Private Hearth and Roots

[Bohemond Leyweald]

Hearth and Roots

The Castle of Artois, home to House Leyweald, was a rather... peculiar place, to be sure. After all, most members of the Ukatian nobility would balk at the prospect of riding through the woods for several hours before reaching their home, only to find it seemingly abandoned! Although the trees grew a little more sparse around the indomitable, if ancient fortress, roots and moss clung to the stones nonetheless, giving it an air of mystery, as if time held no sway within the halls of this reminder of the planet's past. And yet, when Mathilde and Corazona finally arrived at the gate and called out to the battlements, two bannermen were quick to reveal themselves, waving the dreamweaver in after lowering the drawbridge for her.

It had been... quite a few years, since the Princess of Ukatis had last visited the ancient halls, and yet, nothing seemed to have changed, from the stones to the vegetation tenderly caressing them, or even the bannermen, still clad in gambeson, mail, and plate, a green and white tabard thrown over the ensemble. They carried swords, spears, and bows, still, as if they still lived in the back-when times, before blasters and plastoid changed the manner in which wars were fought... and yet, they projected a certain sense of safety, nonetheless, as if they could not only hold off Mandalorian invaders, but beat them back as well. With their faces kept hidden beneath their heavy helms and their slow, meaningful steps, some had uncharitably called them The Slumbering Battalion in the past, although never within earshot of the Duke himself.

Mathile, ever-gentle as she was, seemed all too happy to guide her friend to her own room - kept spotless by handmaidens and squires alike. Between the comfortable bed, the well-stocked bookshelf and the vast desk, it made for a rather comfy living environment, where one could simply... retire for a few months, and isolate themselves from the urban world. Bohemond and Victoria had not yet returned when night fell, and so the two friends enjoyed their supper together by the hearth - not quite as ceremonial as using the grand dining table, but the kind dreamweaver was all too happy to swap stories with her friend by the fire as they ate from their plates of deer stew.

And when the time for rest finally came... Mathilde wished her friend good night, returned to her room, and poured all of herself into the familiar, though no less difficult task of projecting herself into the realm beyond. Weaving the strands forming one's dreams had never been quite so complicated before, in truth, for Corazona's mind was that of a dreamer, and thus incredibly more complicated for her to spin without risk of upsetting her. But, all the same, the brunette proved capable of granting her friend just what she had promised: a deep, restful slumber, filled with pleasant dreams.

That such kindness came at the cost of her own exhaustion was, in her eyes, a worthy exchange.

---

Bohemond was... incredibly tired.

Although he loved his wife dearly and accepted their differences, there were times where he found himself rather harshly reminded that her inhuman nature could maker irascible. Fair and even-handed as he was, he simply could not allow her to mete out her own brand of justice on the refugees. They had done his family wrong, to be sure, and harmed the woods, in spite of the warnings, but... they were desperate. Merely trying to feed their families and keep them warm. Did they truly deserve to be hung by their entrails in a clearing? Of course not. But the forest was more than merely landscape to Victoria: it was her home! The castle itself was tenderly embraced by moss and roots for that very reason, to let her know that from their love, a union had been made. Mathilde proved that each and every single day.

Even now, he worried for her. For the future of his daughter. On those rare occasions when the three of them were invited to Axilla, the same question returned, again and again, from suitors and old veterans he called friends alike!

Why is Mathilde not betrothed yet?

The notion had never worried him before. Such was the way of Ukatis: women were promised to their husbands, and in turn, they were expected to treat them as one would a delicate flower: with respect and adoration. Why, then, was he so angry whenever the notion was put forward? The last time someone had made the offer, it had taken every fiber of his being to resist the desire to beat the suitor with the flat of his blade and send him home. And they wondered, then, why he was so content remaining within his castle, far beyond their beady eyes and greedy hands!

Still clad from head to toe in his mighty armor, the Duke carefully brought his greatsword to rest close to the fireplace, a sigh escaping him as the blade reflected the light of the fire. Perhaps his doubts were naught but the result of his age. No longer was he a young man in his prime, fighting at Marcel and Horace's side for a just cause - or at least, he remembered it being just. Who was to say what he would think of it, had he embarked in such a journey today?

Leaning back into the comfortable chair by the fireplace, Bohemond stared into the fire, lost in contemplation.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

For all her years away, the Castle of Artois remained remarkably untouched by time. The great halls of ancient stone and snaking vines were exactly as she'd remembered in her childhood. High ceilinged and hallowed, there was something mysterious and untouchable about the Leyweald home.

It was a peaceful place, if you were a friend of the family or had benign purpose. Only now did Cora sense a vague chill - not directed towards her, but a lingering wrathfulness that hung somewhere in the distance, poised like a cleaver to drop down upon those with ill intent in their hearts.

On the other side of that feeling, it was almost like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

Cora moved through the great hall, clad in a traditionally Ukatain-styled dress that Mathilde had graciously loaned her. Her steps were slow and purposeful, tilting her head to servants and soldiers alike as she passed them by.

The evening she'd spent with Mathilde had made her feel like a girl again, in the best sense of the feeling. For just a few hours, she'd managed to forget the pain and suffering etched into her skin and onto her mind and the precarious state of the galaxy, even Ukatis. They talked and laughed and told stories; some of their home, and some of what lay beyond the stars.

A pleasant sleep had left her completely refreshed for the first time in a while.

Her feet carried her to the hearth, Bohemond's imposing iron-clad figure peeking out from behind the contour of a chair. Cora approached from the side, though she was confident that a warrior of his caliber would have easily been able to sense her behind him.

"Duke Leyweald."

With a hand resting against her ribcage, she bowed low.

"Thank you for allowing me to stay the night in your home."

A warm, gentle smile pulled at her lips when she rose. Refined though her posture may be from years of finishing lessons, there was a certain tenacity Cora now carried herself with.

"It's good to see you, truly. Mathilde and I had a wonderful time catching up."

Bohemond Leyweald

 

[Bohemond Leyweald]

Corazona's arrival was indeed perceived, although the Duke had no desire to drag her into a conversation unless she so wished it: after all, she had earned a measure of respite and privacy within the halls of his castle, and he was not one to impose his presence upon others. And yet, when she chose to address him, the armored figure was quick to respond. "Princess", answered the aging knight with a polite bow of his own, deferential, yet lacking in the rigidity one might expect when faced by someone of her station. A hand extended towards the other chair - the very same one the young Jedi had chosen to sit upon the previous night. "It is good to see you as well. 'tis said thy issue 'i the thick of it during the Mando'ade raid upon Axilla - I feared the worst, forsooth, yet the people needed mine aid to see 'em safely to the countryside."

An oddity, perhaps, in how easily Mando'a flowed from his tongue, or how he chose to refer to the invaders from beyond the skies by the name they gave themselves, in their own tongue. "Mathilde missed thou a great deal", remarked the indomitable warrior as he reached to take the firestick in his hand, gently nudging the wood a little with it. "I desire to present mine heartfelt condolences thee, for the perpetual wink of thy husband."

A tense pause followed, the visor pointedly directed at the crackling of the hearth. And then, Bohemond showed just where Mathilde got her sense of honesty from, although his was only ever shared with close friends of the family - and the radiant Jedi his daughter adored so dearly throughout the years as her dearest friend certainly qualified. "His life meant little to me, and I didst not grieve him. I only know thou left to mourn on Coruscant, in privacy. I would we could hast offered thou moe support in those trying times."

Therein lie the true strength of the chivalrous knight before her: most assumed him to be nothing more than a recluse living in the past, way out into the woods, an aging warrior who could not quite accept that his time was past... and so, they underestimated him, blind to the fact that he remained as cunning as he had been in his youth. Guessing just how much he knew of the entire situation was made all the more difficult with his choice to speak so brazenly of the topic, and that much was on purpose.

Not bad, for someone who utterly detested the politics of the court.

"I sometimes wonder just when things started to change, Princess - when Marcel, Horace and I began to grow apart. Naught could stand in our path for long, once - and we worked as one, nought didst. Was't when His Majesty the King decided he no longer needed us, and turned towards urbanization? Was it when he and Marcel arranged for thy marriage, and recalled thou from the path thou had chosen? Was it when I chose to remain within mine domain 'lest ordered to the capital?"

A mirthless chuckle followed, somewhat muffled by his closed helm.

"Forgive mine ramblings, thy highness. I am sure thou hast little use for an aging knight's thoughts. I suppose I am only now privy to a terrible truth: that which increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Princess.

It felt odd to be called that, even now. Cora wasn't sure where she stood with Ukatis as a whole - the crown has exiled her for Horace's murder, under the guise of mourning in order to save face and prevent civil unrest. It made sense that she would still be socially recognized as a member of the royal family, albeit a more distant one.

Cora accepted the Knight's gesture with a grateful tilt of her head and seated herself primly in the chair.

"Myself and another Jedi held off the invaders while my brother, Dominick, guided civilians through the tunnels. I'm grateful that you and your men were there to protect people as they fled the city."

She smiled faintly, gaze settling on the hearth where the fire crackled. There were times when a fear of fire suddenly seized her out of the blue, and Cora was brought back to the moment where she'd writhed on the floor of Horace's study after he'd marred her flesh with a hot iron poker.

For now, she was alright.

"The lives of our people hold far more value than the structures that were destroyed. We can always rebuild a building, but we cannot bring back the dead.”

The mention of Mathilde missing her brought some warmth to her expression. "And I her."

Bohemond's mention of her husband caused a subtle shift in her features. Still pleasant, but now distant in thought.

"Thank you for your condolences. I…cannot say that I cared for him, either."

It was a relief to know that the Knight held a distaste for the younger Horace, but she couldn't help but imagine his silent disappointment upon hearing that she'd been the one to throw him from the balcony.

Cora tilted her head gently, a sign that she was listening to Bohemond's introspection. Ukatis was a traditionally agrarian world, but the tiny urban sprawl was slowly creeping through parts of the countryside. She couldn't comment on when things had started to change, for Cora had been only a toddler during the height of the civil war. Her memories of such a time were only fleeting glimpses.

"I've seen much good come with modernization - Ukatis could certainly do with incorporating some aspects of worlds like Coruscant. Access to standardized medicine is lacking here, and a few bad harvests can starve us."

The former of which she'd slowly tried to change as Princess by establishing a series of Alliance - backed clinics across the rural provinces. While most the staff were from the Alliance as well, they'd planned to train locals and eventually leave these clinics in the care of the Ukatian people.

Then the war had come. Cora sighed, a motion that started at her shoulders.

"But I agree. Modernization has to be implemented carefully in certain areas, and not at the great expense of others. Saying it is one thing, but doing exactly that can be…difficult, I'd imagine. As much as Coruscant is a second home to me, I'd hate to see Ukatis be eaten up by steel and choked with smog."

Cora drummed her fingers against the armrest of her chair, a gesture reminiscent of her father.

"Perhaps the King has forgotten just who grows the food at his table."

A slow smile teased her lips.

"If he heard us talking like this, our heads would be speared on pikes outside of the palace."

Bohemond Leyweald

 

[Bohemond Leyweald]

Although Bohemond's helm faced the hearth still, his eyes remained fixed on the Princess as she spoke. Although he never cared to play the Ukatian game of politics, scheming and backstabbing, he knew how to read people, if only because of his long years spent fighting in brutal, open-field battles just as well as in duels and tourneys. Seeing through a foe's gestures and facial expressions brought him an edge, a chance to exploit his advantage over them.

Her reaction, slight as it may be, to his judgement of Horace von Cholmondeley III was telling, perhaps even more so than the words she uttered referring to him. A slow nod was all he could give for an answer, or a sign of acknowledgement: speaking ill of the departed was no good thing, and he suspected that the Princess carried a greater burden than he could imagine. Mathilde may very well just help her, but he could not. As his wife would sometimes remind him coolly when they discussed the traditions of their home, he was only a man.

But the Princess seemed to listen, even as he rambled on. Was she merely being polite, or genuinely interested in what he had to say? This, he did not know. All he could do to repay her kindness was to lend an ear to her own musings - and offer his own perspective with complete honesty.

"Change doth not join easily to us", came the knight's words at last, betraying his introspective nature, and the long. "The passage of time is divers in Artois: we live as those ere did us so, clinging to an age of chivalry that, I fear, is now past. I live with the knowledge that the next great charge of the Lost Battalion may most well be our last, and when our corporal agents litter the battlefield, then the book will be closed. Withal us dies Ukatian chivalry."

But his daughter's friend was wiser than most of his peers would ever suspect a woman to be, and he could see the wisdom in her words, even as he kept his back turned to the future, choosing instead to face the sun as it set over an era.

A gruff exclamation escaped him as Corazana mentioned Horace. Once a great warrior, he had now become a fat, drunken oaf he looked upon with more pity than anything else. If not for his immense loyalty to his liege (and his old friends as well)... oh, that line of thinking could only take him to dark places.

"A good thing, then, that mine castle is one of the few places on Ukatis where the walls never hast ears", declared the Duke with an appreciative nod. "Hast no fear of thy words finding their way beyond it. As for His Majesty, there is yet one thing I say: when alcohol and food take him to the sad, haply things shall change."

His helm finally turned to face her, the implication clear.

"And I shall serve the new monarch as loyally as I didst mine corky friend."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Maybe that isn't a bad thing, entirely.

That thought rose unbidden to the surface of her mind regarding the death of Ukatian chivalry. She let it sit for a moment before her own objections rose.

No, she thought. If more men adhered to the tenants of chivalry as Duke Leyweald does, then perhaps we would be in better shape. Not everyone uses the old ways to justify hurting one another.

Some denizens of Ukatis pushed for modernization, while others staunchly opposed it. Like many of her countrymen, Cora fell somewhere in the middle.

The Princess sighed, tilting her head back against the chair's headrest.

"How do we balance protecting our people from modern threats while preserving Ukatian culture? How do we continue to adhere to ancient traditions that keep so many of us rooted to one spot in life?"

There were almost too many aspects to consider, all interwoven and twining with one another to paint a complex tapestry that was the Ukatis Dilemma. There would be no way to appease everyone completely. Compromises would need to be made, hopefully not written in blood.

Cora's gaze flickered over to Bohemond's helm.

"Artois is an anomaly; you are the model of an ideal Lord, Ser Leyweald. You care for your people and treat your wife and daughter well. I do not wish to take any of this-" She gestured widely "-away from you, from your wife and Mathilde. Just as I know that you would not disparage one of your bannermen if he decided to move his family to Axilla."

Her fingers drummed against the armrest of the chair once more.

"Change does not come easily to any of us." She agreed. "The crown can't even change hands without bloodshed."

The heavy sound of durasteel scraping against itself brought Cora's attention back to the Knight's helm. The implication of what he spoke caused her heart to flutter in her chest and a flush to color pale cheeks.

Cora had known that one day, she would be Queen alongside Horace. That was not something she'd looked forward to when trying to survive; any thoughts she had on her future had evaporated when she'd been imprisoned for his murder. She'd never thought she'd set foot on Ukatis again, but here she was, speaking as if she had great plans to overhaul their world's way of life when she didn't even know if she even wanted to do such a thing. If she could even manage it. Who was she, to tell Ukatis what it could and could not do?

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat.

"I do hope we won't be needing a new monarch for years to come."

The looming succession crisis couldn't be ignored. The planet's stability was owed to its monarchy, and there was no doubt that "distant cousins" and others of similar ilk would be coming out of the woodwork soon for a power grab.

"But I am sure that we would both do whatever was necessary to ensure the peace and stability of our people."

Bohemond Leyweald

 

[Bohemond Leyweald]

TITLE

The Princess, young as she was, raised some fine points - some difficult notions for him to address, in truth, but then again, Bohemond was better prepared than most, if only by sheer virtue of the patience he had cultivated over the years thanks to his daughter's innocent questions. Even now, thinking of her brought him some measure of worry. The only reason why Mathilde was not forced into a position in life was because of his efforts to keep her safe and sheltered from the cruel world beyond the borders of his dukedom.

"I never wot, Princess. I fear that such matters are beyond me: 'tis up to a younger, more enlightened generation to write the future of Ukatis. Not an aging knight like myself." It was a painful truth, but one he was slowly growing to accept. When the time came, he would use steel and faith to drive back those opposing change: if Ukatian chivalry was to die, then perhaps it was his duty to ensure that its death would be one fit for the history books. Martyrdom in an effort to light the way for future generation, rather than a slow, painful death trying to hold on to something that no longer was.

Even now, with nothing but good intentions at heart, the Duke felt it in his heart: the desire to truly be a knight worthy of his title once more, sallying out from his castle with the Lost Battalion at his back to crush the enemies of Ukatis. What good was he now, slowly being forgotten as he was?

"Perhaps I treat'em well, yet not well enough", interjected the lord in the face of Corazona's compliments, ever-humble - and not a little critical of himself. "It took me many years to become the man thou wot, to agnize the mistakes of the past and become better. Yet better is scarcely aye good. E'en now, I struggle, slip up, fall." In spite of his words, however, he found a certain comfort in the Princess' words, and the praise she held for him. If she spoke to him in such a manner, then surely he must have been doing something right.

But the young woman's discomfort in the face of his implication was enough for him to give but a nod, and wisely choose to leave the matter be. The crown was heavy thing to bear indeed: it had a way to age the people who chose to wear it, to make them oh-so tired. Horace had gone from a titan of a man to a pathetic drunk because of it, and the thought suddenly repelled him. Corazona von Ascania may very well just wilt under such a burden - but, then again, the knight reminded himself that such was her choice to make. Not his, nor her father's, or any other man.

"You are as devoted to the future of our people as one can possibly be, Princess. And yet, I must ask... what will you do now?"

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

For as long as their history stretched, Ukatis had been ruled by graying old men. To insinuate that the youth would be taking the reins of their world was a radical thought.

Bohemond's introspection by was appreciated. Even if he lived in a version of the old ways, he could recognize that not everyone could, or even wanted, to live with similar values.

His question had caught Cora off guard. She hesitated for a long while, resisting the urge to twirl a lock of hair around her finger in thought.

"I will return to Coruscant to finish my training."

Why did she feel a pang of regret in saying that? Perhaps because his inquiry rode on the coattails of her devotion to their home.

"The crown…"

Cora's voice fell as she gazed into the crackling flames. How much could she say? How much should she say?

"Does not particularly like me. I'm trying to do what I can to help while staying out of their way."

How much longer could she manage that? The future was precarious, and Cora couldn't help but feel as though she'd soon be balancing on a knife's edge.

"Beyond that, I will do what I can to support Ukatis, even if it must be from the shadows."

Bohemond Leyweald