She looked back at her daughter. "Though love and affection, and thine unceasing reassurance, building him up in his own eyes, will make him stronger inside, and will help most wondrously. Still, when all is said and done, thou canst not know for certain what he will become; thou mayest but be sure that he will change, and if he doth love thee as well as thou dost love him, then, with good fortune, thou wilt grow together, to become more like one another."
Cordelia gazed into her eyes. "I think that you speak from knowledge and life, not from faith."
Gwen nodded slowly. "By Gramarye's standards, thy father was not at all suitable as a husband—nay, not suitable for any but a peasant. He had no family here, seest thou, and though he claimed to be nobly born; none could prove nor disprove it, for his folk were far, far way indeed, even on another star. And he was an adventurer—none can deny that, though 'twas for the good of other people he adventured, not for estates and a fortune. Surely he had no inheritance, other than Fess and his ship, for he was a second son of a second son."
She smiled at her daughter. "Then again, I too was not the most eligible. I was, by all accounts, a foundling, raised by elves, with only the knowledge that my mother had been gently born, and had died at my birth. Her father had been a knight, but he was dead, too, as was all her family. Oh, the elves raised me with assurances that my father was noble, but never told me his name—even though he still lives." For a moment, her eyes crinkled with mirth, though she was quick to hide it.
Cordelia was rather irritated. Whatever the jest was, her mother was not sharing it—and it had very little to do with her problems of the moment. "But did you and Father grow together? Or did you grow apart?"
"By Heaven's blessing, we have grown together," Gwen answered, "though there is no assurance that all the changes have been for the better. At least I had no concern that he would spend more time with friends at the tavern than he would with me—for he had no friends here, and had become persona non grata with the Crown, by the style in which he ended the first rebellion against Catharine. Surely the two of us were ever together, and rejoiced in one another's company. After our sojourn in Tir Chlis, though, he changed, and changed very badly."
"Yes, I remember," said Cordelia. "His temper..." Gwen nodded. "Yet still were we in love. That, and the madness that came upon him when he ate the witch-moss chestnut, which still comes upon him ever and anonthose have been sore trials. And this was a most goodly man among men when we met, mind you!"
"These have been heavy burdens in truth," Cordelia murmured.
"They have indeed. Yet the elves had warned me as I grew that such as this happened to the best of men, from time to time—and women too, daughter! We are human, do not forget!"
"Trials that ended, you could bear." Cordelia came and sat by her mother, taking her hand to hold. "What was it that you could not bear, then?"
"His ever-abiding conviction that he was not good enough for me. Nay, say naught, do not deny it! It is there, and if thou dost think on it, thou shalt see it. This is the trial that does not end—that ever and anon must I build up his inner picture of himself, to shore it up, lest he leave me, ashamed of his weakness, ashamed of his lack of Talent, of his ugliness."
"But none of those are true!" Cordelia protested. "He is comely even now, and must have been far more so when he was young! Aye, in a rough-hewn way, but comely still! And his talents have kept this land of Gramarye balanced 'twixt tyranny and lawlessness—though you have been of great aid to him there..."
"I have," Gwen said, "though I would not have undertaken it of myself, but would have left governance to the Queen, and I do not think that she would have called upon me, for she did not know me well—and I was too old to feel easy among the Royal Coven ... Nay, it is your father who has brought me to such cares about governance, and it is his plans and strategies that have kept Catharine and Tuan on their thrones. He is a most puissant man, my dear, but he believes it not."
Gwen shrugged. "He doth believe that his success hath been good fortune, or that at most, he hath been able to bring others together, and it is they who have managed the troubles that have arisen, not he. Left to his own devices, he doth not believe well of himself. This has been my sorest trial—to always, always give and give, unceasing. But what I have received from him, in affection and outpouring of his love, is at least as much as I have given."
For a moment, Cordelia wondered fleetingly what trials her father would tell of in his lifelong courtship of her mother—but the thought was fleeting indeed, for it had little to do with her own troubles. "But such giving must be to only one, Mother. How shall I choose? And if I choose wrongly, how much grief shall I bring to them both?"
Gwen sighed. "This is a family disease, my dear—being too serious, too concerned for others' welfare. Nay, we seem to have the need, your father and I, to take others' burdens on our shoulders—and not the burdens of one person, or a few, but of all those on this Isle of Gramarye. Still, 'tis what has made us noble, I think—the feeling of obligation for others."
Cordelia became very thoughtful. "If I had not known you were speaking of us Gallowglasses, Mother, I would have thought 'twas Alain." She lifted her head swiftly, sharply. "Am I as dull as he?"
Gwen laughed softly. "Most certainly you are not, my dear! Your moods change like the sun's light in a field of sailing clouds. As soon as a man might begin to think you are serious, you suddenly laugh, and are gay. Nay, you have always been frolicsome, and have a sense of playfulness that Alain doth lack. Your own mercurial temperament offsets his stolidity quite well—and that is one of the reasons why you are well matched."
"Well matched?" Cordelia gazed into Gwen's eyes. "We should marry, then?"
"Oh, nay, nay!" Gwen raised a hand. "Simply because thou dost well together, because thou canst function well in tasks shared, does not mean you should marry. Only love can mean that. If thou dost love him, and he doth love thee, then wed him. If he doth not, be his friend, be one of the pillars upon which he can rest his kingdombut do not be his wife. What can tell you that you should marry? Only love, my dear—only love."
Cordelia reddened. "It may be that love is telling me to wed someone else, Mother."
"If it may be, then it is not," Gwen said firmly.
"But do I love them?" Cordelia cried. "And do I love one, or do I love both?"
"Why, rejoice!" Gwen said softly. "Two men desire thee, two men kindle a burning within thee—and one of them is a rogue, while the other is a prince in every sense of the word. What choice is there, daughter?"
"But how can I be sure of either of them?" Cordelia cried. "I have seen how they look at that ... that cat, Delilah! How I have matched her in beauty, I do not know, but I seem to have, this last night—yet I can surely never be as seductive as she! How can I be sure that either of them would cleave unto me, and not unto such as her? Can true love be a true defense? And which is my true love?"
"Ah." Gwen nodded slowly, her eyes glowing. "If you do not know yet, daughter, you must not say yes to either of them."
"Yes to which question?" Cordelia asked, guarded. "Any question! Thou must not say yes to any question that either doth ask thee!" Gwen said severely. "Not until thy whole heart, and thy whole body, and thy whole soul do answer `Yes!' before thy lips and tongue have dreamed it."