One thing she noticed about the White City was that there were still horses to enjoy. No one bothered her when she walked in. In fact, the head stablemaster offered her work the day before. At least it was something good since coming.
She had traded her finer green dresses of Harwick and Beaconwatch for something less than her normal wear. The rest of the coin she received from the trade went to string to repair her new clothes. After a day of repairing, Céolswith settled on that she was going to look like the outsider. She was back home and now was in Minas Tirith.
"I am sending you to Beaconwatch," Aldor Harding told her months before, "Word has come to me that you can read and write. They need someone to help at the border. Besides, if your habit of fleeing convinces you again, you will not have far to go."
His snide comment did not go unnoticed. As word about Stangard began filling the rumor-mills of Harwick, she started hearing the same kind of comments behind her back. Her father did not comment when she mentioned it briefly.
"Don't forget your blade when you go." was his only remark that night.
Her sword was hidden away since returning. She did not want to look at it. While her hand and nose had healed since, she was still having nightmares about the fight. Céolswith packed it, wrapping it in cloth. She was dreading using it again. Her plumed helm would remain in Harwick.
The smith in Minas Tirith shook his head when she tried selling her blade. She was told that no one would buy it. With the Forges of Cirion in the city, her blade might be used for scrap metal. All the former Quartermaster could do was wrap her blade in cloth again and carry it around the city. The day was not full of complete victories.
At least the Splintered Shield offered shelter from the outside. The horrible stew and Gondorian wine kept her company as she watched the young guards relax on their time off duty.
