Living in Minas Tirith was beginning to get a little better. After finally gaining access to the third ring for getting horseshoes, she found a small green garden. It was a pleasant retreat from the overcrowded stone of the city. Also, the bath houses were beginning to become a favorite when she was not working.
Most of the time, the bath houses were crowed with others wanting to soak their dirt and worries away. Ceolswith was just happy to take a bath in warm water that was not chilly like the winter winds or dirty from the rest of the family getting use of the tub first; the woes of being the youngest in the family.
For now, she was laying on the bed, having recently been done telling a story to Cuniel about some of her prior shieldmaiden training. There was a tale of her first time on a horse, leaving the girl in wonder before she fell asleep, using the older woman as a pillow. Before, it was some sword play with sticks she found in the garden. All Ceolswith could do now was stay. She was not going to complain. Cuniel’s company grew on her, taking her away from her bad mistakes in the past and instead, focusing on what she had done well.
But it also got her thinking about what might have happened if she had stayed in Combe without her former husband’s mother chasing her away. Would she be lying in bed with her own child, telling tales?
She had to move due to her arm going numb. It left her staring at her scarred hand, which made her second guess leaving the Mark, again.
“I am a fool,” she muttered into her hands.
It was during the time work kept her up all night. The Mead Hall in Stangard was barely lit with a candle and a tankard of mead often sat close by. Regnwald was most likely on a patrol. All of her friends were in the tavern, allowing the Quartermaster time to work on ore ready to head to Harwick. The training shieldmaiden that was working with her was probably in her house, waiting for a night of worthy- of-death, guilty pleasure that Ceolswith was too busy to go and please.
‘Well, morning actually,’ she thought to herself as a guard opened the doors to the Mead Hall. The sun’s light blinded her a bit as her green eyes refocused to handle the bright light. No matter. She needed a pause from staring at the numbers she learned to write in Combe. A walk in the morning cold would force her mind to work again.
She ran into one of the swarthy, red-haired women that if she were anyone else other than a lying, secretive mead server, Ceolswith would have a reason to look down on her. The other woman in question was out in the fields, picking flowers and other herbs she could not recognize.
“You’re a bit outside the walls, Quartermaster,” the red-haired woman spoke with a wide grin.
“I needed a walk to free my mind.” Her arms crossed in habit before her, “I don’t think I have met you before.”
“Surprising. You have a reputation of knowing everyone here. I am no one important, though. I hardly ever go into Stangard anymore since Stanric left.”
With a nod, Ceolswith glanced up at the clouds. This was supposed to be a quick walk, but she was dragged into heading into a hut in the Limlight Gorge. Instead of a few minutes, it turned into a few hours and an offer to cook a hot meal and a conversation about Ceolswith’s life. Well, what she was willing to share.
The other woman read her like a book, picking up on the Quartermaster’s lack of sharing certain details. Ceolswith snorted in defiance, not wanting to continue. The issues with her married life in Combe and her secret of preferring to bed women were not things she wanted to talk about openly.
“Quartermaster,I cannot find pity for you, but silliness. You have all the skill in the world, but cannot look for it. For a woman with some cleverness, you are the biggest fool I have ever spoken to.” The other woman laughed, “You could be happy but bring self-inflicted pain and misery to yourself. Do not expect to find happiness.”
The door was slammed shut as Ceolswith stormed away. The woman, whose name she never learned, laughed hard enough for the Quartermaster to hear it at the gates of Stangard.
She peeked through (or over depending on the hand) spotting a bottle of wine she bought. She would have to suffer through the agonizing wait for Werendor to return before she could drink it. She would have to wait a few more hours before walking home.
Dinner and conversations of moving to a country home, away from Minas Tirith, were thought out loud by the small family. Surprisingly, Ceolswith was included in the plans. Whether they came true or not was yet to be seen. She was not going to hold on to it.
Her walk home was halted by the bottle of wine and the sight of the stars at night. The temptation of watching the stars for a while held her on the walls, in the second ring, for a while. There were choices presented that she needed to decide on. For now, it was wine.
