In Which Falidor Meets a Lady

December 24, 1162

Falidor had always been something of a night owl, and his preference for the late hours had only strengthened after he had married the early-to-bed Ailede. Though it did bother him somewhat in the event of his having to work in the morning, his somewhat unconventional bedtime, he found, was occasionally a blessing and not a curse, and such was the case this night. He had been curled up on the couch with a book when--as chance would have it--there had been a soft knock on the door.

The caller was a young girl, not likely any older than fourteen or fifteen, completely drenched from her red hair to her leather boots. She claimed that she had been heading to the castle, but her horse had lost a shoe and they now needed a place to stay for the night. She had offered to stay in the stables with the horse, and to be gone before anyone in the house woke in the morning, but Falidor would not hear of it; the stables were no fit quarters for a young woman, and he would be damned if he let her go without a proper bed on Christmas Eve.

"I hope this room will be comfortable enough," he muttered as he led her into the spare bedroom. "I'm sorry if it's rather sparsely furnished, and not particularly fine, but we don't entertain very often."

Shaking her head, the girl's blue eyes half-smiled from beneath her curtain of damp hair. "It's quite fine, I assure you. Thank you--you are a kind man."

She was quite well-mannered, he'd noticed from the moment he'd greeted her, and she spoke like a noble; she must have been, at the very least, the daughter of a knight or a reeve, probably back in Dovia. Falidor vaguely wondered what on earth she was doing, riding up to the castle at Veldora so late at night in the middle of winter.

Frowning, he watched as she lowered herself into the chair against the wall. "Are you sure?" The girl nodded, but Falidor wasn't entirely convinced. "I could escort you to the castle, if you wish; it's not far from here. You could borrow my wife's horse."

"Oh, no!" the girl insisted, as though alarmed by his offer. "I mean... no, thank you. You are already doing me enough of a favor as it is--and I don't even know your name!" she realized suddenly. "Oh dear... uh, do tell it to me, if you feel so inclined."

"Falidor," he introduced himself briefly. "And yourself?"

"Danthia. A pleasure to meet you."

Falidor sent her a quick grin. "Might I ask how old you are, Danthia?"

"Fourteen," replied Danthia promptly. "Closer to fifteen, actually--in April. Yourself?" Her eyes bulged. "Oh, sorry. Perhaps you don't wish to--"

"Twenty-two," Falidor answered, cutting her off. "I'm sorry to ask--I just wanted to know why you were out here on your own. Don't you have a father or a brother or a husband somewhere, wandering where you are?"

As she pulled herself to her feet, she sighed. "My family thinks I'm at home with my husband--I don't think any of them realize he's been gone since October."

"...Oh."

He did not know what to say to that; all he could think of was to ask if she meant 'gone' as in 'missing' or 'gone' as in 'dead', but it was not his place to make such inquiries.

"Well... at least let me take your cloak," offered Falidor at last, cursing himself for not doing so sooner. "We need to get you into some dry clothes."

Danthia turned around, a hint of a sheepish smile on her face. "All right..."

Falidor gently pushed back her hair as she unbuttoned her cloak, then caught it as she allowed it to fall from her shoulders. It felt thick enough, he was relieved to find; at the very least, she had been able to keep somewhat warm.

"Thank you," she acknowledged him as she stretched slightly, liberated from the weight of soaking garment. Falidor took note of her dress, its intricate embroidery and the golden studs upon the sleeves; it seemed that she was of an even higher rank than he had initially taken her for. Perhaps she would have been better off staying at the castle after all.

"I'll fetch you one of my wife's nightgowns," Falidor told the young lady hastily. "It might be a little large for you, but unfortunately, I have nothing better to offer."

"Don't trouble yourself, please," Danthia bade him as he made his way out of the room.

"It's no trouble," he assured her. "After all, I can't have a lady such as yourself sleeping in her drenched day dress, can I?"

"Oh, but I'm no la--"

Falidor released a quick laugh. "Danthia, please; I may not be smart enough to tell when my wife is sleeping around, but I do know a noblewoman when I see one. Now, I shall be back in a few minutes--after that, I trust that you will make yourself as comfortable as possible."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. "All right. Thank you, Falidor; this is the kindest anyone has been to me in months."

To that, he truly had no answer--it seemed a statement no one should ever have reason to make.

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