Thread: The Prince's Servant (Rai & Bell)

Lindela Tavari stood motionless despite the chill, whipping morning wind, her bare toes curling atop the cold cobble stones packed into hard earth. Blue eyes focused on the East, far beyond the plains that the Great House towered over, to the horizon where a thick green could be seen on a clear day by keen eyes. A deep yearning, a crippling longing, arose in the girl's breast. It smoldered silently within her chest, raising to a painful knot in her throat where it stuck. It was not often she could escape the eyes of the her head mistress Marge, the lead serving woman, but when she could she would spend her time here, staring out over the kingdom and out to the east where the winds brought with them strange sensations. There seemed to be a whispering at the edges of her mind, like memories forgotten, but they seemed dark and unkind, and so she left them unsifted. Long brown hair was tucked behind a pale tapered ear, but the motion did little to calm the chaotic tangling of those tassels as they danced behind poised shoulders. Lips slightly open, her arms slowly rose, spreading slender fingers upwards in a heartened stretch. She ignored the warming of her back, aware that the autumn rays heralded the beginning of a new work day, and subsequently, the aches and troubles that came with it. With one last sad and curious glance to the East, the woman turned back into the shadow of the Great House and slipped back inside the small backdoor. Silent feet crept along the dark corridors the muted light of morning was not yet enough to wake those who slumbered within the royal house. Light-footed as she was, delicate ears still perked at every sleepy sigh or murmur that came from behind closed doors. To be caught out of her quarters and roaming would not be an event that would end well for the girl. With a rustle of skirts, the woman turned into the safety of the cooking chamber, and crouched to start a fire within the kitchen's stove. Standing, she drew water from the well's pump and used a little to wash her hands. Drying them, Ella, as the nickname had stuck, contemplated the fact that they never seemed to callous, or grow hard, no matter how strenuously she worked. She wasn't well-liked by the other servants here to say the least, but despite their whispered questions and suspicions they did feed her. The royals on the other hand largely ignored her, despite her being in their presence almost constantly. She took no offense at this a commoner such as her had no business meddling in the affairs of royalty. Nimble and deft fingers tied up her hair in a bun, fastening a servant's cap over it which she made certain also covered her strange ears. There were exceptions to her shunning and solitude, for the servants hadn't been her only company. The king himself had often been kind to her amused by the child's quick wit and curiosity he had given her some lessons on language, letters, and geography, before the queen had put a stop to it. And so she had grown in the servants quarters, surrounded by those mostly twice her age. Her one bit of respite was the other child in the household the king's son. Ella let her breath leave her, stirring sliced plums into the porridge that was to be this morning's breakfast. It was simple and fast good hardy oats for the king and his warriors who would be meeting this morning. She envied them not for their livelihoods, but for their liberty to leave the walls of the kingdom and taste freedom. However, lately talk of boarders and danger had been far more hushed and strained. Setting the stirring spoon down, she left to sweep and ready the great hall, pushing thoughts of the prince from her mind. It would not do for her to have such a reaction, the anticipation she woke with and the excitement at seeing him, no matter how much she craved his company. When they were children it was joyous to laugh and play, but now that he was a man she had been visiting him less, and their hour-long talks had reduced to passing conversations in the halls. She smiled at the memories, and how she used to think him such a strange child, and so young having watched him grow from a newborn to a well-set young man had almost been a shock. Time seemed to pass in great leaps. Ella's smile faded while she swept. He was meant to be a king, and she had been little less than a growing companion. As the queen had callously put it she was to keep in mind his position was law, where her's was expendable. Her finger's tightened around the coarse wood of her broom for a moment, before she realized she had not put back on her shoes. Marge would swat her with the stick again. Sighing, Ella left to find the annoying soft leather things, swearing she had left them just before the doors of the great hall.