The House of Aragon.

The Good Traveler

I force myself to look in my lap after my mother closes shut  the carriage door, her words still ringing in my ears. There are already tears searing down my face and I am afraid of what I might do if I look back at my family. My home. Mi  vida.

I close my eyes tightly in order to stop the flow of tears from running down my cheeks and hold tightly onto the folded piece of parchment that my father had just given me. With that we were off, my carriage at the head of a procession leaving my home.

"My Lady," I woke with a start as the coachman touched his gloved hand to my shoulder. "We'er taking rest for the while, my Lady, I suggest you stretch your legs." He outstretches his arm for me to grip as I withdraw myself from the carriage.

"Thank you," I mutter, trying to find some bearing and wonder how it is that I fell so immediately to sleep, for it feels like only moments ago that we were leaving the little villages that surround my home but surely, by the look of the sky, that was more than a few hours ago. We are in the country, secluded and a-ways-away from my fathers Estate and the villages surrounding it. In the distance, beyond some hills I can make out some rows of grape vines and a small hut beside them but other than that, I suppose I could scream with all the air in my lungs and no one would be able to hear it.

Except for my retrieving party that is.

Behind my carriage are four more, three to be shared amongst the nobleza who have come to escort me to Vallaloid  and one to carry my wedding dowry, from what I've seen the servants and horse keepers either ride or walk along side the procession.

"Hola," I turn my head to a semi-familiar voice that belongs to María Delgada, a low ranking Lady of the Court. She is sitting beneath a tree surrounded by the two other women who have come to take me to Vallaloid. Ana, her daughter and  Marquilla her niece. "Venir aqui, por favor."  She beckons me over.

They are sitting atop a large lotto carpet already loaded with dishes of cheese and pears and bread that sit before them. "Hello." I mummer and nod to María before folding myself neatly beside her. 

The sun is warm and high in the sky even as the wind is brittle and frigid. A cold gust blows Marquilla's hair into her face as she  pours horchata into a wooden cup and hands it to me. It's a cool drink and one that reminds me fiercely of home and smells strongly of honey and cinnamon but I cannot bring the cup to my lips. So I set it down pick up a hunk of bread to give my hands something to do. After a long while Maria speaks up.

"How are you fairing, mi querida," I'm not sure if María noticed my uneasiness or if she's just being polite but either way a force a smile and tell her that I am weary but well. I look at her face and she gives me a faint smile and I know she's letting the matter drop.  the only conversations I've ever had with this woman have been about trifle things like whether or not we've procured the proper amount of mothballs to keep my clothing fresh for this trip or whether or not we should add embossed silver cutlery to by dowry chest but she seems considerably less vain than I thought her to be.

 Suddenly I really am weary, even though I've just slept for Lord knows how long. Everything from the eager looks on Ana and Marquilla's faces to the balmy whipping of the late autumn wind to María's comforting smiles mock me. Test every reserve of self control I've managed to maintain. The weather is pleasant, the people are pleasant, the food, the horses, the carriage ride are all more than pleasant.

But I don't feel pleasant. Everyone I love is a quart-day ride away and there is no turning back. I'm exhausted  to think what that means. I've been assured that Valladolid will be  but that doesn't change the fact that it will never be my home. I may live there 'till the day I die but  Valladolid will never be Castile.