MedievalFic: Far Greater

[transemacabre]

A little ficlet, Far Greater staring a young Eleanor of Aquitaine.



Far Greater
A tale of Eleanor of Aquitaine

During the long lazy summers of Aquitaine, when the air smelled of blooming flowers and the wind seemed to whisper her name, Eleanor ran wild.

She was a mere slip of a girl, slim and dark, not yet beautiful though her large green eyes held some promise of beauty. She would run through the court barefoot and laughing, chased to and fro by her nursemaids. She would tease her little sister Pétronille until she cried. She would sit up all night long, listening to visiting troubadours sing of fin’amor, perfect love. Eleanor loved the sweet voices of the trobairitz, the lady poets, above all, but laughed at their fantasies of love. She had no need of love.

Sometimes her maid would pinch her ear and scold her for her naughtiness. When she spoiled an expensive gown by rolling about in soot, Eleanor was brought before her father in disgrace. But her father, so young and handsome, just smiled at her folly, and Eleanor curled at his feet like a contented cat. “Oh papa,” she sighed, “one day I should like to marry you.”

At this, William the Duke stroked her hair and said, “My dear, you are meant for a far greater mate than I.”

Those days were soaked in color, reds and greens so deep and dark you could see your reflection in them. For all the rest of her days Eleanor would never forget the taste of the wine, or the caress of the warm winds. Her uncle Raymond, who was only a few years older than her, would slip her sweets and take her for rides in the countryside. Sometimes her indulgent papa would heft her atop his shoulders and carry her through the court, singing songs of love. Eleanor never rode so high again.

In the summer troubadours came, but they were not the only visitors. Envoys arrived from Toulouse and Angoulême and Montpellier, clad in noble colors and petitioning for a noble bride for this lord or that count. But Duke William gave them all the same response: “My daughters are meant for far greater mates.” Even the Spanish envoys from the royal courts of Aragon and Castile were sent away empty-handed. Eleanor began to grow proud, understanding as she did that she was of great and rare worth. She was heiress of Aquitaine, and Aquitaine was no mean prize.

“Aquitaine is for me, and I am for Aquitaine,” she would whisper to herself before falling asleep at night. “I am meant for something greater…”

Far greater.