A nest sat neatly on top of her best handhold for the library tower. Gwen pouted at this, finding it hard to be truly angry at the fragile little creatures that called it home. But now it meant that she would not have the best view of her lord father and his retinue returning from the rigours of battle. Caernholm was a city of towers. Gwen’s favourite spot had a commanding view of the fortress city, it was the tallest of the many towers that grew into the sky. Looking down she could see the great hall and its rooms sequestered from the rest of the city by an interior wall. There was a single tower above the great hall, the royal tower, named so after some old Astrean king who stayed there.
The library tower wasn’t far from the upper bailey, she was close enough to see her mother fretting about the courtyard. The baroness Eveline looked about with narrowed eyes and a stern face, surely wondering where her oldest daughter had gotten to. The baroness’s ladies in waiting surrounded her and surrounding them was a thin line of knights, the grand baron had taken most of the men north and the few he had left were under the command of his lady wife, and she had ordered them to the great hall and they had scant left since his departure.
Gwen knew she had no choice now. The library tower was her one place of solace, of peace. Anywhere else in Caernholm, the people would tell, the guards would ask and the low-born would tell. They always told. She sighed and gave one last look to the morning sun, her fingers were getting cold.
It was her handmaidens that found her, Lune and Unner. They both knew this was her favourite spot, she had told them as much.
“Come now my lady. Your mother worries for you,” Unner cooed as Gwen let her cloak fall around her and revealed decidedly unladylike clothing.
“I pray this madness which takes you ends soon my lady. One day you will slip on those stones and the fall will smash you to pieces. You would not want us to see that I hope,” said Lune.
“How long have you known me to climb, how many times have I slipped,” Gwen laughed as she took off up the tower.
Gwendolyn was scolded by her mother for her foolishness and given a lecture that she had heard a thousand times since she was first found scuttling across the slate rooftops of Caernholm.
“I should lock you in your chamber and not let you out until the winter solstice! What am I to do with you Gwendolyn, what am I to tell your father, you promised us that you wouldn’t do this anymore.” She sighed and circled her daughter like a hawk. “Thin under shirts, men's breeches, are you not a lady Gwendolyn, you are sixteen near enough a woman grown and soon enough you will be a wife and mother, responsible for far more than just yourself. I will discuss your punishment with your father until then you will not step foot out of the solar.”
“Bu- yes mother,” she said through gritted teeth.
“My Lady!” A guard came dashing through the courtyard and bowed before the baroness. She motioned him forward with a slight wave. Before he spoke he looked over at Gwen with hesitant eyes.
“Take her please Ann,” said the baroness.
Senior handmaiden Ann nodded. “With me my lady, we shall be weaving for the rest of the day. Your mother expects the tapestries to be complete for your father's return.”
Gwen found herself being slowly pushed toward the great hall by the maids. She felt the ladies-in-waiting watch as she walked, heard them talking amongst themselves, laughing as she disappeared through the large wooden doors.
“It is expected Lady Gwendolyn that you will obey your parents in all things. Your mother orders you to sit and weave then that is what you will do.” Ann began continuing the lecture that her mother had begun. Gwen made sure she was a step behind, crudely miming her as she spoke of family honour, a woman’s duty, and other such boring things.
“Very brave lady, mocking the witch after she had left the room,” Unner said as Ann instructed them to escort her the rest of the way, another maid found them and whispered furiously into Ann’s ear and they both took off.
“You should just pin something crude to her back like you used to do when you were younger, it is much funnier for us maids,” said Lune seizing her other arm.
“Captive in my own home,” muttered Gwen.
“That’s the lot of lords and ladies, if you wanted to be free to clamber up towers and walls then you should have been born a serving girl. Or better yet a serving boy.” Unner quipped as they marched lockstep up the spiral stairs.
“I’ve seen some of the washerwomen move like acrobats when washing a certain someone's clothes,” Lune said waggling her big eyebrows. “Maybe the lady is just desperate to see that somebody?”
“Stop it Lune, I simply climb because I love it.” They came to the door for the family's solar.
Guinevere was sat by the fire alone, diligently weaving away. Her tapestry was coming along quickly, it depicted the story of the thief who stole the moon only her version swapped the thief for their father and the moon for their mother. It was to be a gift for the grand baron’s next name day but she had worked so quickly she meant to present it when their father returned from battle.
“Sister,” she said, her voice sweet and high.
“Neve.”
A second seat across from her had been pulled into position, Gwen’s half-finished tapestry had been carefully stood beside her. She sat down with a huff and ran her fingers over the threads.
“Father will not appreciate that as a gift.”
Gwen looked up from her work. “It isn’t for him, it is for grandmother. I hope it will help draw her out of her madness.”
“Brother Hedwyn says that she is not mad.”
“Hedwyn doesn’t know everything. Our grandmother wouldn’t ignore us and the world for twenty years unless something was wrong. And unlike Hedwyn and all the rest I intend to do something to help her.”
“Mother will not approve, she told us to create tapestries for Father, something he would like,” Neve didn’t look up as she spoke.
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Her tapestry was far more ambitious than her sisters. It depicted the tragedy at Solarhall when her grandfather was executed by the Tyrant, Valeric Astraeus. The figure of the evil king and her righteous grandfather was clear in her mind and translated well onto the cloth. The old king was wrapped in a sickly white and decadent gold haze, she wove him in full war regalia: mail, tabard, sword, and shield with a bloody executioner axe in his hand. The mutilated body of Earl-spiritual Aleksandr Aurel lay behind them. Her grandfather was depicted nobly, standing tall despite the chains about his hands and feet. He was wrapped in soft hues of red, dressed as a man of peace in a simple tunic and cloak. The rest of the figures left something to be desired and her brother Aelf had pointed out that the Crown Prince Aetherion had not been in attendance when the trial occurred and that she had missed out several of the Great Lords who had been on the jury.
“If you paid more attention to Brother Hedwyn’s lessons then you might be able to do it properly,” Aelf had said when she chased him about the room for besmirching her work.
She frowned as she looked at the detailing. Much of the work was done by her skilled attendants and she was left to decide how to use the materials and what the scene would be. Unlike her sister, she did not have the hands for such delicate work. It wasn’t the first time someone had voiced objection to the scene depicted but she had managed to keep the attendants quiet with bribes of sweets and afternoons off, it was one of the reasons she had not yet finished her piece.
“Not everything we do needs to be for someone else to like Neve. Sometimes it can just be something we want to do or feel like we have to do to please our own hearts.” Gwen lifted her chin high, feeling for once like the wise older sister she ought to be considering she was four years Neve’s senior.
“I see you paid little attention to father’s lessons on duty.”
“If I did everything father said exactly how he says to do it I would be little better than property,” snapped Gwen.
Neve’s mouth twitched as her hands worked over the loom, it was only for a second before she straightened out and the serene smile Gwen hated so much settled back on her perfect face.
She was over the moon when her handmaidens came to collect her.
“It seems your father is back early my ladies, the baroness wishes for you to dress and meet her in the courtyard.”
“Thank you Unner.” Gwen stood first and led her handmaiden from the room, Lune met them outside and whispered into Unner’s ear.
“I am getting sick of all the whispering, tell me Lune what is it that is fit for Unner’s ear but not my own?”
“It was instructions from the baroness, directly from the baroness. And it is not news you will take well.” Unner ushered Lune behind her and began to walk to Gwen's chambers.
Her mother had given instructions to force her into her new dress. It was a splendid work of craftsmanship, Gwen could appreciate it for that, but it was the most uncomfortable piece of clothing to exist in Caernholm. More uncomfortable even than the horsehair vest that Brother Hedwyn wore when it was time for meditation. An outer corset made of gold strips interlocked around her stomach and under her chest. The dress had multiple skirts and long billowing sleeves which got in the way of everything Gwen touched. The neckline was a deep v which made her blush the first time she saw herself wearing it in the mirror. When the handmaidens had constructed it around her Gwen found she could not twist or bend without losing the ability to breathe.
Once made up she was quickly hustled through the keep to the gates to stand beside her mother, who was dressed in decidedly more demure clothing. Guinevere was beside her, looking every inch a lady in a modest smock of gold and green.
“Do not embarrass me.”
Gwen forced her face to mimic her mothers, coldly hospitable.
The riders had arrived at the upper gate. Three knocks, as was local tradition, were given before the guards opened the gate. The rivers of gold and silver were unexpected to Gwen but were a welcome sight. First through the gate were two of the Kingsguard, in the air waved the golden tree of the Aurelian dynasty. Behind them came a stream of royal knights in their richest finery. It took Gwen all of her strength to stay still, men of the Thronelands and the Estermarch both marched across the Runes courtyard. Gwen stifled a gasp when she saw the fearsome Ser Draven Robane and his terrible metal mask, her eyes went wide when she saw Grandmaster Hector Vauken of the Grandsraad knights. Youngest son of the fearsome Lord Superior Luther Vauken, Viscount of Mittenreiq, and Master of The Nest.
The Baroness Rune tried hard to hide her concern but Gwen could see it plainly on her face. She hadn’t expected this outcome, a royal party headed by the crown prince himself arriving at Caernholm. No preparations had been made, no chambers turned out, no feast prepared. Undoubtedly her mother was worried about how this made the Rune’s household look.
Gwen looked back to the mounted figure of the prince. They were similar in age and she could see the boyish features that age had yet to harden, soft cheeks and large eyes, clear unblemished skin lightly tanned from the clear skies of the Thronelands. His hair was beautiful, long and thick, tied back in many braids and held with a circlet of gold, it glittered from underneath his sun-coloured hair backed with dark roots.
He looks almost like a lady with hair like that, I bet he fusses over it like Neve does. Gwen preferred short and dark hair, it was more manly and fitting for a warrior.
Hundreds of men and women slowly filtered into the courtyard, each dressed in royal livery. Gwen noticed the household guard become tenser, hands brushed the hilts of their swords, knuckles whitened around the shaft of spears, her own mother’s face seemed pale with worry, only Guinevere was unperturbed, her eyes danced over the assembled beauty of the royal court and she gave nothing away. Gwen, for her part, was excited. This was the first time she had met strangers from beyond Angevain or the Alderfen. The grand baron was not a man who afforded his children much freedom. Only once had she been allowed to venture from his realm, to visit her grandmother after the birth of Gwen's second uncle. She never wanted to leave the soft river beaches and crystal clear streams.
She fidgeted, smiled, and tried to remember all the names and heraldry of the famous knights of the kingdom. More than once her mother discreetly pulled her down when she went onto her toes to get a clearer view of the banners.
The prince came forward with Ser Robane to his left and Grandmaster Vauken to his right, an enclosed wagon pulled up alongside them and a well-dressed page rushed before them with a silver trumpet in hand.
“His Royal Highness Felix Aleck-Hyram Aurel Crown-Prince of the Sacred Seat, attending him is the Duc Isembard Arand, King Lysander Aurel’s Lord Chamberlain and regent of the Thronelands,” he finished his pronouncement with a bow and pulled the wagon door open.
Duc Arand was a tall and lanky man, from a long thin neck came a severe face with a sharp chin and small eyes, His hair was long and tied tightly to the back of his head. The chain of his office hung about his neck atop a rich blue doublet fringed with coloured horsehair as was the fashion in Valencour. On his belt was a long curved knife on which he rested a bejewelled hand.
“This is an unexpected arrival your Highness, but not an unwelcome one, the hospitality of Caernholm is yours.”
Guinevere curtseyed at their cue but Gwen was busy looking through the mounted knights, trying to find one that had his faceplate up. Her sister made a polite noise reminding her of her role in these affairs and she grabbed at her skirts with a start.
“I thank you, my lady baroness, and accept your kindness with a warm heart and kindred spirit. It is important matters I come here with, matters directly from the king. Where is the grand baron I would see him at once.” The Prince addressed her mother with stiff formality and directness.
“My lord husband is away tending to matters in the north.”
“When will he return.”
Her mother did not respond immediately, with a wave she called over Keedar, the family steward. A quick whisper in his ear and he swept away through the thick wooden doors and into the keep.
“We shall discuss this inside, my steward will have rooms arranged for your knights and servants. Join me in the hall.” Baroness Rune outstretched a hand for the Prince to take.
He nodded graciously and pulled himself off his horse, he landed with a thump ignoring the servants who rushed forward with stools, Ser Robane, and his uncle Hector dismounted alongside them. The Duc stepped forward to mutter some advice in the Prince's ear before he stepped forward and took the baroness's hand into his own.