#gxst

Sleep did not come easy to Dagmar- so they had taken to going on a brisk walk in the middle of the night. She was returning to the Danish wing of the castle- and had not expected another to be awake. Fingers wrapped tightly on the dagger carried on her hip, pulling the blade out. It had not been too long ago one of their own was found dead- and reflexes were quicker than ever. Then the other's face showed in the dim light- "William Friseal what are you doing?" There was a sharpness to their tone. "If you're going to come and go in the middle of the night bring a light."

"Adam." The queen looked up as the servant entered the room, setting her quill to the side, leaving the roll of paper she had been writing on open to allow the ink to dry. Letters, notes, annotations on the writings of others- all common things for her to be working on. "What is this I hear of one of our staff carrying around a chicken?"

"I hear you are to wed." There was no warmth in their tone, no congratulations, just a simple statement of fact. She had known the prince had been... less frequent with his late night visits to her brother-in-law, but had assumed it was some sort of spat between the pair. She knew the arguments that could happen between friends when emotions were strung. Fights without fighting, the empty silence, the teasing turned slightly too real. "Tell me, what does the king have planned for the festivities? If stock is really as short as is being said, it's hardly the time for such celebrations."

"I much prefer the servants who can actually complete their tasks. Preferably without dropping everything onto the floor. Or spilling wine or tea. Remind me why he is a part of our retinue again?"

tws: hunting, animal death, blood

She cannot be more than eight. Never before has she aimed at something so large, something so alive. "The heart, Dagmar." It's scarcely a whisper, this reminder from her father. Barely audible above the sound of the wind. Brown eyes narrow, watching as the deer takes a step. She pulls the drawstring as far as she can, feels it in her shoulders. The arrow flies and she releases her breath when it makes its mark.

When she sees it up close, after following where it sprinted off to before falling to the ground, she's surprised at just how massive it is. Dagmar has seen fallen game before- this is hardly her first hunt- but it is the first time such a large creature was felled by an arrow a her hand.

It is her father who dips his fingers in the wound. Bjørn takes the creature's lifesblood on his hand, pulls his daughter near, and her face with it. She can smell it, feel the warmth still, the way it sticks to her skin. She is grateful now that her mother had spent the time in early morning before the hunting party had left pulling Dagmar's hair away from her face, secured tightly under her linen coif.

Red. The same blood on her face, on her father's hand, spilling to the ground. She is struck by the brightness. How little it can take, to bring down something so large, even when she was so small.

"ADAM," IDUNNA WOULD PIPE up upon seeing the butler standing there for a moment longer than what she was used to. "You linger." It was more of a soft tone, curious, rather than accusatory. "Do you wish for something?" A bit of an odd turn of roles, but she had become curious. She closed the book that she was reading, setting it across her lap.