There’s an author note with some spoilers at the bottom re: tropes and possible sensitivity issues.
Content notes: transphobia (implied and referenced)
John came in from late-night patrol just as dawn broke. Reimund normally didn’t send them out so late, but one of the men on watch had sighted campfires where none should be. So off John went with a mixed squad and a headache. After an hour stumbling through the woods, they found the fires — or what was left with them. Whoever had set them had cleared out, and trying to follow the trail in the dark was pointless. John left some Anglish men at arms behind — a decision he would hear about in the morning. But John and the other Norns didn’t know these woods as well and weren’t nearly as good at fighting in them.
Which was how they ended up in this mess, after all.
On the way back, they skirted around the area the Anglish called the ‘stone river’. An apt name, if any odd one. Less than a year ago, the Anglish had defeated and captured Lord Reimund and his Nornish followers, including one Sir John.
Lady-witch Mildthryth — (shut up, he told Damian’s voice, if she is okay with me calling her that, it’s none of your business). John had always struggled with the masks and games of the Nornish court. Whatever he thought of the lady-witch, he appreciated that she spoke her mind freely and respected him doing the same. The lady-witch had her own ideas on how to obey the king’s command to ‘marry a loyal Nornish noble — or else.’ Some days John was grateful for it.
Which had nothing to do with John slogging through the woods in the dark. Reimund would have sent him out to see who was hiding in the woods, whether he or Mildthryth had ended up in control. But the stone river always brought back memories. Three times he had failed Reimund. The first had been when he led them into an Anglish ambush in the middle of the stones.
After reporting to Reimund, John went straight for the bathing room. When then-Sir Reimund had set out to conquer Lady Mildthryth and force her to marry him, neither he nor his Nornish followers had known the old Anglish burg had been built over a spring. If they had ever tried to set siege to the burg they’d have had a much harder time than any of them expected. Since Mildthryth ended up capturing them instead and forcing Reimund into marriage on her terms… John snorted as he remembered what those terms were. Anglish barbarians… but it was working out, far better than John would have expected.
And in peacetime, a portion of the spring water was diverted for cleaning — including baths. John had always been fastidious, and the chance to wash up after every patrol and have a full — if frigid — bath once every few days was a blessing from the Ancestors.
The Anglish from his squad had tried to warn him away from bathing now. Said some of the Anglish ‘warrior’ women tried to bathe early for privacy some days.
John snorted as he turned down the empty corridor to the bathing room. Those ‘warrior’ women were tougher than he’d expected, true. But if they wanted to be counted as warriors, then he would treat them so — including not catering to their delicate sensibilities when it was time to get cleaned up. It wasn’t like they’d never seen a prick before. Never mind that everyone got an eyeful of Arthur’s prick when his codpiece got ripped open in training last Sunsday.
Learning the codpiece in question hadn’t been false advertising had been a pleasant surprise. John didn’t know how the Anglish felt about blanket-sharing, but in different circumstances finding out would have been his priority. As it was, John’s attention was focused… elsewhere.
He opened the door, more than half expecting to be greeted by feminine shrieks. More than half listening for one specific voice…
And found himself facing an oddly familiar naked man he had never seen before. His hand went to his sword, but before he could draw it he remembered why that face was familiar and — “Helen?”
Helen, one of the Anglish warrior woman and John’s secret crush, stared at him in shock and frantically tried to cover her — his? — prick and flat chest with flailing hands, like any modest maiden.
“Helen?” John shook his head and stepped into the room, wondering if he had fallen asleep and was about to be dumped into a creek by his offended horse.
John took a step closer and he- she- Helen froze. Helen’s eyes filled with tears and John’s voice locked in his throat. Then Helen grabbed up a tunic and ran out the door, leaving all her other things behind, and John was calling after her. “Helen! Helen, wait dark take it!”
He started to run after her and skidded to a stop. “Damn it, John,” he muttered, going back to grab the rest of her things before giving chase.
John had no idea what was going on, but Helen had clearly been trying to hide this — and running through the burg in nothing but a tunic was a good way to show, well, everything.
“Helen, just…”
Already tired, John probably shouldn’t have given chase. It wasn’t like he couldn’t have talked with Helen tomorrow. But she ran and, well, when someone ran away you chased. It was the way things worked.
Thankfully, she didn’t run far. Down one corridor and around one corner, Helen stopped and turned to face John.
John searched Helen’s face, trying to find some sign of… something. But all he saw was Helen.
Not sure what else to do or say, he shoved the bundle of clothing at Helen. “You left these.”
“What?” She stared at him.
“Your… Your clothes. You left them.”
They stood staring at each other. Helen looked as confused as John felt, which was even more confusing.
After a moment, she reached out and took the bundle. “Thank you.”
“Can,” John swallowed. This was not what he had in mind when he thought about spending time with Helen. “Can we talk?”
Author note: As long time readers know, we fuck with tropes around here, and some of the tropes we fuck with are harmful. John is a misogynistic bisexual man whose preferred type is ‘butch’. Helen is a butch woman who is trans – one of the first butch women John has ever met. If I do a poor job writing this, it could very easily slip into chaser territory, which is 100% not the intent. But. Intent only goes so far.
There is a level of ownvoices here, as I am a transmasc person who fills a traditionally feminine occupation — homemaker and fulltime parent — and I am writing both Helen and John through that lens. I think I am handling this well.
But every trans person will have a different take and different needs. What is representative and euphoric to one person can be triggering to another. So you get a heads-up.
As always, call-ins welcome.
-Jess
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