The Machiavellian Adventures of Princess Eleanor

If Fulk fights Georgy-boy there's only going to be one winner. That's why Fulk wants to and Georgy keeps on backing away, and why ultimately a duel can't be allowed by the true upper class. The situation just got messier, hence my not really wanting anything of the sort in the story. Oh well, you write what you can or you go nowhere.

Nell decided way back at the start of the story that Adele needs to go regardless of whether she is innocent. She's determined that her sister end up in an English prison now she's out of her Spanish one. She had hardened by the end of the main story, and has hardened more in the intervening years.

The subtlety came from Nell not wanting to reveal her hand. She doesn't want Adele or Hugh to view her as the one responsible for Adele being considered unfit for normal life. Her idea was to shift Adele into doing something Hugh would view as proof she's as awful as her reputation suggests and bingo, instant prison. Since meeting Adele Nell has decided that there's more going on under the surface, and is determined to figure out who and what her sister really is - again without revealing herself to be anything more than the badly married, unimportant, powerless person the world believes her to be.

The trapping/framing Adele subtlely was all planned and working way back when I began to write. Now I can't pick up those quieter movements. If Nell were to make more overt movements and be less concerned about maintaining her cover it would be loud enough for me to pick up clearly. If she gets too overt then the end result is like one of those awful stories where the cunning spymaster basically walks around with a big bullseye painted on their tunic, rubbing their hands together and telling everyone how smart and powerful they are because no one could possibly guess that they're smart and powerful. Ick.

I've kind of half-way managed a middle ground. Alas, it relies on Adele being more stupid than she already is. Perhaps to the point of taking it too far and becoming unbelievable and one-dimensional. There's a fine balance between self-centred, short-sighted and somewhat vicious, and gloating villain who helpfully reveals where the off switch for the death ray is.

I should have stuck to my original plan and written the entire thing before posting anything.

Mary Queen of Scots :rofl: So I'm not alone in considering her a rather pathetic, pitiful figure, especially when put opposite Elizabeth I? For some reason she gets held up as a combination of tragic victim and an amazing 'I wanna be her!' female figure from history. Each time her name comes up in one of those 'great women from history' things I die a little inside. The most successful thing she managed was her son James, and that's not saying much.

Ahem. So much for not speaking ill of the dead. o

It's my fault, it's been so long since the story started and now I'm expecting people to hop right back in without any kind of memory refresher.

If there's anything Georgy-boy is good at it's not dying. His life is the thing he values the most, hence why he's happy to talk so big when he knows no real harm can come to him from it. He's had plenty of practice too; he's been Fulk baiting since the battle of Alnwick back in the original story.

Adele didn't have a coup. She (reportedly) had an affair which got discovered, then rotted in prison for years until her husband died and her stepson threw her out of his new realm. Now she's after ... something. It's not been identified what, besides lots of talk of marriage, a hint that she likes macho men, a few digs at Nell for being childless and powerless, and lots of bile about her time in Spain. Whatever she wants we can be sure it's not limited to tea and sympathy.

And so the difficulty. It’s not as if Adele can come roaring out of the gate and demand her own fashion label (or whatever) because that would scupper her plans. Right now she has nothing, and no position to fall back on if things take a bad turn. While she doesn’t seem like the smartest cookie produced by the family, she’s not Mary QoS either so she won’t be saying “Oh look, a suspiciously helpful letter made it past the rigorous security and it promises me everything I ever wanted if I only reply. It’s got to be real! It’s not like I’m a danger to my powerful relatives whom I want to overthrow and murder, or anything, so it can’t possibly be a trap no matter how many times they’ve foiled me in the past.”

If it was all about coups it would be easier.

That's a fairly straightforward motivation with some fairly straightforward demands which lead to fairly straightforward actions. Gain power = gather support + await chance -> strike. All I'd need is for Nell to dangle some prospective supporters before her, wait for her to bite and then call in the 'police'.

Naturally I can't say what precisely Adele is after, other than it's not a coup and never has been. She's not the right sort of person for that. Her list of desires is much more mundane and simultaneously more ... motivated, let's say. She wasn't after a coup all those years ago in Spain either.

Georgy-boy is married and has a small assortment of children. It's seldom mentioned as it's not needed.

Divorce? Not really available at the time. Annulment, yes, but only with the church's approval and in specific cases. To all practical purposes impossible for our duo as there's no blood relationship between them, the marriage is admitted to be consummated, and they've both been saying for a very long time that it was made of their own free will. Besides, it'd be absolutely and completely horrific for Hugh if anything of the sort happened. The insult of having such a low-born man returning his sister for a refund, so to speak, would be of apcolyptic levels. If you turned it around had had Nell getting rid of Fulk then simple murderwould be better for all involved. Anyone marrying Nell might revive Trempy's hopes for her and Hugh's position would become insecure once again. Hugh was last seen in person doing his level best to cram Nell and Fulk back together whether they like it or not.

Of course, that applies in slightly weakened form (she's utterly infamous and viewed as an 'outsider' since she's been out of the country for so long) to Adele as well. Hence his applying Nell to the case to assess her worth, and not wanting Adele to marry except in strictly controlled circumstances. If he lets her marry anyone it will be a highly trusted man who doesn't have enough personal power to pose a challenge. If her personality makes this option look unsafe then she will marry no one. Nell doesn't want her sister marrying or otherwise having any least shred of influence however great or small, so she's determined that Adele must fail the test. A caged Adele is a safer Adele.

And meanwhile, amongst all of that, Adele wants ... what she wants. 10 years of captivity and, finally free; time to do what she's been dreaming, scheming and plotting for a very long time.

And the frog is stuck. All of the circling currents are too quiet, too subtle. I can't hear them well enough now. I could at the beginning and can't now.

Each time I talk about this I get this little tickling feeling at the back of my mind, like the glimpse of a shadow of an idea. If nothing else I guess I'm looking at the situation from different angles. So let's keep going.

All I can ‘hear’ is Hugh’s and Fulk’s meeting. That’s because it’s loud – lots of tension, talking, passions, and a proposal. Much better than some quiet party with nothing much, quiet chat, quiet digs, quiet attempts by both princesses to lay breadcrumbs. Meh. The meeting should happen until much later in the story (Fulk needs time to travel from near York to down south) and I can write it any time.

Chief Ragusa said:

How can Nell set a trap that Adele will fail, unless she knows what Adele is after?

Click to expand...

That is a perfect description of the problem. Nell needs to fish first and catch using the bait she's acquired. Catching doesn't need to be that subtle; fishing must be otherwise Adele hits a level below Mary QoS and starts walking up to people and saying, "Gosh, do you know what my secret desire is? I'll tell you since you'd never guess!".

That brings up a pair of follow up questions: Why does Nell need to fish? Why can't she focus on catching and make the story easier to move? I've looked at this question from every angle and there's no way to move without fishing. To lock Adele away without learning more about her as a person is a sloppy, dangerous way to work. Know your enemy and all of that. More than that, from Nell's current POV Adele may not be any conscious threat at all. She could be nothing more than an inconvenient sister who makes the hairs at the back of Nell's neck rise with certain minor bits of behaviour, and so might be cooperative if the correct terms are placed before her. Regardless, it’s better if Adele is removed with the minimum of fuss rather than some kind of struggle. Problem the second is that Hugh would not stand for it. He's a just man working hard to live up to that promise he made during his coronation vigil. He won't imprison anyone without good reason. Being a potential rival to him isn't good enough when he can marry her to someone safe.

And because Adele doesn't want a coup and her goals are very different, it's a lot harder. It's not like she can criticise aspects of Hugh's rule during a conversation or anything easy like that. She's already let some things slip; it's all so much normal and expected conversation unless you're alert to it via other things. There's definitely no one using her or working with her. She's been near-totally isolated, surrounded by guards who view her as a traitor to their king. Now she's back in England for the first time in almost two decades, arriving at very short notice and instantly being picked up by first Hugh's people and then Nell.

There's got to be enough hints obtained to allow Nell to make some informed guessed, set her bait, and attempt the catch.

:sigh: Round and round, no exit in sight. It's like socks in a washing machine.

Adele didn't murder her children! Both boys are supposedly still alive, reportedly in monasteries and equally reportedly castrated. Remember, ages ago (in our life, yesterday in theirs) she produced what's supposed to be their severed equipment from a pouch she wears and blamed the current king for doing it. If they are dead then it's not directly her fault, only indirectly in that her supposed adultery threw their status as legitimate heirs into doubt and removed them from public eye while a much older half-brother (the new King of Spain) prowls the scene with a glower.

No trial necessary either. :sigh: Pity; I'd like to write one some day. There was evidence, her supposed lover confessed, and her husband exercised his right to control her life by shoving her in a remote, guarded castle where she could cause no further embarrassment. Most obvious historical parallel that I know of is Llywelyn the Great of Wales and his wife, Joanna, the illegitimate daughter of King John of England. Except where Joanna was eventually taken back, Adele was not, and Welsh law meant less difficulty for Joanna's children versus Adele's.

Hmmm. I have the beginnings of an idea but I don't like it. It's much too close to stooo-pid level for Adele and yet ... and yet ...a bundle of minor everyday factors tallying up on someone who's not equipped to deal with them plus an idea which seemed good at the time and had the right kind of result but with some side effects that maybe she didn't consider as important as the gain ... it's a very human style of stooo-pid. Hmmm. It wouldn't give Nell enough to form any neat suspicions; it would give her a good step on the way. But it’s still stooo-pid.

Or .... hmmm. There's another possibility that's just occurred to me. I don't like it either. Adele's POV. It's not meant to be there but it would set things out black and white for the reader and instead of known playing against unknown we'd have two knowns facing off, which can be interesting but not really what I wanted. Hmmm. It wouldn't solve the problem with Nell needing to fish and bait ... it might jog the situation enough that I can hear the quieter stuff again ... or it might bung everything up and make it worse - bloated, unnecessary, destroying all that remains of the original pace. There are some things about Adele's POV which would make it fun to write ...

Gah! It was all there and working fantastically at the start of the year! :much rage:

Maybe I should aim for fun and fireworks instead of the ‘not stooo-pid’ I prefer unless I’m doing comedy. Oh, but then I think I’m only going to end up frustrated in a different way. And there isn’t much space for fireworks of the really fun explody kind. No fighting, no escapes, no horse chases through moonlit woods, no daring do.

Or a combination. Adele’s POV, a degree of dumbing down, and more action as the two sisters face off … because if Nell changed direction just a teeny tiny fraction she’d then be able to … ah, but no. That would tread on the edges of the harder, wiser, spymaster Nell we have nowadays. Although I guess one could say New Nell™ would be justified in acting that way if the perception twisted a fraction too so it encompassed the label of ‘family’ instead of specific people. Guarding the family prestige/honour/status/power/authority/everything is important … hmm. But would the characters cooperate even if I did want to try that direction?

Hmm. It's all a bit 'quiet tea with the vicar' versus 'exploding ninjas' :wacko: Neither is good. Nor is going nowhere. Hmm.

:sigh: Still not getting anywhere.

Adele's spent years dreaming of what she wants. She's had plenty of time to go into the detail of what she wants and how she might go about it. Actual execution is a different matter as that depends on circumstance. It's one thing to dream of buying that new book and thinking of how you can flick through the pages to make sure it is bound correctly, guess how long it will take to read based on page count, and so on, and another entirely to turn up at the bookshop and find it's not out yet, or costs a different amount to expected, or see someone walk off with the last copy, or so many other variations on the dream. Even picking up the book, buying it and walking home with no deviations from the dream can be quite the experience.

Oh, I don't know. It all used to seem simple, straightforward and as obvious as could be.

I have an idea and I think it's going to work. Finally! It's not great, it's not as good as the original, it's a bit stooo-pid but not quite TV drama level and still some distance above Mary Queen of Scots level. Give it a few days and I might have something ... or I might be more frustrated still.

Managed to find a way to pick up enough of the thread to carry on at last! It's something of a clumsy job, not least because it involves adding Adele's POV instead of letting everything about her be picked up from outside.

I'm still not quite there with Adele - I can't find the right background music to write her properly. She needs something of a sort I don't listen to, and so I can't quite manage the right tone to bring her to life. She needs something with a lot more ... loud than I like. Hmm. Hopefully that will fix itself as we go.

You may also like to be warned that this bit is .... er, boring. Sort of. Mostly. Well, I think it is, anyway.

There's one tiny change that needs to be retrospectively edited in to support the new order. Last time we saw Nell it was shortly before the banquet she's throwing for her sister. Now it is not; it's the morning of that day. Since this merely involves tweaking a single, almost throwaway reference in that scene that's no big problem.

A re-read of 'The Third Sister' so far might be in order. It's been a hellishly long time! It begins in post 1919.

With no further ado, on with the story.






There - that cherry red! Adele pulled down the dresses hanging before the one that had caught her eye and cast them behind her, not looking to see if they made the distance or fell short onto the floor. Cherry red, and it filled her eyes. Cherry red! Gorgeous.

Clasping the dress against her breast Adele danced a step, right, left, right again, and spun a twirl. Oh, gorgeous! The colour, the cut, perfect for her; it would set her off to perfection. Her steps faltered. It was only wool. Fine wool, but wool. Any common lady might have fine wool. A great lady would have finer. A princess - nay, a queen dowager! - she ought have far better. Doubtless it was common English wool from some common English sheep somewhere on a dismal hillside; dreadfully common, no matter how highly English wool might be regarded.

With a frown Adele let slip the dress and returned to the clothing pole that held Eleanor's entire wardrobe. A harsh snort escaped her at the thought - her sister's entire wardrobe occupied a single pole!

By the time she reached the back of the collection she had found nothing comparable to the cherry red. Oh, there was the odd item that might serve well enough until she could get some proper clothes made up. Too much was wrong; wrong cut, wrong size and too hard to alter, wrong colour - well what else could be expected when one was reduced to rummaging through the clothes of a short, shapeless pauper?

Turning away from the clothes Adele cast a guilty look at the door. Good, still closed. Wetting her lips with her tongue she practiced her excuse again in a whisper, "Oh, I only wished to find something for the banquet and Eleanor did say I could take what I needed, and I did so hate to bother anyone. I know I am a burden ..." Her lips parted in a smile that contained years of bitterness. Oh yes, she could play that game.

A pair of shoes caught her eye; Adele snatched them up only to cast them back down again. The embroidered pattern on the fronts was pretty, a tastefully restrained bit of leave, stem and flower design. Alas, a gooseberry plant. "Gooseberry," she derided under her breath.

Standing in the middle of Eleanor's chamber Adele looked around. There had to be something else! How could she hope to shine to so brightly she blinded if all she had to work with were these rags?

There was a travelling chest. With another glance at the door Adele moved to crouch before it. It wasn't locked. A swift over-the-shoulder look at the door again, and she lifted the lid. Bah! An assortment of bits of pieces, not more clothes! Although ... Adele leaned forward and breathed deeply. Yes, a hint of herbs to keep moths at bay.

The first items she dumped onto the floor with scant regard. A bundle of waxed hide held letters; Adele caught her lip between her teeth as she balanced them on the flat of her hand. Dare she? Abruptly she snarled a smile - dare? Had she not dared more and plenty in the past? Shifting position so that her back blocked all view from the doorway in case she was disturbed Adele took the top letter in her other hand and opened it. Reading was difficult and slow; so many years since she entertained her friends by reading extracts from her books of romance. How long? Abruptly Adele's eyes filled with unshed tears; she bowed her head.

No - that way lay madness. Years. Let that suffice. Years, all too many of them. She could count the cost later, much later, hopefully not so much later, when all was back as it should be, should always have been. Closing her eyes she summoned the tableau that had sustained her through her imprisonment. The beautiful clothes, the music, the company, the light, the space, the laughter, the taste of wine and fine food, the colour, the joy, the wind in her hair, the feel of strong arms about her. Her hand began to shake; the parchment made quiet rustling sounds. The paired image; humiliation returned to the giver tenfold. Every little, last one.

Opening her eyes she drew a cool breath. That vow she would keep. She would not fail. Not even if the world itself burned because of it. Vengeance. And at last the resumption of her life.

Focus! Another deep breath; she must work for what she desired, and that work was underway here and now. Misstep here at the beginning and her hand would be weakened, perhaps to the point where she could not pick up the dagger never mind drive it home.

Adele resumed her reading. Midway through the letter she folded it back up and dropped it into the chest; it was nothing more than boring drivel about household accounts. She moved on to the next. Discarded it. The next. Discarded it. The next. Ah - this one was from Eleanor's husband; Adele began to pay closer attention. It was all formal. Not a word of love, not a dredge of personality, little sense that this was a communication between two people who knew each other. It talked about purchasing new crossbows for Alnwick's garrison.
Sick with the injustice of it Adele slammed the letter back up into its folds and chucked it onto the pile of rejects. This was the great love story?! The mixed blood bastard and his princess who loved each other sufficiently to marry and make themselves near-outcasts!? "Mule-brained bitch!" she spat. Her little sister had gained such a man - handsome, a great knight, willing to fight and die for her! - and she had let it all slip through her mundane, plain little grasp! She, Adele, would never have allowed that with a man she liked. A man had died for love of her! Loved her enough to court her in secret, and to come to her bed, and again, and again. No matter that he proclaimed she had not been worth it when he stood before his executioner - she had been! He had known the risk and taken it again, and again, and again.

Adele bundled the letters back up in their wrapping and dumped them to one side. She would read no more; there were no hidden depths to Eleanor to be found here. More belongings were dug through and placed to one side.

The chest was halfway empty before she found another item to catch her interest: a handsome purse that could be worn on a girdle. Adele's hand rose to the pouch she wore about her neck. The knot in the leather thong had been irritating the skin at the back of her neck. Might she not transfer the contents to a purse and carry them comfortably?

Adele pulled the pouch from about her neck and tipped the contents into her hand. The usual pang struck her heart as she beheld the two shrivelled objects that were supposedly her underage sons' manhoods. Hastily she tipped them into their new home, revulsion crawling across her flesh. Whether they came from her boys or not, it did not matter. Done was done. Her sons were dead, lost to her, no matter whether their physical shells continued in this world, be they whole or maimed. They would be years older, shaped by others, strangers taught to hate her and despise their legacy. Castrated in spirit as well as in body. No longer anything of hers. That, too, would be part of the reckoning.

Having fastened the purse onto her girdle Adele continued to dig. A pouch drew her attention. Opening it she found a hank of raw fleece and a small earthenware bottle. Pulling the stopper she sniffed delicately; vinegar? The wrinkles on her brow smoothed as understanding dawned; she had to slap her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Did Eleanor's husband, this Fulk, know? He must, surely - it would be impossible to overlook a chunk of wool soaked in vinegar inserted in his wife's passage. But was it for use with him? No, no, surely not. Adele stoppered the bottle and dropped it all back into the pouch. No husband in need of an heir would allow his wife to use these to prevent his seed from taking root. And why would she bring them here, when her husband was absent, and reportedly she had not seen him in some time? Perpetually hopeful? No, surely no one could be that pathetic. Eleanor must have a lover whose child she did not want to catch. Or a lover she hoped to acquire. Hidden depths indeed. This could be used!
At the bottom of the chest, sprinkled with fragrant herbs, lay an outer dress. Pure white, lined with rich blue silk which showed at the lining of the wide sleeves. Hem, neck and cuffs were embellished by two inch thick bands of embroidery. Lifting it out and standing up to appreciate it better Adele found it was far finer than anything else in this room. A matching under-dress lay in the chest, a lighter blue than the silk lining yet still close to sapphire. Beautiful! Oh, she would turn heads in this! Clasping the dress to herself Adele danced those old steps, humming the matching music. The years fell away, and she was young, beautiful, carefree, the highlight of the entire court; the centre of every man's eye and the envy of every woman's. Despite herself she laughed with sheer joy.

"There's someone in here!" someone shouted from the other side of the door, and a bolt slammed home.

The sound echoed inside Adele's skull; a thousand bolts going home across years she would not permit herself to count. Dropping the dress she stuffed her fist inside her mouth to stifle her scream. Locked in! She was locked in! She tasted blood. No! She must be calm, get a grip on herself. It could not be allowed to unravel now. She was locked in! Locked in! No, she must think, and quickly. She did.

Adele let the screams come. She ran to the door and beat on it with her fists. "Let me out! Let me out! I have done nothing! I am innocent! Let me out!" Blood trickled lazily from the bite marks on her right hand; she beat harder, hard enough to spit the skin where it met the wood of the door. "Let me out!" Sobbing she slid down the door to rest in a crumpled pile on the floor, and there she stayed until she heard the bolt being drawn back.

The door opened and Adele was talking before she saw who was coming, scuttling back across the floor away from them without attempting to get to her feet. "I did nothing, I did nothing, she said I could borrow things! I did not want to be a bother! It was supposed to be a surprise - just a surprise! I am sorry, so sorry! I did nothing. Please don't lock me away. Please! Don't lock me away!" She continued that last line in a broken, nonsensical, manner, letting the horror come gibbering up out of her.

Someone crouched at her side and put an arm around her. "Shh, all will be well. It is of no matter."

Adele seized her sister's arm in a grip so tight she felt her finger joints groaning. "Don't let them lock me away. I did nothing. I never did anything. I am sorry. Please."

"It is alright. Only a misunderstanding. My guard was passing and heard a sound from within. He thought it was a thief."

If the hysteria sounded good that was because half of it was real. "You said I could borrow - you said, and I did not want to bother you, or be a burden, and I am so sorry-"

"It is alright," Eleanor repeated.

Adele allowed herself to be calmed slowly. Wiping her face she stood up with Eleanor's help, looked her dead in the eye and said, "I wanted something to wear for the banquet. I wanted it to be a surprise - I did not want anyone to know what I had chosen. I thought ..." She glanced away as if uneasy. "I thought it might make me seem less of a ... well, less of a helpless ex-prisoner."

Eleanor smiled like a gullible fool, heedless of her belongings strewn about the chamber with scant respect. "Of course. I understand. Did you find anything?"

"Yes." Adele retrieved the white dress and turned back, holding it up against herself. The look in Eleanor's eyes - Jesu Christus, that look was the mirror of their dead father's! Adele recoiled despite herself.

"Not that one," Eleanor said and there was steel in her tone.

Adele's hand's opened reflexively and the dress fell to the ground.

Eleanor reclaimed it, folding it over one arm. "This is my wedding dress."

"Oh." Adele managed a shaky laugh. "Oh, yes, I see. I am so sorry. I should perhaps have known - it is so much finer than the rest you have here. It only makes sense that it would be your very best wear."

"I wear it at most formal court occasions," Eleanor said, by way of apology for her harshness.

There was nothing unusual in wearing one's wedding clothes on other occasions. After all, one married in the best finery one possessed. Poor as her sister obviously was, that dress and its matching under-dress was likely the only court-worthy clothes she had. Adele felt a spike of pity, or was it contempt? "The cherry red, then. If you do not mind?"

Eleanor acquiesced with a nod.

Clutching her second rate prize Adele made her way past the pair of guards standing just inside the doorway, careful to shrink visibly from them when in close proximity. Just outside the door was the priest.

"Your Highness," he said, offering a bow.

Adele offered him a stiff inclination of her head, mortified that this dignified man witnessed her display and must think her cracked.

"If I might escort you back to the solar?" He offered up his arm in a gesture too courtly to be entirely priestly.

Hesitating, then deciding, Adele took it.

As they walked, once away from the cluster at Eleanor's chamber, the man said in a low voice, "Meditation and prayer can bring inner peace and help banish certain demons."

"I have no demons," Adele stated.

The priest cocked an eyebrow at her. "And what, then, was that scene?"

Her step faltered. "Very well," she allowed. "I have some demons."

"I know them." They were nearing the solar door; he slowed his pace to grant them more time. "I have spent some years as a prisoner myself. I was not always a priest." No, from the look he slanted her he had spent long in the world! Adele's heart sped a beat despite his age, his forgettable features. It had been long and long since anyone had looked at her like that. A brief twist of a smile to inform her that he had noticed her reaction, and he offered blandly, "I find myself in my advanced age sympathetic to those in a similar plight. Let me teach you something of what I learned the hard way. It will bring peace to your soul." Anticipating her objection he said, "Whatever I was in the past I am now a priest, and I'm getting on in years. I do not seek any ... advantage."

"I will manage."

He halted; they were now at the solar door. "You will feel that fluttering panic each time you hear a door lock. You will battle panic every time you set foot outside because there is no roof, no walls. You expect your life ordered for you down to the times you eat and what food you consume, and you have little idea where to begin in regaining control for yourself. You have dreamed of what you will do when you regained your freedom and now you wonder how to begin - it is difficult, even, to remember how to dance to music you loved - the steps have faded from your memory, the music played is different. Shall I continue?"

Mutely Adele shook her head. Years. All of them spent in the same room, alone or with companions who were jailors in friendly guise. No comforts. No luxuries. Her son in law's visits; she slammed a mental door in the face of those memories. She would find herself a decent man and use him to put an end to those nightmares. And there would be vengeance, sweet vengeance. Oh yes, and at the end of it all she would stuff his severed manhood down his throat until he choked!

"Prayer and meditation. A cleansing of the soul, and a way to still the mind." Almost seductively he uttered, "Peace."

Adele raised her chin. "I accept."







Eleanor waited until Trempwick and Adele were safely out of earshot before asking Ranulf, "Did you hear anything else before you raised the alarm?"

"The odd noise now and then. I believe she had a good rummage."

Eleanor glowered at the disarray her sister had left behind. "Oh, she did that and no doubt about it. But did you hear anything to indicate she found anything particularly ... valuable?"

"A burst of quickly stifled laughter. Others were quieter, hard to make out."

"Hmmm," said Eleanor, absently. Adele had gone through the chest. That meant she would have found the letters and the pouch, and both must surely have been investigated. Inspection proved her right; the single, shortened hair that she had woven into the thong binding together the bundle of letters was gone, as was the one from the fastening of the pouch. "Good."

"Your Highness?"

"Dismissed, Ranulf. Thank you." Eleanor picked her wedding dress up and began to pluck away the rushes clinging to the fabric with tender care. She could not bear it would be fouled with detritus from the floor a moment longer. As an afterthought she enquired, "She did not see you following her?"

The knight turned back. "You wound me, your Highness."

"Good." Eleanor waved him away.

By the time Trempwick returned she had made a decent start on restoring her dress. She asked her question with a quirk of an eyebrow; he answered with a single nod.

Dropping another rush to the floor where it belonged Eleanor mused, "Too easy."

Trempwick clasped his hands together in a very monkish pose. "We have learned some things, and are set to learn more."

"Too easy."

"I think not. Your sister is a prisoner, for wont of a better description. Here," He set his hand to his temple, "and here," and to his heart. "A hint of rebellious freedom, baited with something that intrigued. The result was predictable."

"The reaction was ... enlightening." Eleanor's hands fell still; she had come as soon as quiet word reached her that Adele had sneaked into her unguarded chamber. It had been she who had given the command to bar the door. Those cries; it would be cruel to lock Adele away once more. "The greater good," Eleanor murmured.

"Always," answered Trempwick promptly. "A good guide even in the murkiest of grounds."

“How did you stand it, Raoul? How did you keep yourself sane?” After a hesitation, “How could you bring yourself to pass the burden along to me? I would not pass it to my worst enemy.”

Trempwick smiled faintly. “I should hope not, for they would have you murdered within the hour.” The priestly mask he had maintained so carefully fell away; a subtle shift of posture, a change to the set of the face, so many minor things it was impossible to say precisely what changed. Once again he was the Trempwick she had met at Repton; an aging man who was letting his guards slip through disuse. “If I am truthful, sweet Nell, the answer is in the main apparent by simply looking at ourselves.”

“You have grown softer.” This was Trempwick she was talking about; Eleanor corrected herself, “Appear to have grown softer.”

"Less 'appear' and more 'have' than perhaps I would like." He looked so tired, so terribly tired; he massaged the fingers she had broken for him three years ago, and she thought it an unconscious action. “And you harder. Harsher. More focused on getting the result you need without concern for bruised feelings along the way." His hand fell still, something of the weariness lifted. "And also more confident, more assured that you have power and can wield it. That is by no means a bad thing."

There was a break in conversation so prolonged its weight was near-physical.

"It is the way things have to be," said Trempwick. "You armour yourself or you break under the load. You do what needs to be done, however unpleasant, because if you do not then you are a failure. And Nell?"

She looked up from her wedding dress.

"You have been doing that since the very day I met you. Before that." He made a one-shouldered shrug. "For rather childish reasons, admittedly, but that does not discount it entirely."

She had turned her chamber into a elaborate trap. Everything in it was something she wished seen. The lock that fastened on the outside as well as the in. The lack of a guard where previously there had always been one, where one had never been needed and both presence and absence were notable. The banquet. The hints about fabulous clothes and wondrous secrets, designed to appeal to the character Adele had displayed thus far. The convenient excuse given when Adele first borrowed her clothes without asking, that permission to take whatever she liked without need of further permission. The companions so easily pursued to remain behind as Adele came to rummage around. The man set to follow her, unnoticed; a handsome young knight who would claim infatuation if discovered by his target.

Eleanor picked a rush from her dress and twizzled it between her fingers. "You will encourage her to believe I long for a reconciliation with Fulk so badly I half believe he will come for me every day when I wake, and go to my bed heart-broken that he has not. If she queries anything related to my fertility you will refuse to discuss it; insinuate that I am doing something ungodly to prevent conception, and it horrifies you and you battle to bring me back into good Christian practice. Perhaps suggest it was originally forced upon me by Fulk. He loves me too much to risk losing me in childbirth, and I him so badly I will barter my very soul to please him." Eleanor snapped the rush in two. "Make her think me a weak, pathetic fool. I am so desperate for my husband to look kindly at me that I have little space in my mind for anything else. I am play in her hands, and will be desperately grateful for any advice or sympathy she might give. Grateful to the point where I will be willing to speak on her behalf to Hugh for whatever she wishes."

"Perhaps your clinginess is what lies behind the breach with your husband?" Trempwick suggested. "You smother him, leave him no space. Embarrass him."

"Yes. That will aid."

"And I will see what can be gained from her."

"I need to know where to target." Eleanor laid her dress aside and rose; the dreamy tone disappeared from her voice. "I must know where to press in order to get her to misstep so badly I can remove her with all seeming innocence. Locking a door behind her so Hugh can hear her scream will not be sufficient!"

Compared to the original vision of the story is is but a shadow. It worked much better when we didn't know anything for certain about Adele. Makes me a sad froggy. I reasoned better a sad froggy with a finished story than a sad froggy without.

I thought I'd throw the music question open, as I can't fully bring the character to life without the right kind of music to ignore in the background. I can't find anything suitable for this Adele because it's not the type of music I like; I only have a couple of tracks of this overall sort in my library. I need the right kind of loud and fast, somewhat reckless and adrenaline filled. The closest I have is this J-Pop song from a game soundtrack, Everlasting love. It's not quite right somehow; I think it needs to get rid of the random bits of English, or be entirely in English. Too jarring when it swaps. Aside from that I've managed to find the you and me song from the 50 second mark onwards, discounting the brief quieter period around 1:30. Or maybe the awful J-pop song used for Final Fantasy X-2's intro from 2:41 to near the 3:20 mark in that video. Heh, back in the day when I first loaded FF X-2 up and found that intro I nearly died of embarrassment! I only have it because the rest of the game's soundtrack was better.

I need a full track of the right type. I can't need to stop or shuffle, or to wait out the wrong patches. It kills the writing flow.

The wine had been sweetened with honey, and flowed like nectar over her tongue. Adele drained half the goblet in a single go, relishing in the sharp tang of fruit married with the burn of alcohol and the lingering kiss of the honey. The warmth of the alcohol hummed through her blood; Adele sighed in contentment. Finding her sister watching her in a quizzical manner, she explained, "The first decent wine I have had since ..." Since her dead husband's armed guard had demanded entrance to her private rooms and announced her arrest. The sharp crack of the flagon tumbling from her maid's grasp and shattering across the floor rang again in her ears as she remembered. "In a long time," she finished, managing a weak smile.

"None of our other vintages have met your approval, then?"

This castle's wine cellar was filled with barrels of cat piss. Cheap swill fit only for the men at arms who filled this grim pile of rocks. "In Spain we could grow our own grapes. I had my own vintages, made from grapes grown on lands I owned through my husband's gift." The first time she had seen them, the rolling green expanses filled with neatly ordered lines of vines ... ah, she had been but a child, newly wed and filled with dreams. "Sweet grapes, and a sweet, light flavoured wine."

"I suppose imported wine cannot compete with that."

"I lost it all." Adele dipped her forefinger into her wine and sucked it clean, lingeringly. "Everything. By rights I should have kept it after his death. That was the bargain written before the marriage." She flicked the rim of her goblet and listened to the dull ring the vessel produced, then downed the remaining contents, placing the cup back down a trifle too ungently. "If that mistrustful old fool had not believed the slander-" She bit down hard on her words. The trick was to reveal enough and not too much. "He wrote everything away from me, in law. Did not even leave me the things I took with me." Adele held up her goblet for a refill.

"It is not so surprising, considering."

"Considering?" spat Adele. "Considering what?"

Eleanor's eyes slid away from Adele's furious gaze. "Considering you were judged guilty of treason," she mumbled.

"Judged? Judged? For that there would have to have been a trial!"

"Kings do not always abide by niceties."

"You think I am guilty." She did, it was there in the way Eleanor wouldn't look fully at her since the change of topic. Burn them all in hell! Could no one have faith? Could no one believe the better of her?

Eleanor's reply, then, was surprising. "Are you?"

"No." The reply came quickly, smoothly, with the ease of long practice, with the urgency of survival. "One who wished to destroy me spread the lies." That, at least, was truth. "I was never given chance to defend myself. The first I knew of it was when they came to take me away to my prison. I swear it on God's mercy." And God had none so it was no false oath.

Eleanor gave a slow inclination of her head. "Then I believe you, my sister."

Adele watched the man juggling daggers in the space before the high table, picking away at the portion of sauced trout on her trencher. "Why did no one ever stand up for me?" she asked, not wanting or intending to and hating how broken she sounded. "Not even for the honour of our family. Why did they abandon me?"

"Our father tried." Eleanor set down her eating knife had placed that hand over Adele's. "I swear he did. I wrote to you myself, many times. Hugh did also. Always we were turned away. Your husband would not listen. Our letters were returned with the seals unopened."

Adele looked up, hardly able to believe it. Eleanor sounded sincere.

"It is the truth. I swear it on my lord husband's soul, which I hold more precious than anything else in this world or the next."

"I heard nothing from the outside. And when he came he always-" Adele realised her nails were digging into her thigh fit to draw blood. No, she would not think of the times he had come. "They lied to me. And why not? Anything to make my misery more wretched. They told me I had been disowned."

"Were that so, would you be here now?"

"No," Adele realised. "No, I would not." They had not abandoned her. It was as though the ground had trembled beneath her feet, her world rendered unstable. And then she understood that her task would be that little bit easier in light of this.

She ate in silence, and drank more of the wine, and listened to the music, and watched the entertainments, and felt her heart grow lighter once more.

"When I was queen," she confided in Eleanor as the next course was served, "I once organised a banquet themed around the reconquest of Jerusalem. I imported musicians from the Holy Land; they played all day and on for half the night. Such music, so different from anything we had in our own halls at the time. Strange, and quite wonderful. We danced a few in oriental style, though I admit most of us agreed that the steps were too outlandish for true grace, and we returned to our own soon enough. And the food, ah I swear the cost of the spices alone would have funded a banquet in any other court in Christendom! Rice, with raisins and cloves. Mutton with apricots - that is a fruit - nutmeg, cinnamon, the juice and skin of oranges. So many dishes I forget, save that there were two hundred and thirty nine in total." She laughed, a certain memory springing to the fore. "Midway through I arranged for a group of knights dressed as Muslim warriors to break in and kidnap certain of the ladies. We required rescue by some of our own brave heroes."

Eleanor swallowed her mouthful of chicken. "Did your husband rescue you?"

Adele's lazy smile died an unhappy death. It was alright for those who had husbands whom they desired to rescue them, though Adele wondered if this famous Fulk would now bother to rescue her sister. "Yes. Of course. I had informed him of the jest beforehand, and he accepted his role with good grace." The same good grace with which he acceded to her every whim, year after year, from the first day of their meeting to the very last she had seen of him. The same boring, spineless good grace. Always clear that he was indulging her. Always putting her first. That time, oh that time he had played the part and the entire time it had been clear that he had been uneasy and unsure of how best to play the game, like an adult unfamiliar with children attempting to lower himself to their play. An image flashed into her mind; her husband with his sword drawn, holding it as though he wasn't able to decide between brandishing it or keeping the sharp point safely down.

Adele sipped her wine. "I wore silk, nothing but silk. Layer after layer of it. I gave my veil to my captor; he demanded a token of honour." Now he had been a man worth bothering with, young and fit and with a gleam in his eye. He had laughed as he swaggered about in his heathen armour, and learned a few phrases of the language so he could shout threats convincingly. And one other phrase, whispered in her ear as he'd held her, translated only by a lingering, longing glance when no one else was paying attention. Chaste, ardent, perfect love. The worship a true knight owed his lady. "We had an archery competition too, using those strange bent bows they favour in the Holy Land. They lined up at one end of the hall and shot at targets clear down at the other." She laughed. "One of the servants was nearly hit - the fool did not stay out of the way as instructed. The way he squealed and ducked!"

"It sounds fantastic."

Adele regarded her sister. She made an acceptable foil, Adele would give her that. Similar in looks yet inferior, inferior in taste, inferior in experience, inferior in her ability to keep what mattered, inferior in her understanding of true love - the perfect black background for Adele's star to shine against. "It was. Fear not, dear sister. Once I come into my own here I shall hold similar parties, and you shall be invited." Adele smiled warmly, not letting the daggers that lay behind it show through. "I shall even help you find something to wear." It was a sad truth: Adele displayed Eleanor's clothes far better than did Eleanor herself. The poor dear had come wearing the green that Adele had discarded with no more than a cursory glance. Against the cherry red it had no chance. She should have worn her wedding clothes if she had wanted to appear anything other than faintly impoverished, plain, forgettable. Poor Eleanor indeed. Someone should take her in hand, teach her some essentials.

Eleanor reached for a bite of cheese. "I only hope Hugh gives you that chance."

That poured acid all over Adele's warm thoughts. "Why would he not, pray?"

"As I have said, I do not think he intends for you to marry again."

"He is a man," Adele countered sharply. "Who knows what goes on in the minds of men, save other men? He will think to his gain, and to his gain I will be used. Marriage is the biggest gain he may make of me." Here, at last, was a good natural opening. Adele returned her attention to picking at her food, as though a little uncertain. "What manner of man is our brother? I have not seen him since he was but a child."

"A deeply honourable one," was Eleanor's immediate reply. "Dutiful, almost to a fault. He is devoted to maintaining peace and justice in his realm."

And from that Adele was meant to gain ... what? "That almost sounds like an epitaph. What of the man?"

"He is a good father," Eleanor offered at last. "There is nothing he will not do for his children, or for his wife." With a tiny, self depreciating quirk of the mouth she said, "I am afraid I am not the best person to offer an image. We do not spend overmuch time together, and, as you said, he is a man and who am I to know what is in his mind?"

"Hmm," growled Adele. Useless! There were some meagre areas of promise though; honourable, just, family bound - yes, that may well be made to work. If only she could find where best to set her hooks! Another thing she had wondered about, "I heard some few rumours ... strange things, truthfully. From my captors, and while travelling."

"You are going to ask me whether Hugh is in truth our brother." Eleanor attracted the attention of a page and indicated she would like him to carve her some of the roast duck which had just been borne into the hall.

Adele blushed at having her intend mistaken. "That I do not doubt! I meant ... More to the point ... That is, did our father never doubt? It cannot purely have been the invention of that man who caused the war, whatever his name was."

"Trempwick, if you refer to the man who began a war in my name."

What?! Adele nearly spat her wine across the table. A bid to place her sister on the throne!? And Eleanor spoke of it so matter-of-factly!

Eleanor must have noticed her sister's difficulties as she hitched a shoulder in am embarrassed shrug. "Oh, nothing at all to do with me, I assure you. I was but a figurehead, unwilling and unwitting, and I stood at Hugh's side throughout. Indeed, I fled to him for protection, and married Fulk to disprove Trempwick's claims that I was his wife. It was all very unpleasant, especially when an army turned up and laid siege to my husband's castle. Thousands of men, all using my name as a war cry. Most disconcerting."

A war had been fought in her name, with thousands of men using her name as a war cry? Who did she think she was - Helen of God-bedamned Troy!?

"Anyway," Eleanor continued in that maddeningly light tone, "to answer your question, no, our father never doubted. To consider that Hugh was a bastard would first mean considering that our mother was unfaithful, and that he would never do."

It was not fair - the injustice blinded Adele with sheer rage. Her mother had presented her husband with a bastard - what else could a fair child in the midst of a brood such as theirs be? - and had been defended for it, while she, who had never stooped so low, had been condemned out of hand!

Unable to eat another bite for fear she would be sick, Adele drained the remainder of her wine and rose. The world swam a little; it had been a long time since she had drunk much and evidently her tolerance was weaker. "I am going to join the dancing, if you will forgive me for withdrawing my company?"

"By all means."







A hand took hold of her elbow - and twisted until her shoulder felt it would pop free of its socket, forcing her to twist and bend as she begged - and Adele's own hand contacted something hard, covered in warm flesh. Blinking in confusion she realised that she had struck the man, and then secondary realisation struck home - he had not been harming her. That was over and done. Everyone was staring. Everyone. Panic welled up in her breast. "How dare you touch me," she screamed. "How dare you! Common churl, how do you dare think yourself worthy to touch a princess? And such rudeness!" And she would not start to cry, and she would not start to cry, and she would not start to cry.

The man bowed low. "Forgive me, your Highness. I was not in awareness of doing anything wrong. I did speak, more than once. You did not hear. It was but the lightest of touches." Straightening and brushing his long hair away from his face he added with a dose of pride, "And I am no churl - if you will forgive me for contradicting you - save perhaps in feeling for having caused a lady distress. I am gently born, of noble, if Scottish, stock, and thus feel the pain of your distress far keener than any churl might."

They were still staring. Everyone. She had done it again, given herself away, just like when the door locked behind her. They would know! How could they not work it out? Then they would whisper behind their hands and call her worse names than they did already, and she would have no defence for some things she could not manage to lie about even to save herself and in some crimes there were seen to be no victims. If people knew she would never, ever be able to forget, not truly. She would spend the rest of her days wondering what they thought about it, if they blamed her, if they thought she deserved it, if they thought she falsely accused to ruin an innocent man.

So with every ounce of will she had she managed a chill smile. "Forgive me. The mistake is in part mine. It was not custom at my husband's court for any man to touch a lady." A most minor lie, feasible enough for one in the lofty position of queen.

The man bowed again, this time coming back up with a set to his jaw and a devil may care glint in his eye which was not altogether unpleasing. "Forgive me, your Highness, if I say must have made it a trifle difficult to dance, or a serve a lady at table, or indeed escort her."

"There were certain exceptions to the manners." Finally, finally, finally people were returning to their business.

Everyone except that priest of her sister's. He was watching her. His very attention chided her with "What did I not tell you?" Did he know? Had he worked it out? No, no, he could not have, not from such a small slip.

The youth was regarding her with some solicitude. "Your Highness? Are you unwell? I apologise most profusely if I have caused you upset, and am eager to make amends in any way which I might."

The words and courtly manner behind them should have been meat and drink to Adele's soul. Instead she felt tired, tired and sick and dizzy. "What did you wish to say to me?"

"I wished to beg for the honour of dancing with you, if in your mercy you can show pity to this unworthy knight."

All day she had been looking forward to this, wondering which of the courtly men would pluck up his courage first. The meal taken with her sister, some dances gone through with unpolished local lords, chatter with their passé ladies; it had all been borne in anticipation of some real culture. Now it had finally presented itself all she wanted to do was hide in a corner and cry. But people's eyes were on her tonight as she was the glittering heart of this gathering, and she would never regain her life if she allowed unwelcome memories to intrude. She would reclaim her life, if the doing so killed her! She accepted the knight's offered hand and smiled at him; the touch of his flesh on hers made her want to vomit. "I shall pity you for one dance, and perhaps more if you prove yourself worthy."






From the high table where she sat mostly forgotten, Eleanor watched Ranulf begin his charm offensive on Adele. The initial reaction was particularly intriguing.

Some time later Trempwick made his way up to the table, as if realising that she was on her own and in need of formal company if she was not to look disowned in the eyes of the gathering. "Revealing," he murmured, seating himself a proper distance from her and reaching for a crust of bread.

"Indeed."

"Mad?"

"Damaged?"

In the same heartbeat they voiced identical conclusions, "Both."

"Only a little mad."

Equally softly Trempwick replied, "Very damaged."

"Better off away from the world. It would be a kindness." With a blunt, open talk Adele herself might agree.

"Most will not realise."

"She covered well," Eleanor agreed. "She is an accomplished liar."

"She has to be. If anything were suspected she would be deemed instigator, not victim."

"Yes."

"Altogether a series of very particular reactions. All pointing to the same source."

"Added to the way she behaves during certain conversations ..." Eleanor turned her head fractionally so she could see Trempwick while still appearing to watch the crowd on the floor below. "How many times have we seen those particular betraying signs?"

Again they answered in unison, "Too many." Alone Eleanor added, "Even once was too many, for my taste."

After a long pause Eleanor said, "We might be incorrect. About how much damage."

Trempwick said nothing. That was his answer.

"The task changes."

This time Trempwick turned to look at her.

Down in the cleared space at the centre of the hall Adele danced with Ranulf, to cursory inspection as happy and carefree as any other lady. Only a keen observer would spot the occasional, not-quite-concealed flinch that escaped sometimes when the knight set his hands on her, or the smile which every now and then seemed decidedly fixed.

"It now gains a secondary part. Learn what you can from her; I want to know who abused my sister, and I want their heads."






There's only two parts in all of that which I don't dislike. Adele's reaction on learning of Nell's part in the civil war, and the conversation between Nell and Trempy at the end. I like the way they get so much said with so few words, it shows how well they know each other. Aside from that, ho hum.


Avernite, to be fair to Adele it's hard to practice your stealth moves when you're locked away. Or people skills. Or, indeed, most skills. That's what I find interesting about Adele; she's very different to write than any of the others. The prisoner mentality, the stunted skills, the desperation and determination mixed with the whole 'edge of breakdown' bits. Not to mention the idea of trying to convey exactly what happened in her past using nothing more than brief flashes, allusions, hints, and outside POVs' inferences. Unfortunately it also makes her rather depressing to write.

She's not able to compete directly with Nell and win. She's simply too damaged by her experiences, and hasn't had the right training in any case. If Nell knows what she aims for, she will block Adele. Adele's advantage lies in being unpredictable; if she can catch Nell out then she may very well be able to sprint the course before her sister can recover her footing and set chase. The plan Adele has been nursing through her long years of captivity is an obvious one once you know about it, and when you don't it's near impossible to spot until it kicks up into high gear.

Chief, that's it. The mirror effect between the two sisters, the central theme of the story. Each envies the other for something, and that something is not the happiness the one gazing into the mirror assumes. Nell envies the looks and the sons. Adele envies the famous knight manly husband and 'carefree' life. Except Nell's life has seldom been carefree, and her relationship with Fulk has never been much of a fairytale. Adele's looks have seemingly brought her little happiness, and her sons have an unknown fate.