Compagnons D'Âme

Compagnons D'Âme

Chapter 5: Les Problèmes de Nouveau et de Vieux

The moment Safran spied my distraught appearance she noticeable paled. She studied my tear streaked face and dusty clothes and the worry that radiated off of my compagnons. I grimaced as I knew of the interrogation to follow.

“My Liège,” she spoke approaching the cheval Aigle and I rode on. She gave a deep curtsy and spoke in a mannerly tone befitting a Dame. Seeing her properness gave my heart a tuck, knowing she would have been a better candidate for Reine then I could ever hope to be.

“Papillon just had a minor incident with his poney,” replied Aigle, not needing Safran to voice her question. “He is fine, though is probably in dire need of a good bath.”

“Of course,” said Safran. Arbre came from the shadows, gave a deep bow then lifted me off the cheval onto the ground. I was shocked that the man was able to act with such grace and swiftness, that I stumbled the moment his hands stopped giving me the needed support for standing. Arbre reacted quickly and was again holding me up. I had not realized till now that my legs were very sore.

“A very long and hot bath,” said Saffran. “He has yet to adjust to riding.”

“Perhaps a side-saddle would be better next time,” said Foin, trotting his cheval up to the group. I did not know whether this was a true suggestion or a snide comment. Aigle, who knew that man much better then I, seem to think it was the former.

“It would throw his balance off,” said Aigle. “But it may be easier on his legs. And he needs to know how to do it by our mariage.”

“And once he starts wearing his robes formelles, it is expected,” added Duc Foudre. I groaned remembering that soon I would be expected to wear robes in public. Glancing at Safran’s complex dressing made me whimper slightly.

In my old village, the woman had dressed quite plainly. Their robes were home spun cotton worn over one or two rough jupons. Their shoes, if they wore any, were a loose and shapeless combination of wood and leather that their brothers or pères had thrown together in their free time.

Safran’s robes, were so much more. Her robe today was, by Cour standards, simple. It did not billow around her like her robes formelles would, giving her the appearance of a very elaborately decorated bell. The one she wore today was a dusky orange silk robe embroidered with Automne feuilles and glands in reds, browns, and yellows. Her jewelry was a simple bronze chain with a cluster of feuilles and a gland in the middle, with a matching ring, bracelet, and earrings. She wore a simple pair of matching silk poussoirs. In my village, she would have easily have been the richest woman ten times over, but in the Cour, most would be shocked that a Dame dans L’attente would be dressed like a le négociant’s daughter.

I was carried inside the Palais by Arbre, and surrounded by my other Gardes and Safran. We went to my room. The Gardes left at this point, and Safran and a gaggle of other women took over. My clothes and jewels were removed in a manner of minutes, the woman tsking about the need to wash everything. I was nude in front of all these woman, and again felt a blush rising to my cheeks, and tried to hide the tell tale difference between them and myself. The women didn’t seem to care, and lead me into the bathroom, were the large tub had been filled with warm and aromatic water. Soapy bubbles bobbed around the surface, and rose petals were scattered on top of them. Safran and a nameless woman help lower me into the bathtub. I let a moan of sheer joy and relieve escape my throat.

“Let him soak for a while,” Safran said to her helpers. “He is very sore and needs to relax.” They nodded, as I drifting into oblivion.

They must have stayed, for I heard the scurrying of feet, and soon the music of a harpe and cannelure accompanied my meditations. I must have remained drifting in and out of blissful slumber before Safran approached me with more soaps and bathing cloths. She washed my hair in the sweet smelling soap, rinse it a few good times, then finished my body. I was then lifted by the woman out of the tub. They dried me and moved me back into the bedroom, dressing me in a sleeping gown and brushing my hair.

“A little nap,” said Safran. “Then a quiet dinner in the La Chambre Du Guérisseur with Colombe and a stroll around the garden, for tomorrow is a busy day for you.”

“Why is it so busy?” I asked, yawning.

“For you shall have to see leagues and leagues of people,” said Safran, getting me situated in the large bed. “You have to meet with the ouvrière couturier, assembleurs, cuisiniers, cordonnier, bijoutier, artiste, other Dames, précepteurs, and all the like in the morning. They want your opinion on everything for the upcoming festivities to celebrate your adoption and engagement. Also, you must pick out your entourage. Besides appointing me as your Dame Principale dans L’attente, Roi Aigle wish to leave all other decisions to you. Now rest, or your nap will be useless.” Safran lightly chided. Naps, though useful and often needed, always are disappointing to me. The simple reason is that the moment you have finally gotten settled into dreamland, they are ended.

I groaned and wished to argue with Safran, but thought better of it. I knew Safran would never allow me to have my own way at this point. Though she was a female, she still was an Esprit, and at full strength. I would never win a fight with her. I mumbled indigne d’ une dame curses under my breath. I sounded more like Père or my brothers when having to face a porc that had made its way into our garden, then myself. Safran glared at me, efficiently making my tongue lose the need for saying more.

“Papillon, do not say such words,” she chided, helping get into my bed and cover me with the thick soft blankets. “You are the future Reine, not some fermier’s wife.” If I had been an impertinent enfant, I would have told her that I was a fermeir’s fils, and almost a butcher’s wife. But, I did not want to be so rude to someone who had shown me such kindness, specially one that could just leave me on my own, or worse, appoint Dame Lis to be in charge of me. I shuddered at the thought and said a sincere apology to her, coupled with a promise to never repeat the vile words again. She smiled, and gave my forehead a gentle kiss before dressing me.

It felt nice to have Safran kiss my brow. Not as nice as when Aigle had kissed my head earlier, but his kiss was different. Aigle’s kiss was one of love, comfort, and relief. Safran’s was of maternal affections. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that Safran wasn’t just to be a Dame dans L’attente to me, but a replacement mère also. Although I hated to admit it, I wish that Safran was my real mère at the moment. She was so soft, sweet, and gentle, everything that a mère should be. I felt horrible for that wish. My mère had been wonderful to me, and at least pretended, if not really, loved me dearly. I remember lamenting over missing her for so many days, and now I was ready to replace her with the first woman that showed me any love.

“Papillon,” she said, breaking me away. “Sleep now and think later. Les rêves devraient flotter sur l'air, ne pas être drogue vers le bas aux profondeurs.” I returned her smile, and finally losing my quickly fading reluctance, snuggled deep into my covers and fell into a light sleep

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My dreams, whatever they were off, were not memorable. Safran awoke me from my slumber what seemed only moments after she had forced me down, to find that three hours have withered passed me.

“Papillon,” Safran sang, pulling back the blankets I so tightly clasped in my hands. “The time for resting is over, now is the time for dining. Come, now.” She pulled harder, and the blankets gave way. I moaned at my exposer to the world. Safran giggled as I try to curl myself into the smallest ball possible in the center of the bed. I remember, in my sleepy mind, thinking along the same lines when Mère came to wake me in the morning. Yet, just as in my childhood, it didn’t work. Safran, with ease, pulled me away from the bed and back to the vanity.

She found my sleepy pouting to be quite cute, and chuckled at me the entire time. New maids had come with her this time, and also enjoyed my facial expressions.

I felt grateful that I was just going to an informal dîner, as opposed to the grand ones I must soon attend on a nearly daily basis. Safran decided not to worry about redoing my hair or adding jewels, and dressed me in a soft gris de colombe tunic and leggings, embroidered with white designs in the shape of waves. I wished I could dress like this everyday, but winced as I remembered one of my appointments tomorrow was with the ouvrière couturier. An ouvrière couturier who was coming with assembleurs to measure me for my robes formelles.

“Safran,” I whined before we left my room. “I thought you said you wouldn’t dress me like a girl?” She giggled, as did the maids.

“Yes, but I never said that the Roi wouldn’t,” she laughed, flashing me a charming smile. I had to remember that Safran was a Dame and Esprit, but a sure clever one.

She, still in her very rosy mood, lead me to the door. We were again flanked by my Gardes, but as the hour was getting closed to formel dîner, noone but servants roamed the halls. The trip to La Chambre Du Guérisseur was uneventful, much to the relief of both me and my entourage.

A serving girl was just setting up a small repas when I arrived. Colombe, to my joy, seemed to have managed to set up, and was feeding himself. The repas was a simple country fare, saucisse, pain, and some thick ragoût of some sort. Rubis had retired to her chambre for the repas, and Cereza was off to visit her amoureux. I blushed thinking about my own amoureux, the Roi.

Yet, was he my amoureux? Cereza loved the Duchesse Tournesol, and they had a proper courtship. I was engaged to the Roi within a day, and we had barely had more then three hours of each other’s company. We would be married, probably long before Cereza, who must finish her apprenticeship before considering mariage. By the time she married, I may have an enfant or two of my own. I blushed at the thought of my own famille, but the feeling of sudden rush was just dawning on me. Before, I was to shocked to realize how peculiar this was, a nobody like myself marrying the Roi, and not a word of complaint edgewise. I know he was the Roi, yet he must have some duty or protocol to follow. And how is he so certain that he loves me, when I have no clear feelings about him. Yes, he is marvelous man, a near perfect combination of grace, charm, good looks, wisdom, and kindness. Surly anyone would fall head over heels in love with him, but I wasn’t sure if I was anyone. There was no question in that I found him attractive, but to marry him. I began to feel the pressure of my situation bearing on my soul. I was here, in this Palais for a single reason, to become Reine. I hadn’t even been asked if that was what I wanted. Was this how Dames felt, having a marriage thrust upon them? Was this why Dame Lis despised me, for I stole the best match, leaving her with a less desirable one? Did she love the Roi or someone she could never have and just wanted Aigle for she knew that she would eventually love him.

My mind was so heavy as I ate. Colombe tried to make conversation with me, and I sadly shunned him, my only real friend. I answered his questions about my day with grunts and shrugs, and barely touched my food. Safran was shooting me a glare, I could feel her eyes of displeasure boring into my neck. My behavior was not befitting a duc or duchesse, and certainly not a princesse or reine. But for once I didn’t care what she thought.

“Papillon,” asked Colombe, “are you ill? You do not seem yourself tonight.” I did not know how to reply. If I told him my fears, which I normally would have, Safran and the Gardes would over hear and bring my concerns up to the Roi, who would in return seek me out to reassure me about his feelings of love and devotion .But I could not tell the Roi after everything he had done for me that I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to marry him, or if I even loved him. Even though he would speak to me those love filled words, his eyes would shine with sadness and angst with the knowledge that I didn’t love him as he did me. I hadn’t realized that even with my new liberté had a cost. I could no longer speak freely with Colombe, or anyone, for I was always being watched.

“Just tired,” I half-lied. I gave a wisp of a smile, and he and Safran seem convinced that was my only problem.

“Then Papillon, I shall take you back to your chambre,” smiled Safran. I wished Colombe a good-bye and gave him a quick and friendly kiss on his tête before leaving.

Not a hour had passed since I had arrived, and at this early hour, the repas in the Grand Hall had just moved into the plat principal, which was probably a selection of volaille or boeuf of some fanciful nature, served with carved légumes. The talk would probably be of proper subjects, and I was sure to mention at least a once or twice. And soon, I would be expected to join the Roi and Cour for their repases. Was I to sit coyly and blush like a dame, or to be more like the Roi and Prince?

The more I pondered my life, the more and more I grew fearful of it. I had been thrown into a society that I have never known, and expected to within a year’s time, help rule it. It was enough to make my head spin.

Safran, once we arrived, worked her magic in getting me prepared for slumber. She didn’t so much as an utter a sound, though I could tell she had much to say to me. She tucked me into the too large bed. Before leaving she turned to me and gave a wistful smile.

“I know you must be confused,” she said. “The Cour is one of so many mysterious and intrigue that it is mind blowing. I myself was just the daughter of a simple seigneur de pays before coming here. Don’t worry Papillon life will get better. I want to help you, I want to be your friend, just like Colombe.” She left.

I wanted to tell her she couldn’t be like Colombe, she couldn’t help me. She wasn’t a part of my past, she couldn’t know the pain and agony that came with my life. She was a Dame, and even when I would wear the couronne de la Reine, she would still be of higher birth then me. She was more a Reine then I would ever be, yet the Roi wanted me, for some unknown reason he wanted me for his jeune mariée, and as I cried tears of pain and sorrow that I could never explain. I wished that the Roi had never laid eyes on me, and I was still a slave. With these thoughts swimming in my mind, I fell into an uneasy sleep.


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Though the thoughts of yestereve where still fresh in my mind as I awoke on the new day, I pushed them aside. It was best not to linger on the frantic conclusions of a frightened mind. I was being selfish, not thinking of what would have happened to Colombe if he had not been bought by the Prince. He would be dead, and I would have been more distraught then ever before.

Safran seemed still a little irked with me from my shortcomings, yet to my gratitude made no mentions of the wetness of my sheets as she told one of the dames to take them to the blanchisseuse.

I was quickly dressed in the suit that I had worn on my first night and after a quick meal of fruit and pain, I sat with Safran in the entertaining area of my chambre to have all my meetings.

The first to speak with me were the ouvrière couturier and the assembleurs. I was forced to strip out of my elegant clothing and down to my sous-vêtements for my measurements to be taken. All the while the s ouvrière couturier kept asking what fabrics and colors I liked. I let Safran field all the questions, as I had no idea as to what the latest style was. Safran seemed to have been planning for this meeting and was able to give them details about my new wardrobe while I was distracted by the numerous Spiritueux’s measuring me in various ways. Finally, after half a hour the people bowed and left. Next was the cordonnier who measured my feet for the new shoes I was to wear. He was disappointed when I told him that he was to only make poussoirs, as opposed to hauts talon. He tried with all his wit and might to convince me of the beauty and grace of hauts talon, until a giggling Safran led him out when he discovered no end to my stubbornness. Safran seemed to have lost all her displeasure at me during my very Reine like conversation with the cobbler. A good Reine was not afraid to make herself heard, or be convinced into discomfort by a voice, said Safran

A flurry of cuisiniers and boulangers passed, all of which were displeased when I could not name delicacies I wished to partake of. They had brought an assortment of their wares for me to sample, bu after the first few I could stomach no more.

“Just serve what the Roi likes,” I said. And the Cuisinière Principale rolled his eyes.

“He told us to serve what you liked,” the Cuisinière Principale mumbled and his assistants mumbled their assurance. Safran gave a list to them of items that the Roi had suggested for me, and they said they would get right on the menu for my adoption dîner in a week or so. I hid how nervous I felt when they talked about the event. It would be the biggest step I had ever taken away from my family, not even when I was sold could compare. I would no longer in the eyes of the law and Cour be part of my village, but the Duc’s salle.

The bijoutier was next. I had to try on a variety of anneaux, bracelets, colliers, and circlets to see what was the best fit on me. And the most painful of all, having my ears pierced.

Safran had failed to mention this, and I was dead set against the action. I try to fight, but the bijoutier had came prepared and had his assistant hold me while he marked the holes and cleaned the area. Safran held ice so my ear could be numbed. Finally after five minutes, and my growls growing to whimpers, the jeweler inserted the needle and studs. I screamed, and I am certain everyone heard my yells of pain. The bijoutier pulled away and handed me a mirror so that I could view his work.

The boucles d’oreille he had chosen were no bigger then the top of my pinky, and were amethysts carved into the shape of a butterflies and set in or. They were lovely, and even I couldn’t help but admire how they looked.

The bijoutier announced that in a few weeks I would be able to wear other pairs that he had set to work on. Safran was briefed in the ways of cleansing my ears to prevent infection before the jeweler left and the other artiste came in.

For the most part, their ideas had already been set by the Duc and Roi, they only came to ask what I wished for my emblem to be. It took only a moment to suggest a purple and or butterfly, which everyone came into an agreement with.

“A pourpre and or papillon over the heart of the Roi’s blanc, argent, and or aigle,” the leader said. “Parfait!”

Next I had the meetings with the Dames and précepteurs who wished to become part of my entourage. I had thé with each of them.

My interviews lasted about four hours, and by then I was almost sick of the boisson and nourritures that accompanied it, but I had found six dames to be my Dames dans L'attente and three précepteurs each to teach me either universitaires, arts, or façons. Safran of course helped and approved every selection, and I was pleased with the work. My serving staff had already been selected, much to my relief.

It was time for the repas de midi, and I was to join the Roi and his family for it, but before we left one of the Gardes who I had never met brought in a chest.

“It is a cadeau from my seigneur,” He said bowing. I smiled and accepted the chest before Safran could protest. I opened it and gasped at the contents.

The chest fell to the ground, spilling its contents all over the floor. Hundreds of dead purple and gold butterflies, scattered at my feet. I knew what the meaning was, without having to have it explained to me. Who ever sent this package wanted my life. And before I could be approached by Safran or the Gardes, I promptly fainted and fell into the pile.


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Author's Note: This chapter has been on the back burner for so long, just waiting for me to finish it. Don't except too many updates until mid-Decemeber, as like many of you, I am struggling to finish up the Fall semester. The one good thing about delays, the plot usually thickens. Bad thing, my chapter becomes choppy, as I am writting in different mood and different times.

French Dictonary

aigle- eagle

amoureux- lover

anneaux- rings

argent- silver

artiste- artist

assembleurs- fitters

Automne- Autumn

bijoutier- jeweler

blanc- white

blanchisseuse- laundress

boeuf- beef

boisson- drink

boucles d’oreille- earrings

cadeau- gift

cannelure- singing

chambre- room

cheval- horse

colliers- necklaces

compagnons- companions

Compagnons D'Âme- Companions of Soul

cordonnier- cobbler

Cour- Court

couronne de la Reine- Crown of the Queen

cuisiniers- cooks

Cuisinière Principale- Head Cook

Dame- Lady

Dame dans L’attente- Lady in Waiting

Dame Principale dans L’attente- Head Lady in Waiting, may later be refered to as a governess.

dîner- dinner

Duc- Duke

Duchesse- Duchess

façons- manners/ Ways of the Court

fermier- farmer

feuilles- leaves

fils- son

formel dîner- formal dinner

gardes- guards

glands- acorns

gris de colombe- Dove Grey, a light color grey.

harpe- harp

hauts talon- high heels

indigne d’ une dame- unladylike

jeune mariée- bride

jupons- petticoats

La Chambre Du Guérisseur- Healing Chamber

légumes- vegtables

Les Problèmes de Nouveau et de Vieux- The Problems of New and of Old

Les rêves devraient flotter sur l'air, ne pas être drogue vers le bas aux profondeurs- Dreams should float on the air, not to be drug to the bottom with the depths, meaning you should not weigh down your dreams with thoughts and troubles, for they are dreams.

liberté- freedom

Liège- Liege

mariage- marriage

mère- mother

négociant- merchant

nourritures- food

or- gold

ouvrière couturier- seamstress

pain- in this context, bread

Palais- palace

papillon- butterfly

Parfait- perfect

père- father

poney- pony

pourpre- purple

poussoirs- slippers

précepteurs- tutors

princesse- princess

ragoût- stew

Reine- Queen

repas- meal

repas de midi- midday meal/ lunch

robes- gowns/dresses

robes formelles- formal gowns/dresses

Roi- King

saucisse- sausage

salle- ward

seigneur- lord

sous-vêtements- underwear

Spiritueux/Esprit- Spirits/ Spirit, the race of Aigle and Safran

tête- head

thé- tea

universitaires- academics

volaille- fowl

Name Translation plus brief Character realtionships

Aigle- means eagle. He is the King and is engaged to Papillon

Arbre- means tree. Papillon's head guard

Cereza- means cherry in spanish. She is Rubis apprentince and engaged to Duchesse Tournesol

Colombe- means dove. He is an ex slave who is best friends with Papillon and engaged to Loup

Foin- means hay. He is the Royal Horse Master and dislikes

Foudre- means lightning. He is a Duc and friend of the royal family. He is also Papillon's future foster father.

Lis- means Lily. Dame that is incredibly jealous of Papillon.

Loup- means wolf. He is Aigle's younger twin, prince, and engaged to Colombe

Papillon- means butterfly. He is an exslave that has recently been engaged to Aigle.

Rubis- means ruby. She is a former Duchess and current healer to the royal family. She is also Aigle's and Loup's matneral aunt.

Safran- means saffron. She is the Head Lady in Waiting to Papillion

Tournesol- means sunflower. Duchesse who is engaged to Cereza.