 “It was all Pallas,” Gaiane mumbled modestly in response to the compliment Mordred had paid her. She couldn’t take any of the credit for her appearance. For all the guidance her familiar had given over the years, Gaiane hadn’t picked any of fashion sense up. Still, she smiled at her date and walked with him. She hadn’t noticed how cold it was until she was in contact, the warmth from Mordred’s arms like that of a hot cup of tea against her hands. She was glad when he surrounded her fingers with his own, warming them further. Her heart beat faster as they descended, and though Gaiane tried to breathe her way to relaxation, the door appeared much too suddenly for her the fluttering to subside.
She looked up at him as he rambled about timing entries of his family, unsure whether to be grateful for his effort to make her more comfortable, or nervous that, despite his words, he was clearly just as worried about the impression she was going to leave on his family as she was herself. She giggled away the rising anxiety, though it was clear in her eyes, and nodded. “I’m sure it will have been the perfect choice.” And the doors opened, and there stood the King and his mother.
As Mordred stepped forward, Gaiane followed, letting her grip on his arm lead her forward, but she paused when the pair looked toward her. In what Pallas would probably call sloppy, but was not altogether ungraceful, she dipped into her best estimation of a curtsey. Despite living in the castle, despite dating royalty, despite her mother’s contacts, Gaiane had never grasped, or really been taught, exactly what level was proper. Certainly, she’d noticed other courtier’s, and was mimicking their actions, but Styx had no intention of her daughter feeling the need to bow before anyone. So, it hadn’t been a lesson.
When she looked up again, Nimueh was almost upon her, and both, it seemed, had none of the panic that was plaguing her. She smiled, realizing they were actually speaking to her and expecting a response. “T-the pleasure’s all mine,” she assured them both.
The offer of drink was made, and Gaiane lost her source of strength and warmth to the cabinet. Did she want something to bulk her courage and warm her, or did she wait until there was a meal and avoid making a permanently painful impression of unrestraint?
“Just water for now, please,” she said, glancing at Mordred for a little extra reassurance before being guided by his mother toward the fire. Although regal and poised, the air around Nimueh was inviting and comforting. A twinge in the shoulder forced some relaxation in the muscles, but how did she actually introduce herself to this family, who were everything to Shaman and had been sheltering her for quite some time.
How would she describe herself at all?
“There’s not much to tell,” she admitted with a small shrug. “I’m not all that interesting. Not like you,” she added as an afterthought. “You, I mean, you raised them of course, but you helped in the war and take in any child who needs caring for and…” She stopped, her eyes widening in embarrassment. She had not intended to spill that much praise so early, but even as a child reading about the history of Shaman, and knowing about the orphanage at the Castle, she’d been a quiet fan. She glanced back toward the men, finding her smile and more relaxation when her eyes fell on Mordred again. She looked back to Nimueh and apologized quietly.
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