them plaguing my dreams. And yet other decisions I have made that had me toasted in one lord's hall or another, or that won me accolades and respect amongst my peers--those are the ones that I relieve in my nightmares, seeing all the other pathways that could have been chosen, seeing all of what was snuffed out in a single moment of decision.
I believe that often times in the quiet hours most of us are the sternest issuer of rebukes and penance directed inward, than any authority would demand.
If I could bestow one thing no matter how fanciful, upon every single living person in Arvum, it would be this: that when we are lost to worry and the unknown, as the ripples of the pebble we have just thrown into the world are still spreading and we do not know when it will end, that all should have someone come to take their hand, or stand beside them even silently to know that they will not face what echoes back alone. There is nothing wrong with feeling anger, hurt, betrayal, sadness. I have found that those who have stood most strongly beside me as friend and loved one are those who are quite capable of holding more than one feeling at a time, in regards to something that they think I have done. I do not deserve the riches I have been given in that regard. It is my most fervent prayer that I might be a source of them to others in my lifetime.
The choices we make are important.
But so is how we react to the choices that others have made, and that too has unknown consequences that may echo just for a few minutes of a brief spat, or generations of near blood feud. There are so many reminders of how fragile peace can be, how easily resentments can spark or be formed to spark another day. I do not know that we could ever be truly rid of this, it seems to be in our deepest natures. Perhaps it is a good first step to remember that there are almost always choices to be made. And if even if you do not like what another has chosen, you look past your own ability to make choices at the peril of all around you.
Written By Ouida
Jan. 14, 2019, 1:52 a.m.(5/10/1010 AR)
There are very few things harder than practicing what one preaches. If it were easy, then Arvum would likely be a very different place, and we would all be far less hypocritical than most of us are.
My heart is grieved tonight. But my grief must not rule my hand, nor my head.
My heart is grieved tonight. But my grief must not rule my hand, nor my head.
Written By Ouida
Jan. 12, 2019, 4:33 p.m.(5/7/1010 AR)
When I was a little girl, we had an old rope swing tied to one of the gnarled but tall trees in the gardens. I think perhaps that old tree had stood even before the building of Fair Harbour, though not being one terribly knowledgeable about trees, perhaps that was just a fable told by the gardeners to enchant a little girl and get her out of their hair.
All three of us played under that canopy of branches, though Odhran mainly just wanted to use the rope to scramble up to the branch, and then climb higher and higher to pelt Orvyn and I with the bitter and hard fruits it bore. Orvyn liked to bring a book or his papers to a snug little nook amongst the above-ground roots--they were worn so satin smooth by then it makes me smile at the wonder to think of how many of our ancestors nestled there and lost themselves in tales or daydreaming.
I liked to climb too--and to pelt my brothers with the fruits, though hitting Odhran even then was akin to taking one's life in their hands if he caught you later. But I most loved to fly on the rope. Orvyn could set me spinning higher and higher until it almost seemed as though I could let go and sail away into the clouds if I wanted to. (A broken arm set my expectations firmly into greater reality early on).
Until recently, I'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to soar, to feel the wind buoying you up, and trying to snatch you down all at the same time.
There is no tall tree in the keep here in Arx, at least not tall enough for that kind of swing. But on the sly I helped set up more of a bench swing hung in the pavilion, overlooking fountain and flowerbeds. This morning I saw Cook resting there and watching the first butterflies, her feet tucked so she could swing, and I quietly slipped away so I would not interrupt her.
Apparently I am not the only one who craves flying now and then.
All three of us played under that canopy of branches, though Odhran mainly just wanted to use the rope to scramble up to the branch, and then climb higher and higher to pelt Orvyn and I with the bitter and hard fruits it bore. Orvyn liked to bring a book or his papers to a snug little nook amongst the above-ground roots--they were worn so satin smooth by then it makes me smile at the wonder to think of how many of our ancestors nestled there and lost themselves in tales or daydreaming.
I liked to climb too--and to pelt my brothers with the fruits, though hitting Odhran even then was akin to taking one's life in their hands if he caught you later. But I most loved to fly on the rope. Orvyn could set me spinning higher and higher until it almost seemed as though I could let go and sail away into the clouds if I wanted to. (A broken arm set my expectations firmly into greater reality early on).
Until recently, I'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to soar, to feel the wind buoying you up, and trying to snatch you down all at the same time.
There is no tall tree in the keep here in Arx, at least not tall enough for that kind of swing. But on the sly I helped set up more of a bench swing hung in the pavilion, overlooking fountain and flowerbeds. This morning I saw Cook resting there and watching the first butterflies, her feet tucked so she could swing, and I quietly slipped away so I would not interrupt her.
Apparently I am not the only one who craves flying now and then.
Written By Ouida
Jan. 10, 2019, 2:24 p.m.(5/3/1010 AR)
It struck me somewhat powerfully before dawn, when I knelt at my prayers, that not once during the news of these most recent events has my prodigal squire turned to me with surprise in his eyes or mystification as to how could the people of the Compact engage in slaughter of as many or more innocents as combatants, and that even of those who have bent the knee and committed to serve the gods.
And why is that?
Sometimes I think that in our arrogance we cease to remember that the Abandoned and the Prodigals are not stupid. I think sometimes we risk being too far removed from the realities of living on the borders--for both people of the Compact and those outside it. I think that we are sometimes too forgetful, myself included, of how little time has passed since the last time one house attacked or destroyed or moved against one another.
When I took a knee before Niall Redtree's mother, to give her my word-bond that though yes, he would be in danger as any squire or warrior is, but that he would be protected by me as I would my own blood, both she and I knew I that meant protection from those within the Compact as much as outside of it. And there is no one on our Isles who does not know that I have put plenty of the Shav'Arvani to the sword when encroachments into our protected domain were made. I have hunted down and killed to a last those that participated or abetted in the slaughter of my cousin's entire family, Abandoned or not. I did not come to their family bloodless and pristine and pure, a woman of diplomatic acumen and right words, when they bent the knee to us. They knew what others that he would now serve alongside had done.
I might fret that I have brought this good lad away from the safety of the island or our keep within Arx to expose him to yet more hatred and danger than he might suffer in the usual circumstances--which would not have been trifling either. But he knows. His family knows. And I must push past my own heart to honor them, as people, who now have the full protection of Harthall, as part of our domain. It may be someday, when he is a knight, that he will find himself wielding his blade against someone he knew as a boy, who did not bend the knee. Just as I know as a sword bearer for my House that the day may come when I will cross blades with someone that I once fought alongside or shared a drink together at some Lady's hall or another if our banners are called against each other.
But I will say this. If anyone harms or spills the blood of those who have bent the knee to Harthall, Compact-born blood will not save them. You will be hunted down like any other bandit or murderer, and made to answer in kind, or brought to justice outside of our lands. An oath sworn is an oath sworn. A word given is a word given. I will protect and defend and serve those who have pledged to us. May the gods help anyone who thinks that they can put a hand on any of our people without consequence, regardless of their lineage.
And why is that?
Sometimes I think that in our arrogance we cease to remember that the Abandoned and the Prodigals are not stupid. I think sometimes we risk being too far removed from the realities of living on the borders--for both people of the Compact and those outside it. I think that we are sometimes too forgetful, myself included, of how little time has passed since the last time one house attacked or destroyed or moved against one another.
When I took a knee before Niall Redtree's mother, to give her my word-bond that though yes, he would be in danger as any squire or warrior is, but that he would be protected by me as I would my own blood, both she and I knew I that meant protection from those within the Compact as much as outside of it. And there is no one on our Isles who does not know that I have put plenty of the Shav'Arvani to the sword when encroachments into our protected domain were made. I have hunted down and killed to a last those that participated or abetted in the slaughter of my cousin's entire family, Abandoned or not. I did not come to their family bloodless and pristine and pure, a woman of diplomatic acumen and right words, when they bent the knee to us. They knew what others that he would now serve alongside had done.
I might fret that I have brought this good lad away from the safety of the island or our keep within Arx to expose him to yet more hatred and danger than he might suffer in the usual circumstances--which would not have been trifling either. But he knows. His family knows. And I must push past my own heart to honor them, as people, who now have the full protection of Harthall, as part of our domain. It may be someday, when he is a knight, that he will find himself wielding his blade against someone he knew as a boy, who did not bend the knee. Just as I know as a sword bearer for my House that the day may come when I will cross blades with someone that I once fought alongside or shared a drink together at some Lady's hall or another if our banners are called against each other.
But I will say this. If anyone harms or spills the blood of those who have bent the knee to Harthall, Compact-born blood will not save them. You will be hunted down like any other bandit or murderer, and made to answer in kind, or brought to justice outside of our lands. An oath sworn is an oath sworn. A word given is a word given. I will protect and defend and serve those who have pledged to us. May the gods help anyone who thinks that they can put a hand on any of our people without consequence, regardless of their lineage.
Written By Ouida
Dec. 24, 2018, 12:55 p.m.(3/24/1010 AR)
My dreams are vivid of late, and filled with wonders--both dreadful and exhilarating. I wake both still exhausted from them, glad to be free of them sometimes, and sometimes with a lingering grief that I am no longer there. Is this madness of some sort? I am used to my dreams, when I dream, being full of the field, those who met their end on it by my hand, and those who my sword could not save. Those are unpleasant, and steal my sleep frequently, I must admit. But these...are a different matter entirely.
Written By Ouida
Nov. 17, 2018, 10:51 a.m.(1/5/1010 AR)
As I now hold the service of a page for the first time, I find that rather than it being a burden, it brings back many fond memories. Though at the time that I first served as page, I would not have had many fond things to say!
Young Niall, however, is not some hardheaded fearsome get of an an Oathland's noble as I was, but a good boy and eager to learn. His people newly bent the knee and returned to the Compact upon our lands. I asked his mother for one of her best prospects, not thinking that she would entrust to me her own son. He has been absorbing his lessons well, seeming to neither resent or feel shame at being a mote older than most of the other boys of his station. And in truth, in answer his questions about the Faith, or seeking with him their answers, I find that it opens my eyes and removes some of my own complicity. I had forgotten the joy at seeing so many things anew. We do not get much snow upon the Island, though we do have some, but from the sounds of his laughter and merriment in joining the other younger servants and pages and squires at the keep in their play in the courtyard at the first heavy snow here, I think perhaps it was one of the first times that he was able to enjoy it in comfort. He wants to be a part of everything, underfoot no matter how many errands I send him on delivering messages or polishing armor or yet again quizzing him on his heraldry. It is both maddening and endearing. I wondering if my own antics as a page were so endearing to my old gruff knight?
I feared not, when I served him, but now I remember his heavy hand on my shoulder, or the faint hint of a smile before he put on the scowl and sent me off to do some new drudgery, and I think it must have been there.
So too, I wonder, if he also felt that heaviness of heart and spirit to know that it would be in his company that he saw the first innocent light go out of my eyes, when under his tutelage I first knew the feeling of blood on my hands, that could not be scrubbed off, no matter how hard I tried. It is a necessity, that Niall will someday kill under our banner as well, and unless I meet an end before it, he will do so at my behest. It is one thing to command soldiers, grown men and women, and knights--who have for the most part chosen to take up the sword and all that entails. And most of us see death long before the blade calls to us or is pressed upon us--but that first act of purposeful killing, not by personal choice but by duty...it is not something forgotten. I just had never considered how it might feel to be the one to shepherd that into being, for another. For if I am honest, I serve Niall almost as much as he serves me, and his family now not only owes the Harthalls their fealty, but we owe them our protection. I hope that I am as stalwart and valuable a servant and guide to him, as my grizzled old knight was to me.
Young Niall, however, is not some hardheaded fearsome get of an an Oathland's noble as I was, but a good boy and eager to learn. His people newly bent the knee and returned to the Compact upon our lands. I asked his mother for one of her best prospects, not thinking that she would entrust to me her own son. He has been absorbing his lessons well, seeming to neither resent or feel shame at being a mote older than most of the other boys of his station. And in truth, in answer his questions about the Faith, or seeking with him their answers, I find that it opens my eyes and removes some of my own complicity. I had forgotten the joy at seeing so many things anew. We do not get much snow upon the Island, though we do have some, but from the sounds of his laughter and merriment in joining the other younger servants and pages and squires at the keep in their play in the courtyard at the first heavy snow here, I think perhaps it was one of the first times that he was able to enjoy it in comfort. He wants to be a part of everything, underfoot no matter how many errands I send him on delivering messages or polishing armor or yet again quizzing him on his heraldry. It is both maddening and endearing. I wondering if my own antics as a page were so endearing to my old gruff knight?
I feared not, when I served him, but now I remember his heavy hand on my shoulder, or the faint hint of a smile before he put on the scowl and sent me off to do some new drudgery, and I think it must have been there.
So too, I wonder, if he also felt that heaviness of heart and spirit to know that it would be in his company that he saw the first innocent light go out of my eyes, when under his tutelage I first knew the feeling of blood on my hands, that could not be scrubbed off, no matter how hard I tried. It is a necessity, that Niall will someday kill under our banner as well, and unless I meet an end before it, he will do so at my behest. It is one thing to command soldiers, grown men and women, and knights--who have for the most part chosen to take up the sword and all that entails. And most of us see death long before the blade calls to us or is pressed upon us--but that first act of purposeful killing, not by personal choice but by duty...it is not something forgotten. I just had never considered how it might feel to be the one to shepherd that into being, for another. For if I am honest, I serve Niall almost as much as he serves me, and his family now not only owes the Harthalls their fealty, but we owe them our protection. I hope that I am as stalwart and valuable a servant and guide to him, as my grizzled old knight was to me.
Written By Ouida
Nov. 17, 2018, 10:30 a.m.(1/5/1010 AR)
It can be somewhat of a blow to the ego, to admit that one does not have the companionship that they wish. On the other hand, sometimes adversity is the ticket to delight, as was the case with Mistress Solange Whisper's lovely recent event. In truth, I have not had much time to enjoy an evening of socialization that was not a family gathering or war preparation or a larger scale event that most frequently makes one feel decidedly like a fish out of water in quite some time. I met some charming and interesting new people, with time enough to engage in conversation. It seems a pity to live within a large city such as Arx and not take advantage of the opportunities it presents to learn more, seek more, and enjoy those whom cross your path. Not a sentiment amiss in the turning of the new year, I think.
Written By Ouida
Nov. 11, 2018, 1:15 p.m.(12/21/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Orvyn
I remember when we were children, and you would be sitting at your studies, head bowed, while the day was glorious outside. Of course, I, in my innocent selfishness, assumed you were unhappy, that the head bowed was one of discontent. So of course, it was my duty to burst in, surprise the tutor, take you by the hand and run until we left the shouting behind us, and the warm sun was on our faces, free at last. "Look, look, come and see, brother, look what ships are coming in!" By then you were laughing, and running just as hard along side me, racing for the overlook where we could watch the whitecaps and ships from on high. You tussled my hair, making a mess of all the braids that my maid had forced it into, and then pointed out where each ship must have been coming from or going to, based on how they set their sails, and the banners they flew. Still at your studies, in a way, patiently educating me where a tutor could not, allowing me to weave crowns and bracelets of the sad scraggly little wildflowers and vines so that I could listen as you spoke.
Now it is you, who offers a hand, at least in spirit, and I am just as breathless in those first few minutes as you must have been--as I am pulled forward and you tell me, "Come and see, sister, what ships are coming in." I know that this is not a path you necessarily would have chosen, years ago, had you the choice. And I know a little of the sacrifices you have made, in fully committing yourself to it. But Harthall has never been so strong, and I have never been so happy, as to chase after these new dreams and plans, and to think I might have a hand in helping you bring them in.
Now it is you, who offers a hand, at least in spirit, and I am just as breathless in those first few minutes as you must have been--as I am pulled forward and you tell me, "Come and see, sister, what ships are coming in." I know that this is not a path you necessarily would have chosen, years ago, had you the choice. And I know a little of the sacrifices you have made, in fully committing yourself to it. But Harthall has never been so strong, and I have never been so happy, as to chase after these new dreams and plans, and to think I might have a hand in helping you bring them in.
Written By Ouida
Oct. 21, 2018, 6:09 p.m.(11/7/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Sunniva
I noticed, darling, that you seemed to gain a taste for the spicy cheese that was served at the Salon's gathering. Did it perhaps whet your appetite for the exchange of firey (though always well placed and sublime, as is your nature) words? I wonder if the refreshments served at such gatherings are always so divine. Perhaps they might lure in more of the least-likely-to-sit-still kind, such as myself. Though I shall always be glad to serve as your escort, perhaps we might also seek to lure your husband to the next one. Sprinkling sweet crumbs and drops of whiskey, as necessary!
Written By Ouida
Oct. 21, 2018, 2:41 p.m.(11/4/1009 AR)
Where does one wander, when sleep remains as elusive as the face of the moon on a night thick with clouds and fog; the glow all around you, the whispered promise of it, but no satisfaction of feeling the purest light against your skin?
When I was a child, I would steal away from the manor and down to the harbor, to find a perch near the docks to watch the comings and goings, to see the swabbies at work late into the night, the secret and not so secret assignations met and tendered nearby, late merchant's apprentices visits and drunken sailors returning from a night of carousing, singing loudly and holding each other at least semi-upright and sometimes passing their own ship thrice or more before finding it in the darkness. Sometimes I stayed long enough to see the boatswain and riggers return to their duties, when darkness was retreating quickly and the sun's light once more stained the sky. It was not long before I was too big and ungainly a girl to make much use of high small hiding places, however.
When I was a squire attending my knight, it was often slipping out of our camp once my duties of the evening was done, something he turned a benevolent blind eye to, I now understand, so long as he deemed it safe enough. Then, I would spend time at each fire that would have me. Tasting their beer or libations offered, sharing stories, learning new manners of insulting people, listening to tales of embellished deeds. It was easy to find enough company, and enough variety, and if nothing else, many steps to lull the mind and body ready for sleep, or at least some semblance of rest.
When I was knighted, and then in service, it was not so very different, save for now I was the one turning a benevolent eye to my squires' antics; and enjoying the visits of others, listening to their hopeful tales, gossiping about their masters, and of course visits from old friends and rivals alike, depending upon how the winds and whims of our lieges had shifted.
Now I am no longer simply a knight, if there ever is anything "simple" about it. Each night a warm and soft comfortable bed awaits me in my comfortable quarters. I enjoy the most lively and entrancing company, when I seek it. There is the joy and ache of constant training, for myself, or for others. Enough sums and ciphers to make my eyes cross and my thoughts numb. I have my winsome sister to escort when my brother is busy with his work of the evening, which is quite frequent. All these things are a great delight, and I am not so foolish as to wish them away for some gilded memory of the past.
But where does one go in the large city, when the mind is still prowling, and the household is quiet. When one's sweet lover of the evening is snoring companionably and should not be disturbed for some desire and restlessness that one would be unable to name. Or the lights in the rooms of everyone else in the household have been extinguished.
I walk through the streets both low and high, visit the many gardens resplendent and still fragrant even in the autumn night. I listen to the laughter pouring from various establishments as the people come and go from them. The heartbeat and rhythm of the city moves on around and through me, but rest remains elusive.
When I was a child, I would steal away from the manor and down to the harbor, to find a perch near the docks to watch the comings and goings, to see the swabbies at work late into the night, the secret and not so secret assignations met and tendered nearby, late merchant's apprentices visits and drunken sailors returning from a night of carousing, singing loudly and holding each other at least semi-upright and sometimes passing their own ship thrice or more before finding it in the darkness. Sometimes I stayed long enough to see the boatswain and riggers return to their duties, when darkness was retreating quickly and the sun's light once more stained the sky. It was not long before I was too big and ungainly a girl to make much use of high small hiding places, however.
When I was a squire attending my knight, it was often slipping out of our camp once my duties of the evening was done, something he turned a benevolent blind eye to, I now understand, so long as he deemed it safe enough. Then, I would spend time at each fire that would have me. Tasting their beer or libations offered, sharing stories, learning new manners of insulting people, listening to tales of embellished deeds. It was easy to find enough company, and enough variety, and if nothing else, many steps to lull the mind and body ready for sleep, or at least some semblance of rest.
When I was knighted, and then in service, it was not so very different, save for now I was the one turning a benevolent eye to my squires' antics; and enjoying the visits of others, listening to their hopeful tales, gossiping about their masters, and of course visits from old friends and rivals alike, depending upon how the winds and whims of our lieges had shifted.
Now I am no longer simply a knight, if there ever is anything "simple" about it. Each night a warm and soft comfortable bed awaits me in my comfortable quarters. I enjoy the most lively and entrancing company, when I seek it. There is the joy and ache of constant training, for myself, or for others. Enough sums and ciphers to make my eyes cross and my thoughts numb. I have my winsome sister to escort when my brother is busy with his work of the evening, which is quite frequent. All these things are a great delight, and I am not so foolish as to wish them away for some gilded memory of the past.
But where does one go in the large city, when the mind is still prowling, and the household is quiet. When one's sweet lover of the evening is snoring companionably and should not be disturbed for some desire and restlessness that one would be unable to name. Or the lights in the rooms of everyone else in the household have been extinguished.
I walk through the streets both low and high, visit the many gardens resplendent and still fragrant even in the autumn night. I listen to the laughter pouring from various establishments as the people come and go from them. The heartbeat and rhythm of the city moves on around and through me, but rest remains elusive.
Written By Ouida
Oct. 14, 2018, 10:59 a.m.(10/12/1009 AR)
I am not a knight meant for tourneys, it seems, though I would be a liar to say that when I was a little girl, I did not dream of mounting a charger to tilt at my gloriously armored foe as the crowds cheered, winning admiring glances from other girls and boys and my father's smile. After a particularly disastrous training exercise that involved a bumblebee, a rotten apple, a horrifically timed breaking of wind, and almost reducing our master at arms' ability to sire children by half, it was determined that the lance was not to be the weapon of proficiency for me. I set my sights then on melee, after losing my heart to a Lycene duel wielding duelist seen at a tournament at Westrock Reach, when I was twelve. I talked about her so much, as young girls do, that my father forbade her name ever be spoken in his presence. That obsession only lasted as long as it took for me to then observe a comely sellsword I believe, at another tournament at Sanctum, who beat everyone who came near him senseless with his hammer and axe. Luckily my father quickly put an end to my dalliance with those weapons, much to the relief of others in the yard, I am sure. In the meantime, always I held in my heart the idea that when I became a squire, I would finally get to polish tournament armor, to hold the courser or charger or prepare the weapons rack, and stand at attention while cheering like the little girl once did inside my heart as I watched my knight compete.
As it is said, the gods give what the gods give, and not always in the season or amount that is to our even most fervent desires.
The knight I squired for was not one for tournaments of public rites, though that is another story altogether, but neither did he deny me or seek to change my love of them. Every time I participate, or watch, which is as much as I can, it is a joy to feel the hope of the little girl with stars in her eyes dreaming of taking the field with her heroes, and the wonder of the woman grown who finds herself one of them.
As it is said, the gods give what the gods give, and not always in the season or amount that is to our even most fervent desires.
The knight I squired for was not one for tournaments of public rites, though that is another story altogether, but neither did he deny me or seek to change my love of them. Every time I participate, or watch, which is as much as I can, it is a joy to feel the hope of the little girl with stars in her eyes dreaming of taking the field with her heroes, and the wonder of the woman grown who finds herself one of them.
Written By Ouida
Oct. 7, 2018, 5:08 p.m.(9/26/1009 AR)
Several days later, and I am still feeling the bite of the Crimson Wolf.
Is there anything better to shake off the langour of too much time within the walls of a keep, counting one's sums and minding one's correspondence than a bout with an opponent of superior skill and strength? Not much, to this Oathlander. Though keeping company with beautiful ladies and charming lords, as I have also been privileged to do in the last week is a very close second.
There are those who will day that they only truly find themselves in battle; I have known, and loved, and served alongside many of them. I will not the deny the beauty of unchaining the beast within, to feel every part of you, every sense, every breath, every beat of your heart, all more alive than every before as you not only try not to die, but cut those before you down. On the sands, we have the opportunity to lengthen our leashes, and it is good for the spirit and the body.
So too, I hear, are the baths in the Grotto, of which I believe I will partake in tonight, to soothe the aftermath!
Is there anything better to shake off the langour of too much time within the walls of a keep, counting one's sums and minding one's correspondence than a bout with an opponent of superior skill and strength? Not much, to this Oathlander. Though keeping company with beautiful ladies and charming lords, as I have also been privileged to do in the last week is a very close second.
There are those who will day that they only truly find themselves in battle; I have known, and loved, and served alongside many of them. I will not the deny the beauty of unchaining the beast within, to feel every part of you, every sense, every breath, every beat of your heart, all more alive than every before as you not only try not to die, but cut those before you down. On the sands, we have the opportunity to lengthen our leashes, and it is good for the spirit and the body.
So too, I hear, are the baths in the Grotto, of which I believe I will partake in tonight, to soothe the aftermath!
Written By Ouida
Oct. 4, 2018, 1:41 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Orvyn
You know, my sweet brother, it occurs to me all these years later that I'm not sure that I have yet forgiven you for that time when you told me that the best place to relieve oneself was over the aft rails of the ship (so that no one would see you) rather than the head rail. On the first sail of father's new warship, with all of our family and a delegation of Farshaws as well, if I recall correctly. I think I shall blame this traumatic incident for my dislike of fine gowns, unless I'm helping to get someone else out of one.
Written By Ouida
Oct. 2, 2018, 12:50 a.m.(9/15/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Sunniva
I know that you are eager to take part in the aftermath of what happens in the aftermath of a great battle--from little stitches to resting a hand on the brow of those whom you can do nothing but wish them well as they pass from this life they know well. Waiting for you when you return from finding your place amidst the fray shall be a properly drawn bath with appropriate herbs and sweet smelling things to ease the stench of blood and bile and piss and shit that is inevitable. I am not a healer, but I have been the recipient of such caretaking many a time, and know that the muscles of one assisting a physician grow fatigued and faint in the end as anyone else's. I'm sure your husband will have other tender caring things prepared for you, or at least he had better!
Let us hope this is not worse than what you have seen thus far. How passing strange that I should wish so much to protect you from the mantle that you have worked so hard to achieve! I have confidence that you will be a credit to Harthall.
And I propose in the near future, that we should take advantage of the splendid baths in the city, when we are ready to purge the sounds and sights and smells of the field at least for a time from immediate memory.
Gods guide your hands and bless those that you bring comfort to, dear heart.
Let us hope this is not worse than what you have seen thus far. How passing strange that I should wish so much to protect you from the mantle that you have worked so hard to achieve! I have confidence that you will be a credit to Harthall.
And I propose in the near future, that we should take advantage of the splendid baths in the city, when we are ready to purge the sounds and sights and smells of the field at least for a time from immediate memory.
Gods guide your hands and bless those that you bring comfort to, dear heart.
Written By Ouida
Sept. 29, 2018, 7 p.m.(9/10/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Orvyn
My favorite time of the day is perhaps an hour or so before dawn.
The gardens are mostly quiet, though the city and the kitchens stir, and one had better stay out of the way of the goodfolk preparing for the long day ahead of them. The sweet duality of endings and beginnings, slipping away from a strange bed or gently rousing one that must from your own, the promise of the day before you before the invariable mistakes, bunglings, triumphs, or gains unexpected or otherwise.
I find myself in melancholy remembrances today, though I could not put a finger as to why these memories come back to me. Perhaps it is because the keep is now starting to become close to home; I have certainly spent more consecutive days here now in the last year than I did the past ten at Fair Harbor.
I hope that the Keep will hold more pleasant memories, now that the other is tainted. Though there is something that plucks at my senses to say that there is no one however happy upon the surface that doesn't have the home of their childhood, should they be so fortunate as to have one, marred by the echoes of arguments that cut bonds never to be repaired quite the same or as strong. Or even worse, things spoken in the heat of angry passion or rage that were never answered, never softened with reconciliation.
I am not one that is much given to regret. As a wise one told me, quite recently, one must move forward, accept and cherish what we can of the past, without letting it weigh upon us overmuch in the present. Everyone experiences loss, great or small. Whether or not it maims us is more of a choice.
Or so I like to tell myself, and it is easy in the wakeful hours, with sun or rain against my skin and lips, with the buzz and warble of many people around me, and all the tasks that call out for my attention.
Here before the break of dawn, all I can think about is my shame and my regret at willfully staying away from home, falsely speaking of duty to another, so that I did not have to face our father and the words I said at that last parting, spoken more in anger and fear than anything else. My own stubbornness, my own burden.
But looking forward I know, no matter the storm of anger or whatever emotion may come at some future date, as long as it is within my power never shall I go forth without reconciliation with the one who has always been with me; let at least that particular regret never come to pass between us.
The gardens are mostly quiet, though the city and the kitchens stir, and one had better stay out of the way of the goodfolk preparing for the long day ahead of them. The sweet duality of endings and beginnings, slipping away from a strange bed or gently rousing one that must from your own, the promise of the day before you before the invariable mistakes, bunglings, triumphs, or gains unexpected or otherwise.
I find myself in melancholy remembrances today, though I could not put a finger as to why these memories come back to me. Perhaps it is because the keep is now starting to become close to home; I have certainly spent more consecutive days here now in the last year than I did the past ten at Fair Harbor.
I hope that the Keep will hold more pleasant memories, now that the other is tainted. Though there is something that plucks at my senses to say that there is no one however happy upon the surface that doesn't have the home of their childhood, should they be so fortunate as to have one, marred by the echoes of arguments that cut bonds never to be repaired quite the same or as strong. Or even worse, things spoken in the heat of angry passion or rage that were never answered, never softened with reconciliation.
I am not one that is much given to regret. As a wise one told me, quite recently, one must move forward, accept and cherish what we can of the past, without letting it weigh upon us overmuch in the present. Everyone experiences loss, great or small. Whether or not it maims us is more of a choice.
Or so I like to tell myself, and it is easy in the wakeful hours, with sun or rain against my skin and lips, with the buzz and warble of many people around me, and all the tasks that call out for my attention.
Here before the break of dawn, all I can think about is my shame and my regret at willfully staying away from home, falsely speaking of duty to another, so that I did not have to face our father and the words I said at that last parting, spoken more in anger and fear than anything else. My own stubbornness, my own burden.
But looking forward I know, no matter the storm of anger or whatever emotion may come at some future date, as long as it is within my power never shall I go forth without reconciliation with the one who has always been with me; let at least that particular regret never come to pass between us.
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