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The snow fell softly, resting on the window sill, projecting the sun brightly through the sheen linens framing the outdoors. The curtains remained half drawn, a deep red in color, and still, in contrast to the cold world outside, ever changing with the weather. Gale Cairry stood abruptly from the velvety cushioned chair, skirt billowing out at her sides, after being confined by the ornate armrests of the seat.
Making her way towards the window, she traced the edge of the room, fingers pressed to the patterned wall, where raised edges indicated floral frills. She leaned toward the cold air that seaped through the glass pane, shocking her nerves, telling her mind to come to attention at the chilling sensation.
She had been distracted again. Who knows how long she had sat before snapping herself out of such a daze. Blinking, she carefully cracked the window, allowing the winter's air to blow back the fog-like hair which pooled over her shoulders; now flying at the nape of her neck, swirling with the wind.
To put into perspective, Gale lived a life of solitude and service, although with many fine accomodations. She wore the finest laces, elegant gowns which formed to her body as a second skin, and nothing but prayer and her studies were expected of her.
The room she dwelled in now was lavishly decorated with commissioned art of the many lectors before her, philosophers, monks, and preachers of the like, honored in physical mediums. She was in the study of the monastery, secluded to a sector of which only few besides her had the position to access. Papers fluttered in suprise as the wind swept the room, throwing a neat stack into discord as they fell to the floor.
With a sigh, Gale shut the window, rubbing her hands at the sensation of frosted glass, and drops of water from flakes which made it indoors. Rubbing her arms, she drew her cloak in, covering up her exposed arms; then a man entered the room without warning.
"Sweet lady, travelers have come asking for you," motioned the understudy, a tidy human man who helped run the monastery library, and tend to the orphaned.
"I'll be on my way, thank you." Her voice drifted off with the chill in her face, as she turned away from the window, and towards the door, to allow the heat to return. "You don't suppose they come with reason?" She asked, allowing herself to be escorted to the foreign vistors. The man took her arm in his, explaining, "I know not what business is to be had with you, my lady." Gale's face fell void of emotion as she stared forward down the hallway they traversed. The columns seemed to repeat, and the decor seemed unchanging, as if the hall was infinte.
In the main lobby, stood three men, two clearly preachers, having their coats and damped garments hung to dry, and a commoner dressed in an ill-fitting blouse, after removing a wool overcoat. He had stiff, straight hair, and an incredibly pale complexion. His shirt hung from his shoulders as if overly stretched out of size. The waist of his trowsers sat high on his hips, the legs of which laid neatly tucked into knee high boots. His facial features were sharp, angular, and reddened by the cold. Similarly to Gale, he had piercing eyes of an "unnatural" color, a pale violet, almost red. They were the most colorful thing about him. Walking forward to meet the newcomers, Gale released the assistant. "Welcome, our entire flat is at your service, may it be goods or knowledge..." She began, a short insight as to what the monastery offered to the public. Often they cared for the lowly children and orphans, or gathered blankets and offered shelter for beggers, on top of minimal free education and public classes on theology.
"We come in ask of reconcile, as meeting with the governor requires appointment--and request counsel with the royal family." Began an overly dressed preacher. This started muttering in low conversation, many people speaking in hushed tones at once.
The two kingdoms had cut connection after a dispute regarding military attributes, and now these travelers request a meeting with the king, which the humble monastery may not have authority to arrange. The royal family's relationship to the monastery is easy funding written off as help to the subjects which benefit from it most. Many monks convert for the guaranteed comfort rather than a life of prayer.
"Let us get you all settled, arrange rooms for each of the men." Started a well dressed gentleman, equal to Gale in status. She felt her eyes close, unaware of their attraction to the man in front of her, as when her lids lifted, her gaze was set on the presumably elven man before her.
The group of travelers was soon led away as quickly as they had come, ushered away by volunteering tenants that coordinated the work of the monastery's day-to-day needs. Gale watched in a blank state or confusion, as tenants helped around and went to work. Turning back towards her escort, the short man took her once again at his arm. "I don't understand, they are here on such short notice. And were swept up--" her voice sat in the air like smoke. "I've always considered some of the men here too trusting."
"And why is that, my lady?" Responded her assistant. He wore fine clothing, and flashy patterns, yet not to the degree of Gale's own dress. She had to gather her skirt in her spare hand to walk freely, as she had been on foot since speaking to the visitors. She doubled back, turning her body to peer over her shoulder. "It's odd. I can't explain it. I don't care to." At this her guide sighed, and brought her back to the confines of her room.
She grabbed several items, placing them orderly into a bag that would hang against her billowing skirt, behind her. She made sure to grab two books she had been currently looking through, both she had read before, containing insights on historical politics, and her ink and quill, after topping the once open bottle with a cork. She gathered large rolled parchments, maps, and made her way back down the corridor to follow where the new visitors had been ushered for the night. Outpacing her assistant, who made no effort in attempting to catch up to her, she floated till she was greeted by a large oak door, ornate in carving.
Dropping her skirt she raised her now unoccupied hand to knock a monotone and dull tck-tck-tck. As quickly as they were sent away, the originally thought to be elvin man answered the door. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't a fit. "Come so soon, M'lady? I wasn't expecting a vistor- I haven't even unpacked." He started, cocky in tone. "I will speak with someone else." She responded, short and sweet, turning around to make her leave, when he put his hand through the doorway and stretched into her line of sight.
"I was only kidding, thisisgood."
"Well then, if you are to seek council there are many things to go over, in short time."
With that she pivoted, and intruded into his quarters, placing her equipment onto a large, empty desk, layered with dust due to lack of use.
He cleared his throat, and lowering his tone, made a confused noise while closing the door. "What could it possibly be," started a softer, less boastful voice; one that was smooth and low, without the spark it once carried that ignited Gale's nerves.
"We must make sure that not only your requests are to standard and sensible, but also that they will be heard. I've spoken to many a man who reject my understanding of "kingly appointment," then go ignored because of approach." She began laying out writing utensils and pinning down papers with weights.
"This is, all very useful- but can it not wait till sunrise.?" The man came up behind her, and absentmindedly tousled a pleat in her dress, allowing it to lay flat where it had been bunched. Holding the fire of her tongue, she stiffened at the touch, yet waited for him to take his hand away, seeing he meant no harm. With an offended eye, she looked him in the face.
"My apologies.."
"This conversation could be had later, i suppose, though I will no longer seek your party out, and you should speak with me before heading onward." She somewhat muttered, making her way back to the door, in a sort of defeat. She rarely had drive to accompany new people, and with purpose. She was a large aspect to communication between peasantfolk and those of noble blood. She wrote on kingly orders and the spread of news pending seasonal happenings. If there was rumor of visits from other kingdoms, she was the one to confirm them and urge town goers to begin preparation. He pulled out the chair from the desk she stood at once before, and mentioned, "I am yet to have a full introduction." He came in tow of her, offering his hand, to which she took on absentmindedly. "Alright, this is in order." She replied, as the corners of her mouth perked up, breaking subtlety. Sitting her down, he lifted her hand in his to the height of his lips as he bent over.
"I, Saint McLyan, am honored to make your acquaintance, m'lady."
"What a peculiar name, I mean that without offense,"
"None taken. And you are? Lady Cairry?"
"Gale is plenty."
"Then lady Gale it shall be."
There was a new depth, an element of softeness, to his voice as time passed on, and the building quickly grew darker as the sun escaped. With clearer sight of the man before her, he had a significant lack of facial hair, the smoothest skin, thin yet dark eyebrows, and seemed dusted with a layer make-up, presumably to hide any blemishes. The color had now returned to his complexion, as the warmth from lantern light was a welcomed presence throughout the building. She stared at his most noticable features as he spoke, ignoring the heavy gaze of his eyes. She had a hunch she couldn't confirm, and would need a confession.
"So your family, and namesake? Is 'Saint' a commonality." She began, with strong intent, raising her eyebrows to seem more curious even with her flat tone. He looked off to the side, and straightened his back, before seating himself on the edge of the nearby bed. "That's complicated, though we are religious."
"And of which order? Are you of orthodox."
He cleared his throat, she was essentially quizzing him of his ancestors, as if she had expected answers. Saint didn't know where her curiosity came from, or if this was her idea of casual conversation. It made him anxious in the possibility of giving a wrong answer, as her face didn't shift or change, except for the direction of her pupils.
"Not essentially... Moreso free spirited in belief? Untraditional or, progressive you could call it." He finally made out. This wasn't what he had planned when he decided to make friends of those he was newly aquatinted. He looked at the floor, "are you usually up at this time of night? Its rather late, m'lady." Gale shrugged in return, and smirked a taunting smile, the first lick of personality Saint could catch from her. "You wish to get rid of me already?"
"No that's not-"
"I understand if you want your privacy, ones appearance is hard to maintain for others."
"What- you devil-"
"How dare. You don't mean that."
He huffed, "I do not." And she smiled, this time gently and relaxed, rather than with the venom from before.
"You're unlike any man I've seen before. You don't walk with pride in your chest." She started, "Meet me outside my door early tomorrow morning to walk me to my study." And so it was a date. Saint only looked at her wide eyed, with confusion, before agreeing, "Yes, alright, early morrow. Shall I accompany you now?"
"That I would appreciate."
She stood herself up only to latch arms with Saint before they made it to the large wooden door that led to the hall. "Are you a magicks user? I feel something about you." She had always been straightforward, though because of that her words didn't always come out as intended. "Are you confessing to me-" "No." "Ah-- no I am not, but magic runs in my bloodline."
They made playful comments down the hall, Gale tormenting him with her awful attempts at figuring out his person, and Saint not understanding where her questions came from. Bluntness could only be understood with equally blunt questioning, and so, "What is with you."
"Excuse you?"
"Not in disrespect, but your *method* what is it for?"
"Method, no this is efficiency."
"To what sense-"
"I know you're not human, your life force too strong, and your frame too symmetrical."
"Thank you? But you're mistaken-"
"I've never been wrong."
And he was quiet outside of her dorm. She bowed her head and thanked him, "I'm no enemy, I just feel things differently than you do. Don't think on it too hard.'"
He left in fear, the sort that nips at the back of one's neck.