I am Maeve

It had to work, Gabriel thought to himself. Surely he could cut a hole in the cloth of the ragged straw mattress on which he slept, or perhaps there was an old bit of a former cloak. Something of the sort: anything that would preserve coin that was much needed for more pressing necessities. Yet that was something to deal with later, and Gabriel pushed it to the back of his mind. First, there was the matter of getting his current supplies home. He feared it would be far too much to ask Maeve to help that much. Gabriel had for many years been the kind of person who would do something outside of his own best interests to avoid imposition.

She furrowed her brow, seeing him react to the cold. Maeve had grown used to it by now, without a coat or cloak to keep her warm. She barely felt the cold -- though that was hardly a good sign, she had to admit. It was easier just to flat-out ignore whatever was wrong, and she had been doing a fine job of that since childhood.

She was right, and Gabriel knew it: the basket had been worst for ware for some time, after all, it had only been a matter of time until it broke in some way or another. “I should think this might be able to be repaired, when I return home at least.” As he rest on his knees, cold melting through his trousers against his skin, Gabriel reached to grab something to his far left and put it in the snow beside what else he’d gathered. “Perhaps the bottom of it could be replaced with cloth of some kind.” It wouldn’t be a perfect solution, but it would be better than nothing. However, before Gabriel could go about that, what he had here needed to be hiked to him house.

“Mmh,” she mused. “That c-could work.” It would be easier to simply buy a new basket. The rest of the wicker would only last for so long, and by that point, he would have ruined a piece of cloth that would be better suited for keeping warm than anything else. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t argue with him about his methods. With shaking knees, Maeve stood up and adjusted the things in her apron, making sure they wouldn’t fall out when she started to walk. “Where, ah...w-where were you taking these, s-sir?”

Her first instinct was to protest. Maeve’s own level of comfort mattered very little to herself, and she hated knowing that it would cause others to go out of their way to accommodate her. Anyone who knew her could testify towards how rare it was that she found herself truly comfortable, and it was easier for everyone – at least in Maeve’s mind – if they simply disregarded her.

Understandably quite distracted with his predicament- a broken basket bottom had led his purchases, few as they were, to be scattered across the snowy path - Gabriel had not seen Maeve approached, and when she offered help, he could not help but feel more than grateful. ( Though the beginning of worry that accepting her offer might be imposing somehow was just about ready to inspire hesitance. ) “Help would be much appreciated, if you don’t mind, of course. I’m afraid this has been a rather unexpected accident.”

Maeve nodded and knelt down, ignoring the pain that came with such actions. “I-it happens sometimes, sir, t-that baskets fall apart. There, ah...” she hesitated, stretching for another object just slightly out of her reach. “T-there isn’t much that c-can be done about it.” She stacked his things on her lap, thinking to scoop them into her apron when she stood up.

The smile did help, actually. Not much, but certainly it brought a sense of comfort to Maeve. She could be sure she wasn’t doing too many things wrong just yet -- or at least, she could hope. But her small hint confidence retreated once more at the mention of food, only to be replaced with panic. Did it show, Maeve thought. Was it clear how little she ate, how little she had? “I--I couldn’t possibly, um...” She couldn’t ask for anything -- it would be unearned, undeserved. Especially from the University cooks, when she took so much from the University already. “I-I don’t want to impose, a-after all, and...a-and I only just borrowed some books; it would be rude to return so soon.”

Fear. Hardly another trait made itself so obvious in the girl. Dahlia understood; her mistress was a horrible woman and the fact that she traveled with guards of the Queen Crow tended to make people awfully wary of her company. The Norns were right to be scared. Dahlia was, herself, and she was the queen’s prized possession. How many scary tales parents told their children at night were true of Ammut? The servant woman believed them all to be. She had witnessed some, and was smart not to seek answers to the rest. 

Her first instinct was to protest. Maeve’s own level of comfort mattered very little to herself, and she hated knowing that it would cause others to go out of their way to accommodate her. Anyone who knew her could testify towards how rare it was that she found herself truly comfortable, and it was easier for everyone -- at least in Maeve’s mind -- if they simply disregarded her.

“Um?” Maeve asked, unsure if she was truly being addressed. She sat apart from the crowd, bare feet tucked inside her frock as she mended a hole in one of her shoes. What an odd question he was asking. If the birds knew...if what she had learned from Cynwrig was true, the Spiders knew best of all. But she wasn’t about to offer up that information without first being asked. “I, ah...I-I don’t...d-don’t know.”

The aura was specked with gold, though the color was painfully hard to catch as it flew outside the faded yellow flames. Had Dahlia simply passed on by the girl, she would have never seen it. “A toy?” she repeated curiously, silently debating in her head if she should tell the Queen that Maaor was about to ruin Her good name - and she said this sarcastically in her head - by stealing a plaything from a Norn citizen. The servant decided to save that headache for later. After all, she was unsure the news would not be taken out on herself instead. 

Maeve shrank back immediately. She was of the Southern Isles. And she--she was with guards. Of the Queen Crow. She was a servant of the queen, someone very powerful and awful indeed. Maeve shrank into herself, terrified of what might become of her should she put a single toe out of line. The Caddocks were neglectful, but they were not spiteful. She was terrified of what the Queen Crow’s servants could do.

The streets of Nore were new to Dahlia. She held the forearm of one of her guards, allowing the other to scout ahead. The one beside her was more gentle in his nature, and Dahlia was sure if he were not under the Queen’s command he would be a fine fellow. However, he had blind trust in the Queen and his want to serve his home overshadowed the curse of perhaps destroying another’s. Still yet, the guard ahead of them was a brute and Dahlia was glad there were days he preferred to do other business than accompany a servant.

Maeve shrank at the brutal tone of the guard. Armed men terrified her more than others, but that wasn’t saying much as a whole. She wanted to flee. To lay down and bare her neck. To surrender entirely. But she needed to get Elden back. She couldn’t live without knowing the tiny troll was safe in her hands.

“I suppose there would be no harm in that,” Alistair admitted. He was to be relieved very shortly, and though he was no fan of drinking, hot ale sounded exactly like what he needed (wanted? Alistair wasn’t sure he knew the difference). “I would be honored if you’d accompany me, unless of course you have other duties to attend to.”

There was a smile -- a small one, but a real one -- as soon as Alistair spoke. “I-I would be honored to, Sir,” she said. Accompanying a ranger -- not just escorting him as a host but walking beside him? It sent her heart a-flutter. “M-my duties would be, um...w-well, in the bakery anyway.” She let her smile stay, even if it was bold for her. She was excited, and couldn’t help her joy.