Niamh was dressed in a simple dress that day. The kirtle was white, as were the slashings on the sleeves for statement, and her dress was black. The embroidery on the bodice was white ivy with little white berries upon it. Niamh had put the design on herself, knowing that, even though her father's crest was three swans in flight, the ivy and berries would look better. Besides, she didn't really like swans anyway. They were harsh creatures and rude. They hissed and fluffed their wings. Graceful, yes, charming, yes, and most certainly beautiful but truly they were awful creatures that could seem so beautiful and then reveal themselves to be treacherous beasts.

She wandered through the halls, exploring, her slippers whispering over the floor. Her father, being older now, had decided to rest a bit but she felt restless after meeting the king yesterday. Her mind was whirling, the cogs churning and pushing and tugging at ideas, chewing over them before spitting them out as too bold or too gentle. She couldn't figure out what to do. How to make connections with this court? How to play each person off each other like so many strings of a virginal?

She barely realized it when she pushed through a door and found herself in a very long, wide hallway decorated with paintings and armor. The sights barely registered even as she mechanically began surveying them with her ebony eyes. The hood upon her head felt heavy and constraining. She took it off since no one was around and rubbed her head absentmindedly.

So how to catch the eye of the king? How to make him want her as a friend? An ally, if you would, in this strange court that she had no experience with? How to grab what she wanted and never let go?

Marriage wasn't the answer. That would only hinder her for forever after she would be stuck in endless childbirth until she died or her husband tired of her and left her there to rot. Becoming a mistress? That was more plausible but then when she recieved what she wanted, how would she be able to wed whoever she desired since it would be known then that she was no virgin and it would ruin her prospects?

Make a net, a voice in her head said, A net of people around you, to support your hold. To make sure you can accomplish what you would without jeopardizing anything you have already...Your virginity you can keep. Your virtue you can keep. But your alliances with other people in this court? Those you must dispense out. Make friends, make enemies. Be bold, happy, someone to draw others. Someone to hypnotize and draw people like moths to flame. Be flame...

She felt herself smile at the plan, moving down the row until she stood next to a large man's armor. It was a good plan and besides, there was bound to be war soon and she could work on relationships while the king was gone. When he was back, if he came back, he would find that Lady Niamh McNamara was someone to pay attention to. Someone to keep beside and reward for all her diligence and good relations.

And yet, she didn't know where to start. Her body moved again, gliding her down the long line of paintings and armor and moved through the door at the end of the hall and into another room.

Her eyes coursed over the furnishings, the tapestries, and finally settled on a book lying in the sun on a small table. Quickly, she walked towards it and scanned the title of the novella before opening it and beginning to smile at it's words. Sometimes, her lips would move as she mouthed some of the lines, hearing the voice of the author in her head. She closed the book, deciding it was worth her time, and started to walk away with it, a slight smile upon her pale face.

The keep seemed almost deserted. Fergus was certain that he’d have heard if there was something going on which would keep the entire court quiet or occupied for the day, but it was so quiet that he was starting to wonder if he’d managed to miss the summons to some sort of meeting or event. While he didn’t look as if he was enjoying court wide organised events all the time, he was generally there and did participate. The kitchens and servants were of course out in force, from the first floor he could hear the din of the cooks and helpers as they ran around trying to get the food organised for today, for the next few days as well. Some of it had to be worked on as much as a week in advance and the organisation required was huge. He smiled ruefully and shook his head at the thought that he should ask some of the head cooks if they’d ever considered trying to organise an army, complete with supplies, as a career move. Most of them probably hadn’t, although some had probably served time in the army at one stage or another. Many people on the island had.

Perhaps he was just in a quiet part of the keep. Most courtiers had better things to do then hang around in the more fortified areas which didn’t lend themselves to the traditional activities of a court, kissing while hiding behind a suit of armour wasn’t quite the same as kissing behind a rose bush. In the silence his boot heels echoed almost alarmingly in the stone corridor as he strode along, a box of documents and maps borrowed from one of the many rooms of them tucked under one arm and supported by his other. It was quite a large, clumsy box and Fergus had decided that he should probably count himself lucky if he didn’t get splinters or drop it on his foot. Many nobles, his elder brother included, wouldn’t have dreamed of fetching boxes of documents themselves, but Fergus had a restless feeling which he knew was only going to be cured by doing something both productive and physically active. Hopefully fetching his own boxes would cover it, he still had a lot of reading to do, and organising the party he was going to be taking with him to the boarders.

At least he didn’t have to worry about his clothes as well as what the box might land on if he dropped it or where he’d be pulling splinters out of. The loose brown hose, green tunic and white shirt were all well cut in fine fabrics, but the lack of decoration meant that it was unlikely he’d be pulling threads out of them with the rough edges of the box. Besides which, it wasn’t as if he had a lack of clothes, he probably had more by far than women from the minor nobility, even if he preferred less dramatic tones.

Turning a corner onto a more decorated hall, containing paintings and tapestries as well as armour, he saw that this part of the keep wasn’t completely deserted. Ahead of him, standing by a table with a book lying open before her, was a woman dressed in black and white. The effect of it was quite attention grabbing even if it was stark, the designs of the embroidery clear even at a distance. Some sort of stylised climbing vine, from what Fergus could tell. There was no one else around, not even the sound of people moving out of sight, and the woman didn’t seem to have realised that he was there quite yet. She hadn’t looked around at him, in any case.

As he watched, still walking although being slightly more quiet about it, she shut the book, picked it up and turned to walk away. Going the same way he was she had her back to him, and he could now see that her hair wasn’t just wound tightly down but had actually flattened to her head, probably by the hood she was holding in one hand. His own brown hair hung around his face, neatly brushed back so that it wouldn’t fall in his eyes all the time, and he couldn’t imagine what it must feel like wearing a heavy hood all the time. Wearing helmets on the practice field was bad enough, and they served a definite purpose. Moving faster than the woman was – he didn’t recognise her, but then they had new people every few days so it wasn’t that surprising – he was soon walking a short distance behind her, and as he wasn’t trying to pretend that he wasn’t there he expected that the lady would soon turn to see who was walking behind her.

Niamh had been quite pleased with her findings even as she turned and, with one hand holding the book and the hood between the slim fingers, shook out her hair. After being cooped up all day in a hood, it was pasted onto her head in a manner that annoyed her and made her more self-conscious than usual. Her hands went through the ebony strands, shaking itself back and forth as it went through. Her fingers couldn't go down the whole length of her hair (it would be impossible) but she could at least shake out the roots and so that is what she did a few times before fixing the hood back on sloppily.

As she continued walking, she suddenly realized there was someone behind her. For a moment, she had the vague epiphany that she was alone and exposed like a rabbit in the open and her back and shoulders tensed expectantly, ready to strike. Only a few seconds later, she forced herself to relax and simply decided that, should anything happen to her, she could scream and quite loudly. It would bring the guards running and the servants sprinting to her aid. A feeling of safety descended upon her wary soul once more and she slowed her pace until she felt the person just behind her.

"You know," she called out calmly, turning her head in the general direction of the sound, "It's quite rude to walk behind a lady. Even more rude for me if you are of a higher station to walk before you. However, I'm sure we can compromise by having you walk beside me, and I beside you." There was almost amusement in her tone, somewhat forced, since she was still nervous.

However, her profile was plain from the turning of her head. A delicate nose, full lips in a painted smirk, and a black sliver from her iris that matched the depths of her pupil. The pale stretch of skin from forehead to the shoulder where it met the black cloth that formed her dress. There were still some black strands and locks escaping from her hood, falling down long and dramatic against the white of the slashings and the kirtle.

"It's quiet today, is it not?" she asked, her tone polite, yet playful beneath that rollicking politeness. "My father is lying down asleep even while I prove myself too restless. Tell me, do you find it bad that a lady proves herself restless when the rest of her family prefers to sleep?" A black brow arched itself over her dark eyes and yet the playful tone persisted as if she was slightly teasing the person beside and behind her.

Every so often Fergus had to shift the heavy box in his arms, bouncing it upwards as it slipped through them and trying to get a better hold on it. He failed every time, and his arms were getting sore from trying to hold it. His hip ad side was also taking abuse which might decide to make itself felt later, although Fergus hoped that it wouldn’t. While he was wrestling with the box the lady ahead of him was attempting to shake her hair out as much as was possible. Being black, it matched the colours of her dress well and with her pale skin made for quite a dramatic effect, and she probably knew that. So many people wanted to be noticed around here that he doubted that any woman wanting anything wouldn’t use looks to her advantage, and everyone wanted something.

She’d just put the hood back on her head when Fergus saw her tense. There was a slight hesitation in her stride, the way she held herself was different. It hadn’t been his intention to alarm her, and so he stopped walking, repositioning the box, in the hopes that if he did it wouldn’t alarm her further. Some people could be jumpy, with good reason in most cases, and he didn’t think Aedan would be amused if she screamed and brought people running right now. Or he might find it amusing actually, as Fergus tried not to look completely embarrassed while balancing a badly made box on one hip and explain what had happened. It was hard to tell which might be worse.

Then the posture of the woman ahead of him changed, it wasn’t as relaxed as before but it was more relaxed, if slightly forced. Perhaps she’d also realised that the chances of anything violent happening here were slim, for all the court could be bloodthirsty and wasn’t a nice place in general it wasn’t often that there were any attacks. As she’d recovered and kept on walking it felt silly to stand still waiting for something to happen, especially as the box began sliding painfully down his hip again. Moving more quietly than he had before he began walking along behind her, but she was moving so slowly that he was soon more to the right of her than behind her. It was then that she turned and spoke to him.

He was surprised that she chose to, more surprised at how she spoke and what she said. If he hadn’t seen her tense when he approached he’d never have thought for a moment that he might have startled her. Had he seen her go tense when she realised that he was walking behind her? He was starting to doubt that she had as he smiled back with a distant look, his head dipping a fraction in a silent apology before coming back up. Close she was as dramatic as far away, although her skin looked a little more coloured rather than the stark white he’d first seen it as. Some of her hair was escaping from the hood, falling down to contrast wonderfully with her dress. His own brown hair was combed to frame his face, and didn’t contrast his more neutrally coloured clothes at all. His eyes were also an unremarkable brown that tended to blend in more than stand out, as he never particularly wanted to stand out it had never irritated him.

“That may be, however I did not wish to startle you. You seemed so engaged in the book.” No matter what he looked like his voice betrayed him as someone who belonged to the higher classes, the same way Niamh’s suggested that she belonged to the class as well. A little different to allow for region, status and occupation, but the basics were still there. Unlike her Fergus sounded entirely serious, not amused or playful, and although the weight of the box was warping his posture he didn’t look willing to idle around flirting and chatting.

Fergus couldn’t read any hint of indecency in what the woman was saying, but at the same time her manner of delivery put him on guard. Polite, yet playful. She wanted him to flirt with her, or at least talk to her. It might be innocent, it might be part of some plot, but walking off without replying wouldn’t be acceptable. Still keeping an air of seriousness around him and a sense of distance – both physically and between their minds – he looked over her again. Certainly not someone he recognised, and the raised eyebrow enforced the assumption that she wanted him to entertain her somehow. “Yes, it is quiet. Strangely so.” It was probably nothing to worry about, at least he hoped not. Fergus was certain that he’d have been informed if anything important was going on, or he’d have seen the organisation going into it. Niamh didn’t seem the sort of person who’d allow herself to be left out of things, so maybe there was some spontaneous amusement going on somewhere that they’d been too far away to hear about.

“It would depend on the age and state of the family, and what the lady does while she is restless.” If her father was asleep – presumably in a bed – it gave the impression that he need never know, which meant all sorts of things could happen. Fergus liked to think that he didn’t have a completely dirty mind, but considering the subject matter he didn’t think it was a stupid conclusion to draw. Despite his disinclination to stay and chat his pace had slowed to fall in with hers automatically, so he was now sauntering along talking to Niamh and still carrying the box. Really, he was starting to wonder if her screaming might have been better – at least then he could have put the box down.

When he drew close to her, Niamh turned her head to get a good look at him. With brown hair and brown eyes, he looked ordinary. When he spoke, however, that hinted that he was anything but. His accent, slightly different from hers, spoke of higher breeding. Was he a simple nobleman that was above her father? Perhaps even the king's younger brother? She gazed at him steadily, her black eyes twinkling as she thought of the idea of her meeting the king's younger brother so soon after she had met, and then been dismissed, by the elder. The cosmic humor in meeting both brothers in two days would be almost perfect, and then toss in meeting the two sisters in two more days, each on a separate day, and Niamh would begin to smile every time she thought of it.

Feeling as if she were going to smile in that moment, she twisted her thoughts away so that she wouldn't and therefore make the man next to her think that she was mocking him. "Ah, yes, the book," she said, her tone less playful, more thoughtful, "I found it on the table there. It isn't mine but there's no name there and it seemed a very good book, actually, when I skimmed through it. I suspect it will keep me up long hours just enjoying it." She was one of the few women who was both literate and able to enjoy a good book. It was one of her favorite past times, and one she fought for fiercely before her father had sealed the deal by teaching both his daughters along with his sons.

"So, concluding from that," she said with her playful tone again, "you can suspect that this lady is restless....for a good read. And perhaps company and some time to think. You see, this is my first time ever at court and I'm quite curious about everything thus far. I haven't seen much yet and my sister will be clamoring me for details when I manage to get home again. Now doubt my mother will as well but it's my sister that I'm worried most about."

She eyed the box he carried and said, "I daresay that looks awfully heavy. Would you mind if I took up a part of it and so we could both share the burden? If you want help, that is." She frowned, looking at him struggle with the ungainly thing when he didn't have to. After all, she had arms, legs, and strength as well. She could help.

To show herself in earnest, she tucked the book underneath her arm and held her hands out just slightly, palms up, waiting for the weight of the thing he carried. Part of her was curious and the other part just confused. What was in the box? What thing would he be carrying and where was he going with it? Who was the man for that matter? He hadn't introduced himself at all.

It was then she had an epiphany of sorts. She hadn't told him who she was either. For a moment, she felt guilty. Niamh had fairly ensnared him a conversation without even a proper introduction. Her pale cheeks turning red with embarrassment (a rare emotion for her), she then added, "By the way, I'm Lady Niamh McNamara, daughter of Sir Anrai McNamara and his wife, Lady Maeve, and you are?" Her palms were still extended as she realized she really could offer him her hand in greeting when he was holding a massive box. It was just calling for more awkward trouble if she did and he happened to reach out and decide to take it.

She smiled a bit, trying to reassure him that she didn't bite as she introduced herself, her lips spreading out over her pale face smoothly. She was no great beauty, Lady Niamh, but she did have something about her, it was true, with her crowning aspect being her black eyes and black hair. She searched the man's face with those eyes now, imploring him to answer her question, to let her take part of the box and part of the weight with it.

Walking beside her, Fergus could feel the woman’s scrutiny and wondered what she thought of what she saw. As a younger brother he didn’t have quite as many admirers as Aedan, but he knew that he wasn’t completely bad looking, even if he didn’t instantly stand out as anyone special. Especially not when he was wandering around in his usual clothes and not in the decorated court garments lurking in his collection of garments somewhere. He didn’t comment on her looking though, and kept walking.

The thoughtful tone to her voice surprised him, and at a risk of walking into something because he wasn’t looking where he was going he turned his head to look at her. Lady Niamh looked thoughtful as well, not simply the flirt he’d taken her to be. People could go on and on about not judging based on appearances, but really such ideas were there for the reason that they were usually right. “Let us hope that its owner does not feel its loss too keenly.” His tone and face were serious, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone who liked a book would leave it lying around where people might pick it up and walk off with it. It wasn’t so much that the courtiers were light fingered as things had a tendency to vanish if they were let out of sight. Most recently they’d somehow managed to loose supply wagons.

After walking a few more places in silence and feeling that he should say something Fergus cleared his throat, eyes flicking back over to Lady Niamh. “You enjoy reading, then?” His sisters both read, and most women he knew seemed to have some basics at it even if they weren’t educated to the same standards as males. Whether they actually enjoyed it was a different matter, Fergus himself could read but he seldom did it out of interest, and the idea was an odd one to him. Most people seemed so much happier being active doing something, or sewing if you were a lady because it was meant to be a female skill and if they had a court of ladies sewing then they didn’t have to actually pay anyone for the alter cloths.

Being restless for a good read wasn’t something he could understand either, but at least with the playful tone out again he felt as if he was on firmer ground. The news that she was ne to court was surprising, but he was too well trained to show that on his face. Newcomers to court weren’t usually quite so confident in their address and mannerisms. “And have you found much to satisfy your curiosity and sister’s wish for news?” He asked, wondering who her mother and sister were. Her father as well for that matter. It didn’t seem unusual to him that Lady Niamh was closer to her sister than her mother, Fergus couldn’t claim to be that close to his sisters but he was definitely closer to Aedan than he had been to either of his parents.

He hadn’t expected her to comment on the box, so far she’d shown no sign of having noticed it. A lot of things could be politely ignored when it suited the court and person in question to have it that way. Looking surprised he turned to face her, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Her hands were extended, palm up, willing to help. He glanced down at her hands, then shook his head. They were soft and white, like the rest of her skin. “The box is roughly made lady, I thank you for your offer of assistance but I wouldn’t wish to be the cause of a splinter embedding itself in your skin.”

While Lady Niamh blushed, something he was sure she didn't do that often or at least tried to avoid as it was so very visible on her pale skin, Fergus kept his face straight and closed off. "I am Prince Fergus Kilgour, his majesty King Aedan's younger brother." He turned his face away to avoid watching for her reaction to the news, while he did like to see what expressions they wore when he told them who he was it wasn't really polite and several had been forewarned in the past and pulled quite ridiculous ones.

At his comment of the books owner, Niamh flashed him a rare smile. "Indeed, let's hope. I can only run so fast in a given day," she replied, "and I don't think today I'm all that up for running, especially from a distressed scholar or an indignant nobleman." There was that playful flicker in her eyes again, almost as if she were more cat than human. Her tone, also, had that laughing spark in it, as if she were laughing at herself rather than anyone else.

Truly, Niamh had a strange sense of humor. She was almost morbid, almost, but refrained from anything too outrageous. Perhaps it was being bred in a house where everyone was so different and the world played on your father's emotions, but she had retained that humor that none of her family had. Not even Eamonn had truly understood her humor in all it's difference and he had been her best brother.

Until he became a dirty priest, was her thought. For a moment, her face flashed an inch of displeasure, as if she had smelled something rotten. It was there but a moment then disappeared as she turned her thoughts to other, more important and pressing, matters.

What snapped her out of the thought of Eamonn and his sudden desire to turn priest was the man beside her. He cleared his throat as if overcoming a great hurdle of awkwardness and asked her if she liked reading. Once more, she gave him an appreciative glance. "Naturally," she said, "There is much to be gained from books, I think. My sister doesn't think so but then, she prefers her cosmetics box than any thing that really needs thinking. But I prefer a book. It's honest, if a little biased depending on the author, full of information, and to enjoy a conversation with it, all you require is a good chair and maybe a pillow as well as a light. You don't have to think before you say something. Nor does it require your absolute attention at all times because you can always come back to it later. I think I almost love books more than my horse and that, good sir, is quite an achievement."

When she spoke of books, her hands started gesturing like little thrashing doves. White and slender, they flashed here and there, trying to express her passion on the subject of books and horses. Her eyes gained a feverish light, as if she were in love, and the color in her cheeks rose again. For a moment, she teetered on the brink of being absolutely breathtaking in her appearance and then she calmed herself and became simply Niamh again.

"But on the subject of news," she said, distracting herself from her passion again, "I've only met the king and roamed the Keep. Unless my sister only asks me about the king, I'll have naught to give her. In my opinion, this has been a successful trip. I've been introduced into the court, I explored something while my father slept, and I found a very rousing book. Truly, any ambitions have been satiated for now."

Except owning my own estate and title, free of marriage, she thought and didn't add that at all. This time, her face still gave off it's resounding contemplative state, her eyes dimmed now back to their nearly-frightening pitch black color. "My curiosity," she added, "will never be satisfied though. I think I might be one of the few people doomed to wander the earth with constant questions, always badgering people." She laughed a bit, just soft enough to be heard by the man but not loud enough to be heard by anyone else if they might be nearby. "And I do mean badgering, sir. There was a time when I demanded from my tutor all the answers to my questions, complete answers, mind you, in written form that I might discover the truth at my leisure. He argued with me, saying that I needed to find it on my own, and yet I pushed him into it until he finally did. The answers satisfied me for but a little time and then...I had more! So I asked once more. Finally, he left because he exclaimed to my father that the thirst I had could not be quenched by simple water. By that time, I was almost fifteen so my father didn't see reason in giving me another tutor to conquer."

Her hands lowered from being denied the box and she eyed them to see that softness he spoke of. True, her hands were soft, but messing with needles and thread all day instead of riding or doing anything truly productive would do that. She was almost disappointed in her flesh.

And then came the news. The news that would send her into fits of laughter if this continued day in and day out. He introduced himself as Prince Fergus. He didn't look at her, try to see her face or anything as he gave the news. Her face flickered between amusement then to sorrow when she realized he wasn't looking at her because he might be afraid of how she might change her ways. She blinked for a moment, there was silence and then, tiny and almost nonexistant, she whispered, "I'm sorry. It must be rather hard to be, well, the second son. I myself am treated as the second daughter even though I'm the first and it's, well, not pleasant. Well, there's no changing birth order, now is there?" She said, trying to move on around the introductions.

Now that she knew who he was, she studied him carefully. By God, how could she not have seen it? The two were brothers truly and she had failed to recognize it when she met his brother not twenty four hours from then. A blush crept into her cheeks, one of humiliation that she hadn't even realized who he was and she should have. Didn't her father tell her that it wasn't wise to not know who you were speaking to? And here she was, wandering like a lonesome sheep, dithering over books and horses while talking to the prince of Thiasa.

Yet, strangely enough, she found it changed nothing. She wanted to speak to him as before, before they had names and titles and one had a rank over the other. It was simpler, better, and much, much more fun.

((Sorry about the wait))

The idea of Lady Niamh running away from a scholar in long robes with a grey beard - both were requirements of the job, you simply couldn't be a scholar without the beard and robes - was interesting. So interesting that Fergus had to fight to keep his face straight, for once not sure that he'd succeeded as he looked sideways at her. What rank would a nobleman have to be to ensure that she wasn't too serious about running away from him? He'd yet to meet a woman who wasn't here to advance herself through marriage - apart from his sister Erin, who he did wonder about sometimes. Lady Niamh didn't strike him as someone who'd settle for less than everything she could get. Certainly someone to watch.

Naturally she liked reading. Naturally? He had to resist backing away from her flailing hands, it certainly didn't look natural to him. Although, the flush in her cheeks, the look in her eyes, the speed of her slender hands almost looked breathtakingly beautiful. Fergus looked slightly alarmed and distracted as he tried to follow her hands, what she was saying and not get carried away by her overall appearance.

Weren't women, by their very nature, meant to find it taxing? Yes, his sisters did read and so did most of the women at court from what he could tell - but he hardly thought that they were encouraged to do so or found it natural. If it wasn't natural he wasn't sure why they were educated, but life was full of mysteries. There was admittedly a lot of information on pages, as the box digging into his hip was going to prove. Whether it was at all relevant or not was another matter. "I fear I do not share your thirst for knowledge, my lady." Well, he liked to know everything he could about what was going on around him - but that information hardly ever came in a book. He had to watch people.

"You enjoy riding as well, then?" Most people could ride well out of necessity, horses were by far the most comfortable method of transport and to be honest it often wasn't saying much. There were also hunts, most of the court could ride to take part in those. Few people seemed to actually enjoy riding for the sake of it. Lady Niamh had spoken so well of reading that if it didn't rival her love for her horse her love of it had to be great indeed. Fergus had spent many hours with his horse over the few years they'd been together, but he could hardly claim to have any really love for the animal and while he did enjoy riding, it was only when the mood took him.

Moving away from books and horses - Fergus was going to have to make a note to either avoid or bring up the subjects again, the reaction was alarming but when it was happening Lady Niamh was truly fascinating to watch - they landed on news. He looked away as she calmed down, embarrassed and wondering if she'd noticed him staring at her while she'd been talking and gesturing. The best thing to do was pretend nothing had happened. Introduced at court, seen the king, explored the keep and found a book. Well, put like that it sounded like quite a successful trip, over all. With a bit of embellishment it could be made to sound even more exciting for a younger sibling, he was sure.

If her father was asleep, then he wouldn't know she was here. Did that mean that he didn't want her exploring on her own? Quite possibly. It was hardly dangerous, but Fergus had only just met her and he had her marked down as someone to watch out for. Especially if it ever came to debating something scholarly. "Shall I take it that your introduction went well, my lady?" Any anxiety he felt at what Lady Niamh might have said or done was masked with a hint of amusement. He hadn't heard anything bad yet, but people did like to make an entrance.

"How do you find the keep, my lady? Is it to your liking?" She hadn't said that she'd got lost yet, but there was plenty of time. Even Fergus had difficulty navigating the areas he didn't venture very often on the odd occasion when he did enter them. It was almost worth employing a guide for some areas. The keep itself was built for defence - although hopefully it wouldn't have to be used for that purpose again - but it was well furnished and fitted, easily one of the most luxurious buildings in the land. Although, as with the transport, this wasn't always saying much.

As her eyes dimmed to a startling pitch black, Fergus could believe her. He turned his head away, trying and failing to hide an amused smile and the urge to laugh at her story. The poor man. Fergus had never once badgered his tutors like that, he'd always been a passable but not exceptional student. He felt a pang of sadness at the news that Lady Niamh's father had decided not to go any further with her education, despite his own reservations about whether it was natural or not it had clearly brought Lady Niamh some joy. In a world as unstable as theirs with the clans uniting, happiness was something to be taken while it could be. "But there are books you can learn from, aren't there? So it is no great loss. We have several book printers in the town here, and I'm sure that the scholars would be willing to let you see their collections." Well, maybe not, but he was sure that Lady Niamh would work her way around that little problem in no time at all.

For a moment he was sure his ears had made up the sound, but no, she was whispering to him. Without turning his head he glanced out of the corner of his eye. Not her usual confident appearance, and it cause his usual walls to come down slightly. Yes, he was the second son and it was hard - and she was an eldest daughter. If anything her situation sounded slightly worse, because she shouldn't even have to expect that treatment. Fergus might not like his life and position, but he'd expected it from an early age, society expected it of him. Lady Niamh was a different case altogether. "No, there's no changing." He replied softly, for her ears only. The only change would come if Aedan died, and Fergus didn't want that. As much of a danger as Adean was, he was still the elder brother Fergus had looked up to for years. "We can only continue and hope for the best." He hoped to remain alive, but what did Lady Niamh hope for? To outshine her sister? A loving husband? Adventure? Excitement? His curious look almost asked the question without him saying a word.

He could feel her scrutiny although he was once again staring in front of him, down the corridor and hauling the box back up his hip. Used to people staring he ignored it, but the silence after Lady Niamh's animated talk was oppressing. It almost felt as if he was physically wading through water. Silence was something he could deal with, as he preferred to spend his time alone he had to, but ones like this were rarely experienced and had him on edge from the moment they settled. His fingers started fidgeting on the edge of the box, and he pulled it up his hip more regularly.

"Do you have any particular area of interest in your reading, Lady Niamh?" It was the first question he could think of that didn't sound completely stupid that was likely to get a response of some sort. Perhaps not as animated as earlier, but anything was better than walking in silence.

((No problem! It came at a good time since I myself was busy!))

She could see, from the corner of her eye, that he was trying not to smile or laugh at the idea of her running from a scholarly old man. After all, even Aoife would have to laugh at that. Niamh gave a small smile at the idea that she had brought someone some small sense of amusement in the world. With all the talk of an impending war, it had been absolutely solemn as a funeral around the Keep, something she hadn't expected in the least. To hear her mother talk, the Keep was supposed to be a brilliant place where women were always jesting and being courted by men, clever little masquerades were put on sometimes and even a few card games between the ladies occurred ever so often.

And the hunts, of course. Niamh couldn't bring herself to forget the stories that enthralled her the most: the stories of the hunt. The downward swoop of the spear or the sword, cutting into boar or a deer's flesh. The killing itself didn't really appeal to her, but the idea that so many people chasing after the same thing and only one got it. Either the king, as usual, or a favored person. Niamh had prayed that one day she might be able to kill the stag but she doubted it would happen. Women held the cudgels and nothing more. They followed, usually at a safe distance, but other than that they weren't expected to do much but be a constant reminder that the men could still win the hunt afterwards...for a woman. That part rather bothered Niamh as she didn't think herself a prize at all. (Aoife liked to think that she herself was a prize, one that her father would pay handsomely for. Niamh hadn't the heart to tell her that even though Aoife was gorgeous, she was still a woman and that hurt her chances of actually being important to their merchant father.

When she mentioned how much she liked reading, Fergus looked, well, alarmed, as if she had said something that had both puzzled him and made him a bit distraught. She couldn't resist looking at him with a surprised look. Did not his sisters read? But of course they did! Princesses had the best female education the whole world 'round, it was known. Niamh doubted her education, cut short after one argument, could even graze the princesses'. "You don't?" she asked, confused, "Perhaps you haven't found the right books. Books can also be a pleasure as well. Perhaps an adventure for you? Something with sword fights and a smudge of humor within its lines? Have you tried those?"

She wasn't sure if the prince would even like adventure or the idea of a grand sword play ranging over the land from tree to tree, rock to rock, cliff to cliff. She had just the book in mind, actually. If he had said he liked books, especially one's with theories, she would have handed him "The Prince" and reread it after him. It was one of her favorites, after all.

The riding question made her smile, wide and pleased once more. "Of course!" She said, "A woman has few freedoms in the world and one of them is riding a horse. I admit, I tried to learn different types of riding when I was smaller but I lacked any sort of grace at any of them so I simply ride sidesaddle. It's much more challenging, apparently, then sitting astride if only because one has to hook their leg around that little pole in the front of the saddle. Well, you've seen a lady's saddle before, I'm certain, so it shouldn't be a surprise to you that it's difficult." She paused and then said, "I have a mare, actually, named Siobhan. Her coat is as dark as my hair and I think our temperment might be the same as well. She's not one to spook easily and doesn't stop running until she's worn herself out rather than because you've told her to. Quite stubborn, actually, unless she sees the logic in what you're asking or agrees with you on it."

There was a great amount of affection in Niamh's voice as she spoke about Siobhan. Truly the mare was a great friend of hers. She didn't exactly talk to Siobhan. Rather, when she was highly distressed she would go out to the stables, stroke the mare's nose, feed her carrots and whisper compliments under her breath to the pretty mare. It relaxed both rider and horse, Niamh found, and made the bond between them all the more stronger. Whether it actually was growing stronger or not was something that Niamh wasn't sure of. After all, it could just be in the dark haired woman's head, spouting from a longing for companionship. She wasn't quite sure.

Slightly self-conscious of what Fergus probably thought (What a crazy woman, she thought she could hear him thinking), Niamh instead focused on his next question. "Oh, I suppose it did. I wasn't quite paying attention after my father decided to step in. You see, the king basically said that he imagined all I was there for was to be married off. I hastily remedied that by saying that my goal at court was not to be married off at all but to see the king which I am serving with absolute loyalty. The truth is that I don't wish to marry yet. I think I'm much too young for it. I want something more than a whirlwind marriage to someone I really don't know. I have my dreams too and if I get a husband while I'm going through them, then so be it, but a man isn't necessary to what I want."

"As for the Keep itself...well, it seems a bit dull at the moment but all the talk of war is doing that, I think. Take away a war and the whole court will be here soon enough, lulling about while waiting for a masquerade or a hunt or something. I myself am quite looking forward to a hunt. I have yet to ride in such an event and my mother told me it is quite spectacular to watch. Though, I plan to do much more than watching, milord, I plan to be involved and to run with the rest of them as well as I can." Her eyes looked both excited and determined. This was a woman who would get what she wanted, come hell or high water. Perhaps it was because she had been looked down on for so long for being a girl, or maybe it was because she never really had a chance after getting just a taste of what freedom was (through education that was normally not permitted to women), but Niamh was determined to change the rules somehow. Change them and accomplish what she wanted most: title and land in her own name and right. Not because of marriage, but because she worked her way to the top herself.

Her eyes brightened again, a fire flickering in the dark depths, as he mentioned the book collections. "You do?" she asked, "I suppose I should have known that. It is the capital of Thiasa, the seat of the Kilgour family. It only makes sense that people with business would bring it here where they might make more than they would in a tiny town." She shook her head just slightly as if trying to clear it of the fog of unclarity. How could she not have thought of that herself. "I shall have to go out and find these places then," she said with an iron sharpness to her tone that suggested it wasn't wise to cross her on this, "Be it alone or with a chaperone, I'll find them and ask to see it. And should they deny me, well, I'll find a way to see those books."

Once more her cheeks grew hot with the fierocity of her passion and that fire in her black gaze seemed to grow brighter and brighter until her whole body seemed consumed with it. Passion and determination were Niamh's chief virtues and perhaps her worse vices as well. One day, it might see her on the chopping block for her fiery desires.

She caught his questioning gaze when she mentioned their birth order. What do you want for yourself, Niamh? he asked silently, his eyes seeming to burn the question into the air. With a slight smile, she looked away, towards their goal ahead. Let him wonder. Let him wonder and burn with curiosity. She wasn't going to ladle out her chief desire that easily. She had alluded to it, yes, but to say it aloud was to practically beg for some awful courtier to spread it around until she was outcasted and while she thought that Fergus could keep quiet about such a thing, if they passed the wrong person as she told him, it would be transported all over the Keep.

The silence that ensued from her willful determination to deny him seemed to drive him crazy until finally he pierced it with a question. Immediately, she seemed brighter again, completely focused rather than retaining some of her introverted state.

"No, not at all, actually. I roam from subject to subject, a literary nomad, if you will. Sometimes I read about cooking and recipies when the fancy strikes me. Other times I read on warfare and how best to lead calvary into a battle against bowmen. Sometimes, I read romance and, on a few occasions, I read about politics and religion. It suits my family for me to read on religion as my brother, Eamonn, is a priest," she admitted. There was a hint of bitterness when she mentioned Eamonn, something tangy with iron in her tone that suggested she wasn't quite pleased with that brother right now. "Once, I read a book of merchants and exactly which trade good goes where. Partly because I really wanted to make my father mad by basically figuring out all his so-called 'grand' schemes for his business and partly because I was curious. I can't help but smile now at the enraged look on his face as I named off, under my breath and right beside him and across from his customer, the reasons why he wanted that particular trade agreement to go through and all the possibilities that would arise if it succeeded. He was so furious that he locked me in my room for a week, only opening the door to feed me, give me a cup of water, and shove a hoop of needlework beneath the table. He continually informed me, 'Niamh McNamara, you are a shame to this family. Pray that God grants you a husband and better needlework to do unless you undermine all his attempts to better himself in the world.'

"I myself promptly replied, 'But, Father, should I leave this house I would ever miss the constant struggle of father and daughter, trying to find a middle ground. Preferably one where he might use her wits and she might use his purse!' Mind you, I didn't mean it. I only wanted to cause him a bit more stress in his life. He didn't take that very kindly either and told me that every time I talked cheekily to him, he was going to burn one of my books. I grew as quiet as a nun who has taken a vow of silence after that," She was laughing throughout the story, remembering how small her room suddenly seemed and how she had ripped up the first few pieces of needlework before finally taking them up and, in the finest embroidery, writing the words, 'Pout all you like, I already know what you do.'

"Did you ever cause trouble, milord?" she asked, truly curious. She couldn't exactly see Aedan as a troublemaker but Fergus...now he had a chance for leniency from his royal parents. He could have used that to his advantage for sure.

The idea of Fergus finding Niamh’s love of reading surprising seemed to surprise her as well. At least, from what Fergus could tell from her facial expression. Life must be so different if you were a woman. It was something he knew was true, but it was very rare that the understanding of just how different it could be hit home. To Niamh it probably didn’t seem at all strange that women perused knowledge as well, she was one and spent more time with them than Fergus did. Growing up all his teachers and most of his staff were men, even now he didn’t spend a great deal of time with women as the only place he really met them was at large gatherings, where he was far too paranoid there to really talk to anyone. The female of his own species was a mystery, and apparently one that liked reading.

An apologetic look found its way onto his face as he shook his head. Was he actually meant to have a great thirst for knowledge? It wasn’t that he was against learning new things, it was just that they never seemed to be the sorts of things you learnt in books. Far from asking questions as Niamh had done, he was certain that he’d been a rather unstimulating pupil and considering the material he’d been given it perhaps wasn’t surprising. When she started talking about adventures and sword fights with humour he gave he a completely confused look, because he’d honestly never heard of those. Unless it was in a history book – but the ones Fergus had encountered somehow managed to make a civil war sound about as exciting as a discussion on how to handle street performers within the Keep’s gates and if there was any humour in there at all it had completely passed him by.

“I’m afraid I have not.” He still sounded a bit puzzled by the concept of a book that might be entertaining if you weren’t a scholar whose life’s work depended on them. Was there a reason for this? He’d never heard or seen these books, if Lady Niamh did give him one to read was he going to get in trouble for it? It sounded fairly innocent, something a true scholar would frown on, but then a lot of things were made to sound innocent. “It would appear that we read from very different texts. Perhaps you could recommend one to me?” Well, if this entertaining literature was something malicious then he should really know about it. If there wasn’t anything harmful about it, then there was no harm done either way. It might even be – dare he imagine it – fun to read something that didn’t send him to sleep within minutes.

Riding being one of the few freedoms women had wasn’t an idea that had occurred to Fergus before, but he was beginning to understand that this sort of thing was probably going to happen a lot if he spent time talking to Lady Niamh. Riding, for him, had always been an activity that was done to travel and to fight, and he’d never considered it a freedom as such – but then, Lady Niamh was meant to stay indoors and pursue handcrafts in there so she probably had quite a different view on the matter. Although he very much doubted that he’d ever see her jousting, hunting seemed more likely. Fergus had been taught a few different styles – hunting was a rather different skill from jousting, and different countries tended to have slightly different equipment and postures – but he’d never once tried side saddle. Obviously he was a man and didn’t have the heavy skirts to fight with and so had no need to ride side saddle in the first place, but at the same time it looked completely awkward to him. Lean too much to one side and all the weight was on one side of the horse, and that just wasn’t good. He’d also never quite worked out where exactly you were meant to put your legs and how the pole was anything other than completely uncomfortable – yet as Lady Niamh had said, the ladies who did it always looked graceful, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

“It certainly appears difficult, I don’t believe any man in the kings army could manage it.” Not that Fergus could imagine any of them trying it. Even though he was looking down the corridor and slightly downwards – looking for any obstacles on the floor – it was possible to tell that he was amused at the idea of them trying it. There were hints of it in his voice, his posture was more relaxed and he was smiling. Ever so slightly, but still smiling “Certainly not with grace.” Looking once more at Lady Niamh, he could easily imagine her riding with grace. She was walking with it, and although the movements did get a little wild when on the subject of books it still somehow looked graceful. The level of control needed to always appear that way was on Fergus estimated to be high, because it didn’t seem natural.

The horse she described did not, honestly, sound like a terribly practical one to Fergus. Horses should be able to work with people and know their limits, although the horse’s steadiness was something that could be useful. But then, he was thinking more along the lines of a combat situation – a situation Lady Niamh would hopefully never be in. No, perhaps that sort of horse was desirable for someone in her place, if it allowed her some freedom. Even if riding did provide her with freedom, there’d be at least one chaperone, possibly another companion and their servant, a family member maybe. In that case if the horse and rider were in trouble it was a problem, but not necessarily a life threatening one. “Clever, headstrong and dark, then.” His tone was neutral and there was no sign that he was amused by the comparison Lady Niamh had made, although it might do well to remember it and go see this horse of hers.

“Your horse, Siobhan, she is here with you?” Most courtiers did have horses at court, but if Lady Niamh saw it as a freedom when she was already headstrong he could understand if her father had made her leave it at home and come in a carriage or litter. It seemed unlikely though, some of the largest court events were on horseback and litters or carriages just weren’t practical with such poor roads. Fergus himself had several horses for a variety of purposes – a hunter, a jousting horse and a few flashier ones that had been gifts from someone or other which he only tended to ride for processions as the gaits simply weren’t suited to long hours in the saddle. Mostly Fergus rode the hunter, a grey stallion named Ghost. Perhaps, if Lady Niamh was staying for a while and he could find the time before he left for the boarder, they might be able to ride together. With the appropriate attendants of course.

The funny thing about embarrassment was that it was catching. Fergus had embarrassed Lady Niamh by staring – although she was doing a very good job of covering it up – and her embarrassment caused him to be embarrassed for staring at her in the first place. Which he should be as it hadn’t been good manners, but she had been waving her arms around and getting excited about a subject Fergus had thought was almost impossible to find interesting. It was quite easy to avoid the subject altogether and move on though, because Lady Niamh was continuing to be completely shocking. Really – what woman didn’t come to court to secure a rich husband or a place in the king’s household? Fergus was sure he hadn’t heard of one before. And having her own dreams? Fergus didn’t dare to have those most days, especially not now that Aedan always seemed to be angry with him. “How do you intend to survive without a husband?” It was possible – if a father would keep a spinster daughter, but from what Lady Niamh had said about their relationship so far Fergus had a feeling that the two of them wouldn’t tolerate the situation well. It was also possibly if Lady Niamh married and became a widow, but there was no guarantee of that and it hadn’t sounded as if she was intending to take that path.

“You and your horse.” Fergus rolled his eyes, not a gesture that was frequently seen on him. He doubted that Lady Niamh’s mare would stop or run behind from what she’d told him of her so far, and from the look in her eyes she wasn’t going to be trying that hard to make the horse stop. She might actually encourage it. Well matched indeed. “I am sure entertainment will be provided while the war is on – both my sisters are in residence, and I doubt they’ll bear to be idle for long.” They’d just have to cope without the men around. Fergus found the idea a little daunting, because he wouldn’t have put it past his sisters to take over the place completely in their absence and not want to give an inch back to the men when the war was over. A policy Lady Niamh might favour as well.

Considering that business with a war coming was likely to be poor, Fergus doubted that anyone was going to turn away with a customer like Lady Niamh. She might be difficult, but she looked like someone who knew what she was talking about and was prepared to pay for quality. “If you ask any of the scholar’s servants they should be able to direct you t the best ones, or take orders if you do not wish to go and browse.” Fergus had never actually set foot in one of these printing shops, in fact he’d never set his foot in any shop because there had never been any need for him to, but he’d heard the term used before by scholars who did so he thought it was the correct term for going in and looking at the books for sale.

There was no answer, verbal or not. She just turned her face away, smiling mysteriously. Lady Niamh must know how frustrating that was to face. Everyone had secrets and Fergus wasn’t naive enough to think that he knew even half of the ones around the Keep alone, and most of them he wasn’t that worried about. In fact once you got below the level of minor nobility he seldom bothered because it was unlikely to have much of an impact. Under usual circumstances he wouldn’t have worried about Lady Niamh’s wishes because from what he’d seen already they were unlikely, and in the end she would probably be forced to bow down to someone’s will or face being outcast. Asking directly wasn’t going to help, he’d have to find a way around it. Find out bits and string them together to create a big picture. Preferably without her realising what he was doing, because in the nature of the game she’d probably then make it harder.

Well, it could never be said that there wasn’t a wide range of topics that Lady Niamh read about. Just perhaps a rather small one her family approved of. There was a touch of bitterness in her tone when she mentioned her priest brother, although what exactly the bitterness was directed at he couldn’t tell. It was added to the growing list of things he knew about Lady Niamh that were going to require further thought. He couldn’t help smiling throughout her story, it was easy to imagine a younger, equally wilful Niamh doing just that. As a grown woman she probably wouldn’t try it here, but with that sort of imagination and trouble seeking ability, there was plenty that shouldn’t be put past her.

Had he ever caused trouble? Well, he supposed he had done. There’d been the incident with the rose bushes when he was nine – although, to be fair, the gardeners had been wrong when they assumed that he’d pruned plants before because he’d seemed more interested in helping with the gardening than doing yet more Latin double translations. Aedan had broken his arm when he was a lot younger because Fergus had been bothering him, but it was far too personal to count as an amusing story of his own misdeeds. His father had always been away somewhere, and his mother had more or less handed him over to male attendants and left him to be raised by them, so he couldn’t recall ever having done anything troublesome to them. After a few seconds though he believed that he’d found the story, and cleared his throat before speaking, smiling slightly at the thought of just how silly it had all been and how seriously he’d taken it at the time.

“You have a much greater appreciation for the written word than I ever did, Lady Niamh. I must confess, I always regarded lessons in penmanship and writing styles with utter horror as a child.” In all honesty, he still wasn’t fond of actually writing things, although his penmanship had improved greatly since this particular incident. “My tutor was a good man, one of the best, however he was not the most patient. Often my lack of progress upset him, especially in the summer when there was so much happening outside. So one day in summer when I was younger, I thought I’d found the solution in hiding all his paper and pens.” He chuckled at the memory. It had been a foolish, even at eight, to think that a writing master might have few enough paper and pens to easily hide somewhere.

“It quickly became apparent that this wasn’t possible, at least not without help. It would be easier to hide myself. That hadn’t worked in the past though.” It wasn’t for lack of trying either, one of the older servants insisted he’d managed to get himself stuck up a tree once doing that, although Fergus didn’t remember it. “So instead I approached the situation as logically as I could and tipped all the ink I could find away, into a flower bed. It didn’t work of course, I didn’t find all the ink and all my tutor had to do was ask the clerks for more. But after several weeks we had some very strangely coloured flowers.” It had generally caused either amusement or annoyance, and as Fergus’s tutor had told people that he’d got rid of a lot of ink somewhere they knew exactly how it had got into the soil.

Now her shock made her stop dead in her tracks. Never read an entertaining book? But...there were so many! How could he never have found a one! Suddenly she felt a bit of remorse for having so many books of her own, bought secretly when her father was away on trips or when Eamonn had been bored and when they had still been close confidantes. Her eyes widened as she looked at him but she sped up her steps to make sure she stayed alongside him. "Never read an entertaining book? That's...That's heresy!" she cried, the shock having worn a hole through any decorum she had had before this. "That's heresy against literature!" Suddenly, she sqaured her shoulders, looked quite resolute, and raised her chin just slightly. "Well, this won't do. I shall give you one of my favorites. When you finish, I expect a full review of what you hated and, if you liked any of it, whatever you liked. Should you thoroughly enjoy it, I shall send you more books. Even if I have to ride to the battlefield myself and hand it to you." She looked so determined at that moment it was hard to tell if she was joking or not. Something in her face said that she wasn't. Perhaps the hard set of her eyes now? The persistant burning in her irises?

"I shall give you 'The Night the Stars Turned Black.' It's fascinating. I started reading it on a rainy day and ended up devouring it in two days. The book itself is small, large enough to fit in a sack and small enough not to take up much room at all. It's shaped rather like a small Bible, in fact. But the content..." Her eyes grew wispy and foggy as if she were experiencing some deep pleasure, "The content is just delicious. It is a good as...as sugar! As sweet as that even! The swordplay! The duels! The politics! Even a war! It really is just glorious." Her cheeks were flushed again, her countence bright and pleased with itself. "If you don't love it, I'll saddle your horse myself for a month. Maybe two if you really hated it."

It was then that the prince, taken aback at her suggestion that riding was for more than just luxury transportation, suggested that perhaps a man might take to riding sidesaddle. For a moment, she just looked at him as the image of Fergus or King Aedan trying to ride sidesaddle hit her with all the force of a book upside her head. She smiled then laughed as she saw the two fall off the horse in her head, right sqaure into a patch of hedges. "Indeed, not graceful at all. I daresay, for us women being the weaker sex we most certainly manage to do the most difficult things to please you all. Even if it does look pleasing to the eye it still hurts if we've been riding too long. God forbid if one takes a jump without making sure your position is proper as well. Not only would you be impaled upon the saddle but you'd fall off as well," She sighed, the light of humor not fading from her eyes, "The things we women do for men."

"Aye, and she is indeed clever, headstrong and dark. We should go riding sometime and you'll see what I mean. She's terribly fixated on getting me away from the Keep lately. I think she believes that I'm worse off here than at home which is really not too accurate as this place is far more interesting, for the moment, than home and it doesn't have my mother nagging at me about my stitches." She hesitated and then said, with a wicked gleam in her eye, "Oh, Siobhan is here with me. I wouldn't dare leave without her. Come to court with no one as a friend? Even a horse is better than nothing at all and I decided that if I wanted to leave, I was not going to put the when and how in my father's hands. I argued with him so robustly that he gave in and hence she is here. She's in the stables at the moment, probably giving the stableboys a reason to hate her kind and question an early retirement." She smiled at the thought of Siobhan kicking at the crafty boys. Though the stablehands here were fast and knew the ways of horses, she wasn't quite sure if Siobhan would give them an easy time with it.

Her father had actually almost had her horse killed once. Siobhan had carefully aimed at his knee and only blind luck had stopped Sir Anrai from getting a shattered bone and possibly an amputated leg. So enraged was he that he tried to have the horse cut down for meat. Niamh wasn't hearing of it and she argued with him for whole day, only stopping to drink water. Once she finished a sip, she went right back to badgering him. Sir Anrai was so distraught towards the end of it that finally he rose up and asked, "Will you ever be quiet?"

She answered, "It depends on what you do to Siobhan, sweet father." Her smile suggested the answer was no if he went through with what he promised and in the morning, when the man came to kill her horse, he was told that his services were not required. As she had only been fourteen at the time, Niamh had a headlong rush of excitement realizing that she could prevent major events (in her life anyway) from happening just by doing what men wished their women wouldn't: speaking.

Her attention from her memory was drawn at Fergus's question about a husband. She laughed, as if his question was silly though it had been on her mind for days about how she would as well. It was a true concern, one that was most pressing after she had told King Aedan that she didn't want to marry until she had accomplished something. What that something was she didn't disclose but if she achieved it, she might find a man for herself that stood beside her rather than in front of her and took her opinion into account. A rare breed indeed, but possible to find.

"To be quite honest," she said, a faint smile playing around her lips once her laughter had died down, "I have no idea. I suppose my father will attempt to force me into marriage at one point but until then, I do have my own funds. I sold my embroidery to people using my brother Eamonn as a mediator as well as some of my books. It's a tiny sum but it will help me survive for a while in case my father decides to pull his money from me once he realizes I'm not here to ensnare any man." A thoughtful look came across her face at that moment. "Perhaps I can get an allowance by being a lady-in-waiting. I never considered it before, but perhaps it can be arranged. My father would jump at the chance to get me closer to the higher nobility, I'm certain."

Already plans were formulating in her head, dimming some of that fire in her eyes and replacing it with a cold, hard logic that rotated around her mind, offering suggestions and bouncing it off of her brain, back and forth until a solution would, eventually, be found. She couldn't imagine herself being anyone's lady-in-waiting as she'd more than likely be incredibly useless at it but there was no point in not trying. Niamh had no idea how she would go about and accomplish that goal of obtain a tidy allowance for herself (do ladies-in-waiting get allowances? she wondered.) but she would try if it meant possibly raising money for herself rather than depending on someone else.

But then her father might demand the money as payment for taking care of her. She could always lie and say that the pay was much less than it was and keep whatever she could for herself. Whether that would work or not was dependant on how calm and neutral she could keep her face. "I might sell a few of my less-favored books to that book shops you mention. If I'm lucky, I might buy a few others, cheaper than what I sold the others for, but I'll decide whether or not I can afford to do that when I get there," she though aloud.

She listened to the trouble he had caused with a smile and a glitter in her eye. "So! You can be mischevious! Well, perhaps I shall do well to hide my ink and parchment from you should you ever take a disliking to me. I shall hope you don't as I don't think the flowers around my window could bear it." She laughed and nodded towards the box, "So, is that going anywhere in particular? Hopefully you won't attempt to carry that up any flights of stairs. I don't think you'd make it, to be honest. It seems such a dreadfully heavy thing and seeing you carrying it up the stairs would give me a fright. If not for you, then for the box and all the things within it." She eyed it suspiciously, as if expecting it to make Fergus fall any second now, stairs or no stairs.

"I shall get that book to you fairly quickly, so expect me to arrive soon before you. I always keep it on me so I won't have to waste time retrieving it from my home and from the dragon's grasp of my mother," she said, wrinkling her nose a bit at the thought of having to face her mother and say she was there to fetch a book. Her mother would ask her what for and, as Niamh was an awful liar, Niamh would tell the truth and say it was for Prince Fergus. The lady wife of Sir Anrai would shriek with excitement, summon Aoife and command that Niamh introduce her younger, prettier, more refined sister.

Oh yes, Niamh knew exactly how that scene would go were she to arrive. "Is there any theatre?" she asked, suddenly, "I have never seen a play before but I hear they are quite amusing and interesting to behold."

((Sorry for the wait))

It seemed that they were both out to surprise each other, for Lady Niamh stopped suddenly, clearly more shocked about that than about anything else he’d said so far. Caught off guard Fergus kept walking, turning so that he was still facing her with the intention of stopping if she didn’t start walking again. But then she was hurrying to catch up with him, and it very much looked as if she was temporarily dropping all decorum from shock. “No one told me it was heresy, I assure you!” He laughed, freeing a hand for a second to wave it dismissively. No one had told him – in fact he hadn’t imagined that it was possible to commit heresy against literature. As her shoulders squared he almost stepped away, she looked very much as if she was a woman with a mission and someone who it would be unwise to get in the way of. Reviewing books wasn’t something he’d been told about before either but considering what had happened when he said he’d never found an interesting one he didn’t think telling Lady Niamh that would be the best of ideas. “Currently, my lady, I believe that if we were to get the tribal leaders to say something derogatory about your favourite book we could stand back and allow you to subdue them single handedly.” He wouldn’t encourage her to actually ride onto a battlefield to find him and didn’t imagine that she would, but at this particular moment she seemed so determined that there was a possibility that she might just try it.

Even thinking about it seemed to bring pleasure to Lady Niamh that Fergus found bewildering, and he knew it showed. After the complete break in decorum he found he didn’t mind as much. It must be a very good book to invoke that kind of response. Maybe if someone had set actual history to a story he’d have remembered it better – it wasn’t as if the content was dull half the time, merely the delivery. “I doubt I could hate anything that brings you such obvious pleasure, my lady.” As she was the more experienced reader of the two by far her judgement in these matters was vastly superior to his. If Lady Niamh sang the book’s praises then they were likely to be worth singing. The idea of Lady Niamh saddling his horse brought a smile to his face, he didn’t doubt that she could do it if she was as experienced with horses as her attachment to her own suggested, and her determination would probably see her through as well. It was the idea of what the stable boys would make of it and the commotion it would cause that was amusing. “And if I do love it, what would you have me do?”

There was no difficulty in imagining what Lady Niamh was laughing at, considering the topic. Men simply weren’t meant to ride side saddle, and any attempt was likely to end up with them being in a heap on the floor. Or in a convenient puddle, for horses always seemed to aim for those when trying to throw a rider. He actually winced when she mentioned being impaled on the saddle. Yet another reason why men didn’t ride in that style. It was still possible to achieve a similar result with a saddle, although Fergus had never witnessed it he’d heard it was possible to do a lot of internal damage by slamming into parts of certain saddles. “Perhaps we shall have to rephrase that, then.” His tone was clearly joking, because he didn’t think it was possible to rephrase it. It was knowledge that had been passed down through generations, and apparently not accurate. While he couldn’t imagine women jousting or in the army he could imagine that they would excel in some fields. Climbing, perhaps, or walking on narrow ledges as they had such good balance. “And all you seem to get in return are children while we’re alive, and any problems we’ve left once we’re dead.” While still sounding amused, Fergus did think it was fairly accurate, at least in terms of the law. All a woman’s property belonged to her husband, who she had to answer to – in return she got children, and if she outlived her husband and was lucky the odd state of widowhood with a set of contradictory expectations.

“Where have you ridden so far?” The idea of riding with Lady Niamh was strangely appealing, for what reason Fergus couldn’t have said. Having grown up and lived in the area he knew it well, and while Lady Niamh had probably been out with some sort of guide – he hoped anyway, as capable as she seemed he didn’t quite like the idea of her riding around the countryside on her own – there might be somewhere else he could show her. While Fergus had never had his mother nag him as he’d seen little of his parents he could imagine what it was like, he’d suffered it from his tutors and there was simply no escaping them when they got it into their heads that he should be doing something he wasn’t. Perhaps Lady Niamh was not a great needlewoman, being so much more interested in books and horses, and her mother was responding to that. “Does your mother not approve of you spending so much time reading and riding, my lady?” He sounded curious, and he was – as bad a pupil as he had been he’d done what was expected of him. Most of the time. Being rebellious in any way had never been something that people had connected to him as far as he knew, and the idea of parental disapproval of that nature was interesting as he’d never encountered it.

He almost laughed when Lady Niamh said that she might be wanting to leave in a hurry, he couldn’t imagine it. From what he’d heard of her home life she wasn’t terribly happy there, and she seemed the sort who’d take to court like a duck to water. “I’ve no doubt that you’ll have your own camp of followers in no time at all regardless of how much your mother nags you about your stitches.” Probably without her parents being able to stop her either, if that look earlier had been anything to go by when Lady Niamh set her mind on something then she would most likely get it in one way or another.

She laughed, and Fergus simply couldn’t understand what he’d said that she found funny. Finding husbands for his sisters was something his elder brother was focused on, and suitors were not always forthcoming. Aedan had quite exacting standards of course, they needed good allegiances, but also as a newly formed kingdom other kingdoms were wary of being drawn into close relations with them. Lady Niamh surely didn’t have that problem, it was something else entirely. She didn’t look like the sort who’d be interested in entering a nunnery or being a spinster, and while she might take to widowhood quite well she’d have to be married first. What else did women of her rank do? He imagined that the lower ranks had a little more freedom, being able to be employed as chaperones and nurses, but he didn’t think Lady Niamh’s rank would allow that.

There was no denying that Lady Niamh was a strange one. The wanting to have a little of her own money he could understand, but not forsaking family to try and survive alone. It sounded almost suicidal in some respects, if she’d broken contact with her father he was sure most men – and their parents – wouldn’t consider her a good bride. But then she didn’t want to get married anyway apparently, so that obstacle seemed removed. But what if she wanted to get married later on? Fergus shook his head, looking perplexed and not comprehending just how Lady Niamh expected to make this work, especially not over the long term. “You’re not looking for an easy life, are you?” He had no doubts that if pushed Lady Niamh would attempt to survive on her own, whether she was successful or not probably depended on what sort of contacts she had. Fergus didn’t know if ladies in waiting were paid allowances or not, he’d imagine that mostly they were given an allowance by their fathers, uncles or whoever was supporting them at court but it was possible that they were given money and passed a fraction of it on. He shrugged, he knew that a lot of them men in the court were paid for their work, but then most of them did have some sort of job that needed to be done around their court life – currently quite a lot of them held ranks in the army as well as at court. “I wouldn’t be the person to ask about that, but if you are interested then I could introduce you to one of the masters of my sister’s households, they would be sure to know.” At least, Fergus hoped that they’d know, for if they didn’t then whoever did was unlikely to be easy to find.

“Perhaps if you have unusual texts you might be able to sell those for a high price.” He suggested, he wasn’t aware of the laws surrounding texts but he imagined that if Lady Niamh found the right person and had a version of a book or a book they didn’t have she might be able to get a good price – perhaps if she talked to the printers as well, they collected manuscripts after all. “Or as you read so much, perhaps you could write your own books to sell to them.” He teased, he’d never heard of a woman doing it before, but if she’d managed to sell embroidery through her brother then he was sure she’d find a way of selling anything she wrote, if she chose to do that.

Did people have the idea that Fergus couldn’t be mischievous? He hadn’t noticed it himself, but now he thought about it he couldn’t remember the last time he did anything beyond protocol. In a strange way it was incredibly depressing. “I was a lot younger then,” he protested, smiling, “I’m sure I could think of something much more effective these days.” His eyes darted down at the heavy box, wedged against his hip. It was a bit hard to miss. “It’s nice to know you’ve such confidence in my ability to carry a box up a flight of stairs.” Her expression almost suggested that she expected the box to suddenly decide to jump out of his hands, and his own expression showed that he found the idea amusing. The box didn’t hate him. Not yet, anyway. “Paper’s notoriously hard to break when it’s inside a box, and the box itself isn’t likely to fall apart any time soon.” The thing was built to last and Fergus found it hard to believe that its original purpose was to hold paper. Even if it was thrown off a tower Fergus would put money on it being mostly intact after hitting the ground, so he didn’t imagine that a flight of stairs would do much damage to it, however it might do a lot of damage to anyone unfortunate enough to be on the stairs when it went down.

Fergus got the impression that if given the choice Lady Niamh would keep a lot of things, including herself, out of the reach of her mother. “If your mother really does breathe fire then I can quite see why you wouldn’t want it around her.” It wasn’t usual, as far as he knew, for a woman to breathe fire as dragons typically did but as Lady Niamh knew her mother better than he did he was prepared to accept Lady Niamh’s judgement of the woman being a fire breathing dragon. “Thank you, I will be sure to take care of it.” They’d reached the end of the long gallery, and unsure of where Lady Niamh was going Fergus paused for moment and moved towards the staircase, waiting to see where Lady Niamh was going. To the left there was a door leading to another passage which would lead to a hall, and up the staircase was another gallery with apartments branching off it.

“Theatre? I believe so, although I’m not sure if it will be around much longer. They’re almost exclusively male performers you see, and I think sooner or later they’ll be drafted into the army.” His shrug was apologetic, it was a shame and it would probably deprive the people of some quite creative work. It took a lot of talent to have everyone convinced that the wooden stick you were holding was really a magical sword, but a fair number of the actors Fergus had seen did manage it. “They perform mostly on the streets on makeshift stages, whether there’s any logic to how they set up and when they perform I don’t know but we’ve occasionally had a company come in to perform a play for a special occasion.” Usually some sort of religious festival, if the traditions of the celebration permitted it. He didn’t think there was one scheduled for the near future, but he was sure that if Lady Niamh asked someone who was more attentive to the theatre than he was they’d be able to find one to watch within a matter of days.