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banatic66
Author of 6 Stories |
OK! Starting a new story even though I'm only halfway done with the old... Probably not wise but…who cares? Hopefully it will keep me from getting too bored with one story. It may mean that updates for each story are less frequent, but if I'm not updating one story, I'm updating the other. And if you like both stories (I hope you will!) Then you'll be happy either way until I leave you for like a week with a cliff hanger… Which I will try not to do.
I was watching Braveheart, the Mr. Brightside video, reading part of Lady Ilena and part of Daughter of the Forests, and of course King Arthur over the course of a few days and I was suddenly inspired. This is in no way a rip off of any of those (well it's in King Arthur world) but I dunno…all of it combined just gave me the idea.
In King Arthur, they used some of the legends and then completely discarded some parts of the legends. I've done the same. I've incorporated the legends, but there are times when I am just going to say TO HELL WITH IT! And make it fit my own purposes… And if you don't like it then you can just…not read it. Got it? Other than that, I like to think I made a big effort to make it historically accurate. So if you pick up a part that comes from a legend, good job get yourself a cookie. Now if you happen to know everything about all the legends and you see a part and your like "Nuh Uh!", chances are I know its different than the legend.
Hope yall like this! By the way, it's another Isolde legend…You know what that means! Of course it might have some romance with other knights as well… Only to be fair. But no promises! On with the story!
"You had better be on your way." Caolan sighed running his hand through his dark locks. I handed him my spear and resisted the urge to hit something. My mother had caught me just as my friend and I were about to run out of the gates to go hunting. It was my eighteenth winter and still she treated me like a child. I didn't call back to my mother as I began walking back towards the hold. I cursed in every language and dialect I knew. She would want me to try on another dress or something. I had two fine gowns already! What did I need with another one? I would marry whenever my father found the perfect candidate, and I knew I would not need to prance around in pretty things to have my hand won. I was the only child and therefore heir of Anguin, chief of the large stronghold were I lived. Whenever my father found a suitable man to rule beside me without threatening my sovereignty, but with enough of a pedigree to gain us new lands, I would marry. I was quite a prize I understood. A young woman from a long line of Irish chieftains who would inherit her own coastal stronghold and war band.
"Yes mother?" I asked wearily as I stepped into the chamber she and her women spent the days in. Morag, my mother's constant companion, was spinning busily at her wheel. Her daughter, barely out of infancy, was mesmerized as the wheel spun continuously as she sat cross-legged by her mother. My own mother stepped near me and held my face gently.
"You're face is chapped again, my love. Have you been using the ointment I gave you?" She said in her loving yet reprimanding voice. I tore myself away from her resentfully. She was always criticizing something about me, no matter how kindly she did it.
"Yes, but it only helps a little." I said with none of the anger I felt.
"Well, perhaps if you spent more time inside-" She began.
"No." I said shortly. "My place is with father and the men."
My father had taught me many unladylike things when I was young, but as I grew older and it became more and more evident my mother would give him no other child, my father had cheerfully resorted to raising me as a son. I liked to think that I was no real disappointment. Our warriors respected me for my skill and bravery, and the younger boys begged to be trained by me. The druids told Anguin that his daughter would be a fine warrior and ruler one day. My mother had never disapproved of my ways; she only wished I spent more time with her being a lady. Not that her own circle of women was a full fledge court. Her husband was a chieftain, not a king and our home was not one of the beautiful castles like those of Tara or Emain Macha. It was a roughly hewn stronghold. Meant to house a chief, his family, his raiding party and their families. My life was meant to be coarse I knew. I would not do well to get used to coddling and fine things.
"You're just like him!" She snapped but she still smiled fondly at me. Her slave, Rois, stepped forward and began to hold up various fabrics to my figure. My mother laid a palm on my cheek again. "You're freezing! Muirne, build the fire higher!"
"Father will be home tomorrow." I said trying to make her fuss over something other than myself.
"I know…" She said with a far off look in her eyes. I never could tell if it was happiness at her husband's return, or sadness at what he would bring with him. He and our men were returning from a raid on the British coast, meaning more slaves. More memories for my mother. My mother, for whom I was named, had once been the daughter of a lord in Britain. She was captured in a raid while on her way to a coastal monastery and brought to Eire. Eventually she and my father had fallen in love and he had made her his wife instead of his slave. She was no longer someone's property, but it pained her to see more captured people brought home. All my life I had heard her beg him countless times to stop his wickedness. He always laughed knowingly and shook his head. How could a British woman understand the honor and glory of an Irish raid? And so, year after year, the raids continued. I myself didn't understand my mother's logic. It was our right to raid in the British coast. Our peoples had hated each other for centuries and we had ravaged their coasts for just as long. They should have raised more defenses if they didn't want to be raided. I myself had joined my father on raids. It was not so bad. We usually killed only those who opposed us and our slaves were treated fairly.
"Mother, you can't hate him for-"
"I do not hate him." She whispered fiercely. "But I know what he does is wrong! The Lorddeclares his wickedness!"
"We are not Christians." I said firmly. "We are Irish! It's our right!"
"No. Your father is Irish. You are not."
"I am of Eire." I said proudly. I loved my mother, but I was my father's daughter.
"You are also of Britain. My home. Your people!" She said with equal pride.
"Not my people! Not matter what land you hail from, I am Irish born!" I said. I was set to inherit this place. There was no doubt in anyone's mind what blood ran through my veins.
"Ah Isolde, don't be angry at the girl. She's right, Irish blood is thicker than British!" Morag said with a grin. Her red hair flamed out around her as she gave my mother a mischievous look. "The girl is Irish through and through!"
My mother pursed her lips and let Rois finish measuring me. It was true. I was indeed the daughter of Anguin. My hair was as black and wild as his own and my eyes just as green blue. My cheeks were as rosy and wind chapped as his, and my voice had the same deep, commanding quality. Irish indeed. Of course, I had inherited my mother's short stature, pale skin and heart shaped face.
"Fine!" She said and threw her hands in the air. She sat down at her wheel and began spinning furiously. I had never bothered to learn the art of spinning, but I admired the diligence and patience it took. I sat next to her, copying Morag's daughter.
"Tell me about Britain." I said trying to make up for our insults. She was quiet for a while and I knew she was still angry.
"Wet and green. Fields of wheat and forests everywhere. There were villages and Roman forts… Churches and villas. It was beautiful." She said with her eyes closed. She still pumped the wheel expertly as she spoke.
"Are the bomies really wicked?" Morag's daughter asked curling her red hair around her tiny fingers.
"The Romans?" My mother laughed. "Some are, and some are not. The brought order and most of all, the true faith to our land."
Morag snorted. Christianity had recently come Eire and was spreading like a plague. Morag and the others would never give up their many gods. How could we? Abandon all the gods for one supreme god? The idea was laughable but I held my tongue in front of my mother. Soon father would be home and she would be all flustered and giggly as she always was around him. Mother ignored the insult and continued.
"Of course, when they first came, they tried to stop women from holding power." She said with pride. "The Romans didn't approve of women who ruled as kings and fought as men."
The women of Eire and Britain had once been equal with the men. We had ruled and fought along side them, but times had changed. Few women fought or ruled in Eire anymore. It had been generations since we had had a true queen. In Britain however, some daughters inherited when there were other sons, and the painted women of the north still fought with their men.
"A good Christian woman you are…" Morag said sarcastically.
"I will not be ruled by my husband, but I do not challenge him other than to do what I know is right." She said and swatted the air as if to ward off Morag's sharp tongue. My mother had a certain disregard for authority and she had encouraged it in me. It was to her dismay that I had learned to disregard all authority, even her own.
"Tell us about the woads!" I begged. She looked at me and smiled lovingly.
"Tell you? You know everything I know about them! You've been making me tell stories about them since you were a child! Some call them demons, but they are of our blood. The refused to accept Roman rule and so the Roman emperor built a wall to exile them to the north. They paint themselves blue before battle and they fight half naked…"
And on the afternoon wore with tales of my mother's homeland. There were times when I felt a twinge of remorse that I would never know that land other than in the raids I conducted, but mostly I just enjoyed hearing my mother speak of something that made her happy.
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