#rosaires

“There’s always been something a little wild in the Rosaires if you ask me.”  The old man said to the small crowd gathered around the rough table in the kitchens. 

Alain paused a moment in his polishing of a very large pair of boots and peered around the corner of doorframe at the cluster of maids and footmen. Neither they nor the old man seemed to know he was there and in the end it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to carry tales and he didn’t mind having them to hear as he worked. 

“I served in this one’s grandfather’s day, I did.” The old man continued. “Back when there was grounds to keep that didn’t have snow on them all the year. And I served his late father for a time too, before my old joints saw me off with my pension. Fury rest them both. They were good men. I am not saying as they weren’t. But there’s always been something a little wild in them. And there will be in this one too, you mark me.”

There were a few small mutters from the gathered staff, too quiet for Alain to make out and perhaps not even really meant for the others around the table to hear. No one wanted to interrupt the old groundskeeper’s tale and there was no doubt he was enjoying the attention as well, sitting at the middle of the throng with the cup of hot cocoa Cook had made for him. He held court like a visiting Lord himself. Alain couldn’t blame them, really. There was little enough to do some days with a staff this size and only two bachelors to tend.

“They run white-hot they do. In temper and affections both. And I won't say that doesn’t make for a good soldier. Mayhap we needed some men with a temper to match a dragon’s.” The old man mused. He paused to help himself to a sip of his chocolate. “And they do behave like you’d expect. Keep a lid on it for the most part. Baron Severin now, he was a very civil man. He never had a cruel word for any one in his service and he was well enough liked among the Highborn too, I always thought.”

Sensing the beginning of the real story the murmurs grew quiet. “But there was a lord at some Tourney said an unkind thing of his Lady Wife. There was always a bit of talk about the Baroness because of that fellow she jilted and the way her family cut her off, you see. It was wrong, that talk, I always thought. She was always the very picture of a Lady. She loved her gardens and never had aught but kindness for me when I met her in them. But folk will talk, won’t they. Look at you all now, hanging on everything an old man mutters.” He laughed, a pleasant sound despite the wheezing in it that made Alain worry for his lungs.

“Now the Baron Severin must have thought it was wrong too. He put a stop to it in the very moment he heard it. But like I say, they’ve a wild streak. He beat that Lord to within inches of his life in the Grand Melee later that day. They say the fellow had a scar over half his face to mind him to watch his tongue for the rest of his days.”

“And then there was his younger brother. That Alderic was a bad one.” The old man paused, sipped meditatively at his chocolate. “A real bad one. He was the youngest and his mother’s favorite and perhaps no one ever taught him to keep a rein on it. His brother tried in the later years but it wasn’t to be… Even a good tree can have a rotten branch or two, I suppose. He ran wild and I heard did some things as no one could be proud of. And perhaps he never did learn his swordplay as well as he ought either. Died in a duel in his thirties and not even the Late Baron his brother could pretend it wasn’t deserved.”

“What was the duel over?” One of the footmen asked.

“Well, I don’t fully know but I have heard…” The old man began.

But Guiscard’s voice rang out over the murmurs then and the whole kitchen fell silent as the Butler spoke. “Rumors no doubt, of questionable veracity, that is what you have heard. It is nice to see you of course, but I am sure everyone here has better things to do than while away hours in the kitchen. Don’t you agree?”

A chorus of murmured agreements answered him and the sounds of rushing feet wandered off in all directions. Alain set aside his polishing rag and inspected Silvaineaux’s boots, smiling a little at his own good work. He heard the slide of a chair as he rose to take them back upstairs, Guiscard sitting down to speak with the old man in his turn.

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           "You're young to have so much snow in your hair aren't you, boy?"

           Honore turned to look at the elderly woman on the sofa beside him, stiffly upright in her rather outmoded gown. He smiled at her, and if he wanted to point out that at 27 he was hardly a boy, he refrained. He supposed when he were a nonagenarian like the Dowager Viscountess Lune d'Hiver he might very well consider 27 practically a child too. "I am." He agreed. "But it's been like this almost as long as I can remember."

           She stretched out a hand to touch his hair, lifting the neat braid. "Red as dragon-fire the rest of it. You're the Rosaire's adopted one aren't you?"

           He nodded, allowing the touch. Perhaps there was a certain freedom from propriety that came with age, and he found that he didn't mind it. "Yes, Honore."

           "I thought so. Certainly no Rosaire by birth with hair like that. Hawks of war, indeed." She made a very small scoffing sound. "Very dark hawks. More like great bunch of rooks if you ask me."

           She peered at him, her blue eyes still surprisingly bright under her own snowy brows, perhaps waiting to see if he would take offense. "They are dark." He agreed, after all it was true and not really particularly insulting in any way that he could see.

           "Been kind to you though, haven't they? You were a Fleursanglante by birth weren't you?"

           "They have." Honore said absently, settling the tea he'd almost forgotten to sip back in its saucer atop his knee. "And I was." He glanced around them for a moment, but the rest of the parlor seemed thoroughly occupied elsewhere. A number of fashionable ladies and a few gentlemen who had much better to do than pay mind to the old lady and himself in the corner. "Did you know my family?" He asked, quietly. "The Fleursanglantes I mean."

           She looked at him, here blue eyes growing distant and her lined face softening until he could see the distant echo of girlish beauty. "I knew... Oh I suppose she would have been your grandmother, very well indeed. We were the dearest of friends once. Though it doesn't do to say so now what with that heresy business and all. But then I suppose you are hardly in any position to judge me for such a connection."

           Honore chuckled. "I am not. More tea? What was she like?"

           "You will have been too young to remember her well I suppose." She held out her cup.

           "I was." He said and poured the tea for her. "What was she like?"

           "Oh she wasn't a Fleursanglante when I knew her. That came with marriage, and she was a spark. Lit up every room. You're a little like her in the eyes. We were friends for a long time, even after she married. They were an odd house the Fleursanglantes. A number of them had that same fiery hair as yours. They had some odd old traditions. As we all do I suppose." She sipped her tea. "But those were good times. We had some lovely balls."

Rosaires World Cup by LoeildePaco