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Carlyle⚜ Camille de la Saumure ⚜
Interaction: None
5.1 If only for a Moment
Your mother is alive..
Camille felt weak. She had been prepared for the worst when seeing her father. They hadn’t said it, but the feeling was shared between them. Her mother should have been gone and yet, by the Grace of Oraphe-Sept, she had been spared but to what degree?
The cavern passage grew narrow in this alcove of the cave system as the little saint followed her lifetime friend, Claude, through. Even from behind, it was clear to see the damage the Eskandr had done to him. Sweat clung to his brown, ragged shirt sticking to his skin revealing just how much weight he had lost the past few days. He favored his right leg, barely finding comfort when weight came to his left. Cuts and bruises marked up his arms, neck, and face but she wasn’t sure how old they were.
It hadn’t occurred to her until now that she should have asked for Dami’s Judgment to heal. She came close to saying something until he spoke, cutting off before she offered. ”Oh don’t worry about me, girl. I can handle a few lumps. It is your mother you should comfort…” He paused and Camille peered over to see his face contorting in conflict. It was like he wanted to say something. ”...She’s been through a lot.” He turned and gave her a flimsy smile. Even she could see he was putting on a face.
Claude must have been disappointed in what he saw because his smile faded, giving up as he gestured down the passage.
Camille gave him a blank look, confused foremost, before she stepped lightly onward down the short distance to a small circular room, carved clearly by ancient predecessors. Dim candle light flickered, giving illumination to the small room, displaying a few women huddled together for warmth? No, support. Their quiet sobs carried in the small room as Camille stood at the entryway. She did not move, nor did the women as the two parties considered the other.
”Camille?...”
Her mother’s voice was masked behind a hoarse and tired throat, but Camille knew.
”Mama?”
Camille wavered with a weak reply, tears welling up in her eyes. Her mother sounded so weak… so soulless… She couldn’t explain it and didn’t have the ability to understand it as well. All she knew was that her mother was there. The little saint lunged, the women grouped with her mother parted enough for the two to embrace in tears.
They had both faced horrors on their journey to get here but they did get here for at least this moment in time.
Interaction: None
5.2 The Gambit Chosen
”It is utter madness. You all can’t be actually considering going along with what that knight said?” Marion exclaimed, her singed hair on the left side of her face would have been quite distracting had it not been for the eyepatch. That still took Camille some getting use to.
”Normally I might agree but I have a good feeling about this. Dragons aren’t one to mess about but what other choice is there?”
Claude was standing before he became lightheaded and dropped carefully onto his rear so he could sit the rest of this debate out. It was just the Port Morilles denizens in this particular part of the cavern, waiting out the dragon’s frequent flybys that kept them pinned inside.
”Since when is that our only option?”
Camille was never one for strategy. She felt like she could hardly read at times, let alone propose something thoughtful in this situation. Instead, she watched the proceedings like a witness in a court. Both Marion and Claude were smart enough so surely one of them could make a sound argument. Her and her mother were nestled together, sitting with their backs against the wall and leaning on one another. Camille had gotten some sleep at some point before Ser Maerec came forth with a plan.
”Oh think outside the box, Mare” Claude held a sincere smile. He was quite thrilled his children made it out of the siege alive and more, they were here. It was good to see him smile sincerely again. ”If we tame a dragon. Actually do it, then we win the war.”
Taming a dragon.
She didn’t really believe dragon’s were as smart as dogs but apparently they were, enough to at least tame one. If it was her choice, she’d want to try and slay the beast before it could burn any more homes or people. That, of course, carried risks and she wasn’t sure how she could slay something flying.
”You say that like it is casting a net for fish, father.” Marc finally chimed in with a light chuckle. He always reminded her of Claude, simply because they both took everything lightly. Marion, however…
”If you think for one minute that it is possible to tame a ravenous beast breathing fire in a primal rage then you and this war are truly lost.” Marion shook her head. ”Sometimes I think I’m the only sensible one here. Camille!”
Camille jumped and turned her head to meet Marion’s single eyed gaze. ”Please tell me you aren’t also considering this braindead idea.” Marion shifted into a glare, expecting the intimidation tactic to strongarm Camille into agreeing with her. The little saint, however, had no idea.
”Whatever helps us now.” Camille offered softly, not trying to choose a side in order to be fair. She didn’t want to waste lives in an attempt to tangle with a dragon but if they could do it… shouldn’t they try?
”Camille…” Her mother softly spoke, pulling her attention away Marion groaning loudly in annoyance as Claude came in to point out he was winning.
”Even if they try.. Don’t go. For me.” Berenice had moved away so she could look Camille in the eyes. She was pleading, desperate for Camille to stay. How do you tell your mother no?
”Mama…” Camille muttered, shifting her grip to her mother’s forearm and lightly squeezing it. ”I have to.” She stated as gently as she could but could already see her mother’s eyes water. ”I won’t lose you now. I can’t keep going through with this.”
Camille didn’t know what to say. She was in this armor for a reason. Dami chose her and she couldn’t abandon that, could she? Men like Ser Caelum or Ser Maerec or women like Queen Eleanor were devout and pious to their belief. How many times had Caelum saved her? If she could just extend that saving grace to others then she hoped that would be enough.
”Dami chose me and I have to.” Camille wished she had something more inspiring or convincing to say, but that was the bare truth. She was chosen and this was her duty. She didn’t understand it, but she saw it in those noble souls around her. All called to be arbiter’s of the Pentand
Interaction: None
5.3
Interaction: None
5.4 The Cost for Reward
Interaction: Eleanor [@ForceandFury]
5.5 Rallying Cry
Eleanor had never trusted Talit’yrash. From the day they had first met, as girls of sixteen, the yasoi had reeked, to her, of lust - and not just sexual lust, not just for Eleanor’s husband. If I could have the aid of her magic right now, the queen thought, I would take it in a heartbeat. The colossal black dragon that had plagued these lands for decades, that had taken countless lives, and that had fought with such ferocity against the combined efforts of humanity now lay draped across the summit of Mont Errant, beaten and submissive. If many might have seen tragedy in the mighty beast laid low, Eleanor was not among them. For the queen of Parrence there existed only the triumph of human will and ingenuity and the ample blessings of the Gods. One creature did not possess an inalienable right to lord its dominion over others and it was right and just that humans should fight back and secure for themselves survival and peace. Such were the tests of Echeran and they had passed this one. Lives had been saved by Eleanor’s actions and those of her countrymen.
Yet, it was not the lives saved that held themselves uppermost in her mind, but those lost. These men and women had placed themselves under her care and some eighty percent of them who had left the killing fields of Relouse with her had joined Ahn-Eshiran. It is the will of the Pentad that they give their lives for a just cause, she had counseled herself when first the Nashorn treacherously broke the sacred rules surrounding Camille’s duel. They have died heroically, she had thought as more fell in battle against the Eskandr. They have earned their places in the Five Heavens, among the angels and Pentangels. She clung to it as truth while the dragon’s fyre swept through her army and they perished in agony by the hundred. She had nearly joined them. She had not been ready to die. For all her pious talk, Eleanor de Perpignan was not content to give her life away. The same had likely been true for most of them.
It was the early morning after the battle. A cool, clammy mist hung heavy across the battlefield, coating every surface. The sun glowed a faint bluish behind a mourning curtain of clouds and she leaned tiredly against a tree, squeezing her eyelids shut and rubbing the bridge of her nose in regret, frustration, and a sense of relief that she knew for misplaced. Sleep had been poor and fleeting in the night. There was no building left standing and much of the army’s baggage train had been burnt. People had slept in the caves and under trees. The Queen of the Parrench had lain on the ground among them, if slightly removed. She’d awoken in the morning dampness, blinking droplets of condensation from her eyelids. Eleanor took a deep breath in, held it just long enough for her body to feel it, and released it. Her conduct was central to her people’s chances of success, and the march of battle was relentless. She opened her eyes, pushed off of the tree trunk, and walked among them.
The cowardly Eskandr had left them to deal with the dragon, indifferent to their success or failure. Cowardly, she thought, but tactically astute. tactically astute, but not strategically. Sir Maerec of Solenne had broken the beast’s spirit and it was now his as it was healing, being nursed back to health at his hand and that of her brother. Thank Oraphe that Percy was okay. As obnoxious as he could be at times, he was a far more complex person than many gave him credit for, and he was her brother, after all. Now, however, another person dear to her was threatened. It was a near-certainty that the Eskandr army had broken for Chamonix with all haste, and that they would join with Hrothgar’s force to annihilate her husband and his soldiers and take the city. She shuddered to think what those people would suffer: all of the pent of rage and frustration of these southmen, held back by so few scruples and so tenuous a moral fibre. She had perhaps four hundred able-bodied fighters left under her command, little in the way of a baggage train or supply lines, and a host of ills to contend with. She needed them to press forward. They would have to press on to Chamonix at speed if they were to have any hope of affecting the outcome of the battle. Perhaps they could stop in Ambroix and Girenne along the way. Those were towns of some note. Perhaps they could pick up some recruits. It had to work. There was no other option. If Chamonix fell, if Arcel fell, Parrence would be broken, and her with it.
To that end, her eyes roved across the makeship camp as she walked, delivering greetings and encouragement to all who noticed her or appeared in need of it. There was one person, in particular, who she was looking for.
Camille did not find much sleep, even embraced in her mother’s arms. Victory had been theirs and their constitutions tested but the charred smell that still lingered in the air hinted at the cost. Many lives, good lives, had perished. All sacrifices to a ceremony of taming a beast that laid low the people of Perrence for as long as memory served. A small victory, sure, Camille couldn’t contest that but she’d trade it in the heartbeat to end the war now. Maybe it would.
Despite how burdensome those thoughts were, Camille’s rest wasn’t disturbed by the weight of life. Rather, she was encumbered by a discomforting realization. Dami had seen to spare as many of her loved ones that were in her prayers. Her mother, although fractured, was still alive along with her father and her friends, aside from Armand. Her hometown had even shown a resilience, outlined by the kind Ser Caelum to her. She had protected the things dearest to her as best as she could from the evils gripping the Eskandr. That was a victory and yet…
Her eyes wandered to the greatsword she had claimed from the dragon’s horde. A superior blade compared to her previous that looked unscarred by the passage of neglect for the time it had been sitting in that cave. The only impurity, if you could call it that, were the intricate runes of some unknown meaning and origin were lightly smithed into the sides of the blade, writing out a poem or story. The symbols started about a third of the way up the blade and carried down, over the hilt and onto the handle. It was beautiful and Camille could swear there was a slight glow to the whole blade when she held it, a surge of strength she hadn’t anticipated and perhaps what she feared, a calling.
Dami did not place this for her to find to retire peacefully back home. She had been called to be more than herself. She always loathed losing what she had, giving up her life of happiness and simplicity for others. However as the tragedies of this war increased, she was beginning to understand Dami’s Judgement. Let the few be chosen to protect the many. How many other Camille’s relied on her saving them just before their unrighteous end?
Her life to save the others.
She reached out and clutched her new greatsword’s handle, her touch causing the symbols to glow faintly. Were those Dami’s words addressing her? Maybe one day she could read them and know that she made the right choice.
Someone was approaching. Camille and her mother had tucked away in a shallow cut in the rockface, preferring to be away from the others but still close enough to react to any urgent cries. She wasn’t sure she trusted the idea of a tamed dragon. Rounding into view was Queen Eleanor making Camille’s eyes widen in realization as she stirred, shifting her mother who was leaning on her still asleep.
”Mama, the Queen.” She muttered, grabbing and helping her mother up in a haste. Camille had a reverence for Queen Eleanor, believing her to be the best of them with a pure heart. Though she had never directly interacted with her or really any royal before. Bowing reverently, Camille bent at the waist. If she had been wearing a dress, she might have remembered that she was supposed to curtsy, but she rarely wore a dress in any event. At least she thought so but her mother bowed with her, leading to a slight bit of internal confusion.
”Bonjour Queen Eleanor.” Camille spoke loud but rather plainly, believing herself to be just no one of importance.
“Camille.” Eleanor reached out and took the youth’s hand fondly before turning to her mother. “You must be madam Saumure.” She smiled. “Your daughter is an amazing young woman.” The words felt rote even as she said them. How else was she to address a commoner who she did not know? “I am filled to see that the both of you are well and at last able to take some moments together.”
”Your words and blessing are too much, my lady.” Camille kept her head bowed, fingers curling in fists as she grew tense. She had often heard stories of royalty chopping the hands off of peasants that acted disgracefully in front of them or broke a rule of etiquette. She wasn’t sure what the rules were and could hardly remember the ones she had been taught, hoping that she was sufficient enough in this regard. ”My mother and friends are alive, but I would have liked to save more. Even the ones I didn’t know, my lady.”
Eleanor flashed a reassuring smile in the direction of the girl's mother and took Camille’s other hand. “I know well the feeling, Camille, for it burns me inside as well. It burns me as the one who was called upon to lead you here. We have known a great success, but each life lost…” She turned momentarily to Camille’s mother. “Might I borrow her for a moment?” She felt awkward even asking, for she knew that she would not be refused.
Camille’s mother had still clung to her daughter’s side and looked up, concerned as the Queen made her request. Camille’s eyes peered over to her mother’s worried that her mother might just refuse the request outright. The look on her face had certainly been saying that but there was a small breath of relief when the little saint felt her mother’s hands lighten around her arm. ”You may, my lady.” Berenice muttered, backing away meekly.
Camille frowned but turned her attention to Eleanor, partially relieved she could be spared from her mother if only for the chance at a clear head. Though that prospect itself was daunting because now she had to contend with her royal manners. Silently she nodded, signalling she was ready to be borrowed but certainly appearing apprehensive about it.
They walked along the edge of the camp, towards the shore of Lac Ste. Elaine, and there remained the smell of burnt things about them. It was inescapable. “We have known great success, Camille,” she reiterated. “We are of similar mind on that, but each life lost… I tell myself that it is Echeran’s will” - she looked up to the sky momentarily. It remained a mourning shroud. - “but it feels like a failure.” She regarded the youth’s hesitancy. “You should speak freely in my presence. We are all ordained for different roles by Dami, and mine is a large one - to be queen of this nation - but I am a mortal woman no different from you beyond that. I swear it.” She tried to smile.
They had only managed a couple of paces before a reminder, outside of the smell, was found of the cost of their foray with taming a dragon. A charred skeleton near the path, flaking and brittle from a mere scathing of that dragon’s breath. Bone would likely be dust if directly hit by the inferno spewed from the creature’s mouth. Camille stared at it as they passed, never before seeing the decrepit sight of black human bones like that.
When the queen spoke, however, Camille had turned her attention around again, facing forward to remain more polite or so she believed. Her words were, indeed, something she’d expect from one so noble, but that voice… it even betrayed the emotion to Camille. She was tired. They all were and not in the physical sense but mentally and emotionally. It was uniquely vulnerable, Camille had thought and when given permission to speak freely, she had one thing in mind instantly.
”Are you tired, my lady?” The little saint inquired and it might have been a lead into a concerned offering to sit, but no, Camille was analysing, encountering the rare chance to see someone she had placed so high and impervious before to be a little bit vulnerable… Like herself.
”With your role. You said it like I would to..” She paused, considering that she may have crossed a line with being so direct, however, she found it to continue. ”...Like I would to Claude or Armand.” She felt her mind wander back to the camp, just before the war began. It was a happy memory. ”Saint Camille…” She muttered meekly not trying to sound boastful. She wasn’t, just recalling all the times people would look up to her. It just wasn’t something she understood, but now… maybe she would.
Eleanor smiled faintly, slowing as the lakeshore appeared around a bend in the trail. The sickening smell of death was nearly one from the air. It was just her and a simple girl, guileless and decent. and perceptive, in her own fashion. It had been two weeks since the queen had so much as touched another human being in a manner not perfunctory. It had been two weeks of eyes looking to her for guidance, for answers - eyes that looked up to her and eyes that harbored their own ideas and silent doubts. She had not always wanted to lead. She had grown into it, but still ever under the wing of dear Arcel, until they had parted. “I am not supposed to say these things,” she sighed, “as I can see that you recognize.” There were ducks on the lake. Was it this one or another where she had fed them as a girl. It did not much matter. She turned to Camille. “I am exhausted. My vessel is battered and emptied.” She turned back to the lake. “But I shan’t succumb, just as I am now certain that you shan’t, Sainte Camille.” She glanced over as the youth came up beside her, corners of her eyes crinkling in some genuine fondness. “Some of us must serve so that others do not have to.” She sat then, in the damp sand, not caring much for cleanliness. It was all horribly improper. “BBut you have served so greatly and given so much.” Her voice took on a note of sadness, “At such a tender age - and I do not mean to belittle you. I would not command you to come with me to Chamonix. You are free to spend this precious time with your loved ones.” Out on the lake, five ducks and, belatedly, a sixth, took off and flew into the slowly-brightening sky.
Camille, since the first time the queen had arrived, had fully looked into the face of Eleanor with dull brown eyes searching and studying the queen’s after everyword. Were they really so alike? Did Queen Eleanor, the Pentad’s chosen for Perrence, really feel these same things that Camille toiled with? Did she really justify it the same way Camille had? That others could be spared if the few answered.
The little saint joined Eleanor down on the sand quietly in her own mind. Her gloved hands curled around the sand naturally, feeling the slight familiarity of home. It made it painful to think about as the queen offered her the chance to lay down, put to rest her sword and return home. She stared blankly across the calm water, watching the ducks passively as her mind furiously worked itself into a frenzy.
All she ever wanted was being offered. A royal pardon from the war to go home, her family and friends to go with her. Had she been asked this two weeks ago, she believed she would have said yes in a heartbeat. Now, she felt a weight still her tongue on the tip of an answer she couldn’t believe she was about to admit. Her mind played reason after reason to not say it, give in and live how she wanted, but she couldn’t convince herself.
”I shan’t go home.” Camille spoke clear and calm though she thought her voice trembled at the admission. ”I will go to Chamonix so they don’t have to. I need to go so others I don’t know have a chance to live a life I wanted.” Camille turned her face, unbreaking in a resolve. She wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from. Her hand palmed and ran over the Oraphe blade she had been given by Caelum, finding its touch to give her strength. ”I’ll serve Dami so that Parrence may be blessed favorably in Judgement.”
For a moment, Eleanor merely sat in the sand, listening. Her heart grew heavy and soared at once. Perhaps, if Camlle felt so, then there were others. Perhaps their queen was not simply spurring a coalition of the otherwise-unwilling with the strength of her rhetoric and the weight that her authority carried. Wordlessly, she reached out and squeezed the youth’s shoulder. Though it was an embrace that she truly craved, it would not be proper, and Dami had assigned for her the role of queen and its host of other benefits. “Thank you, Camille.” She meant it. So often, she gave away her thanks in perfunctory fashion. Eleanor took in and released a breath, and it rose, misty, in the direction the ducks had gone. “We may yet earn our peace, and I pray that we do, but I will allow the knowledge that our actions maintain peace for others to sustain me, as I can see that it sustains you.” She rose, then, and brushed herself off. “We must break camp soon, and make haste for Chamonix, for the barbarians are relentless and without honour and I sense that the city will die without our aid, and… my husband with it.” She was earnest, perhaps too earnest, for she had not been raised in such a fashion. “It means very much to have you at my side.”
Camille had maybe for the first time been sure she was in the right place. Hearing the queen speak to her as an equal even had been the surest way that the Pentad made their will known. It made her heart swell as she rose, joining the queen on her feet. ”I’m ready.” She nodded, rubbing the last bits of sand she had in her hands. ”We will save Chamonix and the King.” The little saint bashfully added with the slightest of smiles on her face. ”Parrence along with them both.”
