The Prince's Servant (Rai & Bell)

[Ephemera]

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.

 

[Raivh]

An expanse of brilliant green and forests stretched far before him, and farther towered a snow-capped mountain range. Rowan, seated on his mount, admired the magnificent colors created by the morning sunrise. The wind that blew past was cool, hinting that a storm would arrive at some point later that day. Rain would be good for the land. His father’s kingdom had suffered drought the prior year and nearly perished from starvation. A soft smile graced the prince’s otherwise rough features. The king cared dearly for all of his subjects, unlike his mother. Thoughts of the queen swirled like a dark cloud in Rowan’s mind. His smile faded, replaced with a hardened expression and a crease between his gray eyes. The very thought of his mother’s cruelty toward his father’s subject and how she influenced the king’s decisions angered Rowan.

Rowan’s steed snorted and tugged at the reins. The motion was enough to drag Rowan from thoughts of his mother. “Easy boy,” he murmured, patting the horse’s thick white neck. “You’ll have your breakfast soon enough.”

The prince glanced back at the forest trees that towered behind him. A leisurely hunt would have to wait until evening, or perhaps tomorrow. Exhaling, Rowan flicked the reins and the horse stepped forward into a steady gait. The soft green grasses beneath the animal’s hooves muffled its footsteps. As they descended the hill, Rowan’s gaze travelled over his father’s lands. One day, he would be king of the very same lands. With any luck, he would be as good a king as his father was.

An image of the queen flashed through his mind, and the prince scowled. He would betroth a woman greater than his mother. His queen would be kind, caring, sweet and motherly. She would treat her subjects with respect, just as she would be respectful of him as king and as her husband. A different face entered his thoughts then, calming the darkness that swirled in his eyes. Again, a smile so soft appeared on his face, and he looked to the castle. She was probably up already, treading lightly through the halls as she did most mornings. He admired her for her bravery as much as he did her beauty. It had been a while since they’d had a chance to talk. The queen was swift to interrupt if she caught Rowan conversing with Ella. She would never scold her son, but poor Ella. He’d only heard of the punishments inflicted on servants that misbehaved.

“Let’s go, boy. Home!” Another flick of the reins and drive of his heels into the horse’s side sent it into a gallop.

Back within the massive stone walls of his father’s inner kingdom, Rowan led his white steed to the stables. He tended to the animal himself, denying the stable boy’s insistence to leave the work to him. What did it matter if the prince cared for his own horse? Perhaps it mattered to his mother, but it mattered not to Rowan. He was young and perfectly capable of carrying out tasks such as this. Sliding the saddle from the horse’s back, he did allow the stable boy to take it away.

“Bring me a bucket of grain when you return,” Rowan said, with a smile.

The stable boy nodded his response, having given up trying to fight the stubborn prince. Once the stable boy disappeared, Rowan set about mucking out the stall and laying down fresh straw. It would be at least an hour before he finished. However, he’d risen early, and he wouldn’t miss seeing her. Not today.

“Sir.” The stable boy’s voice startled the prince, who turned to look at the young lad. In the boy’s hand was the requested bucket of grain.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Rowan smiled and held out his hand. “Thank you.” He turned and dumped the grain into the feeding trough. When the horse began to eat, Rowan turned back to face the stable boy. An idea entered his mind in that instant and his smile became one of mischief. “A gold piece for you if you will ready my horse for riding again after he’s finished eating. Can you do that?”

As large as two melons did the stable boy’s eyes grow, and he nodded in eager agreement.

“Good,” Rowan said, still smiling, and went about finishing his work.

Perhaps he could convince Ella to permit him to take her outside the castle walls. They could ride through the forest, talk, and maybe even enjoy a meal together. It would have to be a simple meal of bread, but he liked the idea of eating with her nonetheless. These thoughts hastened his pace, and when he was finished, he headed for the castle. He knew where he would find her, provided she hadn’t been as quick as he to finish her chores. She would have to prepare the hall for his father’s meeting.

He entered through one of the three large arched doorways, the screens passage, mindful to step over the bit of stone that separated the hall from other parts of the castle. There, coming toward him, he saw her. She was barefoot, not uncommon of her. The gentle morning light that streamed in through the bay window only made her appear more majestic and beautiful in his eyes.

“Ella.” Her name left his lips on a low note. If ever he could suppress a smile, it wasn’t before her. One was present on his face as his eyes took her in. “How much work have you left to do before my father’s meeting at noon?”

Stepping to her, he reached a hand up and brushed his thumb across her cheek. His fingertips followed the shape of her ear as they tucked strands of hair behind her ear. That was better. He could see more of her angelic face. His hand fell to his side, and he stepped past her to let her find her shoes.

“It’s been a while since we last had a chance to speak,” he said, focusing his sight on the broom she’d been using to sweep up the hall. With a strong grip, he picked it up in one hand, tossed it to his other, and then set it down again.

He turned over his shoulder to face her once more. “I’ve quite missed hearing your voice.” His gray eyes were shining, and he quirked an eyebrow as he looked upon her. “Have you missed hearing mine?” There were many more reasons he’d missed her. Her smile and laugh were two more.