Mortal Unity; Immortal

What stood once as a refuge for dreams, a haven for the spirit, and a pleasant confinement for the body, now resembled grounds taken over by the Truveau’s.

The Mance’s were one of the oldest families in all of England. Their wealth had at one point surpassed that of the Crown, and whilst for all their riches they had much to show of, it was their heritage – their standing as a respectable group of persons in this time of times, which classified them as a family worth loving. Certainly, of these persons, Aron Mance was an individual whose individuality beckoned of such a respectable sentiment in another, were the other to cross paths with the eldest of the Mance children.

Despite his rich upbringing, Aron had managed to cultivate that healthy attitude of being a conservative unsettler of things – not reckless, and obedient far more than was necessary. His demeanour was that of a man with a lot on his mind, and it was true, for Aron Mance was a man in love with a commoner who went by the name of Parrie Sicklesmith. And together, the pair had blossomed into a happy one, and whilst their courtship was entertained far from the glares of Mance Castle, it was a strong love they practiced each moment.

The advance of the Truveau’s from the south had prospered an unsure sentiment at Mance Castle. And the common practice of defending one’s home had been traded in favour of a courageous stance – namely an ignorant one, citing that the Mance’s had more than enough of an army to contend with the measly Truveau’s, should they have arrived on a pleasant Friday evening with their thousand strong. The Truveau’s, though having arrived on such a Friday, had arrived carrying to their strength not a thousand, but five of them, and had more or less caught the falsely secure Mance’s off guard. And thus, what had an afternoon before been a scene of casual living – carefree and resplendent, over the course of a short span had turned into somebody else’s living quarters, and far away, as the Mance’s sat in Yen’s Forest, discussing their ideals, rather, the pride of them, a common sentiment being that of naiveite was agreed to be a part of the Mance blood, and to this, all seven individuals readily agreed. Particularly Aron, who was now thinking of Parrie, and how it must be for her.

The takeover had more or less rendered any hopes of a planned getaway futile, and a hasty one - the one the Mance’s had participated in - was of the kind that it prompted not the possibility to ensure of one’s loved one’s their health, or even inform them that it might be a time before a certain concerned figure might see them again. This Aron thought of when he thought of Parrie, as the Mance’s discussed their foolishities. He rose, and walked to the edge of camp, from where, far in the distance, the spires of Mance Castle could be seen almost touching the sky - blurred and grey. It felt abnormal to view one’s home in this manner – with a distant longing, not amidst it, away from. Therefore, one would have felt, in addition to resentment, anger, and sadness more of, as one contemplated of the situation, a helpless attitude developing towards it. For the Mance’s had never been away from home, and knew not therefore the feeling of being strangers to their own halls and grounds, which, in the best of times is a quicksand to contend with, and in a unique circumstance? – well, it was that solutions and hope came not to any particular individual associated with the Mance name. As Aron watched the outline of home stand tall in the distance, he crumbled and broke down, lamenting his fortunes and his luck. Knowledge that Parrie was not with him was enough to distress him for a lifetime, and add to it that he had lost sight of home, it marked him a guileless man, with none a happy thought to spare to that matter.

It was his elder sister, Cornelia, who came and sat beside him, and who put an arm around his sturdy frame so to lend more strength than any shield may have hoped to inspire. She whispered in his ears words of consolation, and Aron, sunk into the recesses of his self, nodded. He knew that despite the impracticality of the situation, there was one thing that he could still count on – family. In them, Aron knew, there was reprieve. He patted Cornelia, and after kissing her lovingly escorted her back to camp.

“What must we do?” asked Taylor Mance – the head of the family.

“Survive,” said Emilie Mance – the mother.

“We need food, and shelter for the night,” said the youngest of them Rupert, who had now come to resign himself to a comfortable position, perched upon a log a dreaming figure.

Aron wasted no time and scoured the surroundings for fruit and edibles. He found a shrubbery consisting of wild berries, and having spent a childhood hunting and playing amidst the confines of the forest, recognized them to be friendly to one’s insides. He plucked a few and placed them in a bag, and continued to scour the surroundings for shelter. He found a cave nearby, and appraised it to be reasonably adequate in that regard as to house a few repentant individuals for a night.

The Mance’s found sleep easy to come by that solemn evening – there was nothing tying them down to a burdensome present other than their presence in it, and, therefore, they found it reasonably adequate to reprieve themselves from it, albeit for a few moments in which they might have recognized that fortitude often trumped rank, were one to find himself part of such a predicament in any a time. And so, caretakers of a dreamless night, they awoke to find the Truveau’s standing over them, artillery aimed straight at, more or less the happy night before a fortunate happening as a result.

They were escorted back to Mance Castle, and put away in the dungeons. There, stories of a childhood were discussed, and together the Mance’s found a sense of unity prosper that they had simply not known of before. It seemed when everything was against them, they were therefore greater for themselves, and this teaching, though pale in comparison to freedom, was nevertheless the feature of a familial bond as the seven practiced spending their time with as much a gentility as could have been possible then.

And then, one morning they were escorted out from the dungeons, and sent back out into the forest. They had nothing on them. The Truveau’s had taken over the castle, and were now in the process of forming their own territories and laws, all whilst the Mance’s would be left to find the nous and courage to build a life of and from simplicity, somewhere, with each for the other, a family held together by a circumstance.