(no subject)
Random things about Joscelin from Kushiel's Scion.
Told from Imriel's voice.
Prologue
I do not know -- I will never know -- where they found the courage to do what was needed to save me. Phedre says that although it is my mother who charged her with the task, it was the will of Blessed Elua himself that sent her forth across that terrible threshold. I cannot reckon the cost. I know what the Mahrkagir did to her. All of us who were slaves in the Mahrkagir's zenana knew what he did to his favourites. I don't know how she endured it. And I don't know how Joscelin, Phedre's consort and protector, survived knowing the abuse she suffered at the Mahrkagir's hands without succumbing to madness.
...It is strange, now, to think how I despised [Phedre] at first. In the zenana of Darsanga, Phedre no Delaunay, the Comtesse de Montreve, did not look like a heroine bent on my rescue. She looked like a D'Angeline courtesan, delicate and lovely, and willing to wallow in the foulest depravity the Mahrkagir offered. It was true, too. For that, I hated her. I hated her so much I could barely stand to look at her. And Joscelin... Joscelin, too. I thought he had betrayed all that was noble and good about Terra D'Ange, sinking as low as a warrior can go.
I was wrong.
...I pray that what befell us will never come again, not so long as I live. Whatever becomes of me, I will live my life in the shadows of greatness, but I will never begrudge it. When all is said and done, I do not think I have greatness in me. I would like to, but I don't. Not like Phedre; not like Joscelin, whose role was even harder in some ways, who ever stood at her side, whose scars bear testament to his courage and valour. All I want to do is come to manhood in a manner that does not disgrace those I love.
…Sometimes Phedre visits the temples of Kushiel. What absolution she finds there under the lash, I cannot comprehend. I know that when she returns, she is tranquil and at peace. Joscelin says it is a mystery in the truest sense of the word. Although he will never be easy with it, there are things he grasps that are beyond my ken.
Chapter One
[ When Imriel protests at his lack of freedom as a 14-year old ]
Joscelin eyed me, noting my expression. "Take heart," he said wryly. "When you come of age, you'll be free to take all the risks you like."
"Four years!" I protested. "It's forever."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "You think so?" He tousled my hair lightly. I hated when almost anyone else did it -- I didn't like people touching me -- but my heart always gave a secret leap of happiness when Phedre or Joscelin did. "It won't seem it, I promise." He glanced at Phedre then, and something passed between them; a shared and private understanding.
There are those who laugh at their union, although not many. Not now, after all they have endured together. It's true, though. 'Tis an unlikely pairing, Kushiel's Chosen and a Servant of Naamah in love with a Cassiline warrior-priest.
Phedre was a courtesan, sworn to the service of Blessed Elua's Companion Naamah, who gave herself to the King of Persis to win Elua's freedom, and who lay down in the stews of Bhodistan with strangers that he might eat. It is a sacred calling in Terre d'Ange, though it is not one practiced by many peers of the realm. But Phedre was a Servant of Naamah long before she inherited Delaunay's title and estate, and although she has not practiced it since Darsanga, she has never renounced Naamah's Service.
And Joscelin -- Joscelin was a Cassiline Brother when they met, although he left the Brotherhood for her sake. From the age of ten, he was trained to be a warrior-priest, sworn to celibacy. Alone among the Companions, Cassiel claimed no territory in Terra d'Ange and begot no offspring, but remained ever at Blessed Elua's side. That is the vow of the Cassiline Brotherhood: To protect and serve.
The Cassilines are very good at what they do; but Joscelin, I think is better.
[ When a lone rider is spotted approaching a country fair that Imriel et al are attending ]
In the midst of the fair, pandemonium broke loose. A handful of villagers sought to rally to our aid, seizing weapons from the arms-sellers' stalls. Protesting merchants blocked their way, grabbing at their purloined goods. Here and there was a struggling know where one of Montreve's retainers sought to shove a path through the throng.
I watched the rider loom nearer and drew my dagger, flipping it to hold it by its point. At fifteen paces or less, my aim was good. In front of me, Gilot maintained a defensive stance, legs planted, sword tight in his fist. A muscle in his jaw trembled. Katherine's fingers dug into my left forearm. I pried them loose, shoving her toward Charles.
"Take care of her," I said, the words coming harshly. He nodded, his face pale, brown hair flopping over his brow.
A single voice, raised, called my name. "Imriel!"
I raised mine in reply, and though it cracked, it carried. "Joscelin, here!"
There; bursting free of the crowd. He came at a dead run, crossing the horse-fields to the Tsigani camp, passing Gilot. The rider thundered toward us, Ti-Philippe and the others following hard behind, a few seconds too late.
Not Joscelin.
His sword sang as he reached over his shoulder and drew it; a high, keening note. Tradition holds that Cassiline Brothers draw their swords only to kill. When it came to my defense, Joscelin observed no such niceties.
"Stand down or die!" he called to the rider, angling his sword across his body in a two-handed grip.
The rider drew rein, hard, turning his lathered, hard-ridden mount. Froth flew from its bit. A hafted pennant, now visible, fluttered from a hilt mounted on the pommel of his saddle -- a square of rich blue with a diagonal bar of silver.
"Queen's Courier!" he shouted. "In the name of Queen Ysandre, hold your hand!"
Joscelin did not shift, his voice remaining taut. "Stand down, man!"
[ after learning of Melisande's disappearance from the Temple of Asherat ]
Phedre tilted her head, thinking. "I'll write to Allegra today; and Severio, too. Among the Stregazza, they're two I trust. If we leave immediately after speaking to Duc Faragon--"
"No."
Joscelin's voice cut through hers like a blade, flat and implacable. Among the six of us in the room, only Phedre, lost in thought, failed to startle at it. She blinked at him, uncomprehending. Barquiel L'Envers opened his mouth to speak, then closed it as Drustan shook his head in warning.
"No," Joscelin repeated, sounding weary this time. "No. We are not going to La Serenissima. We are not embarking on another search for Melisande Shahrizai. No."
"But I can find her," she said simply.
"I don't care." He held her gaze. "Isn't that why you extracted a promise from her? You claim to understand her. You thought it worthwhile. Do you have so little faith in your own claim? Will you once more risk everything we have?"
Everyone was silent.
Phedre closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and looked at me. I clenched my hands into fists, afraid of what she would say. I didn't want her to go to La Serenissima. I didn't want her to chase after the damned spectre of my damned mother. But my heart was in my throat, choking me speechless.
"No," she whispered at last. "You're right."
Told from Imriel's voice.
Prologue
I do not know -- I will never know -- where they found the courage to do what was needed to save me. Phedre says that although it is my mother who charged her with the task, it was the will of Blessed Elua himself that sent her forth across that terrible threshold. I cannot reckon the cost. I know what the Mahrkagir did to her. All of us who were slaves in the Mahrkagir's zenana knew what he did to his favourites. I don't know how she endured it. And I don't know how Joscelin, Phedre's consort and protector, survived knowing the abuse she suffered at the Mahrkagir's hands without succumbing to madness.
...It is strange, now, to think how I despised [Phedre] at first. In the zenana of Darsanga, Phedre no Delaunay, the Comtesse de Montreve, did not look like a heroine bent on my rescue. She looked like a D'Angeline courtesan, delicate and lovely, and willing to wallow in the foulest depravity the Mahrkagir offered. It was true, too. For that, I hated her. I hated her so much I could barely stand to look at her. And Joscelin... Joscelin, too. I thought he had betrayed all that was noble and good about Terra D'Ange, sinking as low as a warrior can go.
I was wrong.
...I pray that what befell us will never come again, not so long as I live. Whatever becomes of me, I will live my life in the shadows of greatness, but I will never begrudge it. When all is said and done, I do not think I have greatness in me. I would like to, but I don't. Not like Phedre; not like Joscelin, whose role was even harder in some ways, who ever stood at her side, whose scars bear testament to his courage and valour. All I want to do is come to manhood in a manner that does not disgrace those I love.
…Sometimes Phedre visits the temples of Kushiel. What absolution she finds there under the lash, I cannot comprehend. I know that when she returns, she is tranquil and at peace. Joscelin says it is a mystery in the truest sense of the word. Although he will never be easy with it, there are things he grasps that are beyond my ken.
Chapter One
[ When Imriel protests at his lack of freedom as a 14-year old ]
Joscelin eyed me, noting my expression. "Take heart," he said wryly. "When you come of age, you'll be free to take all the risks you like."
"Four years!" I protested. "It's forever."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "You think so?" He tousled my hair lightly. I hated when almost anyone else did it -- I didn't like people touching me -- but my heart always gave a secret leap of happiness when Phedre or Joscelin did. "It won't seem it, I promise." He glanced at Phedre then, and something passed between them; a shared and private understanding.
There are those who laugh at their union, although not many. Not now, after all they have endured together. It's true, though. 'Tis an unlikely pairing, Kushiel's Chosen and a Servant of Naamah in love with a Cassiline warrior-priest.
Phedre was a courtesan, sworn to the service of Blessed Elua's Companion Naamah, who gave herself to the King of Persis to win Elua's freedom, and who lay down in the stews of Bhodistan with strangers that he might eat. It is a sacred calling in Terre d'Ange, though it is not one practiced by many peers of the realm. But Phedre was a Servant of Naamah long before she inherited Delaunay's title and estate, and although she has not practiced it since Darsanga, she has never renounced Naamah's Service.
And Joscelin -- Joscelin was a Cassiline Brother when they met, although he left the Brotherhood for her sake. From the age of ten, he was trained to be a warrior-priest, sworn to celibacy. Alone among the Companions, Cassiel claimed no territory in Terra d'Ange and begot no offspring, but remained ever at Blessed Elua's side. That is the vow of the Cassiline Brotherhood: To protect and serve.
The Cassilines are very good at what they do; but Joscelin, I think is better.
[ When a lone rider is spotted approaching a country fair that Imriel et al are attending ]
In the midst of the fair, pandemonium broke loose. A handful of villagers sought to rally to our aid, seizing weapons from the arms-sellers' stalls. Protesting merchants blocked their way, grabbing at their purloined goods. Here and there was a struggling know where one of Montreve's retainers sought to shove a path through the throng.
I watched the rider loom nearer and drew my dagger, flipping it to hold it by its point. At fifteen paces or less, my aim was good. In front of me, Gilot maintained a defensive stance, legs planted, sword tight in his fist. A muscle in his jaw trembled. Katherine's fingers dug into my left forearm. I pried them loose, shoving her toward Charles.
"Take care of her," I said, the words coming harshly. He nodded, his face pale, brown hair flopping over his brow.
A single voice, raised, called my name. "Imriel!"
I raised mine in reply, and though it cracked, it carried. "Joscelin, here!"
There; bursting free of the crowd. He came at a dead run, crossing the horse-fields to the Tsigani camp, passing Gilot. The rider thundered toward us, Ti-Philippe and the others following hard behind, a few seconds too late.
Not Joscelin.
His sword sang as he reached over his shoulder and drew it; a high, keening note. Tradition holds that Cassiline Brothers draw their swords only to kill. When it came to my defense, Joscelin observed no such niceties.
"Stand down or die!" he called to the rider, angling his sword across his body in a two-handed grip.
The rider drew rein, hard, turning his lathered, hard-ridden mount. Froth flew from its bit. A hafted pennant, now visible, fluttered from a hilt mounted on the pommel of his saddle -- a square of rich blue with a diagonal bar of silver.
"Queen's Courier!" he shouted. "In the name of Queen Ysandre, hold your hand!"
Joscelin did not shift, his voice remaining taut. "Stand down, man!"
[ after learning of Melisande's disappearance from the Temple of Asherat ]
Phedre tilted her head, thinking. "I'll write to Allegra today; and Severio, too. Among the Stregazza, they're two I trust. If we leave immediately after speaking to Duc Faragon--"
"No."
Joscelin's voice cut through hers like a blade, flat and implacable. Among the six of us in the room, only Phedre, lost in thought, failed to startle at it. She blinked at him, uncomprehending. Barquiel L'Envers opened his mouth to speak, then closed it as Drustan shook his head in warning.
"No," Joscelin repeated, sounding weary this time. "No. We are not going to La Serenissima. We are not embarking on another search for Melisande Shahrizai. No."
"But I can find her," she said simply.
"I don't care." He held her gaze. "Isn't that why you extracted a promise from her? You claim to understand her. You thought it worthwhile. Do you have so little faith in your own claim? Will you once more risk everything we have?"
Everyone was silent.
Phedre closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and looked at me. I clenched my hands into fists, afraid of what she would say. I didn't want her to go to La Serenissima. I didn't want her to chase after the damned spectre of my damned mother. But my heart was in my throat, choking me speechless.
"No," she whispered at last. "You're right."