[*Varda*]

Iona ran up the stairs to her small room, her shoes noisy on the wood. Dumping her basket filled with packages on the bed, she flew back down the stairs and into the kitchen, trying to avoid the watchful eye of Froma, as she was already late.

Donning an apron, she set to the increasing pile of dirty dishes beside her – mostly glasses, the smell of beer and ale strong in the air. The noise in the hall outside grew louder, as she heard men, women, and young children all coming in from a morning at the markets. Busy listening to the strains of conversation wafting through the door, Iona forgot what she was supposed to be doing until a large crash on the floor jolted her to her present task. Remnants of a shattered glass were scattered across the floor.

To Iona’s relief, Froma and the other servants were out of the room, and so she quickly swept it up and disposed of it. No one had been around to witness her clumsiness, at least. Wiping the last dish clean, she moved out into the hall where the tables were filling up, and began to take orders.