No one could have guessed, least of all she, that her employer's son would take notice of a plain, little kitchen girl. There was an instant connection between them. Of course, she'd never have dared to act on it. But, suddenly, the daily dance had become the thing she busied herself with to distract her thoughts from him, rather than from the mystery that was her own tale. Stolen glances and subtle smiles became the reason she sprang from her cot each morning. Weeks passed, and still neither had the nerve to voice their feelings. People had begun to notice. Speculate. They whispered of it in the halls, and giggled about it when they thought they could not be heard. Rhyya made no effort to explain, aside from her softly-spoken reminders that she was merely a servant, and knew her place well. A fact which kept her from entertaining the idea until the moment when he took her hand.
Unfortunately, rumours can often be presumed truth. After a humiliating exchange with the Lady of the House, Rhyya considered moving on again. She had no intention of burdening a family that had been so kind to her. But, love is seldom compliant. When she was with him, everything was clear. No questions. No debate. No mystery. They knew each other without explanation.
Rhyya stayed, abandoning any lingering need to discover herself. Where she came from no longer mattered. From then on, she only looked ahead to where they would go together, having no idea that a storm was brewing on the horizon. The coming weeks brought pain and tragedy to House Hawthorn. The Lord and Lady of the House had been slain, and it had shaken the foundation of the tightly-knit group to it's core. Rhyya had committed herself to being some manner of comfort to those around her, whether that be to the brave warriors among them who longed for justice, or to her new love, who had overnight been thrust into manhood and left to lead those he admired and respected.
She had become the stand-in, in some fashion. A substitute mother to the youngest Hawthorn. A substitute Lady of the House to the servants, and even some of the guards. A substitute wife to Tylan, perhaps, for she quickly assumed the responsibility of tending to his needs as if they'd been married a lifetime. She cleaned his armour as he slept. Packed his meals and prepped his horse for travel, and lent a tender ear to his concerns. But, her most obvious self-appointed task was as his protector. The ever-cheerful kitchen girl had become a force to be reckoned with. Her temper showed itself whenever a threat was in view, no matter how small.
When the day or their marriage finally came, it was little more than a formality. There was no need to speak eloquently-worded promises or waste time dressing up the yard with flowers and such. The bond she shared with Tylan was undeniable and unbreakable. Their life as a matched set had already been carved into stone. Still... one is left to wonder if perhaps one day, Rhyya's past may somehow choose to seek her out instead...
...if that is even her name at all.
