Fic: To Cozen Fortune - Chapter 8
Title, Chapter: To Cozen Fortune, Chapter 8
Author: roh_wyn
Summary: Guy and Isabella leave Locksley and arrive in France to make a new life for themselves. A pre-series exploration of these two characters and how they become the people we see on the show.
Characters/Pairings: Guy of Gisborne, Isabella, Lambert (of black powder fame), OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 3x10, "Bad Blood"; possible (but inadvertent) fudging of canon timeline
Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect, BBC and legend. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Notes: Many thanks to applebeing for her excellent beta work. Any errors that remain are mine entirely. Thanks to shinysparks for her amazing artistic contribution. Thanks also to kegel84 who kept me company online as I wrote this story, and to railise and thymelady for helping me with the title.
Artwork by shinysparks
Chapter 8: Promise That Cannot Fail
Early September 1177
Church of the Holy Trinity (Abbaye aux Dames), Caën
Martin kneeled on the cold flagstones of the private chapel he'd been provided. He'd come here to see the abbess of the Holy Trinity, and although he was her temporal and spiritual superior-by virtue of being abbot of St. Stephen's-the abbess was considerably older and wiser than Martin himself.
There was also her rank to consider. The Lady Marie was not just the mistress of the abbey and its church, but a rather powerful noble in her own right. Through her father, she had been Countess of Boulogne until only a few years before, and in her younger years, when her father Stephen had been King of the English, she had been a princess and a much-courted heiress. Now, made the abbess of a grand church after her divorce, she still carried herself with a distant and regal air, and though Martin did not put a lot of store in titles and wealth, he felt small and often uncomfortable in her presence.
But even that was only a trivial matter, a discomfort to be overcome with patience and effort. Martin was far more troubled by the abbess's wit, which matched his own and clearly outpaced any of her peers in the Church. She had a way of speaking that was both clever and pointed, and she knew well how to play games with words. Though Martin was entirely equal to a verbal sparring match, she had kept him waiting for nearly half the day, knowing this would put him at a disadvantage.
He finished his prayers and crossed himself, silently offering God an apology for being so distracted. As he rose, the stone scuffed his robes and he suddenly felt rather foolish, waiting in a small, cold room for a woman to give him her attention. This is why it is good you never married…
He laughed silently to himself, amused at the idea, but the laughter disappeared when the door swung open to admit the abbess. She was a tall, severe-looking woman, but the set of her eyes and the shape of her face suggested a once-beautiful lady, now succumbing slowly to the passage of time. Unlike the simple brown robes he wore, the uniform of the Benedictine monk, the abbess was dressed in rich, dark brocade, the uniform of a wealthy and powerful woman.
She smiled genially in his direction. "My lord abbot. To what do I owe the honor?"
Martin bowed and returned her smile. "My lady abbess. It amuses me to be in your company, and that is my only reason for being here."
Marie laughed. "Ah, if it were only so simple. You never come here for your own amusement, although your visits do provide me with much-needed distraction."
Martin noted the slight hint of mockery in her voice. He was tempted to repay her in kind but decided it could wait until the next time. For now, there were much more important things to be discussed. "Very well. I'm here to see you about my ward, the lady Isabella."
"Ah. In that case, perhaps a more private setting." She nodded at the sister who stood by the door, who excused herself politely. Two rather sturdy looking nuns came in with chairs and refreshments, and once they left, Marie waited politely until Martin was settled in his chair before taking her own seat. "How can I help you?"
"There has been an offer of marriage for Isabella."
"I see." Marie poured herself a cup of wine and sipped, watching Martin over the rim of the cup. He found he did not mind the scrutiny itself, but the silent judgment pronounced with it troubled him greatly.
"Yes, Thornton of Shrewsbury. In England."
Marie frowned. "I can't say I'm familiar with that name, at least not among those who were at my father's court."
Martin paused and cleared his throat gently. "Yes, well…the family was not originally noble, although perhaps they were ennobled later."
She raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue.
"I believe his father was a merchant of some sort, a mercer perhaps." Martin was about to continue, when the abbess laughed, interrupting him.
"My lady?"
She shook her head, still chuckling. "It's nothing. Only, how oddly appropriate that Isabella's suitor should be the son of a mercer!"
Martin knit his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm not sure I follow, my lady."
"No, it's nothing, really. Carry on, tell me more."
"He is lord of a rather large and well-appointed estate in England, I'm told."
Marie nodded. "Where is this place, this Shrewsbury?"
Martin shrugged. "I do not know for certain, but somewhere in the east, or perhaps the west. Near the Welsh Marches, I think."
"I see." She set her cup down and studied him. "So why do you need to discuss this with me? She is your ward, and if you wish to marry her off and send her into the wilderness, that is your decision."
Martin considered his words carefully before speaking. "That is true, and I have already made my decision. This is a…courtesy to you, if you will."
"Ah, my lord abbot. You are as haughty and presumptuous as ever."
"I know."
They shared a polite chuckle over this, before Marie continued in a more serious vein. "Have you put this to the girl already?"
"Yes."
"And she agrees?"
"She's…I cannot say if she agrees, but she has not refused. And she understands well her duty in this regard."
Marie smiled, and if Martin had not known better, he would have thought it a sympathetic expression, almost a sad one. "Duty. Yes, of course. What else is there?"
"My lady abbess-"
"She's only thirteen. That is a very young age for marriage."
Martin shrugged. "She's nearly fourteen, and her own mother was married at that age."
"I see." She gave Martin a withering look. "Marriage is a very difficult thing, my lord. We're asked to give ourselves to men we do not like, to live in places we've never heard of, where we have neither friend nor kin. We are asked to be brood mares for a house that will not remember us long after we are dead and gone.
"And the reward for all this is more servitude, first to our husbands, then to our sons." She scoffed. "Why do you wish such a life on that poor girl?"
"You must think me terribly cruel."
Marie said nothing.
"I only wish to prevent her from a catastrophe-a worse life than she deserves." He gave the abbess a meaningful look, and she responded, first with surprise and then with an understanding nod.
"I see. That does…cast the matter in a different light, yes." She sat back down and fell silent, obviously considering the matter carefully. After several long moments of silence, she finally spoke. "What do you need from me?"
"I need you to help her prepare. She's a girl without a coin to her name and no dowry. In a sense, she's fortunate to get a match at all, much less a man of wealth and position. I want her to understand this is not a bad thing."
Marie nodded. "It could be a good thing, if everything goes right."
"Yes, just so."
Marie watched him for a moment before nodding her head once. "Very well, my lord abbot. Consider it done."
--
Two days later
Outside the Abbey aux Hommes
They lay on the rain-spattered grass under a starlit sky, not caring that their clothes would get wet or that curious onlookers might spot them. For one, it was a surprisingly warm night for the early autumn. For another, they were doing no more than talking, and any prying eyes would surely be disappointed.
Lambert pointed a long finger to the sky. "And that one there, that's called the princess. To go with the king and queen," he added. He liked the idea of stars existing in families. He thought it was right that at least the firmament was a happy place, or there would be no reason for man to look to the stars.
It had been his idea to come here, so late at night. Isabella had been sullen and withdrawn, and he thought perhaps just seeing the night sky would make her feel better, but given her reactions to everything he'd shown her so far, this had been a miscalculation.
He sighed and turned to face her, admiring how perfect her face looked in the pale light. It was a balancing act he had not yet mastered, noting her beauty with the logic of a scholastic man, while dismissing its effect on him. The truth was that he rather enjoyed looking at her, speaking to her, even just being with her. If this is love…
Lambert cursed himself under his breath and focused his attention on Isabella's mood. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?"
She turned to face him, the moonlight catching her blue eyes in a way that made it impossible for him to look away. "Wrong? No, not wrong. I'm just…feeling a bit out of sorts, I suppose."
He nodded and let the matter go. If there was anything wrong with her and she thought his words might help, she'd ask for them. It was not like Isabella to keep things to herself without cause. Silence fell between them, but unlike every other day, it was not a comfortable one. There was an uneasy edge to it that even Lambert noticed, for all his lack of sentimentality.
"If I went away, would you miss me?"
He moved away from her, caught off-guard by the sudden question. "What?"
"If I were to go away somewhere, would you miss me? Would you think of me?"
Lambert did not hesitate. "Of course I'd think of you. You are a friend. A dear friend. I should miss you if you went away.
"Are you going away?" He tried to keep the hint of worry out of his voice, but there was no denying his concern that she might not be around him anymore.
Isabella shrugged. "No. Not right away. I just needed to know if it would make a difference to you."
"Bella, I-"
She cut him off. "Oh, enough of that. I've had a trying day. Let's talk about something else. Something happy." She reached over and took his hand, and this time, though all reason commanded he stop her, he did not.
"Like what?"
"Do you remember that story you told me? About the Cornish knight and the Irish princess?"
He knit his eyebrows. "Tristan and Isolde? I thought you wanted to hear something happy?"
She sighed. "It's not the story that makes me happy, Lambert. I just like the way you tell it."
He laughed in response. "Very well. If that's what you want."
Lambert took in a deep breath and began. "If you would hear a high tale of love and of death, here is that of Tristan and Queen Isolde. How to their full joy, but to their sorrow also, they loved each other, and how at last they died of that love together upon one day; she by him and he by her…"
The words poured out, and as the stars passed above them, Lambert felt the weight of love, the creep of darkness, the beginning of the inevitable end. In his sorrow, he never saw the shadowy figure watching them from the darkness.
--
Two days later
Guy walked into the kitchens, drenched from the rain, his boots caked with mud, despite the short distance from his rooms to outbuildings of the abbey. The weather was perfect, he decided, the stormy skies a suitable complement to his mood of these past two days. He dropped the pails he was carrying near the entrance, the wood clattering noisily against the stones as water sloshed over and spilled onto the floor.
He spied Lambert sitting at the end of the long novice table, a book in one hand and a half-eaten piece of bread in the other. Guy felt seething fury roil in his stomach, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He was beyond angry with Lambert, for whatever he was doing with Isabella, for the way in which he had betrayed Guy, his friend-his only friend!
He stomped over to where Lambert sat, determined to shake the other man and have his justice, but before Guy could even speak, Lambert saw him and bounded up, leaping at Guy and grabbing him by the collar of his tunic.
"John of Salisbury! You get to go study with John of Salisbury!"
Guy, surprised by this sudden assault and by Lambert's words, staggered away from him. "What are you talking about?"
"I just found out. You, of all people. You're given the chance to study with one of the greatest minds of our time. And I bet you don't even care!" Lambert's despair was palpable, and in it, Guy saw a reflection of himself, a glimpse of what Lambert really thought of him.
Old anger and new bitterness rose like bile in his throat, burning him and making it difficult even to speak. He struggled against it and fought off the feeling, spitting words back at Lambert. "What is that supposed to mean? You think I'm too stupid to be a scholar?"
"No!" Lambert's eyes slid away from Guy's, whether out of guilt or anger, Guy could not say. "You are not stupid at all. But you're not a scholar. This is not your dream…
"You're a soldier, Guy. You like having order in your life. You like having rules to follow, and you never question any of it. You'll be a great man one day, but you'll never be a scholar. Don't you see?"
Guy bristled at Lambert's words, despite knowing they were not meanly meant. "So you want me to give up a chance to make something of myself? Because you can't do it?"
"No, I never said that. I'm just…lamenting that the world is so cruel. Not just to me, but to you as well. What are you going to do as a monk, Guy? Is it really what you want?"
"No." Guy hissed at Lambert, sensing an opportunity, a chink in his opponent's armor. I don’t think it's what you want either. Is it?"
It was Lambert's turn to be confused. "What? I have no-"
"Don't play me for a fool, Lambert! I know everything. I saw you. With my sister!"
Lambert paled. All the starch went out of him suddenly, and he flopped onto the bench, defeated. But he said nothing, no words in defense of himself or in contradiction of Guy's accusation.
"Were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to betray me? She's my sister, Lambert. That's the honor of my house and-"
"Oh, please. Don't speak of it like you need to avenge her or something. Nothing happened. Nothing at all, I promise."
Guy narrowed his eyes, challenging Lambert, but the other man met his gaze evenly, and though he appeared frightened, he did not back down. Lambert never lied, for he had no use for falsehood, and knowing this, Guy stepped back, giving Lambert a moment to recover.
"Do you love her?"
Lambert shook his head. "I don't know. I'm not even sure I know what that word means. I think she's clever and funny, and I like talking to her. I'd be sad if we fell out tomorrow and never spoke again, but does that mean I love her? Is that all there is to love? Tell me!"
Guy stayed silent, allowing he knew even less about love than Lambert did. "I don't know what to say. It's the sort of thing you have to decide for yourself, isn't it?"
Lambert did not appear to have even heard Guy's words. "And what if I am? What if I do love Isabella? What do I do with that knowledge?" He put a hand to his head, confused and despairing. For a tiny moment, Guy considered embracing him, if only to console him.
"I'm to be a monk, Guy. What sort of life can a monk give a girl? And if I leave this place, what will become of me? Will I be able to care for her, give her what she needs? What answer can I give you when I haven't got one myself?"
Guy tried to shake off his own growing despair and cast about for an answer that would solve Lambert's dilemma. Nothing came to him, but as he was about to concede defeat and allow Lambert to wallow in whatever misery he had made for himself, it struck him why Lambert would never find an answer to his questions.
Lambert was a man of reason. He liked to analyze every situation, turn a problem over in his hands, look at it from every angle and ponder on the solution. But all he ever did was think. No action ever followed any of that reasoning.
To be fair, Lambert was right about Guy. He liked rules, and he rarely questioned why he was required to do things in a certain way. He merely did them, and when the consequences of his actions were not what he expected, he worked to set things right. He was a man of action, a true soldier - but Lambert was wrong about everything else. There was no reason a soldier could not be useful to the Church, no reason a love of rules and order could not be applied to scholarly pursuits.
"Maybe it's time you did something."
Lambert looked stunned. "What?"
Guy sighed. "I'm just saying that an action is sometimes better than all the words used to describe it. If you-"
They were interrupted by the loud chiming of the bells at St. Stephen's, calling the abbey to prayers. Lambert sighed and nodded in Guy's direction. "I think I understand."
"I hope you do." For Isabella's sake.
--
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Author: roh_wyn
Summary: Guy and Isabella leave Locksley and arrive in France to make a new life for themselves. A pre-series exploration of these two characters and how they become the people we see on the show.
Characters/Pairings: Guy of Gisborne, Isabella, Lambert (of black powder fame), OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 3x10, "Bad Blood"; possible (but inadvertent) fudging of canon timeline
Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect, BBC and legend. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Notes: Many thanks to applebeing for her excellent beta work. Any errors that remain are mine entirely. Thanks to shinysparks for her amazing artistic contribution. Thanks also to kegel84 who kept me company online as I wrote this story, and to railise and thymelady for helping me with the title.
Artwork by shinysparks
Chapter 8: Promise That Cannot Fail
Early September 1177
Church of the Holy Trinity (Abbaye aux Dames), Caën
Martin kneeled on the cold flagstones of the private chapel he'd been provided. He'd come here to see the abbess of the Holy Trinity, and although he was her temporal and spiritual superior-by virtue of being abbot of St. Stephen's-the abbess was considerably older and wiser than Martin himself.
There was also her rank to consider. The Lady Marie was not just the mistress of the abbey and its church, but a rather powerful noble in her own right. Through her father, she had been Countess of Boulogne until only a few years before, and in her younger years, when her father Stephen had been King of the English, she had been a princess and a much-courted heiress. Now, made the abbess of a grand church after her divorce, she still carried herself with a distant and regal air, and though Martin did not put a lot of store in titles and wealth, he felt small and often uncomfortable in her presence.
But even that was only a trivial matter, a discomfort to be overcome with patience and effort. Martin was far more troubled by the abbess's wit, which matched his own and clearly outpaced any of her peers in the Church. She had a way of speaking that was both clever and pointed, and she knew well how to play games with words. Though Martin was entirely equal to a verbal sparring match, she had kept him waiting for nearly half the day, knowing this would put him at a disadvantage.
He finished his prayers and crossed himself, silently offering God an apology for being so distracted. As he rose, the stone scuffed his robes and he suddenly felt rather foolish, waiting in a small, cold room for a woman to give him her attention. This is why it is good you never married…
He laughed silently to himself, amused at the idea, but the laughter disappeared when the door swung open to admit the abbess. She was a tall, severe-looking woman, but the set of her eyes and the shape of her face suggested a once-beautiful lady, now succumbing slowly to the passage of time. Unlike the simple brown robes he wore, the uniform of the Benedictine monk, the abbess was dressed in rich, dark brocade, the uniform of a wealthy and powerful woman.
She smiled genially in his direction. "My lord abbot. To what do I owe the honor?"
Martin bowed and returned her smile. "My lady abbess. It amuses me to be in your company, and that is my only reason for being here."
Marie laughed. "Ah, if it were only so simple. You never come here for your own amusement, although your visits do provide me with much-needed distraction."
Martin noted the slight hint of mockery in her voice. He was tempted to repay her in kind but decided it could wait until the next time. For now, there were much more important things to be discussed. "Very well. I'm here to see you about my ward, the lady Isabella."
"Ah. In that case, perhaps a more private setting." She nodded at the sister who stood by the door, who excused herself politely. Two rather sturdy looking nuns came in with chairs and refreshments, and once they left, Marie waited politely until Martin was settled in his chair before taking her own seat. "How can I help you?"
"There has been an offer of marriage for Isabella."
"I see." Marie poured herself a cup of wine and sipped, watching Martin over the rim of the cup. He found he did not mind the scrutiny itself, but the silent judgment pronounced with it troubled him greatly.
"Yes, Thornton of Shrewsbury. In England."
Marie frowned. "I can't say I'm familiar with that name, at least not among those who were at my father's court."
Martin paused and cleared his throat gently. "Yes, well…the family was not originally noble, although perhaps they were ennobled later."
She raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue.
"I believe his father was a merchant of some sort, a mercer perhaps." Martin was about to continue, when the abbess laughed, interrupting him.
"My lady?"
She shook her head, still chuckling. "It's nothing. Only, how oddly appropriate that Isabella's suitor should be the son of a mercer!"
Martin knit his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm not sure I follow, my lady."
"No, it's nothing, really. Carry on, tell me more."
"He is lord of a rather large and well-appointed estate in England, I'm told."
Marie nodded. "Where is this place, this Shrewsbury?"
Martin shrugged. "I do not know for certain, but somewhere in the east, or perhaps the west. Near the Welsh Marches, I think."
"I see." She set her cup down and studied him. "So why do you need to discuss this with me? She is your ward, and if you wish to marry her off and send her into the wilderness, that is your decision."
Martin considered his words carefully before speaking. "That is true, and I have already made my decision. This is a…courtesy to you, if you will."
"Ah, my lord abbot. You are as haughty and presumptuous as ever."
"I know."
They shared a polite chuckle over this, before Marie continued in a more serious vein. "Have you put this to the girl already?"
"Yes."
"And she agrees?"
"She's…I cannot say if she agrees, but she has not refused. And she understands well her duty in this regard."
Marie smiled, and if Martin had not known better, he would have thought it a sympathetic expression, almost a sad one. "Duty. Yes, of course. What else is there?"
"My lady abbess-"
"She's only thirteen. That is a very young age for marriage."
Martin shrugged. "She's nearly fourteen, and her own mother was married at that age."
"I see." She gave Martin a withering look. "Marriage is a very difficult thing, my lord. We're asked to give ourselves to men we do not like, to live in places we've never heard of, where we have neither friend nor kin. We are asked to be brood mares for a house that will not remember us long after we are dead and gone.
"And the reward for all this is more servitude, first to our husbands, then to our sons." She scoffed. "Why do you wish such a life on that poor girl?"
"You must think me terribly cruel."
Marie said nothing.
"I only wish to prevent her from a catastrophe-a worse life than she deserves." He gave the abbess a meaningful look, and she responded, first with surprise and then with an understanding nod.
"I see. That does…cast the matter in a different light, yes." She sat back down and fell silent, obviously considering the matter carefully. After several long moments of silence, she finally spoke. "What do you need from me?"
"I need you to help her prepare. She's a girl without a coin to her name and no dowry. In a sense, she's fortunate to get a match at all, much less a man of wealth and position. I want her to understand this is not a bad thing."
Marie nodded. "It could be a good thing, if everything goes right."
"Yes, just so."
Marie watched him for a moment before nodding her head once. "Very well, my lord abbot. Consider it done."
--
Two days later
Outside the Abbey aux Hommes
They lay on the rain-spattered grass under a starlit sky, not caring that their clothes would get wet or that curious onlookers might spot them. For one, it was a surprisingly warm night for the early autumn. For another, they were doing no more than talking, and any prying eyes would surely be disappointed.
Lambert pointed a long finger to the sky. "And that one there, that's called the princess. To go with the king and queen," he added. He liked the idea of stars existing in families. He thought it was right that at least the firmament was a happy place, or there would be no reason for man to look to the stars.
It had been his idea to come here, so late at night. Isabella had been sullen and withdrawn, and he thought perhaps just seeing the night sky would make her feel better, but given her reactions to everything he'd shown her so far, this had been a miscalculation.
He sighed and turned to face her, admiring how perfect her face looked in the pale light. It was a balancing act he had not yet mastered, noting her beauty with the logic of a scholastic man, while dismissing its effect on him. The truth was that he rather enjoyed looking at her, speaking to her, even just being with her. If this is love…
Lambert cursed himself under his breath and focused his attention on Isabella's mood. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?"
She turned to face him, the moonlight catching her blue eyes in a way that made it impossible for him to look away. "Wrong? No, not wrong. I'm just…feeling a bit out of sorts, I suppose."
He nodded and let the matter go. If there was anything wrong with her and she thought his words might help, she'd ask for them. It was not like Isabella to keep things to herself without cause. Silence fell between them, but unlike every other day, it was not a comfortable one. There was an uneasy edge to it that even Lambert noticed, for all his lack of sentimentality.
"If I went away, would you miss me?"
He moved away from her, caught off-guard by the sudden question. "What?"
"If I were to go away somewhere, would you miss me? Would you think of me?"
Lambert did not hesitate. "Of course I'd think of you. You are a friend. A dear friend. I should miss you if you went away.
"Are you going away?" He tried to keep the hint of worry out of his voice, but there was no denying his concern that she might not be around him anymore.
Isabella shrugged. "No. Not right away. I just needed to know if it would make a difference to you."
"Bella, I-"
She cut him off. "Oh, enough of that. I've had a trying day. Let's talk about something else. Something happy." She reached over and took his hand, and this time, though all reason commanded he stop her, he did not.
"Like what?"
"Do you remember that story you told me? About the Cornish knight and the Irish princess?"
He knit his eyebrows. "Tristan and Isolde? I thought you wanted to hear something happy?"
She sighed. "It's not the story that makes me happy, Lambert. I just like the way you tell it."
He laughed in response. "Very well. If that's what you want."
Lambert took in a deep breath and began. "If you would hear a high tale of love and of death, here is that of Tristan and Queen Isolde. How to their full joy, but to their sorrow also, they loved each other, and how at last they died of that love together upon one day; she by him and he by her…"
The words poured out, and as the stars passed above them, Lambert felt the weight of love, the creep of darkness, the beginning of the inevitable end. In his sorrow, he never saw the shadowy figure watching them from the darkness.
--
Two days later
Guy walked into the kitchens, drenched from the rain, his boots caked with mud, despite the short distance from his rooms to outbuildings of the abbey. The weather was perfect, he decided, the stormy skies a suitable complement to his mood of these past two days. He dropped the pails he was carrying near the entrance, the wood clattering noisily against the stones as water sloshed over and spilled onto the floor.
He spied Lambert sitting at the end of the long novice table, a book in one hand and a half-eaten piece of bread in the other. Guy felt seething fury roil in his stomach, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He was beyond angry with Lambert, for whatever he was doing with Isabella, for the way in which he had betrayed Guy, his friend-his only friend!
He stomped over to where Lambert sat, determined to shake the other man and have his justice, but before Guy could even speak, Lambert saw him and bounded up, leaping at Guy and grabbing him by the collar of his tunic.
"John of Salisbury! You get to go study with John of Salisbury!"
Guy, surprised by this sudden assault and by Lambert's words, staggered away from him. "What are you talking about?"
"I just found out. You, of all people. You're given the chance to study with one of the greatest minds of our time. And I bet you don't even care!" Lambert's despair was palpable, and in it, Guy saw a reflection of himself, a glimpse of what Lambert really thought of him.
Old anger and new bitterness rose like bile in his throat, burning him and making it difficult even to speak. He struggled against it and fought off the feeling, spitting words back at Lambert. "What is that supposed to mean? You think I'm too stupid to be a scholar?"
"No!" Lambert's eyes slid away from Guy's, whether out of guilt or anger, Guy could not say. "You are not stupid at all. But you're not a scholar. This is not your dream…
"You're a soldier, Guy. You like having order in your life. You like having rules to follow, and you never question any of it. You'll be a great man one day, but you'll never be a scholar. Don't you see?"
Guy bristled at Lambert's words, despite knowing they were not meanly meant. "So you want me to give up a chance to make something of myself? Because you can't do it?"
"No, I never said that. I'm just…lamenting that the world is so cruel. Not just to me, but to you as well. What are you going to do as a monk, Guy? Is it really what you want?"
"No." Guy hissed at Lambert, sensing an opportunity, a chink in his opponent's armor. I don’t think it's what you want either. Is it?"
It was Lambert's turn to be confused. "What? I have no-"
"Don't play me for a fool, Lambert! I know everything. I saw you. With my sister!"
Lambert paled. All the starch went out of him suddenly, and he flopped onto the bench, defeated. But he said nothing, no words in defense of himself or in contradiction of Guy's accusation.
"Were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to betray me? She's my sister, Lambert. That's the honor of my house and-"
"Oh, please. Don't speak of it like you need to avenge her or something. Nothing happened. Nothing at all, I promise."
Guy narrowed his eyes, challenging Lambert, but the other man met his gaze evenly, and though he appeared frightened, he did not back down. Lambert never lied, for he had no use for falsehood, and knowing this, Guy stepped back, giving Lambert a moment to recover.
"Do you love her?"
Lambert shook his head. "I don't know. I'm not even sure I know what that word means. I think she's clever and funny, and I like talking to her. I'd be sad if we fell out tomorrow and never spoke again, but does that mean I love her? Is that all there is to love? Tell me!"
Guy stayed silent, allowing he knew even less about love than Lambert did. "I don't know what to say. It's the sort of thing you have to decide for yourself, isn't it?"
Lambert did not appear to have even heard Guy's words. "And what if I am? What if I do love Isabella? What do I do with that knowledge?" He put a hand to his head, confused and despairing. For a tiny moment, Guy considered embracing him, if only to console him.
"I'm to be a monk, Guy. What sort of life can a monk give a girl? And if I leave this place, what will become of me? Will I be able to care for her, give her what she needs? What answer can I give you when I haven't got one myself?"
Guy tried to shake off his own growing despair and cast about for an answer that would solve Lambert's dilemma. Nothing came to him, but as he was about to concede defeat and allow Lambert to wallow in whatever misery he had made for himself, it struck him why Lambert would never find an answer to his questions.
Lambert was a man of reason. He liked to analyze every situation, turn a problem over in his hands, look at it from every angle and ponder on the solution. But all he ever did was think. No action ever followed any of that reasoning.
To be fair, Lambert was right about Guy. He liked rules, and he rarely questioned why he was required to do things in a certain way. He merely did them, and when the consequences of his actions were not what he expected, he worked to set things right. He was a man of action, a true soldier - but Lambert was wrong about everything else. There was no reason a soldier could not be useful to the Church, no reason a love of rules and order could not be applied to scholarly pursuits.
"Maybe it's time you did something."
Lambert looked stunned. "What?"
Guy sighed. "I'm just saying that an action is sometimes better than all the words used to describe it. If you-"
They were interrupted by the loud chiming of the bells at St. Stephen's, calling the abbey to prayers. Lambert sighed and nodded in Guy's direction. "I think I understand."
"I hope you do." For Isabella's sake.
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