No Woman At All (April 3010) - [Éowyn]
Aug 26, 2018 18:17:31 GMT -5
Post by Avila on Aug 26, 2018 18:17:31 GMT -5
“You’re wearing that to the wedding?”
Avila’s eyes narrowed on Balder, his brownish locks neatly combed, though perhaps dull in shine. His gaunt face caught the failing light of the evening through the window curtains, nearly gold for his pallor. Avila’s nose crinkled, her pale eyes moving once more from head to hem with a huff. “It’s my uniform,” Balder answered.
In truth, the visage was striking; his leathers and maille were clean and tended, his tall frame wearing the weight with more ease than a man of lesser stature would. Yet, though Balder would not admit to such a thing that evening, he felt tired. Some days were better than others with his confounded condition; tonight, he could tell already, was going to be a long one. It was a pity to the Eored man that his wife appeared not so burdened.
“It’s common.” Avila huffed, flicking her golden hair over her shoulder as she turned back to the looking glass to apply the last of the paint to her lips. “If you had a captain’s—”
“Not this again,” Balder grumbled. His wife’s eyes were burning, looking through the very reflection to find him in disdain. “I’m happy to serve under Captain Ceolmund.”
“Content to serve, more likely,” Avila retorted. “Won’t try for the name of a captain, won’t support your family—”
Balder turned and tread heavy toward the sitting room, though his voice filtered back into the bedchamber in bitter winds. “I support my son just fine. My wife, though, is never content.”
With a huff, Avila finished with her lips and reached for the new beads she had bought to decorate her braids.
--
Avila felt vindicated when she stepped through the doors to the hall of Meduseld and found that many eyes turned to mark her entry. The beads set in her crown of braids glinted in the rays that fell through the doorway, and the fine dress of linen and embroidery could not be mistaken for that of a common woman. Indeed, Avila glanced to Balder with a curdle of her lip. He looked as if he were more a servant than a spouse.
“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Balder grumbled to her, the sound low and hardly carrying beyond her ears alone.
The woman looked to him with the same venom as a viper. “You’ll be the embarrassment!” She hissed in reply.
Balder said nothing, but stepped off to the side. There was no use in arguing with the woman; he had been trapped in marriage to her for many years, most of them full of regret. In truth, he was not certain the woman could feel embarrassment; yet, he would. He always did. “Athelstan,” he greeted the redheaded soldier as he smiled, moving toward the drink table. “Good evening!”
As her husband struck up conversation with those of the Eored he served with, Avila went upon the prowl. This was precisely the place all those of standing were to be, those who were loved by the grooms, and in turn by a vein in the line of the royal blood. Surely this was the proper place for one such as herself—however much her husband was ill fit for such company.
She spotted him first by the table of food, and her heart pattered in thrill, and her eyes hungrily swept over him. “Captain Ceolmund!” She greeted, voice saccharine as honey and demure as velvet. She looked about, paying special mind to the figures gathered about the array of food. Well, the captain was certainly there, but his cow was not.
Avila’s smile widened. “It is good to see you away from your work, Captain! I daresay a man such as yourself deserves more time to himself. A pity your wife cannot be bothered to appear with you.” Though, perhaps he understood now the same as the rest of the city: Runa was a buffoon at best, and a laugh amongst ladies of caliber in Edoras.
He was probably second guessing parenthood with her. Perhaps this was the opportunity Avila needed…
Yet, when she turned back, a berry delicately held between her fingertips, the woman found the captain already gone. She caught sight of him ducking out the door at the front of the hall; likely his sow was demanding him home. No matter—Avila would merely stop by the next day. Perhaps with a decent meal for the man to eat. Béma knew how poor a cook Runa was sure to be.
She popped the berry into her mouth, thoughtfully humming as she began to chew. “A woman with swords,” Avila scoffed. “No woman at all.”
Avila’s eyes narrowed on Balder, his brownish locks neatly combed, though perhaps dull in shine. His gaunt face caught the failing light of the evening through the window curtains, nearly gold for his pallor. Avila’s nose crinkled, her pale eyes moving once more from head to hem with a huff. “It’s my uniform,” Balder answered.
In truth, the visage was striking; his leathers and maille were clean and tended, his tall frame wearing the weight with more ease than a man of lesser stature would. Yet, though Balder would not admit to such a thing that evening, he felt tired. Some days were better than others with his confounded condition; tonight, he could tell already, was going to be a long one. It was a pity to the Eored man that his wife appeared not so burdened.
“It’s common.” Avila huffed, flicking her golden hair over her shoulder as she turned back to the looking glass to apply the last of the paint to her lips. “If you had a captain’s—”
“Not this again,” Balder grumbled. His wife’s eyes were burning, looking through the very reflection to find him in disdain. “I’m happy to serve under Captain Ceolmund.”
“Content to serve, more likely,” Avila retorted. “Won’t try for the name of a captain, won’t support your family—”
Balder turned and tread heavy toward the sitting room, though his voice filtered back into the bedchamber in bitter winds. “I support my son just fine. My wife, though, is never content.”
With a huff, Avila finished with her lips and reached for the new beads she had bought to decorate her braids.
--
Avila felt vindicated when she stepped through the doors to the hall of Meduseld and found that many eyes turned to mark her entry. The beads set in her crown of braids glinted in the rays that fell through the doorway, and the fine dress of linen and embroidery could not be mistaken for that of a common woman. Indeed, Avila glanced to Balder with a curdle of her lip. He looked as if he were more a servant than a spouse.
“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Balder grumbled to her, the sound low and hardly carrying beyond her ears alone.
The woman looked to him with the same venom as a viper. “You’ll be the embarrassment!” She hissed in reply.
Balder said nothing, but stepped off to the side. There was no use in arguing with the woman; he had been trapped in marriage to her for many years, most of them full of regret. In truth, he was not certain the woman could feel embarrassment; yet, he would. He always did. “Athelstan,” he greeted the redheaded soldier as he smiled, moving toward the drink table. “Good evening!”
As her husband struck up conversation with those of the Eored he served with, Avila went upon the prowl. This was precisely the place all those of standing were to be, those who were loved by the grooms, and in turn by a vein in the line of the royal blood. Surely this was the proper place for one such as herself—however much her husband was ill fit for such company.
She spotted him first by the table of food, and her heart pattered in thrill, and her eyes hungrily swept over him. “Captain Ceolmund!” She greeted, voice saccharine as honey and demure as velvet. She looked about, paying special mind to the figures gathered about the array of food. Well, the captain was certainly there, but his cow was not.
Avila’s smile widened. “It is good to see you away from your work, Captain! I daresay a man such as yourself deserves more time to himself. A pity your wife cannot be bothered to appear with you.” Though, perhaps he understood now the same as the rest of the city: Runa was a buffoon at best, and a laugh amongst ladies of caliber in Edoras.
He was probably second guessing parenthood with her. Perhaps this was the opportunity Avila needed…
Yet, when she turned back, a berry delicately held between her fingertips, the woman found the captain already gone. She caught sight of him ducking out the door at the front of the hall; likely his sow was demanding him home. No matter—Avila would merely stop by the next day. Perhaps with a decent meal for the man to eat. Béma knew how poor a cook Runa was sure to be.
She popped the berry into her mouth, thoughtfully humming as she began to chew. “A woman with swords,” Avila scoffed. “No woman at all.”