Dame Ragnelle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
new_inglewoodblues) wrote2023-12-13 10:12 am
new_inglewoodblues) wrote2023-12-13 10:12 am
Entry tags:
what you were born to be
All the folk have memories that are long when it comes to grudges and short when it comes to everything else; Ragnelle, despite her mixed blood, is no different. She hasn't felt much of any pull to Camelot since she left it to come to this place. If anything sings in her and reminds her that she isn't home yet, it's Inglewood.
Nevertheless, when she hears a child babbling in the woods, her ears prick. The voice is familiar to her.
She drops down from her tree to the leaf-littered forest floor and goes looking. It doesn't take her long to find her son. He's three, a chubby, beaming boy with hair as ruddy as his father's, but his eyes are hers. When he sees her he shrieks "Mama!" and runs into her arms.
Ragnelle doesn't question why Guinglain is here. It's a magic place, if not her magic place. Maybe the boy is tethered to her through blood or power or the Inglewood. She doesn't, really, care. She doesn't consider the idea that she missed him, but he's hers, the one thing from Camelot she would have kept, and what matters is he's here now.
It's cold, so she takes him inside for a while, to feed him and warm him up. He's delighted by the treasures in the magic cold box -- he has an appetite like hers, and here there's an endless supply of food of all kinds, even some delicacies from his father's islands that Guinglain has never had before, only heard his uncles talk about. Ragnelle sees no reason not to spoil him. She tells him stories about his father and about the summer prince who lives in the woods near her, and the bonewitch from the path, and the rude witch-woman by the lake. Even his aunt Clarissant is here, she tells him, and he begs to see her, but Ragnelle has no idea where Clarissant spends her time so she lies and tells him Clarissant is too busy for children.
His blood is as quick as a Man's, even though he's half hers, and he has more energy than she does in the winter. It takes all her efforts to tire him out. She explores the mansion with him -- they both marvel at all the stupid things Men build whole rooms for. Guinglain is a clever child, and when they visit the game room he works out how to play the tall magic thing with the levers and balls, and Ragnelle watches him and admires his cleverness for a whole half of an hour before she gets bored.
She doesn't know where to find Clarissant. Magnus, on the other hand, she knows exactly where to find. She lets Guinglain get up on her shoulders and takes him out to the wood edge where Magnus has his pit fire and chair cushion bed, and plonks him down.
Magnus is startled, but he takes to the child at once, as Ragnelle smugly knew he would. Guinglain is a good boy. Magnus does his trick to call up warmth and growth and Guinglain watches in wide-eyed, perfect silence as an acorn sprouts in front of him and the air gets heavy in the way that means summer is in the wind. Then he has a thousand questions, and Magnus answers them gamely -- he even shows Guinglain some thing he's working at with yarn and needles, and then teaches him to make cat's cradle with his fingers. Ragnelle takes advantage of the moment to rest. She grew up on her own in Inglewood, with only her mother-tree, and she never expected Guinglain to stay a helpless child so long -- she knows Men take longer to grow up than other animals, but she'd still half-thought he'd be like a roe deer and turn yearling soon enough, and have little need of her.
When Magnus' visitor comes, she gathers Guinglain up and takes him out to see the horse. Ragnelle has no interest in horses, but Guinglain has spent time in the stables with his father and uncles and he loves them. She sets him on the horse's back, and he clutches handfuls of her mane and laughs with delight. The horse seems unconcerned.
Finally, all saints be praised, he does get tired. Ragnelle can tell when he turns sulky and starts to rub his eyes, and she puts him on her hip and carries him back to her nest in the woods. There she settles him into the soft blankets Magnus helped her arrange, and curls herself up around him like a dormouse with its pink and hairless young.
When she wakes, he's gone.
It doesn't matter -- she would have left him of her own choosing, if she'd stayed in Camelot instead of coming here. It's fine that he's gone. She knows Gawain will miss her, and for his sweet service he deserves the boy, who'll surely be a comfort to him -- Men are sentimental about their offspring that way. But to her annoyance, she can't fall back asleep. It feels as if something has changed in her nest, something small enough that she can't find it to fix it but big enough that she can feel it no matter how many times she shifts around.
Perhaps, she thinks, having been tamed once, she can't be wholly wild again. Perhaps Gawain changed her in some way. If any Man could do that, it would be him. She was amused that Claudius solved her curse-riddle, but she doesn't actually believe for a moment that if she had been presented to him as she was he would have sacrificed his future to wed her -- she chose Gawain because he would and did. She loved Gawain as much as any forest-thing could love a Man. She loved the boy too.
How stupid.
But her memory is short, and after a while the pang of loss fades, and she doesn't feel so uncomfortable. The winter cold is in her, and she sleeps, she forgets Gawain's sweet face and Guinglain's cold-chapped grin atop the horse, her husband and her son -- she lets them go.
Nevertheless, when she hears a child babbling in the woods, her ears prick. The voice is familiar to her.
She drops down from her tree to the leaf-littered forest floor and goes looking. It doesn't take her long to find her son. He's three, a chubby, beaming boy with hair as ruddy as his father's, but his eyes are hers. When he sees her he shrieks "Mama!" and runs into her arms.
Ragnelle doesn't question why Guinglain is here. It's a magic place, if not her magic place. Maybe the boy is tethered to her through blood or power or the Inglewood. She doesn't, really, care. She doesn't consider the idea that she missed him, but he's hers, the one thing from Camelot she would have kept, and what matters is he's here now.
It's cold, so she takes him inside for a while, to feed him and warm him up. He's delighted by the treasures in the magic cold box -- he has an appetite like hers, and here there's an endless supply of food of all kinds, even some delicacies from his father's islands that Guinglain has never had before, only heard his uncles talk about. Ragnelle sees no reason not to spoil him. She tells him stories about his father and about the summer prince who lives in the woods near her, and the bonewitch from the path, and the rude witch-woman by the lake. Even his aunt Clarissant is here, she tells him, and he begs to see her, but Ragnelle has no idea where Clarissant spends her time so she lies and tells him Clarissant is too busy for children.
His blood is as quick as a Man's, even though he's half hers, and he has more energy than she does in the winter. It takes all her efforts to tire him out. She explores the mansion with him -- they both marvel at all the stupid things Men build whole rooms for. Guinglain is a clever child, and when they visit the game room he works out how to play the tall magic thing with the levers and balls, and Ragnelle watches him and admires his cleverness for a whole half of an hour before she gets bored.
She doesn't know where to find Clarissant. Magnus, on the other hand, she knows exactly where to find. She lets Guinglain get up on her shoulders and takes him out to the wood edge where Magnus has his pit fire and chair cushion bed, and plonks him down.
Magnus is startled, but he takes to the child at once, as Ragnelle smugly knew he would. Guinglain is a good boy. Magnus does his trick to call up warmth and growth and Guinglain watches in wide-eyed, perfect silence as an acorn sprouts in front of him and the air gets heavy in the way that means summer is in the wind. Then he has a thousand questions, and Magnus answers them gamely -- he even shows Guinglain some thing he's working at with yarn and needles, and then teaches him to make cat's cradle with his fingers. Ragnelle takes advantage of the moment to rest. She grew up on her own in Inglewood, with only her mother-tree, and she never expected Guinglain to stay a helpless child so long -- she knows Men take longer to grow up than other animals, but she'd still half-thought he'd be like a roe deer and turn yearling soon enough, and have little need of her.
When Magnus' visitor comes, she gathers Guinglain up and takes him out to see the horse. Ragnelle has no interest in horses, but Guinglain has spent time in the stables with his father and uncles and he loves them. She sets him on the horse's back, and he clutches handfuls of her mane and laughs with delight. The horse seems unconcerned.
Finally, all saints be praised, he does get tired. Ragnelle can tell when he turns sulky and starts to rub his eyes, and she puts him on her hip and carries him back to her nest in the woods. There she settles him into the soft blankets Magnus helped her arrange, and curls herself up around him like a dormouse with its pink and hairless young.
When she wakes, he's gone.
It doesn't matter -- she would have left him of her own choosing, if she'd stayed in Camelot instead of coming here. It's fine that he's gone. She knows Gawain will miss her, and for his sweet service he deserves the boy, who'll surely be a comfort to him -- Men are sentimental about their offspring that way. But to her annoyance, she can't fall back asleep. It feels as if something has changed in her nest, something small enough that she can't find it to fix it but big enough that she can feel it no matter how many times she shifts around.
Perhaps, she thinks, having been tamed once, she can't be wholly wild again. Perhaps Gawain changed her in some way. If any Man could do that, it would be him. She was amused that Claudius solved her curse-riddle, but she doesn't actually believe for a moment that if she had been presented to him as she was he would have sacrificed his future to wed her -- she chose Gawain because he would and did. She loved Gawain as much as any forest-thing could love a Man. She loved the boy too.
How stupid.
But her memory is short, and after a while the pang of loss fades, and she doesn't feel so uncomfortable. The winter cold is in her, and she sleeps, she forgets Gawain's sweet face and Guinglain's cold-chapped grin atop the horse, her husband and her son -- she lets them go.
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She was amused that Claudius solved her curse-riddle, but she doesn't actually believe for a moment that if she had been presented to him as she was he would have sacrificed his future to wed her -- she chose Gawain because he would and did. She loved Gawain as much as any forest-thing could love a Man. She loved the boy too.
How stupid.
I WAS EMOTIONAL...
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edit: did not look before posting and I see I used the exact same wording as Gil; CLEARLY that's because we are both so correct and have excellent taste and discernment.
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