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

“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, all eyes were on him. He spared a glance at Helen and jerked his chin. She took her cue and hurried down the long rows of tables and out of the hall. Now all he had to do was keep the attention on his speech.

Damn it, John.

“To our Lady Mildthryth,” he swallowed, trying to keep his composure. “She, um, she is a great help to our Lord Reimund. I have,” he paused, trying to piece together something. That was it. The rumors of his attacks on her. Play on those. “I have… ah… disagreed with our Lady on…on some matters. Twice, really, I,” he swallowed again, “Made myself the fool for it.” He spared a glance at the hall. Helen was nowhere in sight. “Therefore, I, uh, well, I want to recognize her care for our Lord and the people of Oak Haven!” He managed to at least finish strong and raised his glass toward the Mildthryth.

All eyes on him. No more sounds of fighting. After probably the longest moment of his life, someone raised their glass and cheered. Then another. And more and more, until the whole hall filled with cheers and drowned out the frantic buzz in his ears. Once the formalities finished, he sat, determined not to look in the Lady-witch’s direction for the rest of dinner.

With a laugh, the lady-witch stood up and raised her own glass. “Thank you, Sir John. We did indeed have a… rough start… But I would never call a man a fool for being loyal, and your loyalty to my husband has never been in question. Loyalty my lord has well-earned, so if we are toasting me let us also toast Lord Reimund who has taken all Oak Haven has thrown at him in stride and proved more than worthy of all our loyalty.”

John toasted his Lord without a second thought and drained his glass. He needed the warm feeling of comfort the strange Anglish alcohol brought to his chest.

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“John!”

Dinner had been interminable. Reimund and his friends kept looking at him in a way John knew would bring him problems later. But with so many others present and able to hear anything they said, they at least didn’t pester him.

Everyone else took their cue from Lord Reimund and kept their mouths shut, but John could feel their eyes on him too.

John wasn’t a shy man, or one easily embarrassed. But that didn’t make the current situation at all comfortable.

He had slipped away the first chance he could. Normally he stayed for the evening’s revels, and leaving meant he was open for the others to track him down in private. But he needed away from those eyes.

He didn’t dare follow Helen, in case he led others to her. So he headed for where he hoped no one would look for him — the armory. There was always armor in need of mending and weapons in need of sharpening. He could, he hoped, get some work done and not be troubled until it was late enough he could slip into the room he shared with Damian and Hereweald and get some sleep.

Of course, he had barely closed the door behind him when it opened again. “John,” Reimund demanded again, “What in the great dark was that?”

“Ah, what, Lord Reimund?”

“Damn it, John, don’t play the fool. You didn’t just randomly get up and sing praises to my wife for no reason.”

In the lantern light, John saw someone moving behind Reimund. Great, probably Damian. Hereweald would have stayed behind with Mildthryth to oversee the hall. “It was an impulse. I have played the fool about the lady-witch, more than once, and never did apologize.”

Reimund growled, “Don’t talk to me about apologizing when you are still calling her a witch.”

“Oh hush, Reimund,” came a clear feminine voice, and John blanched as he realized it had been Mildthryth behind Reimund the whole time. “At this point, it’s almost a term of endearment.”

It turned out, John could be embarrassed. “My lady-w– Mildthryth.” he stumbled, ears flaming. Thankfully, no one should be able to see it in the dark.

The witch laughed anyway.

“Thank you, Sir John,” Mildthryth said, stepping around Reimund into the circle of lantern light. It was a lovely toast, with,” she looked him in the eye, and he found he couldn’t look away, “Such perfect timing.”

“Ah,” John coughed, “Well, that is.” He looked away and rubbed his neck. “It just… seemed… er… a good time.”

“Very,” Mildthryth grinned. “Timely, even.”

“John.”

“Leave be, milord.”

That was the lady of the keep speaking, and John couldn’t help looking at Reimund in apology. It was rare these days that the lady-witch asserted her authority as Reimund’s liege. For a Nornish knight to serve a woman was shameful — for that woman to be his wife… But for the Anglish, like Lady Mildthryth, it was seen as normal. A difference in views that had nearly destroyed Reimund early in their marriage.

Reimund had bent knee to Mildthryth to save the lives of all his followers, and now…

John bent his head when he saw the mask fall across Reimund’s face. He wore that mask rarely these days, and it was a clear sign of his distress. John had caused that.

“John and I understand each other,” Mildthryth continued, and John looked up to see her smiling at him.

“We, er, do? Milady?”

“Of course we do. We are driven by the same thing: loyalty.”

“Loyalty?” Lord Reimund asked

“Exactly. Sir John doesn’t care if I’m a witch — I’d say he almost hopes that I am one now. Having a witch on your side can only be a good thing, can it not, Sir John?”

Lady Mildthryth really did understand him. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but not surprising. Her ability to see things no one else could was part of why he thought her a witch. “As long as the witch is loyal, milady.”

“Just so.”

Reimund sighed and cupped Mildthryth’s cheek. “What lightning strike are you planning now, Mildthryth?”

The lady witch only laughed.

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