Content notes: transphobia (implied and referenced), reference to transphobic violence, misogyny

By the time the first bell for dinner rang, Helen was more than ready to be done. An early morning patrol followed by hard training was not her preferred way to start the day. Wigmar didn’t try to keep them past the bell, just waved everyone off and headed into the keep. Sir John and Sir Damian followed him.

That triggered a general rush for the armory, everyone stripping out of armor and returning it to the racks and chests. As eager as she was for food, Helen didn’t try to push to the fore. There was enough room in the armory for several people at once, and it was never a long wait for the space to clear out.

More importantly, waiting meant that if she had any wardrobe mishaps while getting the armor off, there was less risk of one of the Norns seeing something they shouldn’t.

After a quick wash, Helen headed not for the hall, but the barracks. She wasn’t sure why (refused to admit why) but she wanted to look pretty today. So she pulled out her nice tunic from her chest. There was no privacy in the barracks — and little privacy anywhere in the burg. But Lord Reimund had allowed the Anglish and Norns to keep to separate barracks, so she could change without worrying the wrong person would see anything.

She also pulled out the hair ribbons she’d bought herself for her last birthday. They were a bright green that (she’d been told) brought out her eyes. Ignoring Beth’s teasing, she smoothed her skirts and finally headed for the hall.

Helen reached her seat at the trestle tables as the second bell rang. Sir John was already at the high table, with the other knights, Armsmaster, priest, and of course Lord Reimund and Lady Mildthryth. It was still odd seeing so many people there when it had been just the lord’s family for most of her life. One more change Lord Reimund had brought with him, and a mild change no matter how strange it seemed.

Sir John was looking at her. Helen blushed and looked away from the high table. Just in time, the kitchen maids came in carrying baskets of trencher bread. The thick, coarse bread got passed down the trestle tables until there was one loaf for every two people. Cut in half lengthwise, the loafs served as edible plates for most of the burg’s inhabitants.

As always, it was loud. So many people talking, laughing, playing… Lady Mildthryth had not kept a minstrel, and neither did Lord Reimund, but more than one person had some skill with an instrument or a bit of tumbling. In the long winter nights, it wasn’t uncommon for the whole gathering to sing rounds, with each table taking a part in turn. Or, it hadn’t been. Helen hoped that Lord Reimund didn’t change that custom, but who could say?

At least his men were willing to participate in the revelry. Even Sir Damian got up to sing ballads on a few occasions. Strange, Nornish songs, but their very strangeness made them new, and so welcome.

Once all the trencher bread had been passed out, the great cauldron was pulled off the fire and stew brought around to be ladled onto the bread. As usual, the stew was so thick it was more like a sauce over the food than anything you’d need a proper bowl for. Helen was pleased to see a large amount of turnip in her portion and a couple small chunks of meat.

No one waited to eat but dug in immediately as soon as they were served. This wasn’t a feast day, so those at the high table ate the same stew as everyone else, but on plates rather than trencher bread and with actual steaks laid on top.

Helen usually didn’t pay any attention to the high table, but a certain knight kept drawing her eyes there. So for the first time, she noticed that those at it were waiting to eat until everyone there was served. Curious, she nudged the Norn sitting next to her and picking at his food. “Why aren’t they eating?”

He glanced at the high table and grunted. “Because Lord Reimund isn’t a barbarian. They’ll pray before they eat. Not sure why Milord has gone along with letting the rest of the keep continue your ridiculousness.”

Helen didn’t get a chance to respond to the Norn. (Helen knew his name but couldn’t be bothered to remember it, especially after the bile he spewed.) Before she could get words together, someone on his other side took offense and started yelling. A moment later Helen was being jostled but the pushing and shoving. Then a hand landed on a trencher, sending food everywhere — including Helen’s bodice, staining it.

She clamped down on her anger — there would be time for it later — and focused on getting off the bench. Let Lord Reimund deal with the dark cursed fools. It wouldn’t fix her bodice, but she’d get to sleep happily knowing the Norn would for being an ass.

Unfortunately, getting out of a bench seat while wearing skirts wasn’t the easiest thing. Especially while trying to dodge the fighting next to her. Just as she got free and stood up, the Norn got knocked over, arms flailing, and one of his hands caught on the ties of her bodice, ripping them and leaving her chest all but exposed for anyone to see.

Everyone was staring at her. Helen pulled the ripped edges of her bodice together and prayed no one had noticed how flat her chest was, had realized…

“My Lord!” Sir John’s voice rang out from the high table, loud enough to be heard even over the fighting. The surprise of it drew everyone’s attention. “My lord, I would like to propose a toast.”

And suddenly, no one, not even the Norn who had knocked her over, had a moment to spare for Helen.

I don’t know what the dark you are doing, Sir John. But thank you.

As if he’d heard her, Sir John looked right at her for a moment and jerked his chin. She took her cue and hurried down the long rows of tables and out of the hall.

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