Dubhaine Family/Rhidhana/Roleplays/2012/May

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May 1st - Braga

"I told my aunt that for all I care Perdan can put the lot of them to the sword whilst they bicker over hope to best lose a war, but for my part I'll die on the battlefield with a sword in my hand and damn the lot of them," Rhidhana took another deep swig from the wineskin, tossing hither and thither as the cart bumped along the woodland track. She passed it to Yfain who eyed the contents for a moment before taking a long pull on the spout. When he was finished he wiped the riverlets of heavy red liquid from his beard with the sleeve of his tunic.

"So how did her Ladyship take that?"

"She said I was as stubborn as my damn mother and that she wished she'd stayed on Atamara rather then coming here to nursemaid such an ungrateful brood."

"Aye, well Moira certainly had her black moods as well, but she never sought death for its own sake lass, and I hope you won't either."

"I've had enough of it Yfain. This is not the Fontan of my childhood but some ghastly revenant lurching step by faltering effing step towards its sepulchre. I saw it all too well on the walls of Krimml, standing there knee-deep in the blood of Elven knights who should by rights be living at ease in the fields of Glinmar and Flismar, not rotting in our southern sod. I don't wonder their people won't come to our aid for what we did to them, the thousands we butchered for a cause which long ago lost its sense," she took the wineskin and held it aloft, emptying the dregs straight down her waiting gullet.

"Lass, we're professional soldiers. Fighting and killing is what we do. Take that away and what are we?"

"Aye, well perhaps I've had enough of being a bloody soldier. Perhaps I'd rather settle down somewhere peaceful and build something worthwhile for a change. Only I don't know how. All I know is war and it seems I'm not even particular skilled at that. I used to think our democracy was worth killing for. What greater cause is there than liberty? But now I see it for what it is: a hollow sham. If my peers can't even be bothered to vote for a sodding general with the old enemy hammering on our door...? well they don't sodding deserve democracy or liberty or the right to bear arms and mete justice," she tossed the wineskin into the passing bushes, knocking a startled squirrel from its nest, and snaked her arm beneath the seat to find another.

"So instead of doing something about it, you're going to throw your life away?" the old reaver's face strained as it adopted an unfamiliar expression: concern.

"Why not?," her hand alighted on a stone jar of sipping liquor, "It's not like this masquerade will last much longer. And when Fontan's dead where will I go? To Ashforth where I'll be a curiosity, or to Sirion? Admittedly some of those Elven lads are fine looking and I might lose myself for a while, but what sodding use is a heroine of liberty when she's no effing liberty to defend?"

"Don't let this black mood rule you Rhi. If not for me, then for your mother."

"My mother's dead, so what does it matter," she has the wooden plug out of the jar and downed a whole mouthful. It was like liquid fire coursing down her throat and deep into her intestines.

"No, she's not."

There was silence as the words slowly sank through the alcohol.

"What do you mean?"

"Lady Moira swore me to secrecy, but where's the ruddy point in keeping that secret if you're going to throw your life away for want of knowing the truth."

And thus it was on the long road to Oporto that Lady Rhidhana Dubhaine, daughter of Marchioness Moira Dubhaine, once Supreme Justice of Fontan, learned the truth of her mother's self-imposed exile.