Ceolswith

She walked gracefully back to her room, her faked smile turning back into a worrisome scowl. And the room was not her room; it was a spare guest room of the Mead Hall. Her house was temporarily given to a woman that was not even supposed to be in Stangard. Her close friend, Cynebur, had left Forlaw to check on them and in the meantime, ran into a growing camp of orcs. That left Céolswith lying on her back in bed, which was uncomfortable in her mind, and staring at the ceiling while her recently broken nose throbbed and ached in pain from being broken in a sparring match.

Pale eyes raised from the meagre meal that rested on captain's table, flashing they took in the red-clad form before him. The tankard was raised from trestle in saluted greeting. ''Westhu hāl.''

Ceolswith greeted in return, "Westhu hal, Æthelwigend. I heard you returned. I just wanted to see how you fare."

Rest was the common phrase being tossed around her. The healers told her to rest when she was sick with the strange illness going through Stangard. She told the young shieldmaiden, Niehstu, to rest after their recent fight with brigands. The word did not hit her thoughts until Règnwald told her to rest after turning down her offer to serve Stangard as a shieldmaiden again. Cèolswith had to stop herself from retorting his request. He reminded her that she did not have to leave the walls and fight. It was not her place.

She took Hreddere from his place in the stables when she was stopped by a young face. The young shieldmaiden was giving her a confused look as the Quartermaster was dressed in chainmail.

“Quartermaster,” Niehstu spoke softly, “Is that you? I almost did not recognize you. You almost look like a shieldmaiden.”

“You are not mistaken. At a time, I was.” Ceolswith looked down slightly, "Life got in the way of my training, but that is for another time. Busy?"

Niehstu shook her head, bringing her steed closer.

Today in Stangard was no different than the other, pain, rumors and qualms had taken the townsfolk between its arms, even for a summer day, it was a day of grief. The guard in the tower frowned slightly as his trained ears picked up the thudding of hooves coming beyond, some fifteen riders, a boy, and a man dragged by the brown-stallion.

''Open the gate!''

It was a heavy summer day, with clouds over the Eorlsmead brewing without any drop of rain. There was little people on streets of the village, only guards on towers and few patrols. Only rush happening was around the Foldewyn's halls, a Healers halls. Few healers were entering exiting the hall with buckets of water or armfuls of clothes, woods for fires or bags of herbs.