Return to the Castle

As much as you feel like you could use a dip in one of the bathing pools to clear your head, it would probably be best if you did not put the Kingsguard on alert today; you do need to get back to the castle before your absence is reported. The guard at the gate looks utterly relieved when you tap the knocker upon the door; you can tell he was not looking forward to telling Captain Navarre that you had left!

Rather than take the time to go back upstairs to your bedchamber, you slip into the Kingsguard's quarters to make use of the water basin there and clean yourself up a bit, as your recent indulgence with Beatrice has left you... well, suffice to say you could use a damp linen.

As the Kingsguard resides on the lower level of the castle, they are able to make use of a continuously-flowing stream of warm spring water which has been brought in via a clever system of pipes. When the castle was being made ready for occupation, it was discovered that the plumbing had become clogged over time with mineral deposits, slowing the water to but a drop every few seconds. However, your master Methodius proved skilled enough to design replacements, which he insisted be made not of lead like the pipes laid by the monks, but rather of bronze (lead would have been much easier to form into pipes, but Methodius said that it would poison the water). Most of the work of forging the bronze channels fell to you, and you spent almost a full year hammering the metal into sheets, rolling them to make pipes, then sealing them with molten tin. There is a prominent scar on your lower left leg, a reminder of the time you became careless and allowed a red-hot length of pipe to slip from the tongs and strike you. The pipe was bent and had to be repaired, but Methodius did not punish you, as other masters might have. Instead, he allowed you a moment away from the anvil to soothe the wound in the cold water of the stream, and to bandage it properly. Then you were back at work, sweating through the pain of the burn but not from your master's lash.

You scoop up a double-handful of the warm mineral water and splash your face, then take care of other necessities. It's not as refreshing as a bath, but it helps. A polished shield stands over the basin, and you check your reflection. It seems almost strange that you see the same face which stared back at you the previous morning, when Lady Trina was still just another one of your guard.

But, was that indeed all she was? In hindsight, when you think of her and compare her to Captain Navarre or Sir Benedicht, did you truly look upon her in the same way? Of course, she IS a woman, and Methodius taught you more than the forge in your youth. He also taught you the ideals of chivalry, that women must be treated with courtesy; whether be she a Queen, the daughter of a farmer, or even a beggar in the street. A wry smile curls your lip as you consider that Methodius would probably have been appalled at the idea of a woman serving as Kingsguard, or even handling a sword at all for any purpose but to clean it. Your master had very definite ideas about a woman's place in the world as opposed to a man's, one of the few lessons he taught you which you saw fit to largely disagree with. Methodius had died before Trina came to Elyssia, but they would NOT have gotten along very well, of that you are certain!

Whatever the reason, it seems to you that if you are honest with yourself, Lady Trina has always held a special place among your guard. You feel quite strongly that if one of the Kingsguard were to be killed in the line of duty, it is Trina for whom you would weep the most, and this was true even before the time you shared together listening to Beatrice sing.

For a split second, as you turn to leave, you think that you see Trina's reflection in the shield, and your heart begins to jump into your throat! - but no, it is but her spare armor upon its stand. The armor lacks a breastplate, as she prefers to wear either chain mail or boiled leather to protect her body, but the pauldrons over the shoulders are thick steel; in the practice yard, you have seen her stand still and withstand blows to the shoulders so strong they bend the tourney swords. The rerebraces on the upper arms extend long, so that her arms may swing freely without couters over the elbows, and the steel is embossed with feathers that they may appear as wings. The gauntlets are large and heavy, as it is Trina's method in combat to engage closely with the foe, and her hands require the added protection - besides that, the gauntlets make for formidable weapons in their own right! The armor for her legs follows a similar style, covering the areas easy to target but leaving her hips and knees free to move. There is a helm, with a dark plume spilling from the top; but she usually does not wear it, preferring a hood of chain mail.

You look closer at the plume, and suddenly realize something you never had before; it seems to be human hair, not from a horse's tail as is more common. You wonder whose hair it could be. There are streaks of gray among the black, and it is braided in an unusual manner which also seems familiar somehow. You think of Trina's own long, light-blonde hair for a moment... it would make more sense if she were to keep it short, as long hair can be a liability in battle, but it seems that this is one place where she asserts her womanhood. Perhaps that can be an asset in its own way, as an opponent who faced her and realized her sex might make the fatal mistake of underestimating her!

You can't help reaching up and stroking the cheek of the helm, lightly, as you would touch Lady Trina's cheek if she were here. Her eyes do not look back at you from the empty helmet, but their vivid blue comes easily to your imagination. What would you say to her, if she were here? You find you have no idea.

A slight noise just outside startles you, and you step back from the armor stand, your cheeks warming. A moment later, Sir Magnus appears in the doorway.

"Sire!" he exclaims, bowing his head at the neck. "I didna know you were here!"

"I stopped to refresh myself at your basin," you say, indicating the fixture on the wall. "Would that the spring could be channeled up to my own bedchamber, but water does not easily flow uphill!"

"Aye, Sire," Magnus says with a smile. "I was just fetchin' me father's shield that I might carry it for the parade, and Lady Trina asked if I might bring her red cloak."

"She's returned, then?" you ask, perhaps a bit to eagerly; fortunately, Magnus is not one who picks up on subtlety.

"Aye, she's in the stables brushin' down her mount. Steelheart's been made ready, o' course. Er... if you'll pardon me, Sire?"

You realize you are standing in Magnus' way, as Trina's red velvet cloak is draped over the armor stand.

"Of course," you say, taking the cloak off the stand. You go to hand it to him, but...