The Resurgent Dream
22-07-2005, 01:21
15 July 15 R.A.
Marian went to bed early Friday night. Al;though she had been convinced to continue her present in Lavenrunz, she was still spending a few weeks back in the Despotate. Things were going well, she supposed. Her jousting had taken off. She wasn't the best, certainly, but the novelty of seeing a woman who was even a competent and a woman of sufficient birth who wanted to joust was intriguing to many Pantocratorians. Things in Mortville were coming alright. The people still had a good deal of mistrust but the real reforms she was implementing and the time she almost died healing them had certainly helped. Still, there did seem to be an endless amount of paperwork involved, between Andre's bureaucrats, her own servants, the residents' organizations she'd set up, the housing company, etc. It didn't take her long to fall sound asleep, wondering where Helen was. Helen had been sitting up in the (near-empty) hall after dinner, talking to her grandfather, Monsieur le Duc d'Adrienople, a somewhat stern but charmingly old man, with whom the Despot had entrusted the responsibility of overseeing the Despotic Court of New Constantinople while he was away in Lavenrunz. Helen had finished telling her grandfather about the Palace of the Moon and Stars, and the conversation was at somewhat of a lull. Her thoughts turned to Marian - she had promised the sidhe that she wouldn't dawdle too long with her grandfather, but as she glanced at the magnificent clock on the wall beside her, it occurred to her that she had been in the hall for some hours. The hours past. Marian remained sound asleep in her bed, curled up contentedly. "Oh, Grandfather, I'm terribly sorry." she said. "I promised somebody I would meet with them hours ago, it slipped my mind entirely."
"That's my little Helen." Monsieur d'Adrienople smiled, at once affectionately and yet somehow belittling at the same time. "So disorganised. Never did learn to keep these things straight in that silly head of yours, did you?"
"No, Grandfather." Helen replied, blushing and smiling.
"Well, give your Grandfather a kiss goodnight, then you run along and see if you've missed your appointment altogether." Mathieu d'Adrienople told her. She rose to her feet and went over to his chair. He stood up and she kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, my Helen."
"Goodnight, Grandfather." she smiled back, before turning and curtseying to the empty silver chair which stood, all alone, against the far wall, underneath a purple canopy. Then she left the hall and made her way to Marian's rooms.
She knocked on the door and was admitted into the waiting room by Marian's servants, who then gently knocked on the doors to her bed chamber itself. "Your Excellency?" the maid's voice called. Marian didn't stir. When the maid returned to tell Helen that the Countess didn't respond, and that she was probably asleep, Helen was disappointed. She'd missed her for the night. She thanked the maid for her trouble and retired to her own chambers for the evening. Later in the night, Marian woke up with a start. She had just been dreaming...what? Her whole body was covered in a cold sweat, too cold for this time of year. She was practically freezing. Abruptly, she jumped out of bed and ran out to the gardens in her nightgown. It was, perhaps, one of the ironies of protocol that, while the Despotate of New Constantinople freely accepted the most revealing daily wear, being out and about in a fully concealing nightgown remained rather unseemly. Yet, Marian gave little thought to that as she raced into the gardens.The guards stationed at the doors to the gardens arched their eyebrows and exchanged confused looks as Marian darted past them into the gardens. The two stood silently though, waiting to be spoken to before speaking.
"I know the summer air is warm, even at this time of night, mademoiselle, but you should still wear something warmer than that. You'll catch cold." said the Duc d'Adrienople, who was wearing a particularly warm looking nightgown himself. He was sitting by a flower bed, by a statue of the Emperor Constantine XXIII as a young man, when he was just Despot of New Constantinople. Marian looked around the gardens frantically, not answering, as beads of ice cold sweat dripped from her soaking hair and night gown. She either fell or leaped, it was hard to tell, into the fountain, shivering yet more wildly. The Duke rose to his feet in alarm, and gestured to the soldiers, who rushed over to the fountain and started to pull Marian out of the water. He walked over to the fountain.
"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Marian answered. "Your Grace." she added belatedly, as the soldiers set her bare feet upon the ground again. "It's just so cold."
"Let's get you inside and dry." he said, frowning at the whole interruption to his quiet contemplation. "You, go have the staff bring towels and blankets and warm night clothes to the drawing room."
"Yes, Your Grace." answered one of the soldiers, before spinning on his heel and rushing off into the palace. The other guard, Marian and the Duke, made their way inside, around a corner and into a little drawing room with a fireplace.
"We'll warm you up here... where are those damned lazy servants..." the Duke grumbled. Soon enough the staff arrived with towels to dry Marian, blankets to wrap her in, and warm clothes for her to put on. Marian curled up right in front of the fire, leaning in close. Regardless, she just kept shivering. It was, of course, the middle of summer in Pantocratoria. "Mademoiselle, have you a fever?" the elderly Duke asked. "It seems strange for you to find the summer climate so intolerably cold."
"I...I..." Marian didn't finish her answer, nudging closer to the fire. She started to fade a little, and look a little faint.
"Send for the doctor." the Duke instructed one of the servants. "And be fast about it."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Are you unwell, mademoiselle?" the Duke insisted.'
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Is it fever?" he persisted.
Marian swayed dizzily, nearly falling into the fire. The Duke caught her and dragged her over to sit in a chair. "Helen?"
"Her Highness isn't here." the Duke replied. He held up two fingers in front of her eyes. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Helen?" she repeated, jerking to her feet.
"She's hallucinating." the Duke told the guard, frowning and guiding her back down into her seat. At this point, Marian swooned, falling forward onto the ground with an audible thump. The Duke bent over to assist her, but the guard intervened instead, and rolled Marian onto her back.
"Mademoiselle, can you hear me?" the Duke asked. She was out cold.
"Where is that bloody doctor?" the Duke grumbled.
...
Empress Aiwyn ni Gwydion lay in bed next to her husband, cuddling against Phaeton's back. Sometime that night, a cold sweat began to soak her body. Her could likely feel the cold liquid before her woke. And then she shot bolt up right in bed. "Phaeton!"
Marian went to bed early Friday night. Al;though she had been convinced to continue her present in Lavenrunz, she was still spending a few weeks back in the Despotate. Things were going well, she supposed. Her jousting had taken off. She wasn't the best, certainly, but the novelty of seeing a woman who was even a competent and a woman of sufficient birth who wanted to joust was intriguing to many Pantocratorians. Things in Mortville were coming alright. The people still had a good deal of mistrust but the real reforms she was implementing and the time she almost died healing them had certainly helped. Still, there did seem to be an endless amount of paperwork involved, between Andre's bureaucrats, her own servants, the residents' organizations she'd set up, the housing company, etc. It didn't take her long to fall sound asleep, wondering where Helen was. Helen had been sitting up in the (near-empty) hall after dinner, talking to her grandfather, Monsieur le Duc d'Adrienople, a somewhat stern but charmingly old man, with whom the Despot had entrusted the responsibility of overseeing the Despotic Court of New Constantinople while he was away in Lavenrunz. Helen had finished telling her grandfather about the Palace of the Moon and Stars, and the conversation was at somewhat of a lull. Her thoughts turned to Marian - she had promised the sidhe that she wouldn't dawdle too long with her grandfather, but as she glanced at the magnificent clock on the wall beside her, it occurred to her that she had been in the hall for some hours. The hours past. Marian remained sound asleep in her bed, curled up contentedly. "Oh, Grandfather, I'm terribly sorry." she said. "I promised somebody I would meet with them hours ago, it slipped my mind entirely."
"That's my little Helen." Monsieur d'Adrienople smiled, at once affectionately and yet somehow belittling at the same time. "So disorganised. Never did learn to keep these things straight in that silly head of yours, did you?"
"No, Grandfather." Helen replied, blushing and smiling.
"Well, give your Grandfather a kiss goodnight, then you run along and see if you've missed your appointment altogether." Mathieu d'Adrienople told her. She rose to her feet and went over to his chair. He stood up and she kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, my Helen."
"Goodnight, Grandfather." she smiled back, before turning and curtseying to the empty silver chair which stood, all alone, against the far wall, underneath a purple canopy. Then she left the hall and made her way to Marian's rooms.
She knocked on the door and was admitted into the waiting room by Marian's servants, who then gently knocked on the doors to her bed chamber itself. "Your Excellency?" the maid's voice called. Marian didn't stir. When the maid returned to tell Helen that the Countess didn't respond, and that she was probably asleep, Helen was disappointed. She'd missed her for the night. She thanked the maid for her trouble and retired to her own chambers for the evening. Later in the night, Marian woke up with a start. She had just been dreaming...what? Her whole body was covered in a cold sweat, too cold for this time of year. She was practically freezing. Abruptly, she jumped out of bed and ran out to the gardens in her nightgown. It was, perhaps, one of the ironies of protocol that, while the Despotate of New Constantinople freely accepted the most revealing daily wear, being out and about in a fully concealing nightgown remained rather unseemly. Yet, Marian gave little thought to that as she raced into the gardens.The guards stationed at the doors to the gardens arched their eyebrows and exchanged confused looks as Marian darted past them into the gardens. The two stood silently though, waiting to be spoken to before speaking.
"I know the summer air is warm, even at this time of night, mademoiselle, but you should still wear something warmer than that. You'll catch cold." said the Duc d'Adrienople, who was wearing a particularly warm looking nightgown himself. He was sitting by a flower bed, by a statue of the Emperor Constantine XXIII as a young man, when he was just Despot of New Constantinople. Marian looked around the gardens frantically, not answering, as beads of ice cold sweat dripped from her soaking hair and night gown. She either fell or leaped, it was hard to tell, into the fountain, shivering yet more wildly. The Duke rose to his feet in alarm, and gestured to the soldiers, who rushed over to the fountain and started to pull Marian out of the water. He walked over to the fountain.
"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Marian answered. "Your Grace." she added belatedly, as the soldiers set her bare feet upon the ground again. "It's just so cold."
"Let's get you inside and dry." he said, frowning at the whole interruption to his quiet contemplation. "You, go have the staff bring towels and blankets and warm night clothes to the drawing room."
"Yes, Your Grace." answered one of the soldiers, before spinning on his heel and rushing off into the palace. The other guard, Marian and the Duke, made their way inside, around a corner and into a little drawing room with a fireplace.
"We'll warm you up here... where are those damned lazy servants..." the Duke grumbled. Soon enough the staff arrived with towels to dry Marian, blankets to wrap her in, and warm clothes for her to put on. Marian curled up right in front of the fire, leaning in close. Regardless, she just kept shivering. It was, of course, the middle of summer in Pantocratoria. "Mademoiselle, have you a fever?" the elderly Duke asked. "It seems strange for you to find the summer climate so intolerably cold."
"I...I..." Marian didn't finish her answer, nudging closer to the fire. She started to fade a little, and look a little faint.
"Send for the doctor." the Duke instructed one of the servants. "And be fast about it."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Are you unwell, mademoiselle?" the Duke insisted.'
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Is it fever?" he persisted.
Marian swayed dizzily, nearly falling into the fire. The Duke caught her and dragged her over to sit in a chair. "Helen?"
"Her Highness isn't here." the Duke replied. He held up two fingers in front of her eyes. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Helen?" she repeated, jerking to her feet.
"She's hallucinating." the Duke told the guard, frowning and guiding her back down into her seat. At this point, Marian swooned, falling forward onto the ground with an audible thump. The Duke bent over to assist her, but the guard intervened instead, and rolled Marian onto her back.
"Mademoiselle, can you hear me?" the Duke asked. She was out cold.
"Where is that bloody doctor?" the Duke grumbled.
...
Empress Aiwyn ni Gwydion lay in bed next to her husband, cuddling against Phaeton's back. Sometime that night, a cold sweat began to soak her body. Her could likely feel the cold liquid before her woke. And then she shot bolt up right in bed. "Phaeton!"