[piosenniel]

Lyra Greenleaf's post

“My lady Morwen, a letter from your son”

Morwen grimaced at the interruption. That boy was so slow to take the hint that she would much rather they dropped all pretence at a relationship.

“Yes, yes” she said dismissively, plucking the letter from the messenger’s fingers. He quickly departed at her glower. Finally certain he was out of hearing, Morwen turned back to her companion.

“I do not know who has been spreading this rumour” she said sadly. “Indeed it is not so strange that a woman as lonely as her should turn more and more to the company of those animals. Simply because she talks to them although they can understand, it does not follow that she is mad. And I am convinced there is no truth in the rumour that she eats with them from their dishes.”

Morwen looked from the corner of her eye at the effect this would have on her companion, and was gratified when her eyes lit up. There might have been no such rumour before, but now there certainly would be. After a few moments more chat, Morwen excused herself. Now that she had done what she intended she had no reason to make small talk. Soon the court would be abuzz with the news that the Queen- the mad Queen- ate with her cats. Once again Tarannon would be shown proof positive that he made a mistake with her. She failed her main duty, that of producing an heir, and now could no longer even attend to her minor ones of entertaining and organising. Instead she stayed closeted with those- those furballs! Morwen sniffed disgustedly. Whether she ate with them or not, it was disgusting. Animals belong in the woods, or the fields- or at the most, the stables.

A bell rang, interrupting her thoughts. It was time to present herself to the Queen, to do her duty. How she wished she could have refused the post of Lady-in-Waiting all those years ago when it had first been offered, but it was a duty and an obligation, and Morwen, unlike some others, would live up to what was expected of her. She had no room for fancies and stray animals. Savagely she snatched up the scarf she wound around her hair when doing her duties. It was not right to outshine the Queen, and if she would wear black then Morwen, also, must dress as if she wished to fade into the shadows at night. It was yet another example of obligation. Obligation was all that was left to her, and dreams that were nightmares now. Vaguely she could recollect what hope felt like, but it had been decades ago and nothing to her now. Duty awaited.