Private Tales Confidence Astride

[Helena]

A storm blustered, inside and out.

But the cool drops of rain that soaked clothes, and clung to curled tresses and warm skin did help damp the fire in her belly. A thing that twisted and turned with doubts, even as the sound of all the cold shower about her filled her ears.

What a fool she had been. Was. To think that. No. There had been no thought. Simple action, spurred by wants and wishes. And met by something she had not planned for.

To that she smiled. Went on with her gentle amble. Thought.

How her feet did like the cool squish of the mud, beneath their soles. How her breath felt crisp and sharp in her lungs.

A flash of lightning. The low roar of thunder, and the shake of tall trees that had been there since before she had arrived to this place. It was the earthy musk of the stables that pulled her out of her daze. Had her feel how cold she was, so she made for the stables.

 

[Aarno]

Adjacent to the stables, accessible by a squat door, was a small storeroom. And in it, to a spot temproraily cleared, had been set a workstation. To light the meager space, burned ten candles.

Another room for gear, as requested — He crossed out a couple measurements he’d written on the wall, chalk clacking on the old wood. Or we could just knock down this entire room, build a better one — The thought had him turn around to inspect the block model on the table, one provided by an eager squire he’d had along some days ago. The parts had a little too much detail to his liking, seeing as it was for the mere purpose of crudely mapping out a plan, but suppose one couldn’t fault another for passionately crafting things.

Even when it all remained, ultimately, to be thrown away. Humming, he flicked his index at the little block representing the storeroom, casting it aside from the rest of the building. But — There is a bit of an incline right beyond where the current foundation terminates — What was it —

He squinted, lifting his look at the myriad of markings. Three strides? We’ll have to see whether the ground’ll hold from there — Or—

The flames flickered to the pull of draft, sharp shadows alive on every corner, item and surface. From beyond the small, ajar door, came the sound of a heavy door closing. A horse nickered.

Almost involuntarily he’d paused to listen, left suspended into a lean against one arm. The rain was beating down heavy on the roof, creating an ambience that drowned out a multitude of minor sounds. But — Even then, he was rather certain he would’ve heard another enter, had they done so. He had a day’s worth of whichever knight come stomping in, boots heavy on the slab floor. Or the squires and their ever hastened footfalls.

The wind again, then, tossing the door. The latch had given plenty times before.

He put the chalk down at once, rubbing the dust off his hands on his way to the door. The hinges gave a pitiful moan as he opened it entire, marching through, if only so far. In the lanternlight, there was someone after all.

“ Captain? “ He tried, genuinely surprised. Not so much that she should’ve been here, but that she should’ve been — So daringly dressed — For the weather, that was. He might’ve even considered it all inappropriate, hadn’t he a similar judgement for his own astonished stare, which he quickly averted at the floor.

“ Caught in the rain, were you? Let me just— “

For something to do, he whipped around to grab a blanket from one of the crates stacked next to the door whence he came.

 

[Helena]

Her eyes went large as the door came open. Met by the fire hued gaze of Syr Aarno, she looked away, as did he. The rain still poured, pitter patter across her shoulders. Her face warm as he hurried to help.

Helena stepped through the portal, clothes all drip and cling. Feet cold and wet against the floor, where mud slurried and turned to puddle beneath her.

She turned and closed the door, with a sturdy shut. The cold still down into her bones. Her feet, flat against the chilled stone, she turned about, towards the warm glow of candle flames, and the sounds of the beasts that did stir, quiet in their pens.

"Sorry," she said with a half smile, as she plod towards the warm dark of the pens. Saw Rocinante's bright eyes, stare at her through the low-light. "I'd forgotten that you took up shop in here, Syr Aarno,"

Rocinante gave a dip of the head. A huff of breath. A concerned flick of the ear as Helena approached him.

Her wet feet plod across the hay and dirt laden floor. Skirt dirtied by the trek. She stopped before the gate. and Rocinante approached. Lowered his large head and sniffed at her with its great snoot. Nudged at her.

 

[Aarno]

He gave but a hum at the apology, lest he insult the good Captain by tossing his hand at it in denial.

“ Saves steps — “ The blanket in hand, he turned. “ To be out here, at least for the planning and measuring. The stablemaster has their— “ His free hand went out in a gesture, sentence pausing for thought as he caught himself about to speak past his station. Undignified.

“ Ideas. Ones that have conflicted with mine and what craft can make possible. " Expected enough. He tried a lighter tone for that, masking frustration as he handed the blanket to her, look fixed on it.

“ But worry not be upon me — we’ll figure it out in the end, usually. “

 

[Helena]

She smiled as he spoke his reasons clearly. Gave hints to the everyday negotiations of the Monastery.

Projects that needed doing. Old hands that had grown accustomed to the lay of the lot, whose ideas were rooted in traditions that only served the purpose of comforting sensibilities, regardless of any actual sense.

A part of their world she too was intimately familiar with. Loathe as she was to admit it, from time to time.

Her hand worked across Rocinante's snout, gentle as she felt the bristly hairs with her cold fingertips. Felt the warmth bleed into her with each little motion of care and affection they plied.

"I have no doubt that you will, Aarno," she said easily. As if there was no truer thing, than her confidence in him. "You have a steadiness to you, that seems to weather most storms," she laughed at her own choice of words. "Pun, not intended," she stole a glance back at him, and saw that he had the blanket in hand.

She turned back to Rocinante, and whispered a little something to him, and the horse huffed. Bobbed its great head, and rose up from her touch to stare Aarno down. For but a breath, before he turned away and retreat into his pen.

Helena turned to face Syr Aarno, and walked, sure, up to him, and reached for the blanket, as the fire light flickered from the office behind the great knight, and panted its warm glows about his frame, and against the cold blue shadows of the stables.

"Thank you, Aarno," she said as she smiled to him. "I, well..." her smile turned coy. "I'm half glad you are here, even if I'd forgotten,"

 

[Aarno]

He didn’t receive the sudden compliments as gracefully as he would’ve preferred. It was all in a nod and a subdued smile, amusement in the exhale that left him more for her cheerfulness than what was being said. None of it was disbelief or denial, for he knew she spoke true, but rather that he found himself a touch unaccustomed to having the target of such kindness be something else than his craft.

As she accepted the blanket he’d finally look at her again, finding a smile accompanying the thanks. The latter part puzzled him, despite her tone that remained a lighter note, if not one resembling jest. Half glad — for unexpected company then, perhaps, even if it wasn’t initially preferred and could be done without. What it certainly wasn’t for was his conversation, which he wouldn’t have considered particularly thrilling even on a good day.

His was more the companionable silence. But somehow, to have submit to such at a moment as this felt wrong. He could’ve said some platitude to the effect of ‘I live to serve’, but that would’ve been a plain lie, one too glaring even if he’d given it with his best grin.

“ You might’ve forgotten, but neither was I meant to be here at this hour. “ He admitted, glancing past his shoulder at the candlelit storeroom. “ Or am not, generally. Not that I resent that I should’ve been. “

Though he kept a pleasant tone, his smile had faded to a mere ghost, filed down by curiousity and worry. A mix of both in his look, he averted at the floor, like he might find eloquence betwixt the slabs.

“ I realize you might’ve sought mere shelter, wished for silence and solitude here, but — “It is such a curious occasion, all things considered. Though the rest of the sentence escaped him, he willed his look to regard her anew, firm and sincere.

“ Is everything quite alright? “

Helena

 

[Helena]

Her hands grabbed up the blanket, and she worked it about her shoulders, felt the still cold water there beneath the scratchy warmth the blanket promised. She pulled it tighter against herself

"Not much, gets passed those eyes, does it," her voice came small, and tender as she looked away. Her smile painted by the candle glow as shadows danced about them. "Everything is..." she thought, and stepped passed the tall mason. Water dripped from her skirts and ran down with each quiet step. "Well, a right mess, really," she said plainly.

There was a measure of relief in her voice. She sat up onto crate, beside the warm candles, and let the blanket off her shoulders. Laid it neatly beside her, a bit away so the water wouldn't wet it.

"But what else is new," she said as she tended to the water logged in her curls. "Half the order is afield, fighting things we half know, and here I am," she smiled wistful, as the last wring of her curls saw cold water pour out and splash onto the floor. She pulled her feet up onto the plane of the crate, and hugged her knees against her chest. Rest her cheek there a moment."Trying to pretend like its all ok,"

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

She pulled his attention along as she went, some manifestation of her statement. The lot of him stirred to rotate upon the heel, watching and listening, silent save for the scrape of leather soles.

A right mess — he couldn’t but nod his head at it in understanding, arms folding like for warmth or want of something to do, to hold. An idle shuffle was upon him as he transfixed on the specular flicker of falling droplets, the candles glowing off every single one.

Her words brought back to mind one somber squire, the weariness of road and battle embedded in every fiber, the kind that went beyond the physical. It afflicted the looks that regarded things like through a waterfall, with an amount of preoccupation, like they’d come back with damning knowledge or found a yearning that’d yet to relent. There wasn’t necessarily regret there, just one of the many sentiments that’d be felt when one found themself rather — small? In comparison.

“ Here you are, indeed. As am I. “ He added with an amount of sympathy, shoulders rising in a shrug that the meaning might be softer. She looked terribly diminished then, perched on the crate with her limbs in a bundle and the hem of her dress yet weeping, all without as much as a frown. He might’ve thought the persisting smile brave, had it not appeared so forlorn.

Such be the weight of rank, authority, responsibility. Destiny, even, should one be of the mind to entertain ideas as that. He couldn’t claim having done so, despite the realization that at this rate, quite nigh anything was possible. An exhale left him, thoughtful.

“ And engaged in a very similar pretension, am of the mind to claim. “ In his meandering, his stare took in the drawings on the walls, dimensions and requirements for materials, plans for a year ahead. A time in which not much might be accomplished and yet, even more could happen.

“ If not, I admit, for even half the importance or impact as yourself. There is a place for it all, but a room as this — “ A turn in the corner of the room, redirecting in a slow pace that made to approach whom he spoke to. “ Is no battlefield nor council hall. “

He came to a halt next to the crate, settling to lean against another that stood in its company.

“ Might it then be desirable to not pretend, if just for a while, on the regular. Other than in one's lonesome, in the dark. “ A tilt of the head, inquisitive.

“ Have you such safety with someone? To share in. “

Helena

 

[Helena]

At some point in the Mason's cool comforts, Helena found herself staring at his lonesome gaze.

Here he was indeed.

She found herself thinking as he picked his words in those small moments of quiet between them. Punctuated by the patter of the rain. The rumble of the thunder. And the small burning of so many candles, that flickered and danced about in their quiet vigil.

He strode toward her, and she felt her face warm some as she turned her gaze, to those same drawings he had looked to a moment before. The sure lines traced across the surface of the parchment. Traced by sure hands, and a confident arm.

His words kept coming. Like much needed rain that fed a feeling within her chest. A warmth that crept up. She felt tears well about her eyes, and she rest her head behind her knees, and laughed. Felt a warm wetness roll down her cheeks, and drink into the sheer fabric of her gown, the ghost of heat bled into the cold, and her shoulders bounced.

"Would you be that for me?" she peered up above her knees, eyes bright with tears. "If just tonight?"

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

A laugh and the burial of a gaze, a withdrawal heralding pause that hung for but a moment. And he watched on, still as a pond, waiting for her return.

As she did, it wasn’t with words he’d necessarily expected, the request frankly catching him off-guard as did the revealed expression. He didn’t mind either, but the sight of her as this did stir a sadness into him, splintering his composure. Sympathy furrowed his brow, a weight in his throat making it hard to swallow, let alone speak.

So he gave but a nod instead. He pushed off his seat and closed the remaining distance, scooting over to her side. It was a bit of an awkward fit on the crate, permitting a mere inch of air betwixt, but he hadn’t it in him to care.

Breathing out, he reached carefully with one arm, landing a hand on her shoulder.

Helena

 

[Helena]

There was a tightness in her stomach, as she watched him, a whole crate away.

For surely, her request had been, much. Rank and circumstance mingled about, sure as the candle smoke in the air.

Yet he was there. Unwavering in his calm and sure presence. Listening to her words, and giving freely of his own. How easy he made it. To feel all she felt.

Nervous. Sad. Afraid. Cared for.

He came closer, and her breath seemed to catch in her lungs as he settled beside her. What cold space between them, gone as his arm reached around her, and his broad steady hand palmed her shoulder. Brought a happy huff of breath from her nose, a warm smile across her lips, though her tears still rolled down across her cheeks.

She let herself fall toward him. Her shoulder braced against his side. His warmth slowly bled into her, and the tightness in her gut eased as she eased in his arm.

Her hands unwound from her legs, and she let her feet down. She turned her head,to nudge his hand upon her shoulder. Glad for the moment. For the warmth. For him.

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

The wary tension upon him fell away gradually as she appeared to not mind the gesture, but rather embraced it, even smiling a little. Settled upon his seat like any which dignified stump, he’d support her figure as it leaned against him, damp chemise and all. He adjusted his arm around her slightly for comfort, hand giving a little squeeze of encouragement on her shoulder.

Close as they were, he’d hold her, a light pressure equally for grounding as it was for balance. Her head keeled to nudge him and he ministered a touch in turn, leaning his cheek against the top of her head for just a breath. It was strange to feel so at ease with saying nothing, despite the fact that a great many things could’ve been spoken for whichever effect. Thinking of it, listening to the rain and the huff of candles, he nigh dreaded the inevitable loudness of words.

But a low hum was given to acknowledge the moment, one that wouldn’t hurry nor disapprove, but allowed a silent lingering. For as long as there was staying in it — he wouldn’t move.

Helena