Content notes: transphobia, reference to transphobic violence

It was Helen’s worst nightmare. Not being caught — she’d always known that was coming sooner or later. No, being caught by John — Sir John, directly oath sworn to Lord Reimund and the most angry, belligerent, and judgemental of the Norns who had conquered Oak Haven a year ago.

He was also kind, handsome, and — at least since the Conqueror had visited and given his approval to Lord Reimund — had treated the women warriors exactly the way he treated the men. Even many of the Anglish men didn’t manage that. John was one of only two Norns, and the other oddly was Lord Reimund himself.

“Helen,” he repeated, surprising her again by the simple use of her name, “we need to talk.” The softness was gone from his voice, which was almost a relief. But that meant she had to deal with grumpy John.

Sir John hadn’t reacted the way she’d expected — well, the running after her calling for her to stop fit. But he hadn’t demanded answers or bellowed for guards and it didn’t seem like he was going wake Lord Reimund up and drag her to him.

But if she didn’t talk to him now, he would go to Lord Reimund, who might make her explain publicly and… at least not many people were around this time of night to overhear. “Alright.”

Sir John nodded and looked around. “Go get dressed and meet me in the grain storage. It should be empty this time of night and we can talk privately.”

Surprise again made her eyes widen. He wanted to talk privately? Really privately? Did that mean he was going to keep her secret? What would his silence cost her? But she only nodded and turned to go back to the bathing room to dress.

She half expected him to follow her, but he just shook his head and continued down the hallway, grumbling.

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Helen got dressed as quickly as possible and slumped to the storage room. As much as she dreaded the conversation, she had been dreading it for nearly a year and now wanted to get it over with.

Sir John was waiting for her with the door open. He had left a lit lantern just outside the door, but the room itself was dark. She shivered. Going in there with him could be a very bad mistake, but what else could she do?

She checked that her knife was where it should be and walked into the room.

“I hope you don’t mind the open door,” Sir John said, surprising her for the… how many times in the last few minutes? “It should be private enough if we talk quietly and I’m not bringing a lit lantern in here.” He gestured to the sacks of grain stacked along the walls.

“Now,” he sat down on one of the bags, seemingly relaxed, “What is… this,” he waved vaguely in her direction, “And does Lord Reimund know?”

She thought about denying, or pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. But he was calm, and she wanted to keep him calm.

“I’m… we call it ‘woman-souled.’ The priest recognized it when I was young and when I insisted on wearing my sister’s dresses and ribbons, told my parents to get me my own.”

In the dark, his face visible only in the faint light from the lantern outside, he should have looked menacing. But Sir John, crosseyed and trying to understand something he’d never heard of before, could only look cute.

Of course, that didn’t make her safe. Confused people often became angry people.

“So… you are a woman who looks like a man? And this is normal for Anglish?”

You are a woman. Such a simple statement, but one that made her weak with relief. Whatever else happened, Sir John had done the one thing she’d never dared to hope for — accepted her. So simply. So easily. You are a woman.

“Ah– not normal, exactly. We’re… pretty rare? But most people have heard of us.”

He sharpened at that. “There are others — no, no you wouldn’t tell me anyone else’s secret. And I shouldn’t be asking. But… Please tell me Reimund knows?”

Helen licked her lips and glanced at the door. “He doesn’t. I couldn’t risk it. Please, please, don’t tell him. I’ll–“

“I can’t keep secrets from my liege, Helen. I’m sworn to him. But he won’t be angry. But– wait.”

She froze.

“Does our lady-witch know?” His personal name for Lady Mildthryth was said with a vicious twist.

“Y-yes. She does.”

There was a long silence, and then Sir John sighed.

“That’s alright, then.”

“What?” She had thought he hated Lady Mildthryth. The rumor around the burg was that he had tried to kill her at least once.

Lady Mildthryth and Lady Valdis did this to people, randomly came out with the most shocking things and expected you to keep up. Was Sir John part Dragma? Or were Nornish men as bad as Dragma women?

“If Lady Mildthryth knows, it’s alright. Whatever else the lady-witch is, she is as loyal to Reimund as he is to her. She wouldn’t keep a secret that wasn’t safe.”

“Oh. You won’t tell anyone?”

“No, Helen.” A pause. “I… think you should — tell Lord Reimund. He’d surprise you. But as long as the lady-witch knows, I don’t need to do anything. And I won’t.”

“Oh.” Relief made her weak again and she slumped against the wall.

John stood up, and she tensed, but to her surprise, he only yawned and turned toward the door saying, “I still need my bath.”

“You don’t… want anything from me? To keep silent?”

“Want anything? What like payment? Why would I…

“Oh.” Then, so she quiet could barely hear it, “Damn it, John.”

He sighed again. “Helen, I’m sorry I gave that impression. No, I don’t want ‘payment’ for keeping your secret. I want your trust, but I suppose that will take time to earn, hm?”

She didn’t say anything, but something in her face must have said it.

Sir John sighed and looked away. “Darkness take it,” he said, “Even I know this is the worst possible time…”

He turned back and she saw it in his eyes. The lust she’d expected to see this whole time. But… not just lust. “Helen…” he stopped and muttered, “Damn Anglish. How does the witch do this.” He took a deep breath. “Helen, if I don’t say something now, it will cause more problems later. But I promise, I will not do anything you don’t want.”

He stopped and waited. Eventually, she realized he wanted a response. She couldn’t figure out what to say, so she nodded to show she was listening.

“Helen,” and her name was soft, “The whole keep knows I’m interested in you. I had planned to meet with Lady Mildthryth to ask about… Anglish courting customs.”

Her mouth gaped. She didn’t know what to say. Was this real? Was this… an attempt to trick rather than force her? Was this…

“I can’t now, obviously.” Oh. That hurt. “Not while you’re…” that vague wave of his hand, “…hiding.”

Helen’s heart started to rise again. She couldn’t take much more of this slalom. “I don’t… understand.”

“Well,” Sir John said with a laugh, “I think that makes two of us.

“You were… afraid I would force you to keep your secret. A… as much as I hate to say it, reasonable fear. So I must wait until you choose to reveal yourself. Then… you’ll know my intent is honorable.”

“Oh…”

And he slid that mask back on the high-ranking Norns all wore, hiding those hints of lust and affection. “Have a good night, Helen.”

She watched him leave, unable to say a word. When he was gone, she slipped out of the store room, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it.

Only then did she find words to express how she felt.

“Damn it, Sir John…”

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